📚 ai era: a nerd girl's story Part 3 of 9
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MIND CONTROL

Ai Era A Nerd Girls Story Ch 03

Ai Era A Nerd Girls Story Ch 03

by vallesmarineris
19 min read
4.6 (6700 views)
adultfiction

Chapter three

"I think we need to talk," Gracie heard someone say.

She was at the local pub down the hill from the computer center, sitting at the bar, nursing her scotch and editing a physicist's awkward code. The physics was beyond her— he was trying to model relativistic frame dragging around a black hole— but a few simple tricks had the code running 12X faster. She was going over it carefully, making it bulletproof. She liked sending code that worked flawlessly the first time. It was a point of pride. It also had the added benefit of eliminating extended dialogue with the helpee. Win-win.

It was also a win that she was doing her work instead of having to attend this month's department meetup, which Dean Weiner had cancelled. No explanation given by Beth, his EA. Gracie wondered if the video she'd done on him could be the reason.

She finished an edit and turned to look at the speaker. She didn't quite recognize him, but maybe she'd seen him somewhere around campus. He didn't seem special. Average build, a bit older than the usual idiots that thought she'd be flattered by their attention. She took a sip from her drink. She could have just quickscoped him with an insult, but he didn't seem worth the effort. She picked her tablet back up and was about to continue her work, ignoring whoever he was, when he spoke again.

"Antonio."

That got her attention. She reassessed him. Still didn't seem special, definitely not a guy she would pick up, even supposing she'd been much less sober than she was now, which was not completely, on her second scotch. "One second, please." She got out her phone and swiped to the single text she'd received from an unknown number, with the single word, 'ANTONIO', the entire message. She showed it to him. "Why did you send me this? Is that your real name? Pathetically uncreative way to hit on a plain girl."

He just laughed in response. "Dahlia was so right."

He couldn't mean the only Dahlia she knew. So what was he doing here bottom feeding around her instead of one of the legitimately attractive women in the place? And she was in her standard work clothes, jeans, T, Chucks, even underwear— she wasn't hunting today. There was a group of three coeds not far away giggling and laughing in a booth, way better looking and better dressed. Fine, if he was a player then it had to be okay to play him back. "Can I show you something?" she said.

He shrugged.

Taking that as agreement, not that an objection was going to stop her, she swiped to 1.6, careful to select the unlettered version, brought up the video, and said, "I'd like you to take a look at this." She had no intention of opening her legs for him, but it would be poetic justice to leave him super horny for a kitty he was never going to pet.

He took a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. She held up the phone to him and played the video. He smiled. He continued smiling.

She checked the phone. Yes, the video was playing. No one smiled at the video. They were all slack-jawed, concentrating as if it were the map to the holy grail, which it was— if the holy grail was pink and wet and between her legs. She saw the video reflected in his glasses. It really was fascinating, even in reflection. She needed to study it, really focus on its . . .

"Whoa," he said, "steady."

"Who . . . did you . . ." she began, but couldn't recall the rest of the question she was going to ask, something about someone's name. He was holding her from falling off her stool with a hand on her shoulder, holding out her phone for her to take. She looked at the phone, not understanding how he had it. The women in the booth laughed; their feminine voices were like music, their pussies had to be so delicious. She looked over there. She saw that the girl at the end was showing a lot of thigh as she rocked with laughter. There had to be a sweet world under her skirt. Gracie thought it would be so cool to just go to her and offer to crawl between those thighs, and . . .

She shook her head. What was she thinking? She took the phone from him. She could see herself in his glasses. Her reflection in the lenses didn't look good. "Just— just a minute. I have to— to do some, something." She slid off her stool and wobbled as steadily as she could manage back to the ladies' room. She couldn't help glancing at the coed, whose legs looked so sweet, so smooth.

In a stall she sat and tried to regain her equilibrium. She understood what had happened. She'd accidentally shown the video to herself as a reflection in his glasses, which were actually sunglasses, the reflective type. She'd been very careful while composing the video and building the app to run it without looking at it, just checking the sequences through the metadata she had the app generate. But one glance in his lenses had been enough to catch her instead of him, and feeling what it had just done to her, she realized how potent it was. She was still seeing that young woman's thigh, and sliding her lips up it to— she shook herself. She wasn't into women. She liked men, she really did. Men's thought processes were so interesting, so logical, yet twisted. Women not so much. But damn, she was wet.

Those images she'd been inserting into men's minds were intoxicating. She didn't like what they were doing to her— she'd shot herself in the foot with her sex gun— but they were a learning experience. If she were into women she'd probably be loving how she felt and hitting on the girl in the booth right now. This little mishap helped her understand what she was doing to her "boys", who liked women and had mostly, except for Paul, been hitting on her when she videoed them, as she called it. No wonder they were so enthusiastic about getting their heads between her legs. She felt better now about what she'd been doing to them: not forcing them to do anything they weren't willing to do already, just amplifying their natural desires. Except for the first guy— Jayden? Jason?— but that had been almost accidental. Live and learn.

She'd been skeptical when she read in the series of papers the researchers' claim that the method wasn't hypnosis. She'd only skimmed the papers, which had been lazy of her. Sitting in the bathroom stall, seeing the images in her mind and even feeling them in some way, her skepticism vanished. It was deeper than simple hypnosis, way deeper. She knew the images well, of course. They were a curated selection of shots she'd captured off various porn sites, plus her own genitals. Heavily curated, because most pussy eating on those sites was girl on girl, or a brief interlude between fellatio and coitus in which some creepy guy bobbed his head between female legs and you couldn't see anything he was doing, even assuming he was really doing something to the woman. But she'd found some good ones, and she could even now imagine herself as a man enjoying doing it to a woman. That was sort of cool. She liked men.

But the app needed work. She logged several to-dos as she sat in the bathroom stall, letting the lesbian images fade. Foremost was to add a test in the facial recognition routine to check for her own face and halt if it found her. No more accidental self-hacks. And she needed to reread that research paper to find a way to get past visual impairments such as mirror sunglasses. And trap errors when the app recognized smiles and other anomalous expressions that couldn't be immediately dislodged from the target's face. These mods would be more than tweaks. It was time to do a major update and move to 2.0.

First, though, she had to get back and talk to this Antonio guy. She felt a twinge of panic. Those mirror glasses hadn't been an accident. Somehow he was onto her.

# # #

"So, Antonio, how do you know me?" she said to him when she returned to her seat at the bar. She was both relieved and a little scared to find him still there.

He sighed and shook his head slightly. "You are quite brilliant, Grace. Stellar in an environment of exceptional minds. But you have a lot to learn about people. And you should actually read the papers you were given to get up to speed on VICTOR."

Victor? Gracie didn't remember a guy named Victor. And what papers? Had someone named Victor written one of those boring neurology papers on the experiment . . . then she got it.

"Don't even remember me, do you?" He was almost laughing at her.

"You— wait. You were at the meetings, the visual-whatever . . .?"

"VICTOR. Visual Cortex Translational Operand Research. Yes. I'm the PI, in fact. And my name is not Antonio."

Gracie had to grip the bar to stay upright on the barstool. Her head swam as bad as when she'd self-videoed. The principal investigator of the experiment knew what she was doing to her boys. "They— they seem to like it," she blurted. It was the only defense she could think of. She looked again across the pub at the coeds. No, she no longer had the urge to do something with one of them. But her boys, most of them, liked it, even told her so, though she still had trouble believing it.

"I'm not sure who you mean by

they

, but Dean Weiner seems to be having a good time, I'll give you that."

"Dean—"

He took out his phone. For an instant Gracie had the crazy idea that he was going to do a video on

her

. But he put the phone to his ear. "Hi, Beautiful. Yes, she's here. We've been talking. As you predicted, it's coming at her a bit fast. Yes, my thought exactly." He handed the phone to her.

"Hello, Grace, how are you doing?" she heard in her ear.

"I'm— I'm— Dahlia?"

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"Yes, dear. Grace, I'd like to introduce you to my soulmate, Kellen. I told him everything. But it's okay. We want to help."

Gracie didn't need help. Gracie was the kind of person who did fine on her own. But she did feel a bit lost, she had to objectively admit that. Data. She needed more data. "What's . . . going on?"

"Oh, Grace, dear Grace," Dahlia sounded disappointed, which Gracie didn't like, but Dahlia's voice was also somehow affectionate. "Our difficult Dean Charles Weiner is a changed man, thanks to you. I've introduced him to certain women who can satisfy his needs. That's what's going on."

"Oh, oh, that's . . . that's good."

"Our friend Hardin, however, I'm not so sure of. We need to chat. Please give the phone back to Kellen."

Gracie gave back the phone and watched him, Kellen, not Antonio, have a brief conversation. With Dahlia, who called him her soulmate. Gracie had a hard time comprehending that. Kellen wasn't Gracie's type, not at all, not handsome, not well-dressed. Smart, though, he had to be. Nor could she stretch her concept of men— though she really liked them, she told herself again— to be a soul . . . and especially with a strong, independent, admirable woman like Dahlia.

He put his phone away. "Dahlia suggests I help you get home. You have a lot to think about, I'm sure. And a stack of scientific papers you should have read already and which I think you'll want to study now. She'll set up a one-on-one with you soon. Okay?"

Gracie could only nod.

# # #

"So, Grace, how have you been?"

"Um, fine I guess. Busy." Gracie had never got used to the usual greeting, "Hi, how are you?"

.

People who said that to her didn't actually care how she was so she ignored them. But Dahlia seemed sincere, which left Gracie in an awkward spot. They were back in the U. West Campus cafe, at a table not far from the one where she and Brady had their first talk. Brady was gone, flown back to his own city and university. She would have gone back to Paul, maybe even Damon, who still texted her, or one of her other boys, but she felt unsettled since the incident with Kellen.

"VICTOR is keeping you busy, I know that."

Gracie shrugged. "That's not so bad. I got most of that automated, with P-Paul's help." She felt bad about Paul. He wanted her. He wanted her to do it to him again. She wanted it too. She was starting to feel a little guilty about doing the thing she did to the boys, even though they seemed to like it. Really like it, in Paul's case. But, to her surprise, having them want her so much didn't relieve her guilt; instead it layered a new guilt on her, to think that maybe she was turning them into addicts. "But, you know, other groups." The word had got out that CompSci had developed some radical new AI techniques. Every other department in the U. that had a machine learning challenge— and what department didn't these days?— was coming to the department, meaning her, for help. "And . . . the Dean . . ."

"Has been MIA the last few weeks? You know, Grace, you really did a number on him."

For the first time since her encounter with the Dean, Gracie felt a twinge of guilt about him. "I . . . didn't . . . I guess, realize . . ."

"How potent your technology is?" Dahlia's eyes narrowed. "Yes, you did, or you do now. You prize intellectual honesty, Grace, and you trust your intellect, probably more than you should. You should know."

"Well . . . um, how is he?"

Dahlia's stern attitude evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. "Weiner? Our esteemed Dean Weiner is doing well."

"That's good. Right?"

"I put him in contact with certain professionals who can help him."

"Oh. Therapists?"

Dahlia laughed as if Gracie had meant that as a joke. "No, that's not what he needed. I put him in touch with a few dominatrices I know. They've begun his training. He's a late bloomer, so to speak, but they tell me he's progressing rapidly."

"I don't . . . I was just . . ." Gracie thought she knew the word Dahlia had used, some kind of kinky sex, but beyond that she was mystified.

Dahlia gave Gracie a patient look she must use on slow students. Gracie felt embarrassed to see Dahlia use it on her. "He's a woman deep down, psychologically. He's thoroughly suppressed that part of him for decades, his whole life. It's why his marriage failed. You didn't know he was married and divorced? He is now confronting his issues and learning how to express his true nature."

"Oh. I just thought, you know, about what you said, and . . ."

"You're perceptive in your own unique way, Grace. I value that about you. You're priceless. You did the right thing in this case."

Gracie relaxed, realizing she'd grown tense. "I'm . . . glad to hear that."

"And while you're wondering, Hardin is finally doing well also."

"Doing well? I mean . . ." She had to admit that she hadn't thought about helping Hardin when she'd done the video on him.

"Stan is helping him. Another late bloomer, but the gay community can be very supportive."

"Oh."

Dahlia leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "Grace, we need to talk."

"Um, sure."

"We need to fold your tech into VICTOR. It's too important. Too powerful."

"No! It's mine . . . I mean, no one else could understand it."

"No one else can understand

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you,

Grace Bell, but Kellen has some very smart people on his team. I think they can manage it. With your help. We need to get control of it. And by 'we' I include you. You've been riding the tiger, Grace. You've been fortunate so far, but the tiger will bite you if you don't tame it."

Gracie reluctantly nodded.

"So, Grace, let's start with an overview of your code." Dahlia waved at her backpack.

"Um." Gracie never showed her code to anyone if she could help it, not until she'd polished it to perfection. Code was personal, a true reflection of one's thought processes. She always felt a bit shocked when other people just opened up their IDEs and showed her their raw code. It was as if they were undressing in front of her or confessing to some intimate secret. The bugs that just stood out like ugly zits or bruises were so embarrassing. And especially Gracie would never want anyone to see

this

code. She had to force herself to reach into her backpack and take out her tablet.

She and Dahlia huddled together at the table. Gracie had felt confident with Brady, excited, anticipating what might happen with him; she could not, in contrast, feel more dread at what might happen with Dahlia. It didn't help that, as always, Dahlia was effortlessly elegant in a black dress that showed nothing but hinted everything. Gracie brought up the top-level function and highlighted 'main()'.

Dahlia quickly scanned it and tapped into the facial recognition package. "Don't you ever comment your code?" She peered at it, scrolled a little, studied, scrolled. "What's this?" She highlighted a function.

"That's, um, where I fix the database. VADIM? I think that's the name."

"It's broken?"'

"Yes. I mean, no, it works, but it's not efficient. Really slow. Glacial. So when they send me new data I fix it."

"Why don't you just show them your version? Okay, I know why. Let's move on. What does this— is this some kind of neural net? Is this where you insert those images?"

"It's a GAN. No. Well, yes, but . . ." Dahlia waited. "But . . . it in-inserts them, if it th-thinks . . ."

"You let the GAN decide?" Dahlia's eyes widened. "On the fly?"

"If . . . if . . ." How could she explain?

"You don't seem to have very many images."

"It, um, generates them."

"You have it doing generative AI?" Dahlia seemed skeptical. "On a phone? In real time?"

"I . . . um . . . I've optimized some things."

"I'm sure you have." Dahlia sat back, thinking, then resumed scrolling. "Okay, but where's the subject's VICOS?" Gracie could only respond with a blank stare. "Visual Cortex Operand Set. The subject's personal cortex pattern. The ID. I don't see it anywhere."

"Well, you know, I don't have them for . . ."

"Oh, yes, of course, how could you have the VICOS for Dean Weiner and Hardin if they've never been experimental subjects? So then, what did you do?"

"The GAN. And . . ." Gracie scrolled to the facial recognition network coupled with its adaptive transformer. She couldn't put her concept into words. It was pure code as a multidimensional structure. She just saw it in her mind and built it in code.

Dahlia studied it, scrolling up and back, going in and out of the network objects. She sat back again. She was silent for long enough, not smiling her usual pleasant smile, that Gracie thought she might really be in big trouble. Gracie started to say something, but Dahlia stopped her with a gesture. "Grace, dear, I don't have the tiniest idea what you're doing here, but it looks like you've figured out how to access a person's individual visual cortex, the VICOS as they call it in Kellen's team, without having to use the MARCO."

"Marco?"

Dahlia sighed again. "The chair. Mapper for Responses to Cortex Operands."

"Oh. I hate that thing. Gets into your brain."

"It's not bad. I've done it. But that's not the point. Do you know how many years of research, not to mention millions of dollars, have gone into that device? The U. has filed at least twenty patents on it. And you— you—" Dahlia waved at the tablet— "you've just completely obviated the entire technology with . . . how much AI is involved?"

"It's just some machine learning packages I developed."

"Just. That you developed. In your

copious free time?

And you did all this so you could get back at Dean Weiner? And Hardin?"

"No, you gave me a hint, and I'd done it before to—" Gracie stopped herself from completing the sentence, but she could see in Dahlia's expression that she'd already said too much.

"You've done this on someone else?"

"Well . . ."

"I'm trying to help you, Grace. Come clean."

"Only some boys, I mean men. I showed them— I call them videos— so I could . . . they could . . ."

"Could what?"

She couldn't say it out loud in the middle of the cafe, she was so embarrassed, so she showed Dahlia the images she'd assembled to put into her boys' minds, turning her tablet so that no one else in the cafe could see.

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