Ostaladon

“Tristian” Preface Content WARNINGS

This book is supposed for older teen readers, 16+.

This book consists of scenes of violence that can be objectionable to a few.

The characters are fictitious, but, the story could incorporate bad words, references to functionality triggering challenge topics which include:

Gun-associated violence. Pc, internet, and video gaming dependency. Legal Substance abuse.

Getting connected to a Hologram isn't unexpected. People can ascribe human characteristics, for example, having a soul, expectations or sentiments, and feelings to nonhuman artificial beings or robots but is falling in love with an Ai really possible with today's computer development?

This is called anthropomorphism but What does it take to go from fiction to the real world?

In Today's reality, while an artificial intelligence could perhaps be deliberately programmed with human emotions, or could develop something similar to emotion as a means to an ultimate goal if it is useful to do so, it would not spontaneously develop human emotions for no purpose whatsoever, as portrayed in this fiction.

While the writer has taken top-notch lengths to ensure the issue matter is handled compassionately and respectfully, it could be troubling for a few readers.

Discretion is advised.

This work is still in progress.

This is a fictional work. Unless otherwise specified, all names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either made up by the author or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, or real events is entirely coincidental.

All intellectual property rights are reserved for the Text script. Except for brief quotations incorporated in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law, no Text part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Please send permission requests to the publisher at the address listed below. Copyright © 2021 Ostaladon

In the meantime, if you have any questions or comments, please feel free to contact me as indicated below

contact at ostaladon point com

Production Credits:

I am not affiliated with non of these companies in this is only for Information about which online Platform I have used to Tell my Story.

I have received no monetary compensation for this

This Book is an Example for Human and Ai Collaboration

All images have been created with the help of the Artbreeder online Tool (Any shared image can be used, edited, or mixed. Creativity is driven by worldwide collaboration and Artbreeder brings this to a new level by being a single place for sharing and creation.)

Most images in this Book will be released under the public domain (CC0) License and may be used for commercial purposes except otherwise stated.

The Game Map has been generated by https://azgaar.github.io/Fantasy-Map-Generator/

( CC0-licensed)

Tristian is a young man with an atypical view of the world.

He is a 26-year-old computer programmer.

Tristian's two engineering buddies helped him build the Hypernet. The Hypernet was the product of years of hard work. They have been working on an idea of an age beyond the internet since their third year of college.

Tristian had achieved just about everything there was when it came to engineering from behind a screen.

Now he wanted to build his very own Artificial Intelligence program.

He considered himself lacking if he wasn't hungry for a variety of thought-provoking ideas and knowledge. Tristian wrote his first line of code and a certain kind of feeling overwhelmed him. He perhaps would have confidently said it was like finding faith or a gospel he'd been oblivious to for so long.

But as each day passed and with each time he spent with it, he realized that what that professor had said had been out of ignorance.

(CC0-licensed)

Tristian felt like more than just a man who was creating something out of his mind, he felt like a limitless artist. He felt like a legend. A legend who achieved a different kind of climax every time he programmed and created. It was satisfying. Until it wasn't. After finally concluding that he'd found the path he wanted to take and let the world of coding and programming consume him.

Tristian thought about everything he dreamt he was going to achieve with it. He'd given up so many things to find comfort in his creation. He tapped the space key on the keyboard and the lines of code stayed on his screen. Tristian adjusted himself on the seat and bore his eyes on the screen, locked at it. The single line. It was right there. He grabbed at his keyboard and ran his fingers faster than his own eyes could even process because he couldn't afford to miss it anymore.

It took ninety-five seconds for him to hear the words. “Hello, Tristan.”

“Well damn, it's actually working!” he exclaimed, watching as all the readings reached peak performance...

( CC0-licensed ) I

He once wandered into a class back in college (wandered because that was the only appropriate term he could use to define his experience during the period he was trying to ‘find himself'), where the professor boldly claimed with his balding head of grey and black mismatch hair that human beings were insatiable.

His theory was that there was nothing that could provide absolute satisfaction to a human alive, whether material, physical or emotional. Tristian had watched as the professor uttered the words: “The chances are that you will never hear these words from anyone because it’s as controversial as it is true, but there is simply nothing you can have or do that will give you the achievement of complete satisfaction.”

That had been his freshman year, and he’d never for once stepped into the professor’s class again; because his curiosity for The Fundamentals of Human Evolution in Psychology had withered as quickly as it was born.

He did that a lot. For a young man with his intelligence and very atypical view of the world, he considered himself lacking if he wasn’t hungry for a variety of thought-provoking ideas and knowledge. But then he wrote his first line of code and a certain kind of feeling overwhelmed him. He perhaps would have confidently said it was like finding faith or a gospel he’d been oblivious to for so long if he had been asked. But as each day passed and with each time he spent with it, he realized that what that professor had said the other day had been out of ignorance.

Right there, under his fingertips as he ran them hundreds of times per minute over a keyboard and watched the translation on the screen in front of him. Tristian felt like more than just a man who was creating something out of his mind, he felt like a limitless artist. He felt like a legend. A legend who achieved a different kind of climax every time he programmed and created. It was satisfying. Until it wasn’t

After finally concluding that he’d found the path he wanted to take and let the world of coding and programming consume him. He found himself constantly saddled with people who shared the same ideas as he did. Right from college, Derek and Gal had been mouthing the idea of the possibility of an age beyond the internet, and they had begun working on it, one line of code at a time since their third year of college. It would perhaps have been a little more challenging for them to achieve what they did in the past, when the world was a monumental way from accepting that change was the only way out of every crisis they faced. Tristian assisted in every way he could but the Hypernet, as it would be called, was the product of his two engineering buddies.

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t devoted to bringing the project to life, but his friends were more than capable and he had a lot more on his mind. When he’d achieved just about everything there was when it came to engineering from behind a screen, Tristian sought a different challenge: to build his very own Artificial Intelligence program.

He wouldn’t be the first programmer to think of heading in that direction – there were thousands of A. I already out there on the internet before the Hypernet, but Tristian wanted something beyond a commercial product.

He often thought that it was degrading for someone like him to rely on any line of code created by another engineer not to talk of using their program. It felt like ridicule if he could not show that he had something that performed the same function, if not better.

It was his hunger — that had once been denied — that led to the beginning of the journey of creating his own Artificial Intelligence. Being a scientist was difficult enough that the world often looked down on their ideas and made them work twice as hard to earn a living because the archaic concept that spending hours, days, and years in front of a computer screen was an equivalence of ‘joblessness' still shared by many people. Tristian, the devout developer that he was, had some folks he considered colleagues and buddies that barely passed the circle of engineering ever since it had captured his heart. It was more than the perks of the job for him and Derek and Gal were the closest encounters he had to friendship. Tristian found it more challenging to associate himself with someone who had frail knowledge of his work. But his work would be enough.

He stretched his hands that felt like they were going to fall off where he’d been seated for three hours straight. The nerve endings on the sides of his head where the cups of the headphones had been stuck all day, wrapping wholly around his ears seemed to have given up; his head had adapted to the sensation of the device so much it had begun to feel like a part of him. He pulled the headphones down over his neck instead. He reached for the red mug on the desk in front of him and exhaled deeply as he found it empty. “Dammit.”

He stood up from his seat and walked to the part of the room that showed any semblance to a meal area and he checked the pots to even more disappointment. He opened a few cupboards, shoved a few cereal boxes aside, and got no hint of what he wanted, if not what he really desired. He sighed again, the perks of being so consumed that everything else took the backseat. Everything else in this case wasn’t caffeine he couldn’t seem to remember where he’d kept, but the drink that served a hundred times more as a stimulant for his precious mind.

He walked back to his workstation and stared sternly at the forty-inch screen flooded with code lines.

It didn’t move him that from two meters away he could tell what purpose each line served, what was eating at his heart was that elusive one he could not seem to locate to bring his work into some seeming fruition. As far as he was concerned, even though what he had stared back at him was years’ worth of work that another scientist would gladly offer him their soul for, Tristian felt like he’d done nothing if she wouldn’t come alive.

He hit the space key on the keyboard, walked away to snatch a jacket, and returned to pick up one of the two laptops on his desk before he exited the room.

Ten minutes later and Tristian was seated alone at a corner table in the restaurant down the street. He had his computer opened in front of him while he worked the trackpad to scroll through the screen. He felt a little bit saner as the aftertaste of the drink he’d been craving for hours settled at the back of his throat. The mug of Paramine sat carefully next to his computer with a straw poking out of it. The small wave of steam that escaped from the mug found its way to the back of his hand as he worked. If anyone had bothered to guess, the hint of translucent green on the straw might have been the first to give what the man was having away as he paid complete attention to his screen.

“Come on... where are you?” he queried at the device. He went about a minute and a half squinting at the same screen before he took his drink again. The feel of the foam welcomed in his mouth was a different kind of experience and the sour taste on the first kiss reminded him why Paramine was so expensive. But he wanted it, he deserved it, and he could damn well afford it.

It didn’t mean that cameos like this didn’t have their woes. Tristian jerked his head up as the elderly woman made the sound. A grunting remark and what he imagined were expletives. The reason for her reaction was nothing more than the old woman’s assistant that was annoying and bordering on a nuisance. Tristian watched as the geriatric tried to get rid of her synthetic aid carrying an A. I about her choice of lunch. The synthezoid was refusing to allow her to place an order on the premise that it contained a too high a level of cholesterol that would hurt her.

“I’m 82, nothing is scaring me at this point, will you allow me to get my damn dried steak?” she cried in the middle of the restaurant and everyone stirred in their direction.

“I’m sorry, Felicity, my programming does not allow me to process foods that are considered deleterious to your health, would you like steamed potatoes and some corn instead? You look quite pale,” the synth answered.

“I— I don’t want bloody potatoes and maize, and I’ve been this pale all of my life!” the woman’s voice etched her frustration.

Tristian watched on as the argument proceeded and he shook his head. Artificial intelligence had only gotten so far; every time he’d come across one in the past he’d found something to ridicule about. They all lacked the sense of true connection humans desired in their everyday interactions. And that was what was going to be different in his own development. It would be something like no one had ever seen before.

It would be perfect.

If only I could just find the goddam order that’s keeping her away! He said to himself and he let the straw of the Paramine slide out of his mouth.

Tristian’s work was more than just the common thing everyone else saw. When he wrote a line of code for any program whatsoever, it came to him like art. Even though often with visual art, there were hardly any imperfections that couldn’t be reimagined in a new light with new perspectives, such was not a luxury he could afford for what he’d spent the better part of his last three years working on. An imperfection of sorts was what was keeping his art from being birthed. He sat back and exhaled. Tristian brushed his hair to the back with his hands and wiped his face.

He glanced to the right and saw a young girl that couldn’t have been more than ten buried face-deep in a tablet in her hands while her parents talked over the table. Tristian saw in her both reflections of what he had and what he didn’t — the feeling of being consumed totally by what he was doing so much the entire world only came as a distraction, and the company of family. He wasn’t big on being gloomy about the latter. But he thought the young girl was kicking the ass of whoever was on the other end of her game. He bet they were regretting their life at the moment. The girl’s game reminded him of the ultimate game he’d been looking to conquer for over a year,

Vindia.

For a brief moment, he imagined the girl’s skills in a world like that, when she was much older. She looked like someone who’d make people lose their minds. But she’d have to be older, matured.

She’d have to be sure that diving into virtual reality wasn’t coming back to haunt her in nightmares, and everything that humans needed to be cajoled. Tristian imagined he could even spare some time to help develop a rendition that would prepare younger ones for things like that, his experience with video and media projects in the past had more than granted him enough knowledge. But that would be when he’d managed to get the current bane of his existence out of the way. He snapped his gaze back at his screen and gritted his teeth, “What am I missing?”

He got back to his house carrying a bag of groceries that contained enough caffeine and drinks that would make him miss Paramine less, he dropped them off at the kitchen and worked his way to his workspace. Tristian had deactivated the A. I That came pre-installed with all of the appliances in his home. It was his effort at focus; he needed himself disciplined enough to not be distracted by ideas. He wanted his work purely original.

Derek and Gal had reminded him he was likely working in reverse as the available A.I’s could all be held as some sort of benchmark for his work. “I don’t regard any A. I good enough to be a benchmark for what I have planned,” he’d said to them on their last visit. “So you mean you’re going to run all the lines of the program by yourself, from scratch, blindly?” Gal had asked.

“I’m not blind, Gal. I’ve been there before. I know what I need and I know what I want. The benchmark is whatever I say it is, and you can bet your ass that my work’s going to become the benchmark when it’s done.” “You sound so damn sure of yourself, ah! I forget who I am talking to at times,” Derek commented, taking a bite of the sandwich he’d made for himself and leaving the crusts all over the counter for Tristian to be paranoid about. Tristian thought at times he did that just to mess with him, he got up from his chair and racked the crusts and crumbs with a rag into a bin waiting below. “Have you decided on what you’re going to name the project?” Gal was always excited about the nomenclature of discoveries, she wasn’t just a wizard and the engineer herself, she had a spirit that fluttered around her when it came to such things. “I haven’t concluded yet. I’m still thinking about it.” “Oh, come on. How long does it take, you’ve been on the idea for months, surely you must have something? Unless of course, you’re not just interested in sharing,” she accused. “Nothing like that.” “So what’s it?” “You’re going to think it sounds funny.” “Never!” “Absolutely not,” Derek added from the side of the fridge where he had a beer in his hand. “Ishim Doyol.” Derek almost spewed the drink as he held the back of his hand over his mouth and coughed. Gal shot him a deathly glare and he shrugged. “That’s very unique...” Gal said. “What does it mean.” “I knew you guys would make fun of it.” “No man, it’s just very... unique like Gal said.” “Well, I’m going to wait until she’s alive before I let anyone know what it means, so...” “Fair enough,” Derek answered. “So... are you going to let her on the Hypernet when the time comes?” Gal asked. Tristian looked at them both, waiting for his answer and he shrugged, “We’ll see.” Now, he sunk into the chair in his workspace, devoid of cheer and heavy on the eyes. He tapped the space key on the keyboard and the lines of code stayed on his screen. Tristian thought about everything he dreamt he was going to achieve with it. He’d worked day and night. He’d given up so many things to find comfort in his creation. His creation that wouldn’t come alive. He scanned through the lines from the scratch for the past two days. But no result had come from hitting the “Enter” key afterward. It was one line; he was sure of it. He couldn’t remember which one. But deep in his heart, the artist knew if the stroke had been wayward. Only now he had to find it in an amidst an ocean of similar — He froze. Tristian adjusted himself on the seat and bore his eyes on the screen, locked at it. The single line. The marker. It was right there. He grabbed at his keyboard and ran his fingers faster than his own eyes could even process because he couldn’t afford to miss it anymore. Tristian raised his hands when he was done and, with his heart pounding in his chest and the residual taste of his favorite drink swooning in the back of his throat as he swallowed saliva, Tristian tapped the “Enter” key and watched the beauty unfold.

It took ninety-five seconds for him to hear the words. “Hello, Tristian.” (CC0-licensed)

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