Seanbaby
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Every scientist dreams of a world without ethics. Whenever a scientist sees a set of twins, he or she secretly wonders what would happen if you surgically swapped their faces. They already have a chamber set up to harness the power of their screams as they gradually realize what has happened. Every day, ethics barely prevent experiments like this from being carried out.
But what if we didn't have these ethics? When Nazi doctors were let loose during WWII, the incredible rate of their discoveries were matched only by the inadequacy of words to atone for them. They might have been monsters, but without them, we never would have discovered the yield elasticity of the elderly, or learned what part of a prisoner's tongue detects the taste of angel meat.
The main focus of my experiment is a man known as Subject Beef. An artificial intelligence created for the purpose of playing video games, he'll find out that he's also a cog in the unfeeling machine of psychiatric progress. Some people might get squeamish at the idea of torturing an AI just to write down what happens, but look at it this way: Any day now Japan is going to fuck up and finally build the robot that can make decisions and run on blood. As it starts tearing into my human people, the least I can do is make that an act of vengeance. Without me and this experiment, all that robot murder is going to just be
No doctor in the world would look at Subject Beef and say, "Sure, go ahead and stand near that." Unfortunately, his psych profile got mixed up with NBC's fall comedy lineup, and his landlord signed a--record scratch--
1. Crappy Fence - Surrounding the compound is a non-electrified three-foot metal fence. This is more than enough to keep anything in the game from getting in or out; robots can't climb. And if I'm wrong, I plan on repeating these as my last words while I hug my own legs at the top of a building being climbed by robots.
I moved my subject and his young companion into the compound. Left to his own devices, the inmate went straight for the food but couldn't gather the courage to swim across the pool to the refrigerator. Trying to look like he intended to do it all along, he picked up one of the sentry bears. I tried to make him eat it, since it's what a coward deserves, but the only option was renaming it. Very well. Dark Lord the teddy bear, meet Subject Beef, the pussy.
I soon learned there was a flaw in my design schematic. The wall of propane barbecues wasn't baby proof, and Turbo Sexaphonic squeezed right through them. Subject Beef stood over the toddler and, to its delight, chose to speak to him through the Dark Lord. He did this for 14 hours without interruption. Then he put the doll down and walked directly through a barbecue for no other reason than to show me he could. The sun was setting on day one, and the three of them already seemed to be making progress on an escape plan.
How far would you go to survive? Subject Beef had to make a choice--cross his deadliest enemy, a pool, for food, or let his metabolism eat his body down to a recognizable shape and slow death. He was content with option B, so I clicked the wall of gas stoves that recently replaced the very pregnable barbecues and told him to make food for himself and the baby.
He ignored this command, so I ordered him to Talk to Self, hoping he'd be more convincing.
He had a violent conversation with no one, changed into hot pants, and jumped in the pool. While shouting the international symbol for "I am drowning," he swam across for macaroni and cheese. This experiment showed us two things: 1) survival instincts are more powerful than phobias; and 2) diapers are not to be used with macaroni and cheese. I'd like to see you try to prove either of those with ethics.
Observation: Subject Beef eats all his meals on the toilet, his body acting like a steady pipeline of disaster. If I didn't know better, I'd say it's almost like he's trying to get back at water.
Experiment Four: Memory Test
While the test subject had dinner boiling on the stove, I interrupted to issue an order for him to go kick over a gnome. It was a test to see if his absurd surroundings were having any effect on his short-term memory. They were. With the adrenaline rush of the fresh gnome kill, he forgot all about his dinner, now a roaring wall of flame. His artificial behavior circuits analyzed the situation and selected "panic."
The baby was trapped safely away from his aimless panic inside the burning ring of ovens. Also, trapped safely away from the fire was the local fire department, whose robot brains could only watch the facility burn from the other side of the tiny but robotically unbreachable fence. How did they get there so quickly? Well apparently there's a malfunction with my compound's toilet alarm that causes it to go off during fires. I may have to reread the directions on some of this equipment.
Pinned to one spot, she refused to interact with Beef or me, almost as if the game forgot she was there. But Beef still knew. He refused to use the bathroom from the moment she arrived. He howled a picture of a toilet at her over and over, and she responded by staring through him until his bladder detonated where he stood.
Just to fuck with us, she showed she could move the whole time, and turned her back to give Beef privacy while he mopped up his shame. I'll have to watch out for this woman... she's pushing his fragile mind in directions I don't have protocols for. Speaking of, since the government took the child away, I began removing toys from the home while Beef sleeps. I want him to think that maybe the kid was never there to begin with, which seems like an inadequate mind game now that ghosts are forcing him to pee on himself.
Our anomaly Linda glitched more or less peacefully through the compound for a day and, despite her only partial existence, she could still smell Subject Beef, and pantomimed disgust whenever he passed near her. Fear of water and a thin layer of smoldering urine are a bad combination of traits to have near a bitch ghost.
Remember, I programmed Beef to be a genius and a computer whiz, so he figured out a way to get rid of her when I couldn't: deliberately starting a house fire. Linda and nearly everything in the facility was destroyed by flame, except for the immaculate toy oven in the kitchen. It's so not an oven that it couldn't even start a fire while an inferno crawled over it. It's so not an oven that its momma has to brown toast with a paint roller! It's so not an oven that it thinks a pilot light lets you read while you fly the plane!
I might have overestimated my ability to control this world. The gateless fence continues to wreck havoc on the lives and intentions of the other artificial intelligences in the game. The neighborhood paper girl appeared by the toilet for only a moment to howl from between worlds and vanish.
Experiment Eight: Isolation
If I was a scientist in the real world, I wouldn't be allowed to keep filling endangered species with different smokeless propellants until I found the one that ignites from inside a panda. But in the Sims 3, if I want to test a floor sealant, there's no regulation against forcing a fat clown into a mirrored booth where he watches himself wet his pants to death.
I found that there is also no regulation on the human spirit, even a video game simulation of it. Day after day went by, and Subject Beef stood in that booth and refused to die. He babbled at the mirrors, glared at a bunny painting when I told him to, and every two minutes he would try to perform an activity described as "Contemplate Surroundings." I had my finger on the trigger to click that away as quickly as possible. If he figures a way out of this, I fully expect him to be standing behind me in my world. I designed the booth to be inescapable, but I don't trust that word anymore.
I noticed that four of the gnomes in charge of watching him on the toilet had left their post to surround his isolation booth. I don't remember doing this, b-but I must have, right?
The subject survived over six days, his time, inside the booth with no water, food or sleep. The strange thing is that at the moment of his death, he still had a full Fun Bar, which is technical jargon for a bar that computerized beings use to measure how much fun they're having. What did he enjoy about his slow starvation in a vertical coffin? I'll tell you one thing: If it's not the idea of killing me, then I'm a shitty scientist.
The Grim Reaper descended onto the corpse and made him into a ghost, which did wonders for the 380 pounds of baby fat he was still carrying. The slimmer, undeadier Subject Beef floated through the smoldering ruins of his former prison, and as I turned the game the fuck off, already shouting out the window for a priest to reconsecrate the pox placed upon my computer... I could have sworn for a moment that I saw Linda.
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