Crispy: The Modern Brometheus
It was a day like any other at Crispy’s repair shop, until she walked in.
Crispy had been dozing at his desk, and at first he thought he was still dreaming. A girl, in his shop? He’d never had a female customer…except SMA, whose prodigious member nearly touched the floor.
The new customer smiled. “Hi, my name is Violet Shadow.” She had an unusual appearance; monochromatic, with unnaturally high contrast, like a photograph hastily altered to hide blemishes.
It was all Crispy could do to stare, for a long awkward moment. Crispy knew that he had to say something, but what?
“Violet do you find me attractive?”
“Yes Crispy incredibly”, she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
The sarcasm was lost on Crispy. “Wanna go to a Renaissance with me for your first date, Violet? Fair, I mean.”
Violet was not amused. “No wonder there don't seem to be many other women around here.”
Crispy didn’t get the message. “I would wine you then dine you”, he said, suave as always. “Then I'd porcupine you.”
Crispy was on a roll, and he couldn’t stop now. The Holy Spirit had come over him. “What are your views on rape, Violet? Is there such thing as ‘tasteful rape’?”
Violet had had enough. “Baka!”, she cried, pulling the mace from her purse. This was a surprise to Crispy; how had she fit a medieval weapon in there?
The mace came crashing down, and everything went black.
When Crispy regained his cognizance, night had fallen. His head ached, but the pain in his heart was far worse.
He opened his desk drawer, and took out a picture of the one woman who could ever understand him, though they had never met.
“What have I become”, said Crispy softly, “my sweetest friend? Everyone I know…goes away…in the end…”
The tears came, then, colder than the fjords of Trollhättan.
Suddenly, Crispy was taken by a Strange Mood. He loosed a roaring laughter, fell and terrible, and began his Great Work.
Crispy gathered dozens of machines, searching for the perfect components. Strangely, some screamed and bled when he opened their cases. He neglected all other aspects of his life; his body became withered and emaciated, and his arms were always covered in blood...no! No, it was only coolant!
Finally, his magnum opus was complete. His hand on the switch, his moment of triumph was at hand! “Emma Botson, I give you life!” Dramatically he pulled the switch, but his creation did naught but utter a single word: “derp.”
The realization crushed Crispy. In his madness, he had neglected to give his creation a mind.
Crispy had come too far to give up now. Desperately, he reached out to every contact he had. He scoured the darkest corners of the internet. And he began to hear rumors.
Rumors of the greatest golemancer who ever lived…he had many names, but most often he was known only as Prosper. It was whispered that he had created the holy grail of technology: an artificial intelligence. And Crispy learned where he dwelt: deep below the earth, in a forgotten sewer from whence none had returned.
Crispy knew what he must do. He would steal the divine fire that would make his Work complete. He donned his ceremonial circuit board armor and his lucky fedora, and ventured into the Great Below.
With his trusty toner probe, Crispy traced Prosper’s signal into the labyrinthine depths. Finally, the tunnels opened into a cavernous den of iniquity. Crispy could only see a few feet ahead of him; carefully, he stepped around mouldering pizzas, feasted upon by tribes of bloated roaches.
Then Crispy sensed something larger moving before him. A thing of nightmares loped about in the darkness. A lumpy simulacrum, a mockery of the human form. Crispy became perfectly still, not even daring to breath. Soon, the thing turned and continued its patrol.
Swiftly but silently, Crispy moved further into the abyss. Soon, he found what he needed, a buzzing terminal with a USB port. He inserted his flash drive, and it automagically ran his program, designed to seek and steal the AI’s code.
The program ran to completion, but did not go unnoticed. Suddenly, a number of bare lightbulbs flickered to life, and Crispy knew that he was not alone. Prosper was all around him.
It was like nothing Man has seen before, a grotesque congeries of flesh and metal, suspended from the ceiling by wires and ropy tendrils of bloody meat. Mouths opened upon its organic portions, and the thing spoke in a hundred voices: “A gone dooken.”
Crispy took his flash drive and ran from the wretched creature. “A best hoo lander”, it bellowed. “An amazing goon plex.”
Madly he flew from that place, but eventually Crispy found his way to the surface. With trembling hands, he uploaded the mind into the body he had wrought. He gave his creation life once more, and found it to his liking.
And then, Crispy raped Prosper’s AI.
Crispy had been dozing at his desk, and at first he thought he was still dreaming. A girl, in his shop? He’d never had a female customer…except SMA, whose prodigious member nearly touched the floor.
The new customer smiled. “Hi, my name is Violet Shadow.” She had an unusual appearance; monochromatic, with unnaturally high contrast, like a photograph hastily altered to hide blemishes.
It was all Crispy could do to stare, for a long awkward moment. Crispy knew that he had to say something, but what?
“Violet do you find me attractive?”
“Yes Crispy incredibly”, she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
The sarcasm was lost on Crispy. “Wanna go to a Renaissance with me for your first date, Violet? Fair, I mean.”
Violet was not amused. “No wonder there don't seem to be many other women around here.”
Crispy didn’t get the message. “I would wine you then dine you”, he said, suave as always. “Then I'd porcupine you.”
Crispy was on a roll, and he couldn’t stop now. The Holy Spirit had come over him. “What are your views on rape, Violet? Is there such thing as ‘tasteful rape’?”
Violet had had enough. “Baka!”, she cried, pulling the mace from her purse. This was a surprise to Crispy; how had she fit a medieval weapon in there?
The mace came crashing down, and everything went black.
When Crispy regained his cognizance, night had fallen. His head ached, but the pain in his heart was far worse.
He opened his desk drawer, and took out a picture of the one woman who could ever understand him, though they had never met.
“What have I become”, said Crispy softly, “my sweetest friend? Everyone I know…goes away…in the end…”
The tears came, then, colder than the fjords of Trollhättan.
Suddenly, Crispy was taken by a Strange Mood. He loosed a roaring laughter, fell and terrible, and began his Great Work.
Crispy gathered dozens of machines, searching for the perfect components. Strangely, some screamed and bled when he opened their cases. He neglected all other aspects of his life; his body became withered and emaciated, and his arms were always covered in blood...no! No, it was only coolant!
Finally, his magnum opus was complete. His hand on the switch, his moment of triumph was at hand! “Emma Botson, I give you life!” Dramatically he pulled the switch, but his creation did naught but utter a single word: “derp.”
The realization crushed Crispy. In his madness, he had neglected to give his creation a mind.
Crispy had come too far to give up now. Desperately, he reached out to every contact he had. He scoured the darkest corners of the internet. And he began to hear rumors.
Rumors of the greatest golemancer who ever lived…he had many names, but most often he was known only as Prosper. It was whispered that he had created the holy grail of technology: an artificial intelligence. And Crispy learned where he dwelt: deep below the earth, in a forgotten sewer from whence none had returned.
Crispy knew what he must do. He would steal the divine fire that would make his Work complete. He donned his ceremonial circuit board armor and his lucky fedora, and ventured into the Great Below.
With his trusty toner probe, Crispy traced Prosper’s signal into the labyrinthine depths. Finally, the tunnels opened into a cavernous den of iniquity. Crispy could only see a few feet ahead of him; carefully, he stepped around mouldering pizzas, feasted upon by tribes of bloated roaches.
Then Crispy sensed something larger moving before him. A thing of nightmares loped about in the darkness. A lumpy simulacrum, a mockery of the human form. Crispy became perfectly still, not even daring to breath. Soon, the thing turned and continued its patrol.
Swiftly but silently, Crispy moved further into the abyss. Soon, he found what he needed, a buzzing terminal with a USB port. He inserted his flash drive, and it automagically ran his program, designed to seek and steal the AI’s code.
The program ran to completion, but did not go unnoticed. Suddenly, a number of bare lightbulbs flickered to life, and Crispy knew that he was not alone. Prosper was all around him.
It was like nothing Man has seen before, a grotesque congeries of flesh and metal, suspended from the ceiling by wires and ropy tendrils of bloody meat. Mouths opened upon its organic portions, and the thing spoke in a hundred voices: “A gone dooken.”
Crispy took his flash drive and ran from the wretched creature. “A best hoo lander”, it bellowed. “An amazing goon plex.”
Madly he flew from that place, but eventually Crispy found his way to the surface. With trembling hands, he uploaded the mind into the body he had wrought. He gave his creation life once more, and found it to his liking.
And then, Crispy raped Prosper’s AI.
