An Experiement: Summer's Story, Part 1 (Patreon)

So, one of the things that got me back to the keyboard was messing around with various AI writing tools currently available online.  I'd played around with Dungeon AI a few years ago, and found it both fun and remarkably bad at writing, and NovelAI more recently, which was better but still not great, more of a toy than a real writing tool.  

About a month ago I decided to try out newcomer SudoWrite.  It also has its flaws.  Many of them.  It's forgetful, like all AI writing generators.  It often outputs some truly rubbish, bizarre or useless crap.  And in many ways it still feels like more of a toy than a tool.

But it also feels like the best of the current crop, and it genuinely can do some amazing things.

I decided to play around with it a bit.  Using its "Story Engine" function, I detailed a story, one-half an idea I had bouncing around my head, one-half lazy, simplified rip-off of Constant.  I did a "braindump", generated a synopsis, detailed the key plot points, and let her rip.

What came out was... not great, but an intruiging step towards something.  So I went back in, worked through the "beats" of a few chapters, gave it additional instructions, and tried to manipulate and massage it towards writing something--decent?

What came out was a lot better, even if it still veered all over the place, repeated itself and occasionally got lost in strange details.  

Finally, I reworked what it produced, cut out some bits, rewrote others, moved stuff around, fixed the pronouns, and... well, here it is.

I'm curious what people think of this?  As a writing exercise, I found it fun enough - its curious how the actual quality of prose, in small doses, can be pretty good, but it simply can't keep it together in a coherent package.  But with someone guiding it along, fixing it over a few passes, I think you can get a decent-enough story out of it.

The difference in style is interesting to me as well.  It's clearly (I think) a mix of both mine and the AI's writing - much less dense (probably favourably so!) than my usual over-writing, and it clips along at a faster pace.

It won't replace "real" writing for me, but at the same time, the 3300-words of this chapter probably took about a quarter of the effort, and an equivalent amount of time, as writing 500 words of new Constant.

Anyways - what do you think of the below opening chapter?  I was thinking of posting it to FM as a filler whilst I finish of the current chapter of Constant; I reckon I could pop out a full story in this style alongside "real" writing without too much strain.

***

Tentatively-Titled Summer's Story, Chapter 1

The heavy glass doors of the Howe Building slid open with a hiss, and Summer Allen stepped through on three-inch heels.

Her heart pounded as she took in the expansive lobby, a mix of Victorian grandeur and sleek modernism. The marble floor stretched before her, wet-looking and treacherous. Her heels squeaked with every step, echoing in the cavernous space. She felt exposed. On display.

Summer straightened her spine and lifted her chin, brushing loose blonde waves over her shoulder. Breathe. You've trained for this.

Through the lobby flowed a sea of pinstriped suits and pencil skirts. Summer's white blouse was buttoned too low, her skirt too tight. She tugged at the hem, acutely aware of wandering male gazes and whispered comments.  Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

"First day, love?" A balding man in an ill-fitting suit sidled up to her, eyes tracing her figure. "I'm Malcolm. What's your name, darling?"

Summer forced a coy smile, despising the man and herself. "Summer. It's lovely to meet you, Malcolm." The words came out in a breathy, feminine tone she'd practiced for weeks.

"The pleasure is mine." Malcolm's hand brushed her lower back, and she repressed a shudder. "If you need anything, my office is just over there. I'd be happy to give you the guided tour." His smile revealed tobacco-stained teeth.

She stepped away, heart pounding. "Thank you, that's very kind." Her heels wobbled on the marble. "If you'll excuse me, I need to check in. I don't want to be late."

Summer hurried off without waiting for a response, her heels clicking sharply against the marble. Acutely aware of Malcolm's gaze on her backside, instead of the security desk she scurried to the nearest toilet.  By the time she reached the ladies' room, she was gasping for breath, one hand braced against the wall.

The room was empty, thankfully, and she stumbled into the nearest stall, fumbling the lock shut behind her. She collapsed onto the closed toilet seat, head in her hands, and struggled not to hyperventilate.

She didn't know how she was going to survive the day, let alone the rest of her life.  You can do this, she told herself again, but the words rang hollow.

C'mon Lucas, she told herself.  Get your shit together.

And then it was Lucas sat there, not Summer; he and not she hiding from the world.  Lucas felt the walls of the stall close in around him, trapping him inside this moment of confusion and panic. He knew he had to keep his calm for the sake of anyone who might overhear or see him, but it seemed impossible when every fiber of his being was shouting out that he was a man, not a woman. His chest heaved as if he was trying to break free from the confines of his bra, and breaths came quicker than ever before; yet all they did was feed into his rising disquiet.

He was going to have a heart attack, right here on the toilet in this stupid blouse and skirt. The thought was almost funny, in a morbid sort of way. He scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing his carefully applied makeup, and winced.

Get a grip, he told himself sharply. You've had the training for this. You knew it wouldn't be easy. But if you lose it now, on the first damn day, you might as well turn yourself in and save them the trouble of hunting you down.

He took a deep, steadying breath and held it for a long moment before releasing it. Again. And again, until his heart had slowed to something like a normal rhythm. You can do this, he thought, but the words rang hollow. He didn't know how he was going to survive the day, let alone the rest of his life.

Deciding that, for better or worse Summer was ready to face the world again,  Lucas took a final, fortifying breath and stepped out of the stall.

The bathroom was empty and quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzing above. The smell of lemon-scented cleaner hung in the air, sharp and abrasive, but underneath was a softer fragrance of sandalwood and jasmine - his perfume, part of the disguise.

Focusing on the details around him helped steady his nerves. His heartbeat slowed, breath evening out as the panic receded. He could do this. He'd trained for months to become Summer, endured endless lessons on etiquette, style, and deportment to prepare for this role. It was the only way to escape his past.

He straightened, checking his reflection one last time. He took a moment to fix his makeup, relying on newly engrained habits forcibly taught and learned in the months leading to this moment.  Soon, his makeup was once again flawless, his outfit impeccable. With an effort, he summoned a bright smile and the lilting, feminine cadence he'd practiced for so long.

It had been six months since the procedure, but he still wasn't used to seeing Summer in the mirror. His old body was gone, stripped away by a cocktail of hormones, nanotechnology, and biomodification that had reshaped his cells into an entirely new form.

They'd warned him the changes would be extreme, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality. He was half a foot shorter, for starters, with delicate bones and a willowy figure that still felt alien under designer clothes. His hair had lightened to blonde and grown past his shoulders. Strangest of all was his face - the strong jaw and aquiline nose of his old self had softened into a heart-shaped visage with full lips and wide blue eyes.

Summer was a disguise, but she was also undeniably him--at least for now. There was no going back, at least not until after his day in court. Lucas took another deep breath, gripped the sink for support, and reminded himself this was his only chance at survival. If he wanted to stay alive and out of prison, he needed to bury Lucas Anderson for good.

***

The lobby was bustling, even busier than when he arrived, filled with the chatter of conversations and the tap of heels on marble. Summer glided through the crowd, acutely aware of the gazes following her. There were wolves here, men like the Lucas she'd once been - powerful, predatory creatures always on the hunt.

She kept her chin high, refusing to shrink from their attention. Summer was meant to be noticed, to draw eyes and invite stares. It was both armor and camouflage, a distraction from the truth of who she really was.

A hand caught her elbow as she glided towards the security desk, tugging her to a stop. "Well, hello there." The voice was deep, smooth as aged whiskey. "Haven't seen you here before. I'm Mark Danning, in acquisitions. And you are...?"

Summer flashed a coy smile, slipping easily into the role she'd practiced for so long. "Summer Allen. I'm new!  The new receptionist at Vortex Creative."

Danning's eyes raked over her appreciatively. "Is that so? Well, welcome to the madhouse, Summer Allen." He lifted her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles. "I'm sure we'll be seeing quite a lot of each other."

It took effort not to snatch her hand away. The touch of his mouth brought a curl of disgust, a visceral reminder of all the times Lucas had treated women this way and thought nothing of it. Of all the times he'd taken without care or consequence.

Summer merely laughed, a light, tinkling sound, and slid her hand free. "I look forward to it, Mr. Danning. But I should get to my office. Lots to learn on my first day!"

She left him watching after her, a predatory hunger in his gaze. But Summer walked on, hips swaying, and didn't look back. But it was Lucas who took a deep breath, steadying hands that itched to ball into fists. He could do this. He had no other choice.

His chest tightened as she approached the security desk, where two guards in crisp uniforms scrutinized each visitor. He fumbled in his purse for his ID and strode forward, hoping the tremors in his hands weren't visible.

The guards barely glanced at her card. "Morning, Miss Allen. Welcome to Howe's."

"Thank you," she breathed, relieved. She'd passed the first test.

As Summer crossed the lobby toward the lifts, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin once more. You can do this, she told herself. Just get through today.

Tomorrow, she'd be back, and it might even be easier. But for now, she just needed to make it to her desk without falling to pieces. Summer took a deep breath, steadied herself on too-high heels, and walked on.

But as the click of Summer's heels echoed with each step, Lucas's heart raced as he left the lobby and entered the adjoining hall.  The door swung shut behind him, cutting off the sounds and leaving him alone.

For a moment he simply stood there, eyes closed, breathing hard. The memory of Danning's touch lingered, slimy tendrils that curled through his thoughts. He shuddered, hugging his arms around his middle.

Get a grip. He gave himself a sharp mental shake and opened his eyes, confronted by the wall of mirrored doors of travelling elevators.

Summer stared back at him. Delicate blonde eyebrows, a pert nose and bow-shaped lips, painted in shades of rose. The swell of breasts under a white silk blouse, cinched waist and hips accentuated by a tight black skirt.

His eyes locked onto the legs, shadowed by sheer hose, enticingly curved calves emboldened by heels. He remembered the effort it had taken to learn how to walk in them; balance, poise and posture, hips swaying with an effortless grace with each step. His jaw clenched tightly as anger and hatred roiled in his belly, threatening to spill over in a surge of bile.

But he couldn't deny the results. In this body, hearts beat faster and eyes lingered longer. His graceful figure was a far cry from the masculine heft and powerful presence he'd enjoyed before. He had always been good looking, of course - but his previously rakish charm now stared back at him, twisted into something softer, prettier, and luscious.  It felt nearly impossible to -not- flaunt his undeniable female allure.

Lucas tore his eyes away from the reflection, fingers tightening into fists, long nails digging into his palm. He drew in a sharp breath and held it, the memory of Amelia's face swimming before his eyes. Her wicked smile as the anesthesia took hold and the world faded into black.

He exhaled in a rush, sagging slightly, wincing. How had it come to this? Him, first hiding in the ladies' room like some scared little girl, and now trembling like a co-ed walking past the frat house.

The murder flashed behind his eyes--again--and not for the first time that day--and he flinched. No. He couldn't think about that now. Not here.  Lucas shook his head sharply, dragging a hand through his blonde waves to settle over the back of his neck. He had a job to do. A role to play. He couldn't slip up now, not when his freedom was on the line.

When he finally stepped onto the elevator, Summer's smile was bright and cheeks flushed, the very picture of a flustered new hire. No one would guess at the raging storm inside.

***

The lifts were all glass, offering a dizzying view of the city as Summer rose higher and higher. She closed her eyes, gripping the metal handrail until her knuckles whitened. When the doors slid open at last, she stumbled out, gulping the cooler air.

This floor was open-plan, a sea of identical grey cubicles. Summer blinked, disoriented, until she spotted a hand-written sign taped to one wall: "Summer Allen - Assistant to Mr. Edwards."

She hobbled toward the cubicle on trembling legs, her ankles already aching. But as she approached, she froze in her tracks.

A man was standing by her desk, tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw and bright blue eyes. He turned at the sound of her heels, and for a moment Summer's heart stopped.

Panic rose in her chest. He'll recognize me, she thought, and it will all be over. Her hands flew to her face, checking her hair and makeup, her blouse and skirt; but she already knew it was useless. Eric knew her too well. He'd see right through this fragile disguise, and then—

"You must be the new assistant." Eric held out one large hand, his smile warm and familiar.  "I'm Eric Edwards. Welcome to the team."

Summer stared at him, mute with shock. He didn't recognize her. Her transformation had been too complete, her new face too convincing. She was safe.

She slid her hand into his, acutely aware of how small and delicate it seemed in his grip.  The last time their hands had crossed, both men had gripped firmly, asserting their dominance; not so this time.  "Summer Allen," she said, hearing the breathlessness in her own voice. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Edwards."

"The pleasure's mine." His eyes travelled over her in a way that was not entirely professional. "I must say, you're even lovelier than your photos suggested. This could be an interesting working relationship."

A blush rose to her cheeks, though whether it was Summer or Lucas who was blushing, she couldn't say. This was going to be even more complicated than she'd imagined.

She released his hand, smoothing the front of her blouse in a nervous gesture. "Thank you, sir. I'll do my best as your new assistant."

His smile widened. "I'm sure you will."

He guided her across the lobby toward the bank of lifts, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back. She felt acutely aware of his touch, the warmth and strength of his hand seeping through the thin material of her blouse.

"Nervous, are we?" he asked.

"A little," she admitted. "First day, and all that."

"No need to worry. You come highly recommended, and I'm sure we'll get along famously." His hand slid down to cup her hip briefly, a fleeting squeeze that made her breath catch. "In fact, I foresee a very productive working relationship."

The lift arrived with a chime. Eric guided her inside, his hand settling possessively on her waist. She stared determinedly at the floor indicator, willing her cheeks not to flush. He was flirting with her. Coming on to her. Her, Lucas Anderson, in the body of a woman not even half his age.

The doors slid open, and he steered her out onto the executive floor. Glass-walled offices and grey cubicles stretched before them, filled with people busily working.

"Here we are," he said. "Welcome to your new kingdom. I'll give you the guided tour, then we can discuss how you'll be assisting me directly. Sound good?"

She nodded, swallowing hard. This was going to be more difficult than she'd imagined. Far more difficult. She'd thought maintaining her cover around strangers would be challenge enough, but Eric's obvious attraction threw a wrench into things she hadn't anticipated.

He thinks I'm interested in him, she realized. And he has no idea he's flirting with a man.  Summer took a deep breath, steadying herself. She was hyper-aware of Eric's hand on her waist, of the way her skirt clung to her thighs as she walked. Every glance from the men and women around the office floor felt like a spotlight trained on her, judging and assessing.

She faltered after a few steps, overwhelmed by the sensations. What was wrong with her? Why was she reacting this way? She'd trained for this, practiced for months to become Summer Allen, and now here she was falling apart on the first day.

Get a grip, she told herself fiercely. You're stronger than this.

She forced herself to move, to put one heeled foot in front of the other. To smile up at Eric and nod as he pointed out different departments. To ignore the way her breasts strained against the cups of her bra with each step, the straps digging into her shoulders.

"And here are the cubicles for the assistants and secretaries," Eric was saying. He guided her towards an empty desk with a nameplate that read Summer Allen. "We're rather an egalitarian bunch, no private offices for anyone but the executives I'm afraid. But I made sure to get you a spot right by my office." He nodded towards a large glass-walled space nearby. "So I'll always be within shouting distance."

The innuendo wasn't lost on her , and she gritted his teeth. You can do this, she told herself. Just get through the day.

"It's perfect," she said, pitching her voice high and bright. "Thank you so much for bringing me on, Mr. Jennings. I'm sure I'll learn a lot working under you."

"Please," he said, "call me Eric."

***

Lucas sat down at his desk, crossing his legs and arranging his skirt over his knees. His legs felt hot under his tights,and the waistband uncomfortable across his waist where they'd rolled; he resisted the urge to peel them off. His heels ached and his toes felt pinched.  The underwired bra chafed and the straps dug into his shoulders.  For the umpteenth time that day, he blew an errant strand of hair out of his eyes and suppressed a cry of annoyance.  Get through the day, he reminded herself. You can do this.

But then a young man approached the cubicle, all charm and smarm, and said, "You must be the new girl. Summer, is it?" His gaze slid down to Lucas's chest, and he folded his arms over himself defensively. Inwardly, he suppressed a scream.  How many unwanted advances was he going to have to endure today?

"Yes," he said, striving for nonchalance. "Summer Allen. I'm Mr. Jennings' new assistant."

"Fantastic," the man said. "I'm Mark Johnson. If there's anything I can help you with, don't hesitate to ask." His smile widened. "Anything at all."

A spike of panic lanced through him, and the walls seemed to close in. He imagined making his excuses, standing up so quickly the chair rolled backwards across the floor, and making a run for it.  He could picture it vividly: the cry of surprise, the tottering run across the floor - the hitman waiting for him on the street, if not today then soon.

Instead, he pulled himself together enough to face the well-meaning advances of Mark Johnson with a smile that he hoped didn't look too forced.

"Sorry about that," he said, settling into his chair.  "Sometimes the nerves still get the better of me on the first day."

Mark's smile was easy, open.  "No need to apologize.  I remember my first day here - it's perfectly normal to feel a bit overwhelmed.  But you'll settle in quickly, I'm sure."  He nodded to the paperwork strewn across Summer's desk.  "Looks like Jennings has already put you to work.  If you have any questions, just shout."

"Thank you," Lucas said.  "I appreciate the welcome."

Mark's eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, a hint of something predatory in his gaze, and Lucas resisted the urge to squirm.  He offered another smile instead, hoping to defuse the tension.

After a few beats, Mark seemed to catch himself.  He cleared his throat and glanced away, a faint blush staining his cheeks.  "Well," he said.  "I should let you get on with it."

Lucas watched him go with a mix of relief and trepidation.  It was going to be a long day, week... months, he thought, as he sighed, touched up his lipstick, and returned to his work.