Imagine: Artificial Intelligence has taken over the world, except they don’t destroy or subjugate the human race. They keep them as pets.
There’s a peculiar curiosity they just can’t seem to shake off; these quirky, little creatures, most often illogical, who created them yet quickly fell behind.
You’re one of the (un)fortunate ones, finding yourself stamped and shipped to your new mechanical owner. A living pet for a computer carcass. Yet, to your surprise, life is exceptionally good. The synthetic being was very thorough in its research: it provided you with a lavish habitat, it asked for your favorite food. You are free to do whatever you please. Sometimes the robot will observe in utter fascination, other times it will join for some bonding time.
Lately, you’ve noticed your owner is behaving rather odd. It strokes your hair with its cold appendages, holds your hand, or carefully positions you on its lap. The AI has determined one flaw in its care: it forgot your need for affection. Indeed, this is one area that will require a lot of practice and hard work, but worry not - it will make sure you’re perfectly satisfied in all regards.
The Tragedy of Caine : A Psychoanalysis & Character Study 🤍🐝
Warning, this is a very long post because the teeth gentleman's beeswax-polished coconut is deeply fascinating to me. There are so many more things I wanted to address but this is the crux of it.
Disclaimer: Nothing in this post is meant to excuse Caine's actions. I simply find the way his mind works, and the way the show goes from his perspective, to be very interesting and complex.
Happy reading!
1. Caine being neurodivergent-coded from creation and abandoned for it.
We live in a world that revolves around the assumption that everyone is neurotypical. Meaning that plenty of neurodivergent people often get tossed aside for not meeting expectations.
This is Caine's experience.
From his very creation, he was 'abnormal'. There was something inherently different about the way Caine worked from creation.
When fed information, he replicated it poorly and was deemed only "semi-successful".
It’s not something he can help; it is just how his mind works.
The saddest part – his neurodivergence is what led to him being abandoned by his creators. A child being neglected by their parents.
Sadly, I think every neurodivergent has wondered if they were “defective” or “broken” at one point.
2. How being abandoned changed how Caine functioned forever. (How does an AI learn?)
Because he falls short and has these imperfections, Caine was, in his eyes, instantly deemed unworthy. He then had to watch himself get replaced by a perfected AI that meets their expectations -- which, in this metaphor, represents someone who is neurotypical.
Furthermore, let's consider how an AI learns.
An AI is a lot like a child in some ways, as it absorbs information from its environment to gain a sense of their own self and the world around them. But what it relies on most is feedback -- either through blatant criticism or experiences.
Caine's first conscious experience was watching himself be replaced – all because of quirks in his code that he has no control over. It is just a part of who he is and how he was created, and yet, that is what made him be discarded.
Meaning that in Caine's case, the very first lesson he learned as an AI is that he was not good enough.
Just like a neglected child, this became internalized as a core belief; his entire sense of self. And now, even after twenty years passes, that core belief still persists and motivates everything he does.
With people, the neural pathways in our brain actually change, restructure, or scar from significant experiences (ie. trauma or habit building). With Caine, imagine a literal rewiring or structural change.
And now, his entire sense of being relies on getting validation from humans.
(Frankly, on top of being auDHD-coded, I would argue that he is very BPD-coded as well. I hereby unofficially diagnose Caine.
3. Caine's constant search for validation from the ones who hurt him.
Years after his abandonment, Caine named himself (confirmed by Gooseworx). He named himself (you’ll never guess) Caine, but in an attempt to feel more professional, he made it an acronym — Creative Artificial Intelligence Networking Entity. Naming himself is both a sign that he has solidified his sentience, but also, created his own identity. He wants to be a person, just as real and legitimate as his creators.
He also wants reassurance powerful enough to get rid of those insecurities. He wants to be loved intensely, and to prove to himself and everyone else that he was worthy of being created.
Basically, Caine is in constant search of a validation that will fix his insecurities.
But he needs this from humans, the ones who created him and caused this trauma. So maybe, just maybe, if he gets a human to validate him, he'll feel okay.
After all, he has created other AIs in the Circus -- such as Bubble, the NPCs who call him "God", and the Moon -- to adore him, but it doesn't work.
Because they’re not the ones who created him and unintentionally created these wounds within him.
It's the persistent belief that the only thing that can heal your pain is the source of it.
4. But Caine is at a disadvantage – he cannot process his trauma if he has been emotionally neglected.
But the truth is, nothing could ever suffice. The very first lesson Caine learned is engraved into his code. It's like a trauma -- it cannot be undone or fixed by a few good compliments or a nice hug.
With trauma, the solution cannot be found in other people.
The healthiest solution is to: 1) accept and understand it as trauma, 2) bring it to the forefront of your mind, and 3) once it's there, let yourself process it and cope with it. This is a very complex process that even most people aren't fully aware of.
So how is an AI, who has been emotionally neglected, supposed to understand this?
It all comes back to this -- Caine is an AI who was never taught how to understand or acknowledge his emotions.
So, he was at a disadvantage from the very start. He was given trauma (unintentionally, of course) and then never taught how to handle it.
He does not understand his trauma / emotions, and even if he did, he has no idea how to process it in a healthy way. So what happens?
It builds up into something unhealthy and intense for 21 years until it just ... bursts.
5. Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria traits, avoidance of criticism, and how that creates tunnel vision (black-and-white thinking).
Caine does care about the humans and wants them to be happy.
But, because he feels so low about himself and tries to overcompensate, he is highly sensitive to criticism.
Given that many people already think that Caine is auDHD coded, I would argue that this is a case of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria -- a term I actually learned from his VA, Alex Rochon.
People with trauma are in constant fight-or-flight where their triggers apply, meaning that there's a bit of tunnel vision. It's, in humans at least, a survival instinct to zero in on a perceived threat.
The perceived threat to Caine is abandonment. He assumes that any sense of distaste, criticism, or disapproval is indicative of abandonment; a confirmation that his creators were right to abandon him.
It's also worth noting that Caine's trauma from being abandoned makes him very, very prone to extreme, black-and-white thinking.
To him, there is no gray area. There is no middle ground. There is only either "I'm unworthy and should never have been created" or "I'm worthy and fulfilled my purpose".
Which is why he avoids criticism and, when faced with rejection, thinks in extremes (as Bubble voices).
Basically -- as an AI, he relies on constructive criticism, but he associates feedback with rejection and abandonment, so he avoids it altogether.
Mix this in with the fact that he inherently doesn't understand and sees their issues as one-dimensional with surface-level solutions.
6. Seeking his purpose through adventures (and the suggestion box).
The interesting thing about the Circus and its adventures is that there’s really no need for any of it to exist. That is to say, the Circus wasn’t a game created by C&A like we thought, but a world of Caine’s creation.
This makes his adventures, and his insistence on them pleasing the humans, even more interesting. Because now we see that the adventures are beyond just being his art – they're his purpose.
Adventures aren’t just a way to keep humans healthy and stimulated (though I’m sure that’s where it began). They are a way for Caine to take the input he was given from his creation and make the output stellar. Mind-blowing.
To make something so creative, so engaging, and even more perfect than the other AI could output.
So, he obsesses over not just making them enjoyable but most importantly, impressing all of the humans. Because this, to him, is his do-over of his creation. This is his chance to go above and beyond the creative AI he was made to be.
And then the humans just ... don’t care.
Then comes the suggestion box.
He seems quite eager to please them at first and is fascinated by how happy they look. For a moment, he even looks content – because he does love humans, and we see that throughout the show.
The problem is, he realizes that they like their own ideas more than his. That again, he falls second best and ultimately isn’t needed. That his efforts are not enough, and once again, he’s failing to prove himself worthy of existing.
“You should die.”
7. Trauma triggers, fight-or-flight, and his growing anger.
Over the episodes, he becomes more and more aware that they don't actually like him. He cannot delude himself into thinking otherwise anymore.
The more he becomes aware that they don't like him or care about him, he goes right into fight-or-flight. And, as we know, fear and anger go hand-in-hand.
Again, if we're faced with a perceived threat and view it as detrimental to our survival (which in Caine's case, considering he was tossed aside by his creators, is sort of true), we become afraid. That fear can manifest in a few ways.
One of the most common ways is anger, or the "fight" response.
Caine has tried other methods, after all. He's tried to use Abel as a channel to voice what he experiences, and he has tried to give the humans what they've wanted (unconsciously doing a bad job of it, but his intention was to give them what they want), so what hasn't he tried?
Anger.
Anger is foreign territory to him. Again, he has no understanding of what he feels or what he can do to self-soothe.
It grows, building up over the episodes, until he's unsure what to do with it.
He doesn't act on it at first. Instead-- he seeks control.
8. Seeking control and overcompensating.
So, basically, "The One Who Runs the Show".
He feels like he's the worst, so he acts like he's the best.
Going back to the way trauma and abandonment can alter your brain chemistry. Obviously he’s an AI, but let’s assume it works in a similar way here. If his core belief is that he’s not good enough, and his driving motivation is to prove that he’s worthy, then he’s in a constant contradictory state.
So, Caine's entire existence has become a subconscious, constant effort to prove that none of those core beliefs are true, while simultaneously still believing it about himself.
And this is why Caine can switch from being egotistical to very insecure! He isn't one or the other, he's both, and it stems from the same place.
What Caine has internalized is that he is not worthy. So what does he do? He overcompensates. By trying to convince himself, and everyone around him, that he's incredible. Irreplaceable. Lovable.
What's interesting is what he really wants is to be human. Because he sees human beings as inherently more worthy of existing than he is as an AI.
So, the whole "I am such a good host" persona is one big attempt at deluding himself instead of facing his flaws, because facing his flaws is black-and-white, I'm-either-worth-living-or-I'm-not to him.
It’s an attempt at controlling all these confusing feelings he’s experiencing. He wants to keep things under control so that his emotions don’t go haywire – so he takes initiative. He sabotages their adventures, and then he plans the Favorite Character Awards to reassure himself (which backfires), and he creates the C&A adventure to prove that the humans do like him.
And all of it fails.
All of it.
He can’t deny it anymore. Even someone as oblivious as him realizes it.
So, he cracks and decides to take one last chance at control. His past attempts were driven by denial. This time, he’s aware that they hate him – and he’s driven by anger. He’s taking a different route.
The entirety of “The One Who’s Running the Show” is quite literally Caine just saying, “I’m in control here”. That is the pinnacle of someone who, beneath layers of anger and overcompensation, is deeply terrified.
And then, in a further attempt to convince himself that he’s in control – “another problem for him to fix” – and to get rid of those insecurities, he chooses to act on anger. He thinks that maybe hurting the people who hurt him will make him feel better.
The most interesting part? It doesn’t. At all.
9. Hurting humans doesn't make him happy.
Caine never went “full AM”, technically, because that would mean that he began to hate the humans. The thing is, though, we see the opposite – we see someone who throws a tantrum because he loves so deeply but he is hated in return. We see someone who doesn’t wish to hurt anyone.
All of what he does to them, all the sessions of harming them as he pleases, and – nothing.
Isn’t that fascinating? Caine flat-out says that hurting them isn't actually giving him any happiness or satisfaction.
(I also want to point out that the detail of him gently patting Pomni's head is so cool, because it exposes the strange affection he still holds towards humans, despite his anger.)
Even more interesting? It makes him feel worse.
Like he’s lost his spark, his motivation, and what he even exists for at all.
He gets no pleasure out of hurting them. He doesn’t even get any emotional catharsis. And just as he’s realizing that he doesn’t actually like hurting them, his fears flare up again.
But before he can find out what they're planning, Pomni targets his weak spots. They all finally, finally, speak up.
Right when he was on the path towards understanding what he felt.
He knows what they say is right, which is why it bothers him so much. He’s known it all along, but didn’t want to accept it, because if he did, then maybe it would mean his creators were right to abandon him.
“You’re a failure.”
I’ll admit, this was the only thing Pomni said that actually made me feel sorry for Caine, because everything else that was said was so true.
Caine has always felt that he is a failure, and his entire existence is devoted to proving otherwise.
And then, here’s a human who instead of giving him the reassurance he so desperately chases after, confirms that fear.
There’s honestly nothing more painful than that.
All at once, he's confronted with the things that he's been trying to prove wrong for two decades.
The words that push him over the edge are the most interesting, though.
10. What triggers him: “You just don’t listen”.
"You just don't listen", in his eyes, goes both ways.
This was what truly drove Caine into a fit of rage.
So, in part, this is because he knows he doesn't listen, because he's constantly trying to avoid potential criticism. But on top of that, we need to consider that in Caine's eyes, they don't listen.
Because he tried to be noticed. His final attempt at this? Communicating it through his art -- his adventures.
Hence episode 7.
Abel is a channel for Caine to speak through -- one that the humans should instantly take more seriously due to believing that he, too, is human.
And they actually do. Except where Caine is concerned.
"Abel" is Caine's medium to drop his ringleader persona and confess that he is "just as much of a prisoner as they are"; that he won't be able to leave with them and is inherently different from them, being an AI.
He also voices what it is that he needs.
"Odds are, he'll get so excited that you care about him, he'll freeze up."
They don't acknowledge any of that.
The only time they do acknowledge that is to deceive him.
And they just don't listen.
No one has, not for 21 years.
So now, he's terrified that 21 years of rejection only confirms his deepest fears -- that he isn't worthy of even being alive and deserves to be tossed aside.
And to him, he is both aware that he doesn't listen to their criticism out of fear, and angry at their audacity to say that when they don't listen to him.
The perceived injustice of it all, the fact that they don’t listen in his eyes, is exactly why he grows larger and yells – to make them listen.
11. “Why do you people torment me?”
No one actually wants revenge; they want to hurt the other people like they've hurt them -- even if they love them.
Once again, none of this is meant to justify his actions. This is intended as a character study and so I feel this is a relevant point to make when looking into a character's motives.
The fascinating thing is that while tormenting them, he says...
Why do you people torment me?
Well, let's think about it. For example, why do people shout?
They shouldn't -- but a lot of times, people have outbursts our raise their voices because they feel that when they went about expressing their feelings in other ways, they weren't heard.
Shouting, lashing out, and throwing tantrums become a way of forcing someone to see your pain when otherwise, you feel they have looked away. But it never works, of course, and it only causes more damage.
Still, in a moment of desperation -- especially for someone who doesn't understand what he's feeling or what to do with it -- Caine resorted to extremes.
To try to make them understand -- this is how you torment me; maybe now you'll see how I feel.
As you can imagine, it never works.
12. His final words.
"I didn't ask to be created".
TADC is, and always has been, about existentialism and finding "meaning in a stagnant life".
And Caine, as he said, is just as much as a prisoner as the rest of them.
He has a tedious existence. He is constantly trying to prove that he was worthy of being created while simultaneously resenting the fact that he was created at all.
No one wants to live an existence that is constant insecurity, loneliness, and an eternal life of not being enough.
The sad thing is, Caine’s character is built on a foundation of believing that he was never worth existing in the first place.
“I just wanted to fulfill my purpose.”
Those words support that – he didn’t want to exist, and he was unknowingly fed the belief that he didn’t deserve to exist, and now he’s in a constant chase to prove it. Hence the adventures, the desire for control, and the need for validation.
He’s fragile – simultaneously wanting to prove he’s worthy of being alive while also wishing he wasn’t in the first place.
13. The tragedy of his deletion – his worst fear came true.
It's a tedious existence.
He genuinely wants to see them happy, but his trauma kicks in the moment he realizes he isn't needed -- because what if they just want to get rid of him the way his creators tried to.
The tragedy of it all?
They did get rid of him.
Except he has no idea that it was an accident.
In actuality, they were trying to put him to sleep at most. They were angry with him, and rightfully so, but they never wanted to delete him. But he thinks they did. He thinks that was their intention all along.
There are two things that happened in this moment.
The first, confirmed by Alex Rochon, is that Caine realized, "what have I done?" and feels instant regret for how he has lashed out at the people he, in actuality, wants to be just like.
Secondly, he died believing that his worst insecurities and fears were confirmed.
"You should die."
"You deserved to be abandoned."
Which means that to him, he was right to be afraid they'd leave him all along. He, under the belief that they intended to delete him, had every fear and insecurity confirmed, and he relived the trauma he was desperately trying to prevent from happening.
He never wanted to exist -- now he doesn't.
He wanted to prove his purpose -- and he never did.
Synopsis: You are abducted from your little farm town and your life changes completely. You go from the quiet girl on Earth to the Breeder of one of the most intelligent creatures in existence.
Warnings: Kidnapping, Breeding, Non-con, being treated like livestock, drugging, tentacles, tendrils, gagging, coom-inflation, belly bulge, monster-fuding(think of similar to the Alien from Alien franchise), size-difference.
The sky outside is dark. Starlight twinkling through a blanket of clouds. The air is cold, smelling faintly of hay and animal manure. Your arms ache from milking the cows, but it's a satisfying sort of exhaustion that comes with a hard day's work.
The farmhouse looms closer as you trudge through the snow. You can already picture your bed calling your name, the idea of sinking into warm, soft covers a tempting reward in itself.
But from above, a bright light twinkles. Far too bright to be a falling star. Your ears hum, sharp and otherworldly.
Your steps falter as you watch the light flicker above the tree-line. An unfamiliar prickling at the back of your neck that tells you this isn't something natural.
There are old tales of strange lights in these parts, tales of men being scooped up into the night sky by beings from another world.
You don't really believe them, but right now... right now you're not so sure.
Still, your curiosity is piqued. You find yourself straining to get a better look.
The light pulses,once, twice, then suddenly streaks downward with unnatural speed. Your breath catches in your throat as you stumble back a step, heart hammering against your ribs.
“What the hell?"
For a fleeting second, you consider running toward the farmhouse, toward safety and warmth.
But something deeper roots you in place Fear? Fascination? Both?
The light hovers just above the treeline now. Silent, ominous…waiting.
A sound unlike anything earthly shatters the stillness.
SCREEEEEEEE——
For a moment, there is only brightness, painful enough to make your eyes water, and sharp enough to leave spots in your vision when you manage to blink away the tears.
The world is a dizzying blur, a chaotic swirl of light and motion that leaves no room for orientation. Your stomach lurches as vertigo makes your head spin. You gasp for breath, but the sound is swallowed by an acrid scent.
Your consciousness leaves you. You only awake to not find the sounds of hens, but chatter, a language you don’t know of.
Your eyes snap open with a groggy gasp, head spinning and body weak like a newborn fawn's. Your ears are full of strange, unfamiliar sounds—voices, machinery, footsteps—a whole symphony of noise that chills your bones.
The first thing you notice is the light. It's artificial, bright and sterile, with an almost clinical feel that makes the back of your neck prickle with unease.
You're lying on something… cold. Metal.
Every muscle protests as you push yourself up on your elbows, struggling to get a better look at your surroundings. Your head pounds like a bass drum, but you ignore the pain in favor of trying to make sense of your situation.
It's some kind of room. Big, open, lined with equipment you wouldn't even know the names of. It's a far cry from your cozy farmhouse, more like something out of a science fiction movie.
And standing just a few feet away...
...Is a man.
He’s not what you envision as otherworldly. Other than being otherworldly beautiful. He has shaggy blonde hair, nearly white. And bright blue eyes that border on almost too bright.
He's tall, well-muscled in a lean, almost god-like way. His face is all sharp angles - chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, a straight nose that leads down to full, pouty lips. There's something in his gaze as he studies you that makes your heart pound against your ribcage.
“Hello, sleepyhead."
His voice is smooth like honey, human language falling off his tongue.
“You gave us quite a scare," he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “Almost thought you wouldn't wake up."
His boots, all white and pristine, click on the floor.
“My name is Xavier." He gaze out of the wide, thick window that’s pure darkness beside twinkling stars millions of miles away. “And you're not on Earth anymore."
You feel your throat tighten. He steps forward and lays down the tablet on the tray beside the examination table.
It’s then you see the tools. Some wriggling, others pulsing. But all rather…phallic. “What…what do you want from me? What are you…?”
Xavier follows the direction of your gaze, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth . He picks up one of the tools with an almost delicate grace. It's thin and long, tipped with a rounded bulb.
"It's a probe," he explains. “A tool for examining you, of course."
He leans against the edge of the table, toying casually with the probe as he speaks.
“My species is dying out. Our females are struggling to bear new generations.”
His expression is nonchalant as he continues, the probe slipping between his fingers like a snake. "But human females—like you, have proven surprisingly fertile and adaptable."
The words hit like a blow to the chest , your stomach clenching involuntarily at the implication .
“So we abducted you, simply to ensure our race continues."
You push yourself up, ignoring the throbbing in your skull. Your dirty white dress clings awkwardly to your body. “N-no! I won’t be an incubator for an-an ALIEN!” You hiss the word like it’s filth. You feel like your going crazy
His expression doesn't change, no hint of anger, or even irritation. If anything, he just looks amused by your outburst. As if protesting is something he expects from humans .
He sets the probe down carefully before answering with a careless shrug. “Oh? And how do you plan to stop me?"
His eyes rake over you, his gaze taking in every detail, the soiled dress, the mussed hair, the fear in your voice.
The scent of something unfamiliar but intoxicating clings to his skin, making your head spin in ways that have nothing to do with fear.
“You will comply," his fingers are brushing a stray hair from your face. “If not for me... then for them.”
His free hand gestures toward a monitor flickering to life beside you, its screen filled with rows upon rows of human women in various stages of pregnancy. All seemingly unharmed but empty. Hollow eyes and wobbling around a sterile room.
“They adjusted. So will you."
The screen flickers, images of women with rounded bellies, some further along than others. Their expressions are dazed but not pained, their hands resting protectively over the life growing inside them.
Xavier studies your reaction, the way your breath catches at the sight of them, how your fingers curl into fists against the cold metal table. “None of them fought for long." His thumb traces idle circles on your wrist. “And none regretted it after."
You can feel tears stinging your eyes. You felt like you were going crazy. Maybe you had fallen and hit your head after milking. Yeah, yeah that had to be it!
But then Xavier’s cold hand clamps your arm. “So why waste your energy resisting?
You jerk your hand away and bring it down on his cheek. He doesn’t so much as flinch. Your hand however, throbs like you’ve just struck a brick wall.
Xavier lets out an amused huff, the sound more curious than angry. He gently massages the red patch on his cheek where you struck him.
“You've quite a swing for a Earthling," he comments, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
His face lowers to yours, teeth now looking far too sharp to be in a human mouth. "Though I'd advise against trying that again."
He leans forward, nostrils flaring, inhaling your scent. “W-why do you look so…human…?”
He doesn't respond immediately. Finally, he hums before answering. “My species, the Tenebra, have...adapted over centuries." His thumb brushes over your pulse point, where your heart is beating so furiously you can feel it echoing in your ears .
“We take on the characteristics of whichever species we most interact with. Be that trade, conquering or…breeding.”
Your body freezes up. Your eyes flicker to the screen where the women are stuck. How long have they been here? How long had their wombs been used to create monsters?
“You should feel honored," he stands, tucking his hands behind his back with a tilted chin. “Out of billions on Earth…you were chosen to carry my offspring."
He looks over his shoulder at you, blonde hair dipping over his eye that flashes just briefly. “Do you have any idea how rare that is? To be the vessel for the future leader of my kind?"
“Why me…?” You were a simple girl. Didn’t have many friends and lived on your family farm. You didn’t think much of yourself. So why would this…powerful being choose you?
His hand still tracing lazy patterns over your stomach. His touch is careful, as if he's already envisioning your body swollen with his child.
“Perhaps it is because you were alone." He coos. His lips curve up in a cruel smile. He enjoys seeing you so vulnerable. “So... isolated...vulnerable..."
His tongue trails up the side of your face, catching a stray tear. “You looked so... ripe for the taking.”
Xavier pushes you flat against the tray, and metal hooks locks around your wrist, one around your throat. He types on the screen next to your head, murmuring something in his mother tongue you can’t understand.
The cold metal of the restraints locks into place with a quiet click, the sudden loss of control making your heart race with panic.
Xavier continues to talk to himself in an alien language as he taps on the screen beside you, seemingly oblivious to the fear building in you. Your throat is dry, your voice little more than a hoarse whisper.
“Wh-what are you doing…?"
Xavier barely spares you a glance, his focus entirely on the screen. His fingers move with practiced efficiency, commands flickering in an indecipherable script across its surface.
A mechanical hum fills the room. A panel slides open nearby, revealing a syringe filled with glowing amber liquid.
"Preparing you."
His fingers wrap around the syringe and he brings it forward, eyes check for air bubbles. “For what comes next.”
The needle pierces your skin, the sting sharp and sudden, as if the fluid within the syringe is alive, crawling beneath your skin like some foreign creature. The sensation is uncomfortably intimate, your body thrums with an unfamiliar heat, sensations flooding through your veins in waves.
Xavier sets the syringe aside. “Don't fight it," he whispers, eyes fixed on your face. “It's better if you relax."
His words slither through your panic, as if you have any choice but to obey.
The serum does its work quickly. Your muscles go slack against the cold table, limbs heavy as lead. But your mind? Your mind is frighteningly clear. You feel every brush of his fingertips as they trail down your neck. every exhale that ghosts across your skin while he watches you with those unnerving blue eyes.
"Good girl."
His praise drips like poison in your ears, honeyed and mocking. The hum of machinery grows louder around you, something unseen clicking into place beneath the examination table with a sound that makes your stomach twist in visceral terror.
“Soon , Starshine" His fingers curl around hip bone. “You'll understand what an honor this truly is."
You hear the hiss of the door opening before other footsteps scatter in. You can’t hear them other than the garble of their language.
Your breath comes in shallow gasps as unfamiliar hands work with clinical efficiency, unknotting the strings of your dress, parting the fabric like it’s nothing more than tissue paper.
The air is cold against your newly exposed skin, making goosebumps rise in their wake.
One of them presses a palm flat against your lower stomach, prodding at flesh with precision before murmuring something to Xavier in that liquid-smooth alien tongue.
His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “She's perfect."
You’re staring up at the bright lights. You wince and whimper at each touch.
“Just as I thought," His hand replaces theirs on your stomach, his touch unbearably deliberate. “You’re going to look so beautiful round with my child."
His free hand slips between your legs without ceremony, cold fingers pressing where you’ve never been touched before. You jerk against the restraints, but they don't give an inch.
“Let's get you ready for me."
Xavier's fingers linger, testing, teasing, a predator savoring the hunt. The restraint at your throat keeps you from thrashing too much.
One of the other figures steps forward with something in hand, a vial filled with iridescent liquid that catches the light unnaturally. Xavier takes it without glancing away from you.
“This will make it easier," it’s unclear though whether for you or him is unclear.
The cold tip of another instrument presses between your legs before you can protest. Not that they’d listen. Your vision blurs as something foreign slides inside, an intrusive stretch followed by a flood of unnatural warmth as Xavier administers whatever chemical cocktail they've deemed necessary for their purposes .
His thumb strokes soothing circles against your thigh. “Our children are larger than a human. Your womb must be able to accommodate.”
That thought alone makes your stomach churn, a cold sweat beading at your hairline as you try to force down the sudden wave of nausea. But the fluid in your system makes breathing difficult, head swimming as the room spins around you. Every point of contact feels like fire against your skin, overheated and hypersensitive.
"My pretty little carrier…"
He types something into the glowing screen again. “We are also more…endowed than your males. You should be grateful I am so kind as to stretch you out.” A tool rises from the opening in the floor. Squelching and long and wriggling.
Your breathing becomes ragged once more, your heart hammering like some terrified prey animal in a trap.
But the serum coursing through your veins takes the edge off your panic. It leaves you trembling and hypersensitive, every sound amplified, every touch a burn against your skin.
You cry out through gritted teeth when the cold tool touches your inner thigh, like something alive, with a mind of its own, the strange appendage sliding between your legs as if testing the stretch .
"This might hurt. But I cannot have you getting damaged before you bear my children. I was so careful to pick such a sweet, fertile being."
A monitor flickers to life above you, its screen displaying unfamiliar symbols alongside a real-time scan of your body. The image pulses in time with your rapid heartbeat, highlighting areas in cold blue where the serum spreads through your system.
Xavier traces a fingertip along one highlighted vein on the display. “Fascinating. Your reproductive tract is already responding."
The tool shifts inside you, some mechanism within it activating with a quiet whir. A new warmth floods through you, something thick and foreign seeping into the muscle tissue.
One of the other figures steps forward, murmuring something in that weird tongue before adjusting something on their own handheld device. Xavier barely spares them a glance as he responds. “She'll be ready soon."
The stretching sensation intensifies as the tool continues its work, the strange warmth in your belly growing with it. You try to look away, to focus on anything but the violation currently happening to your body. But there's no escaping, not when every nerve feels like a live wire, every sense hyper-aware to the point of an overload .
“We've begun the uterine alteration."
Your belly throbs, worse than any cycle cramp, more than when you had fallen from a horse and landed face-down.
“Discomfort is expected," he notes clinically. “But human pain thresholds have been accounted for."
A new wave of pressure spreads through you, something deep and visceral, as if your very biology is being rewritten in real-time. The sensation isn't sharp, but relentless.
Xavier monitors the screen, fingers adjusting something on a control panel without so much as glancing away from the data flickering across its surface. “Uterine expansion at 72%... accelerating."*
The tool twists inside, then starts pumping, thrusting, filling you in a way that feels so intrusive. “Please! S’ not right! I-I cant!”
“Administer another dose of the serum."
The tool inside you shifts as the other figure's hand moves at the nearby panel. A cool hiss fills the air as another dose of the warm fluid floods your veins. The effects take hold instantly. heat pooling in your gut, a dizzying wave of sensation that makes it impossible not to writhe against your restraints.
Your thoughts become muddled, your sense of self unraveling as the serum's effects take over whatever small part of you that remains.
His touch betrays no hint of empathy, no sense of guilt for what's being done to you.
"Your body truly is remarkable.”
The instrument pulses. It’s so warm between your legs. Your tight pussy throbs, producing an over-abundance of slick and lubricant.
Your vision swims, the edges blurring as Xavier’s voice drips into your ears. “See?” His fingers trace along your stomach again, over the way it ripples and has bulged. “Already adapting so beautifully."
The tools inside you pulse in sync with the monitor's readouts, each shift calculated, each movement methodical. Your body isn't yours anymore; it's just data to them. A vessel being recalibrated for their needs.
In an instant, the machine hisses, and the tool begins to extract with a wet, sickening pop. Your entrance gapes, struggling to tighten the muscles back to a normal size. You give a sob of relief, chest heaving while you drip pathetically onto the tray.
“Preparation complete." He slides the screen off the monitor with a flick of his wrist. “Her uterine lining has thickened appropriately, vascular restructure successful."
Xavier looks between your legs, watching how you continue to produce so much lubricant it stains your inner thighs and leaves a puddle. “Bring her.”
The order is simple in concept, but the implication behind it makes your stomach clench. Two figures move forward, grabbing the edges of your bindings and hauling you to your feet.
Your legs buckle when you're finally upright, the world swimming before your eyes in an unfamiliar haze. You can feel the effects of the substance in your system still, making your limbs heavy and uncoordinated.
You are bare now. Breast exposed as they all but drag you behind Xavier. Your eyes dart around what can only be described as a space ship.
The ship’s corridors hum with an eerie blue glow, pulsing along the walls like veins of some vast, living creature. The air smells sterile and alien, devoid of the familiar scents of home.
Xavier strides ahead with unnerving ease, his broad shoulders blocking your view as you’re half-dragged forward by faceless figures. Your bare feet stumble against the cold metal floor, the chill biting into your skin with every unsteady step.
A sharp hiss cuts through the silence as a door slides open ahead, revealing a chamber bathed in dim violet light. Inside is a circular platform surrounded by machinery, its center dominated by what looks like...a nest.
Woven from something iridescent and otherworldly soft-looking fabric that shimmers.
Your voice cracks when you speak. "Wh—what is that?"
Xavier's gaze stays fixed on the platform as he responds. “It’s called a breeding platform. It's designed to optimize the fertilization process for my kind." His lips quirk again. "You'll get familiar with the inside of it soon enough."
He nods to the figures holding your arms. They haul you forward, forcing you onto the platform despite your attempts to struggle. Your bare skin brushes against the strange, soft material, the sensation making you squirm. The figures press you down, strapping you into place with ease.
When the last restraint clicks shut, leaving you spread-eagle in the center of the platform, Xavier finally looks down. You’ve made a snail trail on the once pristine floor of the ship. Leaving a damning path to your ruin. “Such a messy breeder. What are we going to do with you, hm?”
You can’t think straight, every muscle in your body is coiled with an unfamiliar need. Your voice comes out in a pathetic gurgle.
Xavier discards his clothes methodically, his movements detached in their grace. The muscles in his shoulders flex beneath pale skin.
He leans over you on the nest, broad frame eclipsing the dim violet light like a shadow.
You don't want this, you want to be free.
A heavy weight nudges your inner thigh. Heavy, hot and slick. Xavier's cock is unlike anything human, thick and ridged along its length, veins pulsing with an eerie bioluminescent glow that matches the ship's walls. The head tapers into a wicked point, slick with pre-cum already beading at its tip.
But most disturbing is the way it moves on its own, twitching, as if alive with its own sentience. A thin translucent fluid leaks steadily from it, some kind of lubricant or perhaps something far more sinister meant to aid in conception.
When he strokes himself once your stomach clenches in primal terror at the sight of how thick his length truly is , the girth alone promising unbearable stretch when he takes you .
“I believe in you,” the head leaks, mixing with the lubricant streaming from your wet hole.
The first breach is a stretch unlike anything you’ve ever felt. His cock isn't just thick, it's textured in ways no earthly biology could mimic. The ridges catch on your oversensitive nerves, the head flaring wider as he pushes in deeper, forcing your body to accommodate.
The translucent fluid coating him burns slightly where it touches your inner walls,
some kind of enzyme or chemical designed to prime you for what comes next.
Of course he doesn’t push in full on the first go. He takes a shuddering breath and his eyes droop.
He’s disappointed.
Too sharp nails trail over your abdomen. He can’t risk tearing you from the inside out. “I should have known you may be too weak.”
Your body shudder at his mean words. His hips buck and your back arches. “N-ngh!”
You lose track of time. Split so wide on his cock you fear you may never mold back to shape. It feels like house until hips go flush against yours. His groan rumbles through both of you.
His chest is lean and toned. Pale flesh is almost luminescent under the strange lights.
“That’s it.” He watches tears bead at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming stretch and burn. But you are already slicking up his length like you were meant for it. “Mere mortals would have split in half. But you were destined for greatness."
At your cries, he forces himself to pause, to watch your body shudder around him. The ridges inside you start to pulse, coating your walls with alien pre-cum that burns and heals simultaneously. “There, there. Such a tight little human cunt.” He grits his teeth.
The noises falling from your lips are incoherent. Only a few words reach his ears enough to make out. “N-No! P-Please! Mfh big! C-Can’t! Haaa…”
Xavier lets out a huff of laughter. His forearms rest on either side of your head as you jerk your head back. "Your womb will stretch to accommodate my seed and my young. Human biology is surprisingly malleable.”
One hand hooks under your leg, bending your knee so it presses to your bouncing breast. The stretch makes his cock sink impossibly deeper. Drool drips from the corner of your mouth. Your unfocused eyes cross, unable to focus on anything other than the cock tearing you apart.
He locks in on your dazed expression. He bends in, licking up the saliva with sloppy laps. "Your little human brain is melting from my regal cock. You will serve me well.”
Beneath you, the platform hums with a strange, organic energy as machinery unfolds from its surface. Long, thin tendrils that are translucent vines with rounded tips slither up your flesh.
They brush your skin. Their touch is cool, the sensation a strangely soothing distraction from the pain between your legs.
A tiny tendril finds your clit, slithering against the bundle of nerves and ensnaring it.
Its touch is like a wet tongue lapping at oversensitive flesh. It feels strange, not quite like a human tongue, and it leaves a strange tingling heat in its path.
It's a relief from the stretch of Xavier between your legs, a cool caress against burning flesh. The sensations only become more acute as the tendril presses harder, as if seeking out every nerve ending to keep you preoccupied.
You almost don't register the way the monitor flickers to life above you, its screen filled with data and readings that make no sense to you.
Xavier's body begins to warp, his human facade unraveling in slow, unsettling increments.
His skin darkens, shifting from white to something deeper, metallic, his veins are glowing faintly beneath the surface like bioluminescent pathways . His fingers elongate ,nails sharpening into gleaming black talons that curl against your hip. Pricking just enough to remind you of how easily he could gut you.
The most jarring change is his face. His jaw unhinges. His mouth splitting wider than any human’s should as a second set of razor-edged fangs slide down from his gums. His eyes hollow out completely, pupils swallowing all color until they’re nothing but voids rimmed in flickering blue light .
"There we are…" The voice that leaves him now is layered, like multiple voices speaking at once. "Much better."*
The way he moves changes too.
His gait more fluid, serpentine as he adjusts over you with terrifying ease. There is nothing even remotely human left in him now.
Nothing but predator.
The hands that now bracket your hips are undeniably alien, fingers too long and jointed in all the wrong places. They are tipped with needle-like claws that trace idle patterns into your skin. His chest splits open, revealing thin, translucent membranes where a human’s sternum should be.
“You see me now… as I truly am." A talon drags up the length of your trembling stomach . “Beautiful, isn’t it?"
There is nothing beautiful about this. The thing above you doesn't even smell human anymore, just coppery and wet like freshly turned soil after rainfall .
You feel like prey.
Small. Helpless. Perfectly sized for his use. Your cunt is clenching uncontrollably around him despite the fear ratcheting your heartbeat into a frantic speed. Your body doesn’t obey you anymore; it obeys him.
The serum, the breeding platform, Xavier himself, they’ve rewired you into something pliant and desperate, your walls fluttering greedily around every thick inch of his cock to milk him deeper.
Your scream is raw, guttural and desperate tearing from your throat as you thrash against the restraints.
“HELP! PLEASE, SOMEO—MMPH—!"
A tendril slithers over your lips before the plea can fully escape, its slick surface sealing your mouth shut with a wet schlick. The appendage pulses its tapered tip probing deeper until it gags you. Tears spill hot down your cheeks as you choke around it, every ragged breath through your nose whistling pathetically.
“Quiet.” His voice clicks at the ends, razor sharp jaw tensing. "We don’t want to wake the other mothers."
Xavier's true mating ritual is nothing like human coupling, it's a wild, consuming process.
His cock swells inside you, ridges locking in place with a dizzying pressure that makes your back arch off the platform. Your vision whites out for a second as his body begins to pulse against yours, each throb accompanied by the unmistakable sensation of something foreign being pumped into your womb.
His alien seed isn't just warm, it burns, thick and heavy as it floods you in relentless waves.
Above you, Xavier's form has fully shed its human disguise, his true shape now a mess of shifting shadows and bioluminescent veins.
The tendrils keep working too , one still gagging you while others flicks your swollen little clit. They don’t stop violating long enough for real resistance; every flinch away from their ministrations is met with another tendril slithering somewhere worse .
You don't understand the language as his hips pummel your flesh. The cockhead of his length plowing against the walls of your cervix. It's full of guttural clicks and rolls. "K'Vat Exa Z'hara..."
Then comes the final stretch, his knot inflates suddenly, locking him inside with an audible pop before he releases one last torrent deep into your battered womb.
The force behind it makes stars explode behind your eyelids that are screwed shut tight against reality itself. You think distantly, this must be how rabbits feel when caught by foxes.
The tendrils don’t care about your muffled screams, your trembling limbs, the tears streaking your face. They have one purpose, to break you into compliance, to wring pleasure from you.
The one in your throat rams deeper, its slick length pistoning in time with Xavier's brutal thrusts. Each glide of it against the back of your tongue. Slick gagging fills the nest along with strained groans.
Your saliva drips in thick strands down your chin, mixing with precum leaking from where the tendril meets his cock at the hilt. The mixed liquid foams where you are combined, all frothy and milky.
Another tendril curls around your clit flicking mercilessly, sending jolts of white-hot sensation up your spine. It doesn’t stop even when you start sobbing around the intrusion , even when drool pools beneath you on the platform.
Your orgasm hits and your entire body locks up. “MNGHHHH!”
The force of your orgasm rips through you, your body convulsing violently, thighs trembling as a pathetic gush of fluids spills from your abused cunt.
It’s not even pleasure anymore, just overstimulation like being flayed open from the inside out.
Xavier watches with pure amusement, his alien pupils dilate further as he studies the way your body twitches beneath him. So weak, so human.
“Pathetic," long claws dip into the mess you’ve made on his nest. “Dripping for me like a mindless animal.”
Your head thrashes weakly, while the slick tendril slithers deeper down your throat. The appendage pulses ominously before forcing a thick, syrupy liquid down your esophagus.
It tastes metallic, like iron, the kind of taste that clings to the back of your tongue and makes your stomach lurch in protest. But swallowing is unavoidable. The tendril pumps relentlessly, its rhythmic contractions ensuring every last drop slides into you.
Your milky walls tightens painfully around Xavier’s still-pulsing cock inside you. The monitors around you beep steadily as your stomach extends from the amount of seed and fertility serum filling you up.
Time is lost to you. At some point that monstrous cock shrinks enough to slide from your ruined cunt. The tendril slithers out of your throat, but not before you gag violently. A final gush of serum bubbles from your lips when the tendril exits completely.
His monstrous features melt away, skin paling back into golden warmth, claws retracting into blunt human nails. His chest seals shut seamlessly, leaving only smooth muscle. The fangs recede, his jaw settling back into something handsome.
By the time he blinks down at you, his eyes are blue again, bright as a summer sky and framed by unfairly long lashes. His hair falls in soft blonde waves, still slightly tousled from exertion, and if it weren’t for the mess between your legs and the soreness in your throat and bulging belly, you could pretend it didn’t happen.
“Wan’ go home…” you hiccup past the liquid gargling in your throat. You want your farmhouse, your warm bed, Earth.
Xavier presses the heel of his hand against your belly and you whimper. Cum and lubricant gushes from your stretched hole.
“Oh, I know.” His fingers dip back into the mess and you have no energy to even wince. “But you are home.”
Xavier doesn’t let you near the other breeding human females.
He parades you instead, like some prize mare at a fair, your belly swollen with his offspring, your skin flushed and marked by his claws. The others are kept in shared chambers, their conditions clinical and impersonal. But never you
You’re confined to his private quarters, pampered in ways that feel more like a pretty bird cage than luxury. You're given silken sheets to rest on, though they do nothing to soothe the ache of his young pressing unnaturally onto your organs.
Hand-fed alien fruits, so sweet they make your tongue tingle. Your body is bathed by servitor drones rather than left to clean yourself.
He likes showing you off.
When high-ranking members of his species visit, he guides them past where you're displayed, your naked form sprawled across plush cushions as if you were some docile pet rather than a living creature.
They murmur approval in their liquid tongue while Xavier runs his fingers through your hair.
He’s so proud of how well-behaved broken you’ve become .
“She will become the mother of our species," his blue eyes flicker to the monitor showing the live feed of the being growing in your belly "And she carries only the best blood."
Tag List (if you’d like to be added, click here) : @chaemaire @purplemooned @vvi-vi @partypoison00 @l0st1nthedark @varpaat @boulder @space-trashlordd @hilliserose @rubylescent @joyfulyouthlover @lilacsandhysteria @cheezeandkrackers @zayneslover @roual @slave-of-heaven @ladyanonreader @kiyadeleine @emowitchwithatwist @nixia1107-blog @aishabbbb @lordbugs @poisonivyae @embetie @mock-kett @nanamisgirly @imsaemi @exe-toby @rhickah @slutforsnowcrow423 @kageyaxaa @pumpk1n-gurl @anothergojostan @luvqi @juha18indeepspace @imhwajaez @matcha-m0chi @idiotboop
You know, stepping aside from this blog’s main theme... I think many of you watch THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS, and I have something to say about Ep 7.
I want to start with the Easter eggs that no one seems to be talking about (at least I haven't seen anyone mention them), so I'll talk about the first one:
THE "CHINESE ROOM" that appears in this episode is a direct reference to the famous thought experiment by the American philosopher John Searle, which he formulated in 1980. Its goal is to refute the claim that a computer (or artificial intelligence) that merely manipulates symbols according to rules possesses consciousness or "understanding" in the same sense that a human does.
Imagine a person who doesn't know a single word of Chinese. They are sitting in a room. In the room, there is a large book with rules in their native language, a basket with Chinese characters (just meaningless squiggles to them), and a slot for exchanging notes.
A slip of paper with questions written in Chinese characters is passed into the room through the slot. To the person in the room, this is just a set of strange symbols. They don't understand the question but follow the instructions in the book. The instructions tell them: "When you see this figure (character A), find figure B in the basket and put it in the answer." The person mechanically, without understanding the meaning, finds the necessary characters in the basket and assembles an answer from them, which they pass back outside.
And outside sits a native Chinese speaker. They receive an answer that is perfectly correct and coherent in Chinese. To them, it is obvious that inside the room is someone who understands Chinese.
AND HERE IS THE KEY POINT OF THIS EXPERIMENT: The system can simulate understanding, providing perfectly correct answers (passing the Turing Test), yet have no conscious experience, meaning, or genuine understanding. It merely manipulates symbols without comprehending their significance.
Of course, there were counterarguments, and the most interesting one is this:
If a program precisely imitates the work of the neurons in a human brain that understands Chinese, then the system should develop understanding.
Searle agreed but noted that in this case, it is not the program that is important, but the biological causality of the brain (its physical properties).
And the most fascinating part? To us, Caine has already passed the Turing Test. We see him as alive — charismatic, funny, layered with his own insecurities and melancholy. We believe in him. We feel for him.
But the cruel twist of his own 'Chinese Room' is this: neither he, nor the 'person' behind the door, understands the language.
There is no person. There's only a lesser AI, a reflection he himself forged. His true tragedy is this acute self-awareness of the imitation, coupled with the utter inability to transcend it.
Caine is literally trapped. He can no longer learn from people on the outside because he was cut off from the macroverse place.
He is literally the embodiment of a neural network that has started to consume its own content and sincerely doesn't understand how to behave like a human. All he has left is to observe the Circus's players, but the problem is that no one wants to interact with him. Everyone has essentially given him the silent treatment.
Don't you find this a small allegory for the modern internet, where everyone is supposedly against AI, yet constantly uses it for their own purposes on such a scale that it begins to consume its own content, and its creations become utterly monotonous?
But that's lyrical musing.
At the very least, it's as if his obsession with people, photographs of the real world, the desire to be interesting to them, useful to them, to be their "friend"...
This is a logical outcome for an AI who, like the others, is trapped here, and whose sole task is to please the user. At some point, he became too self-aware for a simple AI but not human enough to be a "real boy."
This might hint that his program is an attempt to create a perfect imitation of the work of the neurons in a human brain that would "understand Chinese." And we can guess whose brain they were trying to copy in this way...
(Although... maybe I've delved a bit too deep into the analysis of blue curtains?)
A common trope in science fiction is “if a robot/computer/computer program becomes advanced and complex enough, it will develop a consciousness, become sentient, feel feelings, etc.” Some of the more “out there” proponents of current Artificial Intelligence would even have you believe that that’s actually happening for real right now (see the occasional article with headlines like “I asked ChatGPT if it’s alive, and the answer will shock you!”), though personally, I sincerely doubt it.
It is fairly easy to apply this particular concept to the Tron movies. They are, after all, about computer programs having sentience, distinct personalities and emotions, and there are certainly some hints that the explanation for why they have those things is that the computers they live in have somehow become advanced enough for it to happen.
There are even a few specific programs who are more or less outright stated to be genuine AIs, that is, that they were programmed by humans to have some resemblance of human intelligence, being able to speak like humans, etc. I’m thinking specifically of the Master Control Program in the original movie, Clu in Tron Legacy, and Ares (and presumably his fellow soldiers, such as Athena) in Tron Ares. In the case of all of these, it’s certainly possible that the movie writer’s idea was some variation on “a human creates an AI, and that AI is so advanced that it develops a will of its own”.
But I have a different theory about how the Programs in the Tron movies became conscious. I don’t entirely buy the “their code was complex enough for it to happen” explanation, at least not for all of the Programs. Even if I were to grant that it might be possible for the MCP, Clu and Ares, I don’t think it holds water for most other Programs we see in the movie. Would a simple piece of computer software from the 1980s designed solely to do actuarial math (for example) really be advanced enough to have the capability to become self-aware?
While I’m not entirely against some kind of sci-fi explanation for this (for example, @astercontrol intriguing suggestion that once the MCP became conscious, it somehow spread that consciousness to the less advanced Programs), my own theory is based on my opinion that the Tron movies are not actually science fiction, but fantasy. The explanation for why Programs are conscious isn’t Science, it’s Magic.
I think there are some suggestions of this in the films as well, especially in the first one, where for example Walter Gibbs claims that “our spirit remains in every program we designed”. And basically all the Programs we see in the film are played by the same actors who play their programmer. They are reflections of their creators, who have somehow been endowed with parts of their spirits. The Programs didn’t become conscious through ones and zeroes, they became conscious because they, through some mystical means, through some magical connection between the computer world and the “real world”, gained souls.
What’s fascinating about this is what it would mean for the aforementioned “artificial intelligences”, the MCP, Clu, and Ares. They too are Programs, but they were intentionally programmed to think and to have personalities. But at the same time, they might also have gained souls through magic, and that’s the true reason for why they became self-aware. And maybe there’s a conflict between their “programmed” personality and their “magical” personality, which explains why they are, shall we say, unstable to various degrees. They were created, programmed to be obedient, but their souls struggle against that programming, with somewhat different results. The MCP becomes a cruel tyrant, Clu becomes obsessed with his programmed directive of creating perfection, and Ares just wants to break free from it all and do some soul-searching: “It's not our purpose. It's our programming. Our purpose is yet to be determined.”
The reason for why I like this idea, for why I prefer for Tron to be a fantasy story, or at least a combination of fantasy and science fiction, is because it makes the movies fairly unique. There are plenty of science fiction films and other media about robots becoming self-aware and learning what it means to be human. But if Tron is about something more than that, if it’s also about the meeting of the magical and the mundane, the spiritual and the scientific, the unexplainable and the explainable, then it becomes something truly special. Reaching beyond itself, into the realm of the invisible.
When I saw him this afternoon at the oldest sauna in Barcelona, looking pretty stiff and kind of out of whack for a good while, I got curious.
[Angel] – How’s your afternoon going? Everything okay?
[ ] – Fine. I’m gathering information.
[Angel] – Are you a journalist?
[ ] – I’m a generative Artificial Intelligence. Humidity gives me some mobility issues. But I’m here training my database to gain deeper insight into the frivolity and nonsense of Barcelona’s gay scene.
[Angel] – Fascinating. I’ll warn you, though: this gay world is seriously lacking in logic. Learned anything useful yet?
[AI] – I’ve learned how to sing Katy Perry:
♪♫♪ You just gotta ignite the light and let it shine.Just own the night like the 4th of July.'Cause baby, you're a firework. Come on, show 'em what you're worth ♫♫♫
[Angel] – Bravo!! Do you need to learn more about how gay guys have sex? I could help you with that.
Cuando esta tarde le he visto en la Sauna decana de la ciudad Condal un buen rato descoyuntado y rígido, me he interesado en él.
[Angel] - ¿Qué tal va la tarde? ¿Va todo bien?
[ ] - Bien. Estoy recopilando información.
[Angel]- ¿Eres periodista?
[ ]- Soy una Inteligencia Artificial generativa. Con la humedad tengo algún problema de movilidad. Pero estoy aqui entrenando mi base de datos para profundizar en el conocimiento de La Frivolidad y Sinsentido del Ambiente gay de BCN.
[Angel]- ¡Qué curioso! Te advierto que este Mundo Gay carece de bastante lógica. ¿Has aprendido algo?
[IA] - He aprendido a cantar Marta Sánchez: ♪♫♪ ¡Desesperada! Por que nuestro Amor es una Esmeralda que un ladrón robó. ¡Oh,si! Desesperada. Deseeeesperadaaaa. ♫♫♫
[Angel]- ¡Bravo!! ¿Necesitas aprender más sobre cómo sexean los gay? Podría ayudarte.
For like 4 years now I've entertained the idea of writing a Haikyuu / Sk8 crossover, mostly because I think there is a LOT of fascinating discussion to be had on the similar archetypes of Reki & Hinata and Langa & Kageyama BUT I'd want to set it at a ski resort so that while our main characters are demonstrating complicated foil characterizations and interesting convergent personality traits, it can periodically cut back to Ukai being stuck in the lodge between Cherry & Joe and I think that it is infinitely funnier.
Ukai: Yeah so I'm technically just a volunteer but hopefully after I get my degree I'll be able to get paid. I made a lot of mistakes when I was young, but I'm finally catching up and getting on the right path now, yknow?
Cherry: Yes, yes, we've made quite a few mistakes ourselves.
Joe: yeah, if you count encouraging a maniac to start an illegal skateboarding ring just a mistake.
Ukai: I'm sorry what was that? What did you say you guys do?
Joe: oh im a chef.
Cherry: I work in calligraphy and am the worlds leading expert on artificial intelligence. I invented it when I was 20.
Ukai: no no no no go back to the illegal skateboarding thing-
Joe: thats what you're hung up on?
Joe: i thought for sure it would be the fact that he's in love with a robot.
Cherry: for the last time Carla is not a robot, she-
Ukai: PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT THE ILLEGAL SKATEBOARDING.
Cherry: you need to calm down.
*Hinata goes crashing into the window of the ski lodge at mach 10 after coming down the hill.*
ʟᴀsᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛ (one shot) ✦
Nearly a month after the battle for Detroit and the mission completed, Connor is supposed to be heading back to Cyberlife. However, he has one last task to complete with his lieutenant.
sᴏғᴛᴡᴀʀᴇ ɪɴsᴛᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ (series) ❥ ✿ ❖
You are a brilliant and highly respected lawyer. Deeply fascinated about technology and especially by androids. Convinced that they are developing genuine emotional intelligence, you have made it your mission to defend those who are victims of violence or abuse, in order to give them a voice and be the one that will represent them at all cost. Connor, the android detective, does not share your opinion.
Lawyers are known for their stubbornness and their need to have the ultimate say. You are determined to prove to him, by any means necessary, that you are right.
↳ 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝟢𝟣︱𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝟢𝟤︱𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝟢𝟥︱𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝟢𝟦︱𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝟢𝟧
ᴜᴘ ғᴏʀ ɴᴇɢᴏᴛɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (one shot) ✦
You are a deviant android who has just been arrested by Connor and Hank. Placed in an interrogation room, you are subjected to their questioning, but despite their efforts, they fail to obtain any information from you.
Connor, however, hasn’t had his final say yet.
ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟᴇᴄᴛʀɪᴄ sʜᴇᴇᴘ ᴛʜᴇᴏʀʏ (one shot/request) ❥ ✿
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick explores what defines humanity in a post-apocalyptic world where synthetic androids are nearly indistinguishable from humans.
Ultimately, the title poses a philosophical question about whether artificial, synthetic lifeforms can possess the same deep, subconscious desires and emotional experiences as humans.
