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I know thoughts shaped like this are guaranteed to be wrong but sometimes I feel like I am completely alone in being normal about generative AI. No every piece of software does not need a chatbot. No every developer that adds AI features to their software is not automatically bad. No we shouldn't let companies vacuum up the creative output of the entire human race for profit. No we shouldn't apply the same framework of content ownership to a machine learning process that we do to actual 1:1 copying. No we shouldn't be using it as a replacement for friends or therapists. No it isn't literally driving people insane en masse. No we shouldn't be building thousands of new data centres for questionable benefit without considering the environmental cost. No they aren't going to make the difference between cooking the planet and not cooking the planet. No you shouldn't be getting AI to write your college papers for you. No it's not inherently evil to use it as a research tool. Everyone just calm the fuck down slightly
You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.
Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader
Part I
This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.
And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.
The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.
Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.
It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.
And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.
Which was so unfair.
Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.
And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.
A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.
God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?
Which is how you ended up here.
At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.
You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.
It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.
You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.
... And now you were sweating.
You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.
"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."
Just pilots.
Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.
And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.
This was going to be a disaster.
You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.
It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.
Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.
You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.
So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.
And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.
Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.
Silence.
Pure, excruciating silence.
You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.
Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.
He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"
Oh, great. His voice is hot too.
You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”
A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.
With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.
At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.
“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”
A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."
You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.
You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.
As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”
Solid. Real professional.
You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.
Nope. Not looking at him.
You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.
With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.
“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”
Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.
“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.
“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”
You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.
“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”
“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”
“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.
You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.
“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”
The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.
“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”
A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.
“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”
Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”
Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.
You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.
“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."
Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.
Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.
“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”
Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.
“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”
A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.
“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”
Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.
“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”
The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.
Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.
“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”
There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.
“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.
The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.
You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.
So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—
“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”
You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”
Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.
“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”
You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”
His stare didn’t waver.
“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”
You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”
“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”
Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”
Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”
You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.
Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”
Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”
“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”
You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.
Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”
You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”
Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”
You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?
Regarding the whole Expedition 33 and GenAI assets debacle, one thing troubles me: where does one draw the line on how AI is used while developing a game (or any software, for that matter)?
Okay, no generated "front-end" assets, like text, music, voice or art, but how much further do we go? Does LLM-generated code count as "developed with AI"? Is it any amount of code, even if only one line, or substantial parts of the final product? Does that apply to the supporting documentation as well? If we want to be very technical, even auto-complete, a function that IDEs* have had for more than a decade, is "generative AI"; same thing with comments generated automatically by the software (the old ones, which only listed the variables used in a function and their type, not the new comments that "interpret" what's actually happening in the code).
Does this sound like what-aboutism? Probably. All I'm trying to say is, if people are going to use a binary classification of AI/Not-AI, like Steam started doing, there needs to be a very, very clear definition of what AI is in this context.
* for any readers who don't know, IDE stands for Integrated Development Environment and is a specialized software that, at its most basic, allows the writing and running of code. Most modern IDEs have many extra functionalities, including auto-complete and -correct, integration with cloud, and the dreaded LLM GenAI.
It’s a good question, and one with quite a long answer and I’m on holiday so have all the time in the world. Apologies in advance but also ‘Look what you made me do’.
Edit after I wrote all this: I’ve tried to answer your question in the first few paragraphs but naturally I’ve went off on one. Hopefully it provides a bit of context if you fancy a longer read. It looks more at the different critiques of GenAI.
To start I want to say I do separate the likes of AI/ML for medical research and broader scientific endeavours from the likes of commercial products like Midjourney and Sora.
I also believe we should differentiate between Machine Learning and Generative AI. An IDE like Visual Studio using the knowledge built over decades of programming to auto-complete the structure of the code is different from asking the myriad of hacky ‘website builder’ GenAI tools to build you a site similar to Netflix.
A lot of those website builders generate initially visually pleasing front-ends and not much else.
From the computer scientist sitting next to me - “There’s only so many ways to write code, you need to work within the bounds of the language so when programming it’s much easier to have something like autocomplete. But even then if you’re writing an if statement and you hit TAB to autocomplete it won’t insert your variable - it’s just giving you the scaffolding to do what you need to do. I wouldn’t say that’s an artificial intelligence.”
I’m hard-pressed to define auto-complete in something like Visual Studio as GenAI.
Another thing worth flagging early is that it doesn’t help that, given the amount of investment these products, GenAI has become the buzzword of the day. It’s the next ‘cloud/big data’.
Older products and tools have found any excuse to either implement some sort of AI function, or brand themselves as an AI tool, to maintain relevance. One such thing is Text-to-Speech which, as far as I’m aware, in some instances use generative AI for more ‘natural’ speech (more on that in a bit) but in other instances don’t.
That all being said one example often thrown up as the best case use of AI is when researches used it to catch breast cancer something like 4 years before it developed.
Something I think we can all agree is an excellent use of AI.
However there’s considerable ethical, environmental and to be honest commercial/quality concerns when it comes to generative AI and I’ll try and delve into them now. These aren’t necessarily separate concerns as there’s crossover between each of them.
BUT BEFORE THAT - A LITTLE BIT ABOUT STEAM
Steam does not display the various check boxes on the store page, but on the Steamworks backend during the content survey it asks you a few questions. First it asks you to confirm whether or not generative AI is used at all whether that’s in the game itself, the store page, and in any Steam community assets or marketing materials.
Checking Yes to this opens up another section which asks you to state whether the GenAI is pre-rendered or whether it’s live-generated during gameplay. It also gives you the Generative AI disclaimer to fill in about your use of AI in the game. There’s no guidelines or prompts for what can be written in there so whether in-game is specifically referring to art assets, text or voices, or whether it includes the underlying code isn’t specified.
Some clarity from Steam on this would be helpful, but I imagine they’d then have to define what they mean. Being in the industry, I feel like the they’re more likely to define it as any sort of visual/audio assets as opposed to code.
I would argue if GenAI was used at any point in the development pipeline for assets then studios should be checking that Yes box and detailing out what that means.
And here’s what I think are the different prongs of the GenAI discussion.
I’ll start with commercial - Does Generative AI help produce a better quality product cheaper and faster?
I’m not convinced it does. GenAI frequently hallucinates information in the creation of documentation and visual assets.
In games, I find it pretty easy to tell when a game has used AI for art assets. Some demos we played during next fest hadn’t declared anything on their steam page but had posters/newspapers in-game with the classic mess of letters. There’s a certain ‘uncanny valley’ when seeing AI assets in a game, it looks and feels cheap in a way that doesn’t benefit consumers.
Even popular games like ARC Raiders which uses GenAI for its voiceovers and voice acting has players noting that the generated voices sound stunted.
The retort to that is that the developers, Embark, paid voice actors to come in and train their AI and they also apparently receive royalties, but it begs the question - Why not pay them for the actual voice lines, get better quality takes, and pay them royalties on top of that?
Outside the games industry, Deloitte have been caught using GenAI to produce reports for the Australian government that contained inaccurate information. The AI hallucinated the sources - citing academic papers that didn’t exist, and fabricating a quote from a federal judge.
Arguably that’s a pretty big scandal, that paper could be used to inform government policy on fabricated information. Deloitte were paid over $250,000 to produce the report, and it appears they took what was produced by GenAI as gospel and had no quality control.
When it comes to programming, there’s equal concerns about quality. I’m not a programmer but have discussed this at length with programming friends (and I know @tgraywrites as fought his own battles with it) what tends to be happening in organisations is that CEOs or senior management want to be seen as having implemented AI, so they buy seats for Microsoft’s Co-Pilot and then push ‘AI training’ to teams on how to use it.
From working in tech before joining games, I know that it’s a bit of a red flag if a programmer has simply battered out code all day. It’s a creative process, and a lot of programming (and creativity in general) is being comfortable sitting with a problem and working it out.
Programmers gain experience by investigating what has went wrong with their code, or by finding ways around the blockers they have. The issue with AI produced code is that it’s three-fold:
It often produces incorrect code which takes longer to correct
It robs programmers, particularly junior developers, of the experience of sitting and working through the issue
It allows senior management to replace staff in a way that claims efficiency (most likely financial) while actually spreading more work to a smaller team
Applied to any industry, that’s not great. For games, the past few years saw massive investment during the pandemic lockdowns, over expansion, and then a drop in investment leading to mass layoffs.
It’s quite common to see advocates of AI compare it to the steam engine or to computer-aided design (CAD) software which resulted in jobs being lost. But with that, there was also a massive increase in efficiency. Something that isn’t being delivered by Generative AI.
Looking at the original quote from the CEO of Larian, the tech itself hasn’t led to big gains in efficiency.
The world seems to be full of organisations that are trying to make GenAI work in the hope they’ll ’crack the code’ and have a massive advantage over their competitors. I am not yet convinced those efficiencies exist.
Typing this on my phone so please rest here for a second, weary traveller
Next up - Is Generative AI ethical?
No.
Next up - Is Generative AI good for the environment?
Also no.
Half-joking with the bluntness of both of those answers. It’s widely known that publicly commercial generative AI products have been trained by scraping the creative work of hundreds of thousands of artist and authors without consent or even credit.
For me, this is probably my biggest issue with games using it for visual assets. Taking this example from a non-GenAI scandal where Bungie stole work from an artist for their upcoming game, Marathon. Generative AI is that on steroids, with enough plausible deniability to say that no one specific artist made it - it’s just an amalgamation of stolen work.
This is where the problem with GenAI earlier in the development process comes up. If GenAI isn’t in the final product, but is being used to generate references for concept artists, that’s still using GenAI in your development.
And maybe it’s just me, but I really don’t think GenAI for concept art references is pushing any sort of big efficiency gains.
Like here’s a few references I took while on a walk for a game I want to make in the future. Even with limited photography skills, I’ve captured the bits I need to capture, and it’s real! (although Callendar Square is no longer real, good riddance to that horrible building)
Nice segue into the environmental impact of AI which I feel often gets compartmentalised into ‘the eco-warrior argument’ but absolutely can’t be viewed in isolation from the another issue - Is the infrastructure to support GenAI benefiting the wider population?
Data Centres are an ecological nightmare. Their electricity consumption is spiking prices for anyone living locally.
Data centres were billed as a boon to Virginia’s economy. Now, residents are concerned about their impact on real estate and electricity cos
The ‘jobs boom’ in the BBC article above is typical media both-sides-ing. is built around the construction of data centres, not the jobs when they are operational.
Now it is absolutely worth clarifying that data centres are not being built solely for Generative AI, that’s not how data centres work. But GenAI’s usage is increasing the demand for more data centres.
On top of the downsides for those living locally to data centres, the amount of water these buildings consume to stay cool is vast.
And despite water being one of our most valuable resources, it still feels like it’s being waved off as not a big issue. But when you put it in context of what is being achieved by mass consumption GenAI - there’s not any evidence of huge efficiencies being gained to deliver better quality and cheaper services for people.
If you got this far, thanks for reading to the end and hope I was able to answer the question.
okay let's break it down. i'm an engineer, so i'm going to come at you from a perspective that may be different than someone else's.
i don't hate ai in every aspect. in theory, there are a lot of instances where, in fact, ai can help us do things a lot better without. here's a few examples:
ai detecting cancer
ai sorting recycling
some practical housekeeping that gemini (google ai) can do
all of the above examples are ways in which ai works with humans to do things in parallel with us. it's not overstepping--it's sorting, using pixels at a micro-level to detect abnormalities that we as humans can not, fixing a list. these are all really small, helpful ways that ai can work with us.
everything else about ai works against us. in general, ai is a huge consumer of natural resources. every prompt that you put into character.ai, chatgpt? this wastes water + energy. it's not free. a machine somewhere in the world has to swallow your prompt, call on a model to feed data into it and process more data, and then has to generate an answer for you all in a relatively short amount of time.
that is crazy expensive. someone is paying for that, and if it isn't you with your own money, it's the strain on the power grid, the water that cools the computers, the A/C that cools the data centers. and you aren't the only person using ai. chatgpt alone gets millions of users every single day, with probably thousands of prompts per second, so multiply your personal consumption by millions, and you can start to see how the picture is becoming overwhelming.
that is energy consumption alone. we haven't even talked about how problematic ai is ethically. there is currently no regulation in the united states about how ai should be developed, deployed, or used.
what does this mean for you?
it means that anything you post online is subject to data mining by an ai model (because why would they need to ask if there's no laws to stop them? wtf does it matter what it means to you to some idiot software engineer in the back room of an office making 3x your salary?). oh, that little fic you posted to wattpad that got a lot of attention? well now it's being used to teach ai how to write. oh, that sketch you made using adobe that you want to sell? adobe didn't tell you that anything you save to the cloud is now subject to being used for their ai models, so now your art is being replicated to generate ai images in photoshop, without crediting you (they have since said they don't do this...but privacy policies were never made to be human-readable, and i can't imagine they are the only company to sneakily try this). oh, your apartment just installed a new system that will use facial recognition to let their residents inside? oh, they didn't train their model with anyone but white people, so now all the black people living in that apartment building can't get into their homes. oh, you want to apply for a new job? the ai model that scans resumes learned from historical data that more men work that role than women (so the model basically thinks men are better than women), so now your resume is getting thrown out because you're a woman.
ai learns from data. and data is flawed. data is human. and as humans, we are racist, homophobic, misogynistic, transphobic, divided. so the ai models we train will learn from this. ai learns from people's creative works--their personal and artistic property. and now it's scrambling them all up to spit out generated images and written works that no one would ever want to read (because it's no longer a labor of love), and they're using that to make money. they're profiting off of people, and there's no one to stop them. they're also using generated images as marketing tools, to trick idiots on facebook, to make it so hard to be media literate that we have to question every single thing we see because now we don't know what's real and what's not.
the problem with ai is that it's doing more harm than good. and we as a society aren't doing our due diligence to understand the unintended consequences of it all. we aren't angry enough. we're too scared of stifling innovation that we're letting it regulate itself (aka letting companies decide), which has never been a good idea. we see it do one cool thing, and somehow that makes up for all the rest of the bullshit?
the past few years, every software developer that has extensive experience, and knows what they're talking about, has had pretty much the same opinion on LLM code assistants: they're OK for some tasks but generally shit. Having something that automates code writing is not new. Codegen before AI were scripts that generated code that you have to write for a task, but is so repetitive it's a genuine time saver to have a script do it.
this is largely the best that LLMs can do with code, but they're still not as good as a simple script because of the inherently unreliable nature of LLMs being a big honkin statistical model and not a purpose-built machine.
none of the senior devs that say this are out there shouting on the rooftops that LLMs are evil and they're going to replace us. because we've been through this concept so many times over many years. Automation does not eliminate coding jobs, it saves time to focus on other work.
the one thing I wish senior devs would warn newbies is that you should not rely on LLMs for anything substantial. you should definitely not use it as a learning tool. it will hinder you in the long run because you don't practice the eternally useful skill of "reading things and experimenting until you figure it out". You will never stop reading things and experimenting until you figure it out. Senior devs may have more institutional knowledge and better instincts but they still encounter things that are new to them and they trip through it like a newbie would. this is called "practice" and you need it to learn things
There’s a certain kind of person who’s becoming extinct. You’ve probably met one. Maybe you are one. Someone who actually understood the tools they used. Someone who could sit down at an unfamiliar system, poke at it for twenty minutes, and have a working mental model of what it was doing and why. Someone who read error messages instead of dismissing them. Someone who, when something broke, treated it as a puzzle rather than a betrayal.
That person is dying off. And nobody in the industry seems to care. In fact, most of them are actively celebrating the funeral while billing it as progress.
This isn’t an accident. This is the result of two decades of deliberate, calculated effort by the largest technology companies on earth to turn users into consumers, instruments into appliances, and technical literacy into a niche hobby for weirdos. They succeeded beyond their wildest expectations. Congratulations to everyone involved. You’ve built a generation that can’t extract a zip file without a dedicated app and calls it innovation.
The average person who grew up with smartphones has a fundamentally broken mental model of computing. Not broken in the sense that they can’t operate their devices — they can, with terrifying efficiency. Broken in the sense that their understanding stops at the glass. They know how to use apps. They do not know what apps are. They know files exist somewhere, in the cloud maybe, or possibly inside the app itself — the distinction isn’t clear to them and they’ve never needed it to be.
The concept of a filesystem — of hierarchical storage that you own, that lives on hardware you control, that persists independently of any company’s servers — is genuinely alien to them. Not because it’s complicated. A child can understand that files live in folders. But they’ve never had to understand it because the platforms they grew up on hid it from them. iOS shipped without a user-accessible filesystem for over a decade. Google Drive abstracts away the folder metaphor entirely if you let it. iCloud will “optimize” your local storage, which is a polite way of saying it will silently move your files to Apple’s servers and give you a ghost of them on your own machine, and most users have no idea this is happening or what it means.
Ask a twenty-two-year-old to connect to a remote server via SSH. Ask them to explain what DNS is at a conceptual level. Ask them to tell you the difference between their router’s public IP and the local IP of their laptop. Ask them to open a terminal and list the contents of a directory. These are not advanced topics. Twenty years ago these were things you learned in the first week of any serious engagement with computers. Today they’re exotic knowledge that even a lot of working software developers don’t have, because you can go a long way in modern development without ever leaving the managed abstractions your platform provides.
And that’s the real damage. It’s not just end users who don’t know this stuff. It’s developers. People who write software for a living who’ve never had to think about what happens between their API call and the response. Who’ve never had to debug something at the network layer. Who’ve never had to read a full stack trace and understand every frame of it. Because the frameworks handle all of that, and the frameworks are good enough, and figuring out how things actually work is optional.
i'm just gonna call it that we need to practice mindful tech usage and security and i don't mean screentime tracking apps and vpns or whatever i mean starting from early childhood and going into adult wellbeing culture to encourage tactile hobbies and long-form work and the understanding of online devices as commodifying the user with spyware
i'm talking throwback word processors with the same ergonomics as regular smart devices for general educational work and dedicated subjects for working with digital technologies so you have theory in practice and then applying that theory in a contemporary work context. that's where you learn applications, digital safety, and how to implement the generative tools. separately. once you've already developed the critical analysis and expressive skills first.
i have been basically addicted to the internet since i was 13, i've had ups and downs with it, but i've always had a little bit of over caution when it comes to information and identity online. i overshare what i chose to but i think the break down of privacy as a norm when it comes to personal data tracking is genuinely awful.
i like algorithms in some places but i do not think this super-customisation is worth this panopticon of tech.
have you heard about how phone locations can still be triangulated when the phone is off? this is incidentally why if you are gong to protests and you think you are in danger it might be best to leave it at home. but generally if you want to avoid audio and video being used to build a marketing profile you can just switch it off and pop it in a bag or the next room. but with fb trying to make voice command smart glasses a thing (after snapchat and google both failed to sustain the same product) it bears caution that so called wearable tech such as glasses, pendants, watches, earbuds, ect.... even outside of smart cars there's the risk of passive listening for user marketing profiles. we already have location based advertising, ads that track your useage to predict your menstrual cycle or life events, public ads that react to nearby phones
i am going off on this tangent to say that i am not naïve to the fact that we already have to constantly dig into 'dark patterns' of settings to opt out of surveillance and commodification. i'm aware that the easiest path is to do nothing and use the shortcut machines even when they don't actually help or save much time or effort beyond selling you tools that already exist with a new price tag. i'm aware that the plagiarism software with no idea what it's talking about and runs on resource wasting pollution and underpaid remote human labour that also gets slapped in every function role despite basically being fancy autofil and pixel pulp not only has all of those issues but the lay person is either unaware or does not care and companies only care that it is a new way to pretend they're innovating. i know all this just like i know that mass automation is just exploitation unless it is balanced with social structures for all that mean emancipation from the need for labour.
but while i think all tech can be used for good, facilitating human connection across physical distance, carefully trained data analysis on a rapid large scale, removing the tedium of technical drudgery where needed, just providing light entertainment. but we have gotta be better about legislating, moderating, and use culture.
use culture goes hand in hand with convenience. it's why vinyl records are still trendy, not only are they good at what they do, but there is enough cool factor that the inconvenience becomes a feature. CDs are also convenient still! but CDs do not have the cool factor so they get wiped out by the convenience of streaming. playlists in streaming have a cool factor that radio does not despite radio still being convenient. and remember no matter how much streaming claims you can pay to opt out of ads that's usually something that you get payment tiered out of eventually so the convenience facilitated by accessibility is debatable the longer time passes.
looping back to my original point, if we can encourage an understanding of digital privacy as something you shouldn't be complacent about, that you shouldn't have to pay for tools to get out of the spotlight, that it is immensely embarrassing to be too into exploitation by tech companies and make that the problem of everyone around you. user control should be synonymous with convenience. customisability/personalisation through individual control rather than passive scraping. you can still commodify decorative tech.
we gotta make slop and babying algorithm brained tech usage cringe. people don't care to hear that it's immoral so just make them feel uncool at this point. because it is embarrassing that you have the universe of resources at your fingertips and you're too scared to do anything with it other than beg it to put words in your mouth. who cares if you're chronically online or too busy irl to learn a new skill. you are like a little bird pecking at it's own reflection, that's sad. try saying something mediocre and honest. we gotta stop tap dancing into technofeudalism just because we're too complacent to actually talk to each-other.