User f3b779af1005... - AI Fiction in the Wild

IP #136

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1 fiction conversations over 5 days (Sep 26, 2023 – Oct 2, 2023) 43% prompt uniqueness Moscow, Russia

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These IP addresses have similar average prompt embeddings (cosine similarity ≥ 0.85, same state). View as estimated user →

152370a3ffed... (255 conv., Moscow) 25b33c59d23e... (71 conv., Moscow) 2c0166f8daba... (343 conv., Moscow) 3186fcd1d6f7... (23 conv., Moscow) 41d90f3a9058... (6 conv., Moscow) 44580e65692b... (156 conv., Moscow) 4d2f2088e5a5... (53 conv., Moscow) 5c1d26e80570... (16 conv., Moscow) 68cd1231e329... (32 conv., Moscow) 7ffd82a431cb... (144 conv., Moscow) 80d33ea7c851... (5 conv., Moscow) 96d1c18c6bb8... (21 conv., Moscow) 9b7ebf049e11... (137 conv., Moscow) 9fb2aad693b3... (130 conv., Moscow) a2da078fff98... (28 conv., Moscow) b44db035ff1d... (192 conv., Moscow) b7ae3e566839... (26 conv., Moscow) c1f49ec710a9... (424 conv., Moscow) c65480c19768... (44 conv., Moscow) db3f4c72ca00... (31 conv., Moscow) f7aa19059ef5... (73 conv., Moscow) fbbe4466ea19... (24 conv., Moscow) fe5166559b27... (53 conv., Moscow)

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Sep 26, 2023

Oct 2, 2023

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Conversation Clusters (88)

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1 conversation in cluster Cluster 64× “I want you to act as a writer. This novel is thriller-myster...” over less than a minute (Sep 28, 2023 – Sep 28, 2023), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Sep 28, 2023 at 6:19 PM MSK — 1 turn Russia, Moscow fiction toxic View full conversation

USER: I want you to act as a writer. This novel is thriller-mystery in the giallo tradition, featuring beautiful, elegant, assertive and confident young woman Solange Ancel. Write a long, original, interesting, imaginative and unusual scene, narrated by Solange from the first person perspective, describing her thoughts and feelings in vivid and artistic detail. It features the following events. Solange is in hospital, having suffered multiple severe injuries, especially to her legs. The doctors notified her, somewhat nonchalantly, that both her legs will have to be amputated. Solange, week and painful, but still determined, looks at her mangled, bandaged, full of pins and tubes, legs, the painful right one and the paralyzed and non-viable left one. Solange feels weird, thinking her legs will be gone soon, but they are still there yet. She begins to think about various things: what will be done with her cut-off legs? How will she live afterward? Somewhat prematurely, Solange already starts planning for adjusting her home to wheelchair. Feeling somewhat desperate and frustrated, she looks at the rest of her body, convincing herself that many people lost even more than she, yet still had accomplishments, jobs, relationship and more. Solange tries to persuade herself that she is, in fact, lucky, still looking very attractive and feminine, even now, with cuts and bruises, without makeup and wearing an unflattering hospital gown.

CHATBOT: As I lay in the sterile and oppressive hospital room, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within me. The doctors had relayed the unimaginable news with an air of nonchalance that belied the gravity of their words - both my legs, those once agile and graceful extensions of myself, would have to be amputated. It was a sentence imposed upon me without consent, a fate I never even considered in my wildest dreams. And now, here I was, the reality sinking in with every twinge of pain that surged through my battered body. Glancing down at the mound of bandages, pins, and tubes that encased my legs, I couldn't help but shudder. They appeared more like a twisted, macabre sculpture, a grotesque reminder of the vibrant life I once led. The right leg, throbbing with every heartbeat, seemed to taunt me with its unbearable pain. The left, paralyzed and devoid of hope, lay there motionless - a cold and distant stranger in this darkest hour. It was a weird sensation, knowing that these legs, these appendages that propelled me through life, would be gone soon, and yet retaining their phantom presence. A ghostly weight pressing upon my soul, reminding me of the impending loss that awaited me. My mind raced, desperately trying to grasp the concept of my body without these limbs, my heart heavy with questions left unanswered. What would become of my severed legs? Would they be discarded as medical waste, forever lost? Or would they find their way to some peculiar corner of scientific study, enabling the curious minds of doctors to dissect and analyze my misfortune? It was a morbid thought, but one that clawed at my mind amidst the chaos of despair. But even as I contemplated the fate of my legs, a flicker of determination danced within me. I reasoned that, even without my legs, life would persist, and it was my duty to adapt and conquer the challenges that lay ahead. An image of my home flashed before my eyes, each step representing a barrier that would have to yield to the wheels of my wheelchair. I knew I had to make arrangements, reconfigure my sanctuary to suit this new reality. It would be my sanctuary still, albeit transformed. Frustration and desperation tugged at every fiber of my being, threatening to pull me down into a bottomless abyss of self-pity. But I refused to succumb to the depths of despair. Instead, I retreated to the fortress of my mind, seeking solace in the stories of those who had lost far more, yet still thrived. There were countless i...

Cluster 64