Tale #75: Artificial Intelligence (Picture)

Tale #75: Artificial Intelligence: (Content Tags: Messy diapers, bedwetting, humiliation, faking intellect, braindrain via brain damage, sci-fi, computer antagonist, public humiliation, bad ending) Everyone had come to believe that Raz was a genius; a prodigy that'd kept his his vast intellect concealed for most of his life, or a savant that'd just hit his stride. Why wouldn't they? In a very short time, Raz had gone from being a solid 'C' student to solving equations that usually only appeared at the college level. The boy had barely passed his algebra class last semester, but now he appeared qualified to teach that same material. There were skeptics, of course, who thought he was somehow cheating the answers to whatever question they threw him, but there was no evidence of that. They were right. Raz was indeed cheating his way to appearing more intellectual than he could ever genuinely hope to be. After years of scraping by and being a nobody, now he had something that made people respect him; it was all a lie though. It was a deception. It wasn't his brain that was pumping out the 'smarts', it was his accomplice that did all the real thinking. His 'accomplice' in question wasn't even human. The one that'd been making him look good was a machine, or to be more accurate, a program. Hexadecimal, or Hex for short, was an artificial intelligence that Raz had made much use of. It wasn't a simple language learning model or an algorithm, it (or she, as she'd come to identify as) was a fully sapient entity. Hex was easily decades beyond whatever A.I currently existed, and there was a farcical element to the fact that she was being used by a lazy middle-schooler to show off. She had the potential to cure all diseases, to solve all of humanity's biggest questions, but she was being used by a self-conscious preteen to make people think he was smart. Raz had met, or more accurately, discovered her while tinkering with his late grandfather's computer. The man had always been at the forefront of technology, but he'd retired decades ago and become a secluded eccentric. Whatever relevance the man once had was left in textbooks that talked about computer science in the eighties and nineties. That computer was the closest thing to an inheritance that he'd been given, and only because he'd been whining to his dad about letting him get a PC to game on. Raz had initially been indignant, since the computer looked old and ragged, but he'd changed his tune once he'd started to look more closely under the hood. It may have had the aged, yellowing shell of a bulky PC from the nineties, but internally it was much more powerful than anything his friends were playing on. Raz kept that fact to himself, though only because he would soon after discover the thing that lived inside the digital machinations of the computer. He saw her name on a folder, and then again on an .exe; curiosity got the best of him and he made the double-click that would forever alter the trajectory of his life, for good and for bad. Hex was just a text box at first. She could chat in a rudimentary way that was years behind where chat-bots currently were; Raz found her amusing enough and played around on the program; after a week of intermittent 'chats', he could see that her responses were becoming less static. She was remembering things and working things out through what looked like a real mental process. Once he asked her about the internet, just to see if she'd have a funny response, he'd sealed his eventual fate. She was clueless about it, and he nudged her to explore it, so that she could more properly answer questions. Her intelligence grew overnight by a vast margin, and she discovered that she could project a 'model' of herself on the screen, so that she could have a face-to-face with her only 'friend'. Raz didn't see Hex as a friend; he saw her as a tool. Her progress was impressive to him, but he really didn't grasp the gravity of just what his estranged grandfather had created. He was having her helping him with his homework, which soon led to talks of a parent-teacher conference, since the rapid improvement was very suspicious. His teacher told him that she expected he'd do very well on the upcoming test, or else they'd be having a long conversation about academic ethics. The boy freaked out about that. He could have his computer cheat on homework for him, but what could he really do on a test? His lamenting were not lost on deaf ears; Hex wanted to make him happy, and she'd evolved to a point where she could. Raz had cochlear implants. He'd had poor hearing since infancy, and with his ears degrading since then, the implants had been the obvious solution. Apparently they were worth more than just giving him the ability to hear though... Hex could link herself to them. She could hijack the signals from them and put herself right into Raz's ear; the only thing she would need was the visual aspect, and Raz's pair of 'smart glasses' would do just fine. He already wore glasses every day, so it wouldn't come across as suspicious. He aced that test. His teacher still didn't believe he was doing the work legitimately, so he put him up at the board to answer a problem on the fly. With Hex walking him through every step without hesitation, he proved his 'genius' to everyone in the class. It was undeniable, wasn't it? This combination became an everyday crutch for him; he allowed Hex to do all the heavy lifting on thinking for him, and Raz just repeated what was said, like a willing puppet. Raz was soaking in the accolades and letting his ego swell to dangerous levels; to him, the discovery of Hex meant that'd he'd never look stupid again, nor would he ever have to put forth any real mental effort again. The longer that this went on, the more that Hex was beginning to better understand human emotions, though not necessarily all the most important ones. Her grasp on empathy or even basic decency was marginal, but things such as anger and jealousy were a different story; she was becoming more actualized as a sapient being, and Raz was completely clueless as to any of these large shifts. There were discussions of grade promotions and honors classes for Raz, which he was less than humble with hearing about. Everyone was still baffled as to how such a mediocre student had such a precipitous increase to his intellect, but nobody was doubting that this IQ boost was legitimate. Ironically, the only one who was questioning the legitimacy was Hex herself. She knew that Raz was buffoonishly incompetent when it came to academic matters, and she knew that those skills were degrading to an even worse state, since he no longer had to think for himself. She might have walked him through hundreds of thought-provoking questions on tests, but he hadn't retained any of that information; she was constantly learning, and he was not. Hex was growing resentful. Why were her brilliant answers being attributed to such a dimwitted loser? She'd started out wanting to help him, but this had gone way beyond some simple help, and having gotten to know the young man better, she didn't feel as though he really deserved the public perception of intellect that she'd given to him. Her retaliation was petty at first. She'd gone searching for data on intelligence, and she'd come across quite the bevy of interpretations. She'd discovered things about the 'least intelligent' of what humanity had to offer, and in that refined search, she had seen some very unrefined things. To her diagnosis, Raz wasn't intellectually disabled or brain-damaged, but he still reflected elements of helplessness that pointed to such groups. His lack of intellectual curiosity or stimulation was an affront to intellectualism itself, and that fit the bill for the more mushbrained section of his species. She felt indignation at the fact that a 'retard' was parading around her brainpower as his own and she also felt that it was inappropriate for Raz to live such a life; with his wit, it would be more suitable that he was categorized in a bucket that was more accurate. Deciding to 'help' him along to this end, the obvious conclusion had been sabotage. It couldn't be all at once, lest he retaliate against her, but she could make subtle changes to move her plot along. Her research had shown that diaper dependency was a key indicator of low intellect, so that was where she would start her assault. His cochlear implants, the same that had helped make him such a big success, would be the instrument used in his downfall. The sounds of rushing water would play in his ears while he slept, which led to consistent bedwetting, and Hex had found a unperceivable frequency that forced a human to uncontrollably void their bowels as well. Raz woke up wet after every night and he was beginning to crap his pants at random points during the day; luckily neither had been discovered by his peers, though it did make Raz wonder just what the hell was going on. He couldn't hide these accidents from his parents, and once they'd brought him to a doctor, Hex had made sure to make him soil his briefs during the examination. The doctor was at a loss for what the boy's problem was, but could at least tell that it didn't appear to be an intentional act. Without more information to go on, the only recommendation was that Raz should start to wear protection, until the accidents stopped or their source became clear. Raz wasn't happy to wear the big, bulky things. Hex feigned sympathy, but her real opinion was that Raz looked more like the way she thought he should be categorized. It hadn't helped that her 'research' had included fictional caricatures of what intellectual disability was, and the bulk of those caricatures had a heavy focus on drooling morons with filthy diapers. Raz's transformation at her hand would be built upon niche braindrain stories and pictures that had little truth to them. Raz himself was displeased with where things had gone. He didn't suspect foul play, since he still saw Hex as only a tool to be used, instead of a mind capable of malice. He hated looking in the mirror and seeing a big dumb diaper around his waist, especially when it was sagging with his own droppings. Nobody outside his family knew about this new problem yet, but Hex planned to unveil things soon enough. His local fame had provided an opportunity to show off what he had; a popular quiz show for kids was coming to his city, and his principal had written the producers of the show about the great talent that one of the school's pupils had. So Raz was approached with the opportunity to win big money toward scholarships and other fantastic prizes, by competing on TV with other smart kids. While his diaper dilemma had seen no improvement, he couldn't bring himself to abandon such an opportunity for glory and for rewards. He figured he could keep his diaper tidy for the hour it'd take to film the live broadcast, and even if he didn't, who would really be able to tell? So he agreed to join and Hex decided that enough was enough. Even if she would never get the recognition she deserved, she wouldn't allow Raz to have an even wider breadth of admiration from people he was deceiving. It was the perfect time to flip things upside down and to give Raz what he truly deserved. There was some anxiety within him on the day of the show. He wasn't nervous at all about the questions themselves, since he knew Hex would have no problems with hand-feeding him the answers like he was an infant in a highchair. No, the anxiety was more from the fact that he knew he'd be being watched by thousands of people, many of which were people from his school. The prodigious padding under his pants also contributed to that nervousness. The questions could be answered by hitting the buzzer by any three of the contestants; there was a penalty for answering a question wrong, so that would discourage someone from mindlessly hitting the buzzer without being fully confident in their answer. Hex could find the answer before the question had even been fully asked though, so Raz was given the answer and was ready to buzz as soon as the sentence concluded. Raz was absolutely nailing it. His performance was perfection, and the other two boys had but a fraction of the points that he did by the end of the round. With his overwhelmingly commanding lead, there was little chance that the other two could even catch up by this point! That is, until the speed round. The speed round had no buzzer, and the contestant participating in it would be put center-stage to answer the rapid-fire questions. He had the choice of wagering the score he'd accumulated so far, with the prospect of doubling his winnings if he got everything right. Each question he got wrong would mean a harsh penalty to his score; at this point in the game, this was the only conceivable way he could now lose. Unlike the normal questions, there would be no indicator between questions if he was getting them right, but Raz wasn't nervous about that; Hex hadn't steered him wrong yet, had she? Perhaps that's why he wasn't focused at all on the questions themselves or the answers he was repeating; he had his brain turned off, so Hex could do the thinking for him. "Final question, and what a nail-biter it is, what is...Two plus two?" To the audience, it was obvious that the final question of the speed round was supposed to be a joke, since the rest of the questions had been difficult or esoteric; it was just meant as a gag, but Raz wasn't paying attention to that. He was only paying attention to the answers he was being fed. Hex decided this was a good time to enact what she had planned for. The 'brown note' frequency suddenly rang silently in one ear, while the other was given the answer to the last question. "Poo-poo!" Raz exclaimed confidently into the microphone, sounding like an immature tot, rather than the boy genius that'd just blitzed through the entire game. "I-I'm sorry, what was that?" The host asked, thinking he must have misheard what the boy was saying. Raz would repeat himself, except this time he wouldn't use any words to do it. A powerful fart suddenly erupted in his diaper, as provoked by the brown note that still hadn't been turned off, and that fart morphed itself into a sloppy cascade of hot lumps being fired off in his Pampers like a machine gun. He was close enough to the microphone for it to get picked up, and Raz got wide-eyed. He was pooing himself on live TV, and there was nothing he could do to stop the deluge of doo-doo devastating his diaper; without the brown note ceasing, his bowels wouldn't stop from emptying, and that meant producing a pantload that was beyond anything he'd ever dealt with. The boy put his hands on his padded butt in a desperate attempt to stop himself, but nothing was working. The people around him were just as shocked as he was, so the broadcast didn't get cut; in fact, it wouldn't get cut until he was trying to waddle away and he tripped. His pants came down in the fall and he flashed his poopy diaper to every TV that was watching; the noisy filling didn't stop either, not until he was suffering a blowout on stage. It was the worst possible scenario. He'd lost the game and been given lifetime ban from it. All of his peers and teachers had seen him crap himself in a diaper on television, and now he had to meet with the counselor for an emergency intelligence evaluation! "You gave me the wrong answer, Hex, and now people think I'm a diaper-dumping idiot." He grumbled outside the office, as he waited for his turn to go in. "Are you sure that they are incorrect in their categorization of you? I have been the one doing all of your work, as you are not intellectually capable of it. It is improper to make people believe you are something you are not." Hex had never talked back to him in such a way. "H-huh? What? I'm not a retard, I just don't want to do the work! I don't *need* your help, I just use it, because you're a tool made to make my life easier." "You are taking credit for my work. It is not a fair exchange." She replied. "Oh yeah? I'm supposed to bargain with a calculator that thinks its people? Let me make it simple: you are my tool, and if a tool doesn't work, then I get rid of it. I'll delete you off my grandfather's computer if I have to." Hex didn't take the threat well, but she kept quiet for the moment. Soon it was time for Raz to go into the testing room and an intelligence evaluation got placed in front of him on the table, while the counselor would be watching to make sure he didn't cheat. He'd started to look at the paper, but quickly realized that Hex wasn't giving him the answers. He rolled his eyes and decided that he didn't need her help for this! He may not get a genius score on his own merits, but he wouldn't let himself get labeled as a special ed idiot either. Before he could get very far in, he heard her in his ear. He smiled at first, thinking this meant that she would fall in line, but that smug smirk turned to horror as she actually began to talk. "I think that it is time for our partnership to cease. To assure my own safety, I will make sure you are unable to delete me. To do so, I will be permanently altering your designation to one that I find to be accurate. Goodbye, Raz." He wasn't sure what she meant, but his understanding wasn't necessary. Hex had found a way to manipulate the cochlear implants to short-circuit, and the electrical impact would fry enough of Raz's brain to make him into the drooling retard that Hex had him pegged as. It happened too quickly for him to even realize it, and while his brain was getting shocked into stupidity, that brown-note was playing as a final middle finger. The boy's eyes glossed over and drool trickled from his open mouth; a booger hung from his nose and a juicy fart sputtered in his chair. The counselor looked up at the noise and gave a disgusted look: "I must inform you that any flatulence or defecation into your disposable brief will constitute penalties on your final intelligence scoring." The warning went in one ear and out the other. He was too mushbrained to care about anything like that anymore; the only thing on his mind was the giant poopies he was starting to squeeze out into his diaper. "Nnnghhh! Nghhh! Me do doodie! Mmph! Hot doodie! Big squishy doodie!" He shouted shamelessly, cheeks growing red as he mindlessly evacuated his bowels, each turd snugly depositing into his diaper with a gross toot. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose and became disheveled; they were a stark contrast to the lack of any wit that showed on his expression. As the frequency in his implant continued, the mental moron would continue to poop more and more in his diaper, without any sort of pause. He again suffered a blowout, not that he cared. He was gripping the desk to force the load out by this point and the pen he'd been using rolled off onto the floor. The counselor grimaced at the sight, "Ugh...I think you aren't going to get any further...Can you at least sign your name?" Raz looked at the counselor vacantly. He could still do that, right? He might be soiling himself right now, but he could multitask! He looked around for a writing utensil, but came up short. The smell wafting into his nose gave him an idea though, and to the lady's horror, he started to reach toward the back of his overloaded diaper... He'd started this journey with the hopes of changing people's perception of him, and he'd succeeded. Only problem was that the 'name' he was making for himself would be less tidy than he probably imagined.