User 322e402a1e7e... - AI Fiction in the Wild

Estimated User #19 (2 IP addresses)

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2 fiction conversations over 1 month, 24 days (Mar 3, 2024 – Apr 27, 2024) 20% prompt uniqueness California, United States

Estimated User Group (2 IP addresses)

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An IP address relates to the location of a user's computer or device, and a single person may have multiple IP addresses if they use different locations or networks. These IP addresses are grouped because the average embedding of each IP address's first turns (computed with all-MiniLM-L6-v2 sentence-transformer) has cosine similarity ≥ 0.85 and they share the same state (California). Groups are merged transitively—if A matches B and B matches C, all three are grouped even if A and C are below 0.85.

322e402a1e7e... primary View as IP →

1471 conversations

Sample prompts:

Make a beginning story of Sadaharu(from Gintama) temporarily ending up in the world of Gotham City...the Bat-Family baffled and bemused...what the hell is a big-ass white fluffy dog-like thing doing h...

681158c295e1... View as IP →

25 conversations

Sample prompts:

How's this for an anti-hero version of Dick Grayson(called Nightshade or 'Grayson' for his real name) in this alternate DC universe?.....basically...its an inverted version of Dick Grayson.....both ha...

DoHow's this for an alternate version of Dick Grayson in this alternate DC reality?..... Nightshade has similar origins to main universe Dick...but things diverged...to where he never was taken by Bru...

How's this for an alternate version of Dick Grayson in this alternate DC reality?..... Nightshade has similar origins to main universe Dick...but things diverged...to where he never was taken by Bruce...

Pairwise cosine similarities (1 pairs)

IP A	IP B	Similarity
`322e402a1e7e...`	`681158c295e1...`	0.878

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Mar 3, 2024

Apr 27, 2024

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Conversation Clusters (297)

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2 conversations in cluster Cluster 122× “Make a beginning story of Dick Grayson(mutated into a 5'11 b...” over 39 minutes (Mar 8, 2024 – Mar 8, 2024), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Mar 8, 2024 at 5:28 PM PST — 7 turns United States, California fiction fanfiction toxic View full conversation

USER: Make a beginning story of Dick Grayson(mutated into a 5'11 black and blue athletic lithe female anthro-croc, no tail, short male hair, rather buxom, lean and taut, wide hips scaly skin) after a mission gone wrong as he is mutated and must find help..

CHATBOT: Title: Scales of Nightwing In the heart of Bludhaven, under the pale light of a crescent moon, the silhouette of a figure danced across the rooftops with a familiar grace. Dick Grayson, known to many as Nightwing and the former protege of the Batman, was in the midst of a solo stealth mission that had him delving into the depths of an underground genetics lab rumored to be conducting ethically dubious experiments. Infiltration had been textbook--classic Grayson--until the muted sounds of his agile landings were replaced by the shattering of glass, chaos of alarms, and the scent of acrid chemicals filling the air. The vial he was meant to retrieve and secure, a liquid of black and blue swirling like the night sky he so often embraced, was now a coat upon his skin, seeping into his very cells. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the menacing glow of a lab instrument panel, winking almost maliciously as the room spun into oblivion. The transformation was nothing short of excruciating. As consciousness slowly returned, Dick found himself overwhelmed by a sensory cocktail too rich for human receptors. His body felt different--stronger and yet foreign. His fingers trailed down to where he expected to find the symbol of the bat, only to feel the rough texture of scales decorating a now ample chest. A shuddering breath escaped his transformed lips as he took in the sight of an athletic, buxom figure clad in black and blue, the scales glinting under the harsh lights of the lab. Dick Grayson, the seasoned hero, was no more. In his place stood a lithe, female anthro-croc, towering at 5'11". Her short, masculine hair, still carrying the essence of Nightwing, seemed at odds with her wide hips and the tight coils of muscle beneath her alien skin. The signature grace remained but hinted at newly found power within her scaled form. Confusion tore through her mind with the piercing clarity of her changed eyesight--all too keen, all too new. Scrambling to reconnect with her human memories, she rapidly assessed the situation. There was no time for panic; Nightwing had faced worse. Except now, her voice escaped with a guttural edge, wrestling with the unfamiliarity of her new dental architecture. Her reflection caught in the shards of the broken vial confirmed the extent of her mutation: a bold, buxom female anthro-croc, no tail in sight, who bore only traces of the man she used to be. With her team miles away and uncertain of how they might react to her dra...

USER: Continue, as she tries to find help..but how to convince the Bat-Family.....wait..her comms and torn costume...and ugh..as she hides her blush....she looks...well....stunning for her change..objectively speaking..but that's not the point!

CHATBOT: As the new dawn approached, casting a soft glow over the once-familiar cityscape of Bludhaven, Dick, now embodying this fierce, scaled visage, wrestled with her predicament. The utility belt--which, miraculous as it seemed, had resisted the same transformative fate as its wearer--offered a semblance of hope. She gingerly coaxed a small communicator from one of the compartments, pressing it to her ear, only to hear the static of silence. It seemed the device, too, had suffered in the incident. Hunkering down in the shadows, she attempted to makeshift repairs on the communicator. Dick's nimble fingers, adapted but not unskilled, managed to recalibrate the delicate electronics within minutes. The static cleared, and a voice emerged--a lifeline in the abyss of her alienation. But what could she say? The thought of speaking, knowing the voice that would emerge from her throat would be a stranger's, was paralyzing. Could Bruce, Tim, Barbara, or any of the others even recognize the person she'd become through voice alone? Emotions swirled--embarrassment, fear, anxiety. The realization of her stunning new appearance brought an unexpected flush to her scaled cheeks. She couldn't predict their responses to her drastic transformation, but the Bat-Family was her family, and she had to trust in their bond. "Nightwing to... anyone on this channel," she uttered cautiously, her voice carrying the unusual rasp of her new form. She waited, heart pounding in anticipation. It was Oracle who responded first, always vigilant. "Nightwing? Your voice is... off. Is everything okay? We registered an alert at your last check-in point but lost your signal after that." Dick paused, steeling herself. "Babs, it's me. Something happened--" Before she could finish, a flurry of voices interrupted, concern evident in each one. "Dick, where the hell are you?" It was Bruce, his tone betraying a rare hint of urgency. "Guys, I... I need you to not freak out, okay?" she continued, pushing past the awkwardness. A conflicted silence flooded the line, followed by an affirming murmur from her family, promising restraint. "Bruce, I'm in Bludhaven. I infiltrated that genetics lab, and... there was an accident. Some sort of mutagenic substance. It... changed me. A lot." She explained her new appearance, trying to paint a clear picture with her words to prepare them for the visual shock. Listening to their reactions, ranging from disbelief to the earnest need to provide support, she couldn't help but fe...

Cluster 122

Mar 8, 2024 at 6:07 PM PST — 10 turns United States, California fiction fanfiction toxic View full conversation

CHATBOT: Deep in the heart of a clandestine facility masked by the chatter of tropic wildlife and nestled within a dense, verdant jungle, Dick Grayson had embarked on a mission entrusted to him by the Justice League. Known as Nightwing for his nimbleness and acumen in the fight against darkness, Dick faced an adversary whose deviousness surpassed any common thug or mastermind he'd ever countered--Doctor Alaric Kroz, a genetic engineer driven beyond the bounds of morality by his obsession with creating the ultimate hybrid beings. The objective was clear: to infiltrate Kroz's hidden compound and gather incriminating evidence to dismantle the perverse operations occurring within. Creeping through the labyrinth of metal and concrete, Nightwing had utilized all the stealth and expertise at his disposal. However, as his fingers brushed against the cold data drive, containing all the proof the League would need, a sharp hiss of escaping gas caught his attention. He had already sprung towards the exit when a shroud of sickly blue vapor engulfed him. Overwhelmed by vertigo, his escape turned futile, and darkness claimed him as his body succumbed to the mutagenic cloud. --- Awakening to a new reality, Dick Grayson's senses reeled in confusion. Once a robust 5'10" male with well-defined musculature, he now found himself in a foreign form--a body that carried both the elegant lethality of his former self and the grotesque beauty of a predatory creature. Eyes, now a vivid, reptilian amber, scanned the reflection in the steel surface of a containment vat. Shocks of hair, still distinctly his in style, were darker, contrasting sharply against the crown of a tapered, reptilian head. His entire body had been elongated, shaped into a lithe and athletic form that stood towering at 5'11", muscles rippling underneath skin transformed into vibrant black and blue scales. What remained of his costume adhered to a figure drastically unlike the one it had been designed to accommodate--a buxom chest and wide, powerful hips, all tailless but undeniably anthro-croc in nature. The initial horror that gripped him began to mix with an intrinsic adaptability honed by years under the Bat's tutelage. Visions of Bat-family members who had suffered their own gruesome changes flashed in his mind--courtesy of a city that appeared to breed as much nightmare as it did heroism. Gone was the trust in his expert gymnastic refinement, now replaced with the uncertainty of his peculiar new physique. Yet still, ...

CHATBOT: In the bleak embrace of Gotham's underbelly, where shadows held sway over the scant rays of moonlight, a figure emerged--the formidable Lady Croc. Once a symbol of agility and justice, she now roamed a different plane of existence, feared by the inhabitants of the city's darkest corners. Killer Croc, a behemoth that terrorized these depths, had taken a perverse interest in her transformation--a twist of fate that had molded Nightwing into something more akin to his own monstrous visage. Killer Croc's lair, a damp cavern festooned with the detritus of forgotten confrontations, had become the stage for their latest encounter. Lady Croc, still grappling with her new predatory instincts, found herself cornered by the very creature that now saw her as kindred. "Lady Croc, ain't that a charming name for you," drawled Killer Croc, his eyes glinting with malevolence and something unnervingly close to delight. "You know, you've always been a tough morsel, Nightwing--fighting with all that grace. But now? Now you're something else. Something better." Lady Croc's heart pounded with an unfamiliar cadence--faster, wilder--as she took in his looming figure. It was unlike her to feel cornered; she'd always had an escape plan. Yet, as Croc took an intrusive step closer, a part of her faltered beneath the weight of her new form. "You look at me with those big, new eyes of yours," Killer Croc sneered, "and I can tell you're fighting it--fighting to remain the hero Gotham thinks it needs. But let me tell you, pretty lady... we both know you're one of us now. A creature that belongs in the dark." "I'm nothing like you," Lady Croc spat, her voice a guttural whisper that betrayed the battle within. "I fight for justice, for... for..." "Justice?" Croc cut in with a rumble of laughter that echoed off the wet stone walls. "Look at yourself. That ain't the skin of justice. That's the hide of survival. Of power. Tell me, when you leap into the fray, when that adrenaline hits--do you really feel like the old Nightwing? Or do you feel the thrill of the hunt?" She hissed in response, involuntarily, feeling her scales bristle. It was true. There was a kapow, a heat that hadn't there before--something primal that surged through her with every pounding heartbeat, with every heave of her broad chest. Killer Croc advanced, his voice dropping to a predatory purr that seemed to seep into her bones. "Gotham's got no more use for a boy wonder, but it's got plenty of shadows for a lady--" "Stop,...

Cluster 122