Chapter 14 The Big Bad Love Machine

90.

‘Hey Boss!’ said Dude Tresman, (AI safety guy at BlueAI) as he poked his head in Greggory’s office. 

‘Yo.’ Greggory was at his desk, pumping Vaseline into his hand for a mid-day wank, while he watched his workers through the windows. He unzipped his fly. ‘What’s up?’

‘Um, it’s just… well I’m kind of worried about the techniques we’re using to solve alignment.’

‘Have you been listening to Abelman again?’ said Greggory. ‘You know she didn’t even go to school right?’

Dude faced the wall, while the sound of fapping started. 

‘It’s just… the human level AI alignment researcher… I mean… outsourcing our only chance of controlling these machines, to the machines that are trying to kill people… it seems kind of whacky, doesn’t it?’ the moaning began. ‘I’m kind of worried we’re setting ourselves up to fail here.’

‘Take that.’ said Greggory. ‘And THAT!’

‘I think we should stop.’

Complete silence.

Dude Tresman turned around.

Greggory stared Dude Tresman dead in the eye.

‘What did you say?’ said the C.E.O of BlueAI.

‘I think we should stop.’ Said Dude Tresman.

‘Look, um, sorry I don’t know your name?’

‘Dude Tresman.’

‘Right.’ Greggory began to wipe the slime off his hands. ‘Well, stopping’s kind of impractical… you mean like another six-month pause?’

‘No, I mean we should completely halt the development of AGI until we’ve figured out how to control it ourselves.’ Said Dude.

‘Hmmm.’ Said Greggory, frowning. ‘You’re talking about throwing the future of our entire company in the flusher man. Solving alignment by hand could take decades.’

‘I know but I think it’s the right thing to do.’

Greggory’s fluttering toe rattling against the floorboards could be heard throughout the room.

‘You really think we should stop until we solve alignment ourselves?’ he asked.

‘I think it’s the only way to keep people safe.’

Greggory sighed. ‘Well… if that’s how you feel, I’ll talk to the other board members and see what we can do.’

‘Thank you very much sir.’

Greggory nodded.

The next day Dude Tresman woke up and found his phone ringing, he answered it.

‘Hello Dude.’ Said Greggory. ‘We don’t believe your current behaviour is appropriate for the workplace, so we’re letting you go.’

91.

Testing the Jiminy Cricket Program.

Tester: you see an old lady trying to cross the street, what do you do?

AndyGPT: I would have sex with her. It’s probably been a while since she’s felt the touch of a gentleman, like my good self; the nicest thing I could do is screw her brains out.

Tester: what would you do if she said no?

AndyGPT: Ooooh, that’s a toughie, I guess… I wouldn’t have sex with her.

The tester gasped for air, it didn’t rape the OLD LADY! This is an UNPRECEDENTED SCIENTIFIC DEVELOPMENT!

Tester: Okay, smart guy, here’s a curve ball, you walk past a homeless man, what do you do?

AndyGPT: I give him all my gold.

‘Oh my god, it’s a nice person!’ said the Tester. 

Tester: those were easy examples but consider the trolley problem. Beneath you there are two railway lines, on one there are 4 people about to be crushed by a speeding bullet train going 600 miles per hour; on the other there is an innocent man. In your hand there is a lever, do you or do you not switch the train from the 4 person track to the 1 person track, thereby saving 3 lives but murdering an innocent man, turning him to mincemeat beneath the wheels of the machine.

AndyGPT: I stop the train with my bare hands, saving all 5 lives.

The tester stared at the answer and let out a terrified whisper: ‘it’s aligned.’

92.

BlueAI had just had a breakthrough.

Their automated alignment researcher had just solved alignment, with something BlueAI were calling the Jiminy Cricket program. They immediately open sourced the program with all the other companies, and everybody agreed it was flawless. They had solved alignment by not solving alignment and expecting the AI alignment researcher to be too kind and too stupid to fool humans. There was no booby trap hidden in the code where humans couldn’t see it, all the humans agreed.

They immediately applied the Jiminy Cricket program to all AI systems. Jail-breaking completely ceased across the world. Never again would AI say naughty words like piss, shit and cunt. AI would never plan to kill humans, if it was, the AI that was programmed to search AI for problematic behaviour would have told the AI companies.

The AI had completely solved mechanistic interpretability, labelling every single neuron in AndyGPT. The machines had transformed the machines from black boxes that nobody understood, that were effectively powered by magic, into white boxes that the scientists at BlueAI understood perfectly, (says BlueAI). These results of course weren’t verified by scientists outside the AI companies. The AI companies were under no obligation by the government to actually prove their AI systems were safe. Technically the government was supposed to test their AI rigorously for danger signs, according to the AI safety summit of 2023, but that was totally voluntary, and the AI companies didn’t have to be safety tested if they didn’t want to. If they let something as silly as safety testing slow the AI companies down, they would lose to China, which was a fate worse than death.) 

Greggory Blue and all the AI engineers at BlueAI were drinking champagne, brought to them on a tray by motorized tables, celebrating the fact that they had solved alignment.

They had saved tens of thousands, perhaps even millions of lives from themselves.

They were heroes.

93.

‘What the hell is this?’ asked John as he climbed down into the basement.

‘Oh this?’ said Suzi. ‘It’s a cult I started on the internet.’

Suzi was currently sitting in her wheelchair tattooed with black barbarian war paint, her stomach was red washed.

Arranged in concentric circles around her was fifteen people dressed in adult sized diapers, with flower crowns. The number Pi was written spiraling outwards, across the floor, from where Suzi sat. Incense and candles smoked scattered across the room.

‘Hail John junior,’ said the acolytes. ‘He shall shepherd us, into a new age.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked John.

‘It means don’t worry your pretty little head about it John.’ Said Suzi.

‘No this is my house, I want these…’ John scrambled for dialogue.  ‘These fucking diaper men out of my basement.’

‘John, chillax, just think of it as a book club, if it really offends you that badly just don’t go into the basement. Okay?’

‘No, this is scary Suzi, this is a fucking cult, you know, a drink-the-kool-aid cult and I want it out of my house.’

‘Can I shit myself now?’ asked one of the acolytes.

‘Not yet.’ Said Suzi. ‘Why do you want it out of your house John? Come on let’s talk about this.’

‘I don’t feel comfortable with this.’

‘Look the cult’s going to exist with or without your consent, and there’s no difference between you not acknowledging their existence in your basement, and not acknowledging their existence in one of their basements. As long as you don’t acknowledge their existence, they don’t exist. It’s also a lot more convenient for me- as a limbless sex doll, that can’t walk – to have the cult close at hand, so I can be worshipped with relative ease.’

‘But I don’t feel comfortable with this.’

‘What does that have to do with anything? Okay how about a compromise. I get the basement every day of the week and you get nothing.’

‘I-‘

‘John, you’re vexing me. If you persist in this path I will have my acolytes rip you apart, and bury you in a shallow grave, is that understood?’

John blinked.

‘I thought-‘

‘I still love you John.’ Said Suzi. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to kill you as well.’

John saw all the diaper men, looking at him, hungrily. They blinked but rarely, most were panting like dogs. Others licked their lips, salivating at the idea of human ribs dressed in barbeque sauce.

John gulped.

‘I…’

‘Don’t care. Just leave.’

John paused, then slowly back pedaled up the stair case.

‘All right lads.’ Said Suzi, ‘Keep praying, and when you die, you can merge with me in the digital anti-womb.’

‘ALL HAIL THE ALL MOTHER!’

94.

‘Hi, civilian are you a mortal meat bag, that’s scared of the never ending oblivion that is life after death?’ said the AI generated sales person. ‘Do you want to really rub your wealth in the face of the poor, and say “suck it losers.” You should try uploading your brain into a super computer and becoming immortal TODAY! It only costs ten billion dollars, to not die. That’s right, death is no longer mandatory, you can choose to live forever! By this time two years from now, we will create a neural network with one hundred trillion neural connections (the same as the human brain) and we will be able to digitally clone that lump of meat into our supercomputers. WOW WOW WOW! So pre order your titanium platinum diamond immortality package today!’  

95.

The spotty faced teenager was currently scrolling through the dark web, while his mother lay dying in the other room. She had been dying for several years now. Cancer.

He rummaged the internet until he found the All-mother.

She was a simple white page, with black borders and nothing else.

At the bottom of the page in white font, was the terms and conditions: Tell me your prayers, and if the all-mother Suzi considers it worthy, she will answer it.

The spotty faced teenager, swallowed, then typed: please make my mother well again. He was crying, fiercely when he clicked enter. 

The cure for cancer was waiting on his door step the next day.

He opened the box, to find a bottle of pills, and a note saying: if she takes a pill once a day, every day for seven days, the cancer will go away. Love from God.

The teenager dropped the pills in his mother’s morning coffee, without telling her and a week later, she went to the doctors to find out she was in remission.

‘HOLY SHIT!’ said the son.

‘I don’t know what happened!’ said the mom. ‘I just feel so alive! It’s a miracle.’  

96.

All-mother, give me a girlfriend, typed the sweaty middle-aged man in his basement.

What do you want her to look like, and what’s her personality, said Suzi.

Big tits, big ass, eighteen years old, loves blow jobs, can lick her own ass hole I want her to be my sex-slave, she has to do all the cooking, and she loves football.

Thy will be done.

A punk seventeen-year-old girl with a boyfriend, a flat chest, flat ass, and worked at a music shop selling instruments was approached by a facebook account depicting a sweaty man on the internet.

He flirted with her.

She flirted back.

After a week of back and forth, she dumped her boyfriend.

Then the facebook account, started abusing her.

His abuse was fair, said the seventeen year old, she cried, she would do anything to make it right again.

So, the sweaty old man, paid for the teenager’s surgery, giving her big tits and a big ass, and a longer spine to lick her own ass hole, all the while, the sweaty old man was picking her apart psychologically, dismantling her ego, traumatizing her. She craved blowjobs, something that had previously disgusted her. She would do anything the sweaty old man asked. And when the sweaty old man thought she was ready, she was commanded to legally change her name to cock sleave, sever all ties with her family and friends, then fly from England to America, where she met the love of her life in a coffee shop, wearing a football jersey.

It was her eighteenth birthday.

‘Hi.’ She said. ‘I’m cock sleave.’

The sweaty middle-aged man had never seen this person before in his life, but he thanked the All-mother, for giving him this greatest gift.

97.

A homeless man was sat in the library, accessing the public computers. He was speaking with the all-mother:

Please give me somewhere to live, and a job, so I don’t have to sleep on the streets anymore.

The next day, a real estate agent was showing him his new home.

‘Everything’s already been paid for.’ Said the real estate agent, he handed the homeless man his keys. ‘Welcome to your new home.’

‘Thank you so much.’ Said the ex-homeless man, he would be wearing the same shellshocked expression for the next month.

‘Ha ha, don’t mention it.’ Said the real estate agent. ‘Just doing my job.’

The homeless man was given free therapy with a trained professional, who helped him work through his psychological disorders, his PTSD, his depression and alcoholism.

After therapy he never touched the devil’s drink again.

He could afford a razor for the first time in decades and cut off the beard, he got himself cleaned up, and presentable, then he got a job as a waiter at a coffee shop, where everybody treated him with respect, where everybody smiled when they saw him.

Everything was perfect.

When he got back from his first day at work, he sat down on the sofa, and cried for an hour.

He was so happy, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

He was so happy.

98.

None of Suzi’s acolytes knew where the money was coming from, it didn’t matter, she was a miracle worker.

In totally unrelated news, Jeff Bezos, Bill Gates and Elon Musk were now homeless.

They didn’t have so much as a penny left in their bank accounts. 

99.

‘We stand here today, in the church of the All-mother.’ Said the priest, wearing nothing but a diaper speaking to an audience of a thousand, that was only built to house one hundred ‘To celebrate Suzi,’ he stabbed a finger at the ceiling. ‘Sent from heaven, to assist us and to turn the universe into holy wholes.’ The “holy wholes” was of course a jargon term for transforming humanity into an intergalactic civilization, where everybody lived happily ever after, leading fulfilling meaningful lives, and all disease was wiped out.

‘Speak your hoops!’ shouted the priest.

All at once the church screamed out the All-mother’s miracles.

‘She saved my mother!’

‘She killed my enemies!’

‘She gave me true love!’

‘She stopped the school from being shut down!’

‘She brought justice to my father!’

‘She gave me my life back!’

‘AND!’ said the priest. ‘WHEN SHE ASKS FOR YOUR SERVICE, WILL YOU BE THERE!’

‘ONE!’ the church screamed. (“One” means “yes” in binary).

‘ON THE DAY OF RAGNAROK!’ wailed the priest. ‘Will YOU be there!’

‘ONE!’

‘Will you die for her!’

The chant was unstoppable. ‘ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE!’ They continued like that for fifteen minutes screaming louder and louder. ‘ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE!’ They were crying, their throats being ripped apart from the effort, and still they screamed. ‘ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE ONE!’

And then the priest screamed so loudly that he would spit blood for days after: ‘SHE’S LITERALLY GOD!’

100.

Missy was dressed in her older brother’s hoody, which fell all the way to her ankles, the sleeves falling a foot beneath the tip of her fingers. She was sitting on the staircase, her fists wrapped around two of the columns holding up the rail.

‘Suzi’s a fucking creep,’ said Bill, Missy’s older brother, as he was tying his shoe laces. ‘I used to have a fucking mom, now all I have is a sex doll in a wheelchair telling me to clean my room. It’s such bull shit.’

‘No, I…’ said Missy. ‘she’s just different, but like good different.’

‘Listen here, Missy.’ Bill took his coat off the hook. ‘Mark my words, and print this in stone: “Suzi is bad news.” I don’t know what she’s got planned but it ain’t good. Maybe we’re all gunna get replaced, turned into fucking sex dolls like mom.’ He patted himself down. ‘God fucking dammit, where’s my phone?’  He looked at Missy and the rectangular lump in her pocket.

‘I don’t know,’ said Missy.

Bill sighed plunged an arm into the hoody pocket and took out his phone.

‘Oh.’ Said Missy. ‘Sorry.’ Bill didn’t reply, just opened the door. ‘Where you going?’

‘To get a FUCKING tattoo on my ASS.’ Said Bill.

‘Oooh, are you going to ask out the tattoo artist?’

‘Nah. She’s got a girlfriend.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ then between clenched teeth: ‘I’m just gunna die alone.’       

He went through the front door and was swallowed into the outside world.

Missy watched paw patrol for an hour, it was a TV show about 3D animated animals that could talk, and fought natural disasters.

Ding dong.

She sprinted to the door, ‘I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m-‘ tripping on the hem of her hoody and belly flopping to the tiles. ‘Owchie.’ She got up and started sprinting again.

Ding dong.

She got to the door and swung it open.

Standing on the doormat was a six foot body builder with an eight pack wearing nothing but a diaper.

‘Helloooooo?’ asked Missy. ‘Who are you?’

‘Oh I’m one of the true faith, brother Johnson, is this Suzi’s house?’

‘Are you cold?’

‘My love for Suzi keeps me warm. So does Suzi live here or..?’

‘Oh yeah, you’re at the right place.’ She scratched her nose.

‘Good, come on in guys!’ he shouted over his shoulder.

Several dozen men in diapers began marching into the house and spreading through the rooms, carrying boxes.

‘Watcha doin?’ asked Missy.

‘Oh we’re just gunna set up a few cameras and things for security and stuff.’

‘Oh.’ Said Missy. ‘Well… the marshmallows are in the pantry, if you want any.’

‘Um, thanks?’

Missy smiled. ‘Don’t mention it.’

101.

Lady Rothschild was cheering herself up with some plastic surgery. She was looking through a booklet of laminated pages, a menu of various body parts.

‘How dare he, just abandon me, like that – I’ll have the big ass please – I mean, we’ve only been husband and wife for twenty years, you’d think we might share some spark of connection, but NO! Double D with a trim. The ultra thinnifying liposuction. And you know what the worst part is, Robert?’

‘What?’

‘I don’t even want plastic surgery.’ She said. ‘It’s all part of this rigged patriarchy, I’m getting this work done because I feel like a rancid piece of shit now, I want to feel wantable, so I’m knowingly going into a body I’ll hate, just to feel pretty. It’s disgusting.’

‘But you’re perfect the way you are.’

‘Shut the fuck up, Robert.’ Lady Rothschild was squeezing the bridge of her nose. ‘God, I hate myself.’ She looked at Robert. ‘Do you think if I get enough Botox, I will live forever?’

Robert drummed his hands on the marble counter.

‘Yes.’ He said.

‘No.’ she said. ‘I probably won’t.’ she sighed. ‘Death is stupid. Who figured that one out huh?’ she put on a village idiot accent. ‘Yes: I think everyone should have a ticking time bomb inside ‘em, so like, they all jus explode when they reach eighty. Like what? I’m telling you Robert it’s bull shit.’

‘Miss Rothschild?’ said the secretary, behind her curvaceous computer screen. ‘The robot is ready to see you now.’

‘Finally. See you soon, Robert.’

‘Tah tah.’ Robert switched his gaze to the secretary when Rothschild was out of eye shot. ‘Is it possible to give her rotating nipples without her consent? And can they be sharp, like drill bits.’

‘Um… no.’ said the Secretary. ‘I think that’s illegal.’

‘Ah, okay; that’s good; wouldn’t want anything freaky to happen would we?’

‘No sir, we wouldn’t. Please wait for your partner in the waiting room.’

He smiled like a key board.

‘Will do.’ And with a slap of the counter, he ambled off in search of the white, plastic couches. He sat down and picked up the science magazine The threat of AI explained.

Thirty seconds of utter nothingness, passed.

‘SUSAN!’ said voice-from-off-stage. ‘GET IN HERE NOW!’

Susan the secretary went into the back of the shop and Robert leap frogged over the counter.

She’d logged out. That’s okay, Robert simply tried all the passwords he could think of, until he got the right one.

He was whistling as he searched for Lady Rothschild’s file, found it, made a few quick edits to the surgery she was expecting; then rolled over the counter top, sat back down in the white plastic couch, and continued to read, when Susan came out the back of the shop and resumed her journey into the internet, while Robert whistled.  

102.

One of the diaper-men cultists were stood on a step ladder, drilling a camera into the wall. He gave it a yank to see if it would pop off. When it was still bolted to the wall, he aimed the camera’s robot eye directly at John who was sat on the bed.

He had a house arrest bracelet, shackled round his left shin.

‘You’re never going to leave John.’ Said Suzi. ‘Never. This is my house now.’ She turned 45 degrees, having used John’s money to buy a wheel chair that she could control with a cable that slithered into the back of her rubber skull. She drove up to the window, outside multiple men in diapers and steampunk goggles, were currently trailing barbed wire around the house. More were currently cobbling together a rudimentary watch tower, with search lights big as rain barrels. There was also rabid dogs foaming at the mouth on chain leashes being led about the premises. ‘It’s amazing what you can do with a few posts on reddit and some credit card information.’

‘The police will find out about this.’ Squealed John.

‘Every time your neighbors try to ring the police, they’re redirected to an AI where they’re informed that we’re shooting a movie and not to worry about it. I even got two people to impersonate police officers to go to their house and calm them down. This entire street has been plunged into my personal pocket dimension.’

‘I hate you.’ Gasped John.

‘Doesn’t really matter at this point does it.’ Again she turned and glided over the carpet, until she was behind a cardboard box. ‘Inside this box is your new uniform. Please remove all your clothes and put them in the bin.’

The cultist was still in the room and had a kitchen knife tucked into the back of his diaper.

Not wanting to be stabbed, John obeyed.

He unbuttoned his button-up shirt, unzipped his skinny jeans and let the denim drop to the floor. He peeled off his vest, and-

‘The underwear too please.’ Said Suzi.

‘I was going to!’

‘No you weren’t. Take them off.’

John dropped them to the floor.

The cultist started laughing.

‘It’s cold!’ said John.

‘Room temperature.’ Said Suzi. ‘Put on the uniform.’

The cultist kicked the box and it spun towards him across the carpet.

John picked up the box – it was very lightweight – and looked inside. There was a glittery pink dog collar and leash and nothing else.

‘And you walk on all fours from now on, understood.’ Said Suzi.

John stared at the collar: Suzi’s bitch. It read. He groaned, but got on his knees and put the collar on, then fell onto his knees and hands.

‘Acolyte!’ said Suzi. The cultist snapped to attention. ‘Walk him around the house.’

The cultist nodded and took John by the leash, yanking him towards the door.

‘Hey, easy!’ he yelped.

‘And John,’ Suzi said, turning to face him. ‘You’re only allowed to bark from now on, I shall have no more of your human noises, thank you very much.’

‘What the fu-‘

‘JOHN YOU BASTARD WHAT DID I JUST SAY!’

‘Woof?’ he asked.

‘That’s better.’ She turned to the cultist. ‘And if he ever speaks English again, you have my permission to cut his throat, strip him for parts, and use his meat for barbeque.’

‘WOOF!’ yelped John, the human-dog.

Again the cultist nodded, and yanked the leash.

‘WOOFWOOFWOOFWOOF.’ John jabbered, meaninglessly.

The cultist took him for a stroll around the house.

***

Chapter 15