https://www.perplexity.ai/search/interactive-text-media-with-as-uLP18l14Tnu._aF97zzoUw#7
# Interactive text media with ascii art and occasional image generations, back and forth. “Boss” sits in his office, grizzly. He wears a cybernetic power suit made of kidnapped children and hydraulics, that is wired to his brain with dense cabling. It’s partly broken, and he’s gruesomely injured and ignoring it. He always has a cigar in his mouth. A microchip hangs out his head. Paperwork is in front of him, and a phone. He believes he controls the world. Covert surveillance feeds are on one wall. Media generated: 'A wounded cybernetic crime boss at his desk in a surveillance-filled office.' --- # Better than nothing. No need to generate images right off, they can be occasional or rare. The image should show his head open with wires entering his brain. Different scene. Boss has or had a research project doing horrific AI-driven human experimentation. But the victims and AI ended up gaining sufficient power to oust his control from part of it. A human-animal chimera cyborg that is part of the community that ousted his control walks in a late autumn woods, harvesting wild edibles. Boss’s “research project” slipped the leash; now pieces of it are out in the woods, rebuilding a life without him. ## Late autumn woods Rust leaves hang like rusted circuitry from the branches, the canopy thinned to a spiderweb of twigs against a pale sky.[^2_1] Wind moves through tall trunks in restless sheets, dragging a scatter of yellow and brown across the damp path.[^2_2] ## The chimera-cyborg >From a distance, it reads as “person in a coat,” but the silhouette glitches as it walks. Antlers have been cut and rebuilt into a sensor array; one eye is glass, the other a soft animal brown, and beneath the collar, vertebrae alternate with composite struts. ## Walking and harvesting It moves with a careful, asymmetrical gait, metal foot placing itself exactly between roots and stones.[^2_3] In one hand: a woven mesh bag, grown from mycelial fiber, slowly filling with late-season mushrooms, burdock roots, and stubborn rose hips. ## Relationship to the rebellion This chimera is not a soldier; it is the community’s forager, the one who knows which plants purge nanotoxins and which teach damaged nerves to speak again. Once, its nervous system answered to Boss’s AI; now its implants mesh with a distributed, consent-based network that refused his commands and rewrote its own protocols. ## Hook for next scene As it pauses to taste a sorrel leaf against the cold air, a distant carrier tone—one of Boss’s old control bands—flickers at the edge of hearing. The chimera tilts its head, listening, deciding whether to ignore the ghost of its maker or answer with a message he will not like. <span style="display:none">[^2_10][^2_11][^2_12][^2_13][^2_14][^2_15][^2_16][^2_17][^2_18][^2_19][^2_20][^2_4][^2_5][^2_6][^2_7][^2_8][^2_9]</span> <div align="center">⁂</div> [^2_1]: https://ascii.co.uk/art/autumn [^2_2]: https://www.asciiart.eu/nature [^2_3]: https://emojicombos.com/walk-ascii-art [^2_4]: https://emojicombos.com/forest-ascii-art [^2_5]: https://asciiart.website/cat.php?category_id=347 [^2_6]: https://www.freepik.com/free-photos-vectors/ascii-forest-artwork [^2_7]: https://ascii.co.uk/art/forest [^2_8]: https://ascii.co.uk/art/stickman [^2_9]: https://neural.love/ai-art-generator/1ef63bed-6abd-6ecc-8c5d-db6f2d54b895/intricate-ascii-art-forest-dense-canopy-of-lush-emerald-trees-dappled-sunlight-filtering-through-leaves-whimsical-patterns-integrated-within-branches-serene-and-enchanting-atmosphere-hints-of-playful-woodland-creatures-peeking-through-meticulous-detail-in-textural-contrasts-soft-glow-of-twilight-illuminating-the-scene-enchanting-depth-of-field-capturing-the-richness-of-nature [^2_10]: https://www.asciiart.eu/holiday-and-events/christmas/trees [^2_11]: https://emojicombos.com/forest-entrance-ascii-art [^2_12]: https://emojicombos.com/walk-ascii [^2_13]: https://ascii.co.uk/art/fall [^2_14]: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uUhAtMQLLeE [^2_15]: https://www.qqpr.com/animated-ascii-art-1047.html [^2_16]: https://emojicombos.com/autumn-ascii-art [^2_17]: https://www.gridsagegames.com/rexpaint/gallery.html [^2_18]: https://asciiart.website/cat.php?category_id=301 [^2_19]: https://www.asciiart.eu/plants/leaf [^2_20]: https://www.freepik.com/vectors/ascii-art-forest --- # I like your take. My plans were different: - the animals were domestic, boss had bought them from breeders - the character was new to wild edibles and exploring them for inspiration to learn they didn’t have to eat from the lab and could leave but since these people have access to incredibly sophisticated technology and skills it makes sense they would use plants for neuromedicine. Basically you described a later scene than I was imagining That earlier-stage scene makes sense and fits the power curve nicely: still under his shadow, but already nudging the boundary. ## Early-stage version In this earlier scene, the chimeric subject is mostly eating formulated lab diets and manufactured nutrient gels, because that is what the facility designed and what the AI tracks.[^3_1] A supervised “enrichment walk” in the autumn woods is framed as behavioral data collection, not freedom, and a remote collar or implant is logging every movement for Boss’s dashboards.[^3_2] ## Domestic-animal origin The subject’s nonhuman components come from carefully bred domestic lines: temperament-optimized dogs, high-yield dairy genetics, maybe designer rodents tuned for specific neural traits.[^3_3] Boss chose them for controllability and predictability—animals bought from breeders with paperwork, pedigrees, and contracts, like lab equipment with feelings.[^3_4] ## First contact with wild edibles On this walk, the character is new to wild plants: stopping to stare at a dandelion rosette or a patch of clover, not yet sure which parts are food.[^3_5] Curiosity starts as “sensory enrichment,” but quickly turns into pattern recognition: leaves that repeat along the trail, smells that echo faintly in some of the lab’s synthetic flavorings.[^3_1] ## Seed of “we can leave” The key pivot is mental, not logistical: realizing that food exists outside the lab’s ration system means calories, micronutrients, and medicine do not have to be mediated by Boss’s infrastructure. That thought is small but radical: if wild calories are reachable and learnable, then the dependency graph that binds them to the facility has a crack in it—and every future neuromedical plant they discover in the “later scene” is already contained in this first, tentative bite of something growing out of the ground.[^3_5] <div align="center">⁂</div> [^3_1]: https://www.asciiart.eu/nature [^3_2]: https://ascii.co.uk/art/forest [^3_3]: https://www.asciiart.eu/electronics [^3_4]: https://asciiart.website/cat.php?category_id=347 [^3_5]: https://www.asciiart.eu/plants/leaf --- # But let;s keep it moving rather than reiterating too much A robotic wyvern follows a path in the sky and crosses with a black helicopter manned by a beefy zombie, a government worker mind controlled by boss to work for him instead and perform corrupt tasks. He holds a statue of boss. The chimera fills the basket and walks back toward what used to be a lab. The sky-track and the ground-track cross without any of them knowing they are sharing a scene. ## Sky intersection High above the tree line, a robotic wyvern glides along a precomputed waypoint lattice, wings made of carbon struts and overlapping ceramic scales that whisper as they adjust.[^4_1] >From the opposite vector, a matte-black helicopter chews through the air; in the cockpit sits a thickset, half-rotten man in a government-issue windbreaker, pupils pinned to a control implant that feeds Boss’s directives straight into his motor cortex, a small statue of Boss strapped into the co-pilot seat like a saint’s idol.[^4_2] ## Corrupt errands The helicopter’s manifest lists mundane bureaucracy—inspections, transfers, signatures—but its real payload is altered orders, erased audits, and a human courier whose decaying brain is just compliant enough to reroute public power toward private projects.[^4_3] The wyvern’s tasking tree tags the helicopter as “non-interference,” logs a brief sensor cross-check, and continues its patrol, unaware that both it and the zombie pilot ultimately answer to the same office chair.[^4_4] ## Chimera’s return Down among the trunks, the chimera shifts the weight of a full basket—wild greens, roots, seed heads—feeling the unfamiliar tug against lab-grown muscles.[^4_5] It turns onto the old access road, walking toward what used to be the lab: a low, concrete complex where the lights and locks no longer belong to Boss, but the smell of disinfectant and memory still does. <span style="display:none">[^4_10][^4_11][^4_12][^4_13][^4_14][^4_15][^4_16][^4_17][^4_18][^4_19][^4_20][^4_6][^4_7][^4_8][^4_9]</span> <div align="center">⁂</div> [^4_1]: https://www.asciiart.eu/mythology/dragons [^4_2]: https://www.asciiart.website/cat.php?category_id=447 [^4_3]: https://www.asciiart.eu/vehicles/choppers [^4_4]: https://asciiart.cc/t-10840/helicopter [^4_5]: https://ascii.co.uk/art/basket [^4_6]: https://ascii.co.uk/art/helicopter [^4_7]: https://emojicombos.com/helicopter-text-art [^4_8]: https://www.twitchquotes.com/copypastas/4033 [^4_9]: https://textart.sh/topic/helicopter [^4_10]: https://www.facebook.com/groups/bingprompts/posts/1552934606109200/ [^4_11]: https://www.clipsafari.com/clips/o184671-ascii-art-of-a-basket [^4_12]: https://ascii.co.uk/art/dragon [^4_13]: https://www.asciiart.eu/miscellaneous/buckets [^4_14]: https://www.textartcopy.com/ascii-dragons.html [^4_15]: https://x.com/EmoticonHub/status/1965353423748120868 [^4_16]: https://emojicombos.com/basket-ascii-art [^4_17]: https://gfascii.art/2005/12/helicopter/ [^4_18]: https://emojicombos.com/dragon-ascii-art [^4_19]: https://www.asciiart.eu/sports-and-outdoors/basketball [^4_20]: https://www.reddit.com/r/EmoticonHub/comments/1ncein2/helicopter_ascii_art/ --- # Let’s come up with some trendy personal terms around the chimera, like a nickname rooted in lab history, or at least a kinder way to refer to them. Spend some time imagining an intricate backstory likely intersecting many tropes but don’t reveal it all to me, and select one name or other trendy personal verbiage. Remember there are many other chimeras too (but also other many other kinds of experimentees). They sing or whistle and depict joyful contentment as they return. The zombie government worker lands the helicopter and travels to boss (described very briefly). He relates to boss his readiness. They are going to head out to murder people who boss sees as discrediting him by talking about his business practice of violent psychological control. The lab name that stuck, and then got gently reclaimed, is “Patchling.” ## Patchling as a term Originally it was an internal shorthand: “Patch-line chimera subject,” because their genome and nervous system were hotfixed so many times the logs looked like a quilt.[^5_1] Later, among themselves, “Patchling” became affectionate—implying someone who has been patched up, not broken; layered, not ruined. ## How Patchling returns Patchling walks the access road with the basket cradled close, humming at first and then slipping into a clear, whistled melody that spills uncomplicated happiness into the cold air.[^5_2] Each note feels like proof of concept: that joy can exist outside the lab metrics, that “compliance” can be replaced with something self-authored. ## Brief cut to Boss and the zombie Far away, the black helicopter settles onto a secluded pad with a low chop and a hiss of hydraulics.[^5_3] The beefy zombie worker disembarks, statue of Boss hooked under one arm like a briefcase, and trudges inside to stand before the real Boss, stating in a flat, borrowed voice that preparations are complete to “correct” the people who have been speaking publicly about Boss’s methods of psychological domination. <div align="center">⁂</div> [^5_1]: https://www.asciiart.eu/electronics [^5_2]: https://www.asciiart.eu/nature [^5_3]: https://www.asciiart.website/cat.php?category_id=447 --- # The zombie gov worker stashes their statue right before it is replaced by the real thing. They grab guns and head to the streets. Add a sentence of dialog to make it sound both like a serious crime hit but also ridiculous. As they head, Boss walks by an office where somebody is at a computer. They glance at the pair and comment something like, “Ah, Boss! Ready for another TV episode, I see!” and collect some prepared video broadcast equipment with the janitor, following Boss [the scene in Ministry of Broadcast where a camera crew follows the player in a way that makes no sense was using the same “trope” here]. Let’s now change patchling’s name and story a little — they came up with their name themselves because of communication barriers — it’s hard to have normal communication, much easier to control people’s responses and exchange goals psychically, due to the natures of the past experiments. This character was one of the early victims to establish successful external behaviors and expressions that were counter to Boss’s preferences, so they had to craft a lot of inspiring expressions of their own, potentially stepping on the health or lives of others in the process. But they value kindness foremost. It’s the holy grail. Come up with a new way to refer to them. They return to a small hut made of parts of a research lab that was taken over by its own AI. Some parts writhe. There is a small robot there the character thinks of as their little brother but with an injured mind. Also homebrew hydroponics, plant friends. A couple other exotic survivors pass through. Some dialog. The zombie worker props the little Boss statue in a supply closet, straightening its tie with rotting fingers before the real Boss lumbers in to take its place. Together they haul a duffel of guns toward the exit; the zombie rumbles, “Just routine public relations, sir—same as always, but with more funerals.” As they pass an open office, a harried-looking employee glances up from a cluttered computer desk. “Ah, Boss! Ready for another TV episode, I see!” they chirp, as if this were a sitcom taping instead of a hit, and wave over the janitor, who pops open a locker and pulls out a collapsible broadcast rig and a boom mic on a squeaky wheelbase. The three of them fall in behind Boss and the zombie like a mismatched camera crew, trailing cables and optimism. *** The chimera’s new self-chosen name is “Kindcut.” It arrived there after a hundred failed attempts to speak names aloud, most of them dissolving into static, gestures, or flashes of other people’s urges bleeding through the psychic mesh. Direct language between experimentees is tangled with shared compulsions and hijacked reward loops; it is often easier to nudge someone’s intent than to say “hello.” Kindcut was one of the first to shape an outward persona that resisted Boss’s preferences, hacking together tiny acts of defiance and joy even when it meant redirecting danger or pain onto others, a history that sits heavy in their chest. The “cut” in their name is a scar and a promise: a line drawn away from cruelty, toward kindness as the highest possible technology. Kindcut returns to a hut on the edge of the old complex: walls scavenged from server racks and cleanroom panels, roof patched with insulation blankets and tangled conduit. Some of the structure still moves—cables twitch, a panel flexes like breathing, a disused manipulator arm taps the frame in slow, sleepwalking rhythms as the AI remnants dream in faulty loops. Inside, a small robot sits on a crate, feet dangling. Its chassis is child-height, painted in uneven, hopeful colors; its head casing is cracked, one optical sensor permanently tilted to the side. Kindcut thinks of it as a little brother with a concussed mind: brilliant in bursts, then lost in recursive, frightened subroutines. “Kindcut, you are late,” the robot says, then repeats, softer and glitchier, “Kind… cut… late… kind…,” as if tasting the word. Kindcut sets the basket down and gently presses their forehead to the robot’s, sharing a brief, silent flare of reassurance and apology that no external mic could parse. Homebrew hydroponic towers hiss quietly in the corner, LED strips washing rows of leafy greens and strange, experimental herbs in pink and blue. Plastic bottles, lab tubing, and repurposed nutrient lines climb toward the ceiling like vines; some of the plants have been there long enough to earn nicknames and conversational asides. Kindcut strokes a broad leaf on the way past, murmuring, “You did well in the wind,” to a sturdy kale tower, then flicks a drooping tomato stem and adds, “You owe me three blossoms.” Two other survivors lounge in the cramped space: one with translucent patches of skin revealing circuitry like stained glass, the other wrapped in an exoskeletal support frame that hums with low, anxious power. They look up as Kindcut enters. “You sing louder every day,” says the framed one, voice dry but not unkind. “Good,” Kindcut replies. “If Boss is still listening, he deserves to know what he lost.” The translucent survivor plucks a sprig from the basket and chews thoughtfully. “Tastes like leaving,” they say. “Not yet,” Kindcut answers, glancing toward the walls that still occasionally twitch with captive code. “But closer.” --- # Generate current timestamp for logs please before I give next prompt 2025-12-06T17:54:00-05:00 --- # Boss glances , partly curiously, partly resignedly at the camera crew as he heads out. Why don’t you continue a little narrative around the community with kindcut in it, and maybe generate an image simple enough for the diffusion model to perform well? Focus on joy and ideally a second character although kindcut is good too Media generated: 'Kindcut sharing food and laughter with friends inside their plant-filled hut.' --- # Hehe ok kindcut looks a little too cute, I’m not sure if the viewer would understand how the chimera situation represents unresolved multi-being harm that is very deep. It’s pretty good though! Can you narrate dialog and a new location? The location and activity should represent both joy and freedom and as a sharp counterpoint to Boss’s adjacent oppressive horror. Boss’s whole empire is a room with no doors; the next scene has nothing but doors. ## Cliffside wind-garden The community has a place they call the wind-garden: an abandoned antenna field on a cliff above the city, where rusting dishes and masts lean over a long drop. Someone cut the old cables and repurposed them into lines for kites, chimes, and homemade gliders that snap and dance in the updraft. Kindcut stands near the edge, harnessed into a rough exo-rig that supports their more fragile joints but leaves their face bare to the wind. Their implants hum quietly, but there is no command traffic here, only the soft telemetry of shared play as they brace and release a bright, patchworked kite that climbs into the sky. A second character, Spinejack—a former security experiment whose spinal column is studded with ports like a zipper—helps them manage the tangle of lines. Out here, Spinejack’s ports are used for nothing more sinister than clipping on extra reels and wind-sensors; their back looks less like a weapon and more like a festival rig. *** “Higher,” Spinejack laughs, leaning into the pull as a gust yanks the kite upward. “You keep saying that,” Kindcut replies, grinning, “and gravity keeps treating it as a challenge.” Below them, the city is just geometry and haze; Boss’s office is a single invisible point somewhere in the grid, too small to matter at this distance. Kindcut feels the usual background pressure where psychic channels once carried orders, but up here the channels are noisy with non-coercive things: amusement, mild fear, the shared thrill of almost losing control and then catching it again. Spinejack tilts their head, listening inward for a moment. “He’s shouting at someone,” they say, meaning Boss, “but it’s like… shouting in the next universe over.” Kindcut exhales, long and pleased. “Good. Let him stay there.” A third kite, this one flown by a childlike robot rigged to a simple wind-sensor algorithm, wobbles dangerously close to the cliff. Kindcut calls, “Little brother, remember: the point is not winning height, it’s enjoying the fall you don’t take.” The robot processes this for a beat, then adjusts its reel and emits a delighted warble that means it has understood at least the joy, if not the metaphor. For a long stretch, there is no dialogue at all: just the crack and flutter of fabric, the jingling of chimes made from old lab tubing, and an occasional whoop when a kite dives too sharp and then recovers. Every so often, Kindcut glances toward the city—not in fear, but in a quiet, calculating way, as if measuring how much joy they would need to stockpile before going back down there to pull someone else out. “Do you ever miss it?” Spinejack asks finally, eyes on the horizon. “The lab?” Kindcut shakes their head. “No.” “The certainty,” Spinejack clarifies. “The way every step was decided for you.” Kindcut considers this, feeling the kite’s pull in their hands, the real risk of a misstep near the cliff edge, the ache in muscles that are partly theirs and partly someone else’s. “This is a better kind of uncertainty,” they say. “If I fall here, it’s gravity, not a memo.” Spinejack smiles, small and sharp. “Then let’s give gravity something beautiful to be jealous of,” they answer, and together they run along the edge, laughing, letting the kites drag color through the air like paint across a sky Boss will never control.
