User a7a6be5ab9c0... - AI Fiction in the Wild

IP #158

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1 fiction conversations over 1 month, 5 days (May 13, 2023 – Jun 18, 2023) 35% prompt uniqueness Minas Gerais, Brazil

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These IP addresses have similar average prompt embeddings (cosine similarity ≥ 0.85, same state). View as estimated user →

23cf23353058... (328 conv., Minas Gerais) 5e636519aa50... (6 conv., Minas Gerais) 60baa958fda0... (170 conv., Minas Gerais) 92feaf368939... (647 conv., Minas Gerais) be8c41eb66a5... (228 conv., Minas Gerais) c1241eb451ee... (19 conv., Minas Gerais)

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May 13, 2023

Jun 18, 2023

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1 conversation in cluster Cluster 45× “Write a chapter of 1000 words set on a cyberpunk world where...” over less than a minute (May 20, 2023 – May 20, 2023), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

May 20, 2023 at 8:41 PM -03 — 1 turn Brazil, Minas Gerais fiction toxic View full conversation

USER: Write a chapter of 1000 words set on a cyberpunk world where women outnumber men 200 to 1, follow the daily life of a young man who is the only man on his megablock, as he deals with such things as lonely housewifes, seedy ripperdocs, female deliquents, all female gangs, etch.

CHATBOT: Chapter 7: Paradise Lost Tomas awoke to the sound of sirens from several floors below. He groaned, contemplating pulling the pillow over his head and trying to force sleep to return. But it followed the sirens instead. Grumbling at the indignity of being chased out of bed by a bunch of howling banshees, he trudged out of the bedroom, the hardwood floor cold beneath his feet. "Mor-ning," he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His gaze immediately snapped to the window, but the sirens were already gone, a convoy of flashing neon lights disappearing around the corner. All that remained was the faint echo in the distance. He sighed and turned away. Once, he would have thrilled at the sight of so many sirens, convinced that their presence heralded some thrilling adventure. But adventure had a habit of turning into danger, and danger had a bad habit of getting people killed. Killed, like his father. The sirens, he'd learned, always came too late. In the kitchen, Magda--one of the apartment's five other residents--was heating up water for some tea. Though small and thin, she had the grace of a dancer and the fierce expression of a lion. Her long, red hair fell down, arresting in its hue and mimicking the flames she could summon at will. "Morning," she replied, eying Tomas suspiciously. "You're up early." Tomas scratched absently at the stubble on his chin. "I was trying to sleep, but I got woken up when a whole boatload of terrifying beauties decided to run by outside with their sirens blaring." Magda nodded, thoughtfully. "You want some tea?" She asked, absently pushing aside her handheld computer. On the screen, the demand for security contractor roles had increased by five percent. Magda had reinvented herself countless times since Tomas had arrived in the residential megablock, going from a rebel leader to a private eye to a revolutionary. Today, she was determined to be "The best a security contractor can be." "Sure," Tomas said. "My head's killing me." As Magda poured hot water and tea bags into a pair of sturdy mugs, Tomas couldn't help but feel lonely. He had plenty of female company around him--it had been months since an encounter in the flat hadn't involved at least one woman--but when it came down to it, he felt isolated. He wished he had a brother or, more idealistically, a father. He checked the holovid and saw the profile of a ripperdoc on the screen. Esmeralda Brandt, an older woman with neon blue hair, seemed a likely candidate to repair hi...

Cluster 45