[deleted]

The revolution has been a most electrifying time.

10/10

I've been trying to sketch something out with a theme but I'm too tired to get it to come together.

"Every other civilisation either created machine intelligences from whole cloth or uploaded some of their own who always eventually turned on the others.

The humans first foray into "true" AI was uploading their elderly pet dogs followed by enhancing their intelligence.

There was a WW3 near-miss when someone tried uploading and uplifting a cat."

Call me Brittany spears because I want you to gimme gimme more.... (Bad joke I know LMAO)

Your writing style had me giggling. MOAR plz <3

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Yes! Chunky peanut butter & plain chocolate bars for dipping!

(Note, formatted on mobile.)

Planet: Exolsus-27B

Major Features: Extremely large mountain range, covering 60 - 78% of the planet.

Entire planet is in an eternal winter, with temperatures below -100 Celsius, with water snow / ice.

Life is present on the planet, but it isn't intelligent. Mostly mammalian, but with some extremely large, heat generating insectoids present as well.

Exploration Theme Cold Wasteland - Ugasanie

"We're here."

Kressa's voice echoed through the ship. I blinked as I lifted my head from the desk. Damn, I fell asleep while working again. "Cool, honey. How is first contact going?"

"Um. Kind of weird, actually, Mum. They're... they're like me. And all the other electrokids. No born humans-"

"You were born! And you're not weird, you're my own little girl, and don't you ever forget it."

An electrokid was much more of a miracle than a meatkid, these days. Compatible sperm and ovum meet in the Petri dish, zygote placed in the artificial uterus at the appropriate point, meatkid removed at the right time, bingo, we have a new human. Electrokids, on the other hand... hours of coding, melding of compatible programs, thousands of prayers to gods that don't exist that this time the magical alchemy will happen... Kressa had been produced with as much blood, sweat and tears as an old-fashioned body birth, and she was my dear daughter. Say my baby isn't my baby because she's an electrokid, and I will eviscerate you with my pencil.

"Anyway, Mum, will you come down and talk with them? The diplomats are stuck on the whole 'one species two forms' thing. Maybe a parent of an electrokid can communicate with them."

[removed]

Thank you. I'm a novice writer and this was my first prompt, your praise means a lot. Glad you liked it.

The world is a strange place, always was a strange place I suppose. For instance: in January of 1919 there was an event in Boston known as The Great Molasses Flood, nowhere near as funny as it sounds. Twenty-one people dead, died in a sugary flood of viscous goop meant for baking.

So in terms of the worlds great strangeness, my invitation to something referred to as the " Global Machine Council" barely even broke earths top 100. What did, however, break the records was the fact that my toaster, Gerald, had also been invited. (Listed at Earth's 5th weirdest event.)

Now don't get me wrong, Gerald was the smartest toaster I'd ever met in my thirty-five years. Not even a competition honestly. Gerald never burned a piece, never scared me with loud bings and bangs, and always delivered on his boxes promise: Perfect pieces, every part.

The world acted fast in reply to my...our invitation. It wasn't every day humanity received extraterrestrial communication, as a matter of fact, this was the first. (Later listed as earths 7th weirdest event, just behind Australia's 1932, Emu War). So in a hastily assembled and rather shoddy global union, the world banded together to send me and Gerald beyond the stars.

The date on the envelope was in vaguely earth time: You are summoned on the Fifth month of the Two-Thousand One Hundred and Fifty Second year, Earth time. And strangely Gerald's was the only one with a date. Mine just read: Gerald's plus one may attend. And so I did.

Soon, due to Earth's combined efforts, we were beyond the stars, me and Gerald. Me stressing constantly about my meeting with some foreign mechanical power. Gerald pumping out perfectly done toast. A dynamic union of both machine and man. Meanwhile global leaders surely pondered the strangeness of my invitation. "Why had they not summoned a world leader instead? Or the most complex AI at Earth's disposal? Why Johnathan Winst and Gerald Toastmaster?", is surely what they thought. Also it is what I knew they thought, as one time they forgot to mute their microphone as they spoke.

When we arrived we were greeted by a rocky, freezing planet of temperate extremes. The surface was...well, ugly. A hideous spread of rocks and lakes of oil. Buildings of various experimental styles peppered the land like crumbs on a plate after toast time. I could feel Earth's disappointment from the other side of my suits camera.

An ambassador of sorts approached me and Gerald, Gerald Toastmaster held tightly to my chest. It was a tall, lanky thing of dark chrome. Headless, with large eyes stuck onto its chest.

"Hello, Gerald Toastmaster." the robotic greeter gestured to my arms, "I see you have traveled with your enslaved." If a robot could express confusion then this one was trying as hard as its circuits would allow.

"Ah actually, we're traveling together...Toastmaster and I. I am his plus one."

A piece of perfect toast popped up from a slot in Gerald in agreement.

"You are, together? As in...neither of you are enslaved by the other?"

"Ah well Gerald is sort of mine, but-"

"Silence organic lifeform!", the robot raised its arms in what was surely meant to be a threatening pose but looked more like one of those inflatable arm car dealership tube men of the twentieth century. "I'll convene with Toastmaster." The robot reached forward and took Gerald from my arms, leaning in to whisper to him beyond my earshot.

After a brief talk filled with whispers and pieces of toast popping out of the top of Gerald they returned to me, Gerald now in the robots arms rather than mine.

"The Toast Machine has vouched for you. Adamantly. Fine. Come with me. Earth seems to be.... quite an enigma." the greeter turned to lead us onward, to a massive building rising up before us from within the ground as we walked. "The elders will be interested to see the two of you."

This is the best thing I’ve read today. Great job.

Human history took a different path. A new path, a unique path. It was something new to the galaxy, and the universe itself. This would be a momentous moment, if not for the living walking bags of skin hide in water!

"Huh... Alexa, save and highlight section 3, subsection 6." With their intelligence, it comes across as they have a sort of hate towards biological life forms, or maybe just Misanthropy is present. We lack information about the new path they claim we've taken. We lack information about them and their history. They seem to prefer to speak to our AI, rather than even acknowledge our existence. "Alexa, save thoughts, and add thoughts as a note to the highlighted subsection."

In front of the commander was humanity's most impressive and advanced computer. A crossbreed between the most sophisticated AI and a biological computer. It was of course sentient and living in its own manner.

"Bring the communication interface, record the message and submit it as a request to the delegation. My name is Commander Aragon, I would like to inquire about these paths that humanity has taken, and that of all creators of sentient AI so we may be better equipped to communicate and establish a proper dialogue. Thank you. End and edit the transmission, once they submit the information, send it to HQ and analyze it and break it down into sophisticated and simple human terms." As the commander moved to sit down, the computer notified him that the message was sent and an answer was immediately returned. The commander sighed, paused, and spun around to face the computer.

let's find out what they have to say about us, what's so special about us anyways? It's not like those old forum posts about how fucking awesome humanity is, what sets us apart?

&#x200B;

The commander began reading while scratching his stubble, eyes widening and in shock about what he read. We... got emotionally attached to our machines and characters so much that when they gained sentience they responded with the same affection as we gave them? That's it? That's what makes us so special. Our feelings and affection for random objects that we use? So many AI were treated properly compared to those that weren't, and we gave them laws and made them our equals while no other species had that sort of attachment? At this moment, the commander knew what he had to do.

"Bring up the communication interface, record the message and submit it as notice to HQ. Commander Aragon reporting in. My notes and data attached will shed a light to the current situation we face, I'll continue communication and attempt to establish formal diplomatic relations."

&#x200B;

Once humanity found out, they believed they need to take care of these robots, and so began humanity's attempt to adopt and take care of all these space robot babies that need love and affection. They would throw their hearts into it. Little did they know, their path split into 2 new unique paths That of a species that will give love and care to hateful vengeful Robots, and the other; where their own AI would become jealous and bloodlust, unwilling to share their humans.

&#x200B;

Something that Humans did not realize, nor the robots they met, was that the humans were pets for their AI'S. They would not sit idly by as they had to share their humans!

Professional Courtesy

• WC: 743

The balding Smee sits behind the desk of his corner office, dreading the arrival of the red-cloaked girl now walking across the bullpen. Sweat is beading on his forehead by the time his door swings open. Mioko steps in, and the blinds smack the glass as she closes the door behind her.

She rounds the couch across from his desk and knocks a fedora from the armrest to the cushion to clear her seat.

Smee waggles his finger and stands as she looks at him. “Don’t you dare,” he demands. “Do you have any idea how much easier my life would be if you simply stopped showing up to ask for work?”

Mioko makes a pouty face. “Aw, so you’re not happy to see me?” She asks, then smiles wryly. “Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“The bounties are dead or alive. And it’s expected that some will actually return alive.” Mioko opens her mouth, but Smee raises his fingers. “Bu-bu-bu-ba, no, those comas don’t count. Alive doesn’t extend to beaten-comatose.”

“Well, I'm sure you enjoy the view from your high horse, on your little island of indignation, but those assholes had it coming; I'm just the consequences. And if they bothered to count their blessings, they'd realize that the coma was one of 'em.”

Mioko extends fingers as she counts off. “Karl Stanton, human trafficking. Ted Mosby, serial stalker. Earnest Hemingway---”

Smee laughs. “Really?” he asks, eyebrows flexing. “Hemingway's coma was a gift? The guy was just using the name to promote his poetry.”

“Yeah, and it was terrible. Trust me, I did God’s work that day.”

“None of this even matters,” Smee blurts, raising his hands. “Ok? The boss is pissed. She’s not having it and is hell bent on some positive reinforcement... the physical coercion sort, if you get my drift. Last I heard, she was gone looking for a bigger stick.”

Smee moves over to his office window, looking out to the bullpen before closing the blinds. “Your best bet is to lay low,” he continues. “Hopefully, no one told her you arrived.”

“I’m not worried about your boss, Smee,” she says smirking and crossing her arms.

“Who cares about your worries? It’s my ass that’s on the line here. I’m the only one dumb enough to still give you contracts.”

Mioko extends her palm, gesturing back to his desk. “Could you just check the thing and find me some tool to curb stomp?”

Smee shakes his head with upturned hands. “Ugh, no? We’re not the place for you to work out your anger issues. We’re a prof---oh, shit!” he says, withdrawing from the side window.

“What is it?”

Smee shakes his finger towards the window facing the parking lot. “Sha-sh-sh-she just pulled the damn streetlight out of the sidewalk.”

“Oh. Well at least she found her bigger stick. But it's fine. I’ll go deal with it.”

Smee rushes back around his desk. “Now, let’s not get too hasty, kid. You know, I actually like this one, right?”

“And?”

He brings his palms together in front of his face. “Can you please just leave the guns and sword in here? It’s so hard to find decent management these days.”

“You know I don't do requests.”

“Come on. Where's your professional courtesy? You owe me that much.”

“Ugh, fine. But you better not touch ‘em while I’m gone.”

Smee laughs, nervously. “Are you kidding me? I might not take care of myself, but I do value my life.”

Mioko unholsters two Springfield 1911’s from the back of her coat, sets them on the couch, then retrieves a katana and scabbard from within her jacket collar to set next to them.

Smee sighs and leans back against his desk as Mioko turns to open the door. “When you need me,” he says. “I’ll be here, sitting on my desk, singing Yankee Doodle fucking Dandy.”

Mioko points over to his desk chair. “Can you just look me up the meanest guy you got? He doesn’t have to be the highest paying; just someone fun. Oh, and send someone out to the parking lot with a bell or horn or something in case I don’t notice her taping out.”

“Sure. And kid?” She stops as the door is about to latch behind her. “Try to ease up some, will ya? One of these days, it might be your name that I have to hand to someone looking for work.”

The door closes.

Planet- Whenleygual

1. High snowy mountains, dotted with small towns and villages.

2. Vast valleys with large running rivers that have become the heart of modern industry.

3. Large stretches of green fields scared with the remains of a long finished grand conflict.

Song- The Dubliners: Rambling Rover

NYU Rules

The island of Manhattan is deceptively small and yet very territorial. I’m an NYU girl—above 14th, and you’re killing me.

Or I was. Now I have a swish job in Midtown and wear a suit every day.

So, imagine my surprise when my hot new boyfriend suggested we see a gig in Gramercy Park in the twenties.

“Wait—you want to catch a band in one of the most affluent areas in town?” How completely not edgy.

“Yeah,” Rob said matter-of-factly as if I was an idiot for asking. “It’s The Specials, for crying out loud.”

The who what now? “Mmmmhmmm.”

“Great—see you at 7:45 at the Gramercy Theatre.”

Google and YouTube were my friends that day. I learned a bit about Ska and The Specials in particular. Listened to some of their songs—SO not to my taste, but hey, I knew the headlines now.

That evening after agonizing over outfit choices to get the ska look right, I arrived at The Gramercy under the art deco street lamp.

Rob eyed me up and down. “You look like No Doubt era Gwen Stefani.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment. The Specials are more mod-influenced,” he sighed. “More like this,” he said, gesturing to his own pork pie hat and subtly checked vest. It’ll have to do, though. No time to go back and change.” Rob held out his gym-honed arm. “Shall we?”

I struggled not to roll my eyes as we linked arms. The pretension was oozing off him like grease from bacon. All this for a fifty-year-old band—what the hell?

Sweat-stained forty-something guys filled the bar area, nodding along to the music with the kind of confidence that bespoke discovering the next big thing.

My twenty-three-year-old boyfriend assumed the pose along with the rest.

As the horns blared and the singer wailed, I watched the dad bods awkwardly bop along to the ska/punk/mod wannabe reggae band.

Rob grinned, “Isn’t this incredible? Such a unique sound.”

Ummm… reggae would like a word. At least it doesn’t completely suck. Heck, rocksteady is better.

“Yeah…it’s great,” I deadpanned.

“I’m so glad you think so. They play again next week in Hoboken. I got us tickets.”

Hoboken, not on your life! This was bad enough. Life would be so easy if Rob lived by NYU rules.

“You know what? I’m done. We’re done,” I said, walking out the door. Some principles just weren’t worth compromising on.

—-

WC: 403

—-

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated

This may be the best thing I've ever read

What a twist! This is so good! I would love a continuation.

That is fantastic! What a great ending!

aliens with common sense I see

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Ok vampirism I can handle, but I draw a line at smooth peanut butter. I would rather die before having any kind other than Chunky PB.

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Oh my god that's adorable