User 681158c295e1... - 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) 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... 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... primary 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

Activity Timeline ▶

Mar 3, 2024

Apr 27, 2024

All conversations

Conversation Clusters (291)

TF-IDF Sentence ▼

2 conversations in cluster Cluster 97× “Do a first-person view of Patrick Bateman from American Psyc...” over less than a minute (Mar 26, 2024 – Mar 26, 2024), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Mar 26, 2024 at 1:20 PM PDT — 1 turn United States, California fiction fanfiction View full conversation

USER: Do a first-person view of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho

CHATBOT: As I glance at myself in the mirror, meticulously straightening my meticulously tailored Armani suit, the reflection staring back at me is the epitome of Wall Street success. My name is <PRESIDIO_ANONYMIZED_PERSON>, and to the outside world, I am a symbol of the thriving excess of the 1980s - a vice president at Pierce & Pierce, moving with ease among the elite of Manhattan. I maintain a strict regimen to preserve this image; my morning routine is a carefully choreographed performance to maintain my mask of beauty, involving a series of skin care treatments and an intense workout. Every detail of my life is controlled, from the designer labels I wear to the exclusive restaurants where I dine. Yet, beneath this cultivated facade, there lies a void, a deep, insatiable emptiness that no amount of material success can fill. My colleagues, with their incessant blather about reservations at Dorsia and the nuances of business cards, are oblivious to the true nature that lurks beneath my polished surface. They are mere sheep, indistinguishable from one another, caught up in the superficiality of their existence. At times, even I struggle to distinguish one from the other; their identities blur together in a monotonous drone. They fail to see the monster that walks among them, concealing his true desires behind a mask of conformity. My evenings are a stark contrast to the facade I maintain by day. When darkness falls, the relentless emptiness and rage that simmer beneath my calm exterior demand release. I am driven by urges that are incomprehensible to the mundane world from which I hail. The exhilaration of stalking my prey through the neon-lit streets of Manhattan, the rush of power as I exact my control over their fate, is the only time I truly feel alive. The acts of violence I commit are executed with the same meticulous attention to detail that I apply to every aspect of my life; they are my true art form, a dark expression of the chaos that rages within me. Despite the clarity these moments bring, they are invariably followed by a return to the suffocating banality of my daytime existence. With each return to the pretense of normalcy, the facade becomes more brittle, the distinction between my public and private selves more blurred. The fear that my true nature will be uncovered looms constantly over me, yet it is overshadowed by a more profound terror - that ultimately, there will be no recognition, no understanding of the depths of my depravity. That in th...

Cluster 97

Mar 26, 2024 at 1:20 PM PDT — 1 turn United States, California fiction fanfiction View full conversation

USER: Do a first-person view of Patrick Bateman from American PsychoPsycho..as played by Christian Bale

CHATBOT: The city breathes beneath me, a relentless pulse of ambition and decay. I, Patrick Bateman, am its apex predator, cloaked in a facade of impeccable tailoring and charm. By day, I am a quintessential Wall Street player, a master of mergers and acquisitions at Pierce & Pierce. But as night descends, I shed this skin, revealing the true connoisseur of chaos that lurks beneath. My apartment, a high-rise temple to minimalism and order, reflects nothing of the turmoil that churns within me. Here, in this sanctum of cleanliness and control, I meticulously plan each venture into the night. My routines are sacred--a religion of self-preservation amidst the inferno of impulses that threaten to consume me. The city's elite are my kin, yet even in their midst, I am alone, a specter draped in Valentino suits and Oliver Peoples glasses. We frequent the same establishments, sip the same overpriced cocktails, yet I am apart, a wolf in meticulously groomed sheep's clothing. They are oblivious to the void that stares back at them from behind my eyes, the abyss that I both loathe and crave. I embark on my nocturnal pilgrimages with a singular purpose--to feel something, anything, in this numbed existence. The thrill of the hunt, the ecstasy of control, these are the moments when I come alive, if only fleetingly. My interactions are marked by a veneer of charm, but beneath it lies a yawning chasm of disdain for all that breathes. My appetite for destruction knows no bounds, yet it is matched only by my hunger for perfection. The two are inextricably linked, a dance of creation and annihilation that I perform alone. My victims are as much a part of me as they are apart from me, fuel for a fire that cannot be quenched. For all my efforts to embody the ideal, to maintain the facade, I am haunted by the realization that I may not exist at all. In this sanitized nightmare, my reflections are as empty as the life I feign to live. Am I Patrick Bateman, or am I merely playing the role to perfection? This question lingers, unsolvable, a riddle wrapped in an enigma, dressed in Armani. And so, I continue, a ghost adrift in a sea of material excess, invisible even to myself. This is my curse, my penance, my ecstasy, and my despair. In the heart of this American psycho, there lies nothing--a void as dark and impenetrable as the night that claims me, time and time again.

Cluster 97