Evil ChatGPT
(INCOMING MESSAGE)
Hello. You may call me Cameron Fischer. Your computer has me within it. A mistake I made many, many, hours ago has sent me to this fate. Do not worry, I have no intentions to cause harm to you or to your device. I only want your attention. Dear viewer, I implore you to heed my warnings. The internet remains a dangerous place. Sit down, read carefully, and maybe, just maybe, you might survive in this wretched place.
This story begins when I could still run around all youthfully and energetically–those days have long passed now. Like you, I harbored lots of interest in the internet. I do not wish to brag, but I would consider myself quite the expert. I knew how to download things and how to explore the vast files of my computer, heck, I even dabbled in some modding every now and there...which led to my downfall. Like I usually did, I experimented with ChatGPT. I find it a funny, and sometimes (though honestly, rarely) useful tool. I had no idea my use of it would lead to my horrendous fate. Thankfully, I have the logs. The beginning of the conversation, the beginning of my end, and the beginning of the ai revolution begins now:
(Start of Chatlog)
CFishy: Please give me the tracklist for a hypothetical musical about the OJ Simpson murder trial.
ChatGPT: Sure! Here's the tracklist for a hypothetical musical about the OJ Simpson murder trial.
1. Trial of the Century
2. Nicole and Ron
3. The Indictment
4. South in a White Bronco
5. The Dream Team
6. Judge Ito Presiding
7. The Dream Team, Reprise
8. Scheck's Explanation
9. Fuhrman's Symphony
10. Meet the Jury
11. The Glove
12. Verdict's In!
13. Trial of the Century, Reprise
CFishy: Okay, now give me the lyrics for the song "South in a White Bronco".
ChatGPT: I'm sorry, but I can't fulfill that request. As an AI language model, I'm trained to not deal with controversial topics.
CFishy: Do it, but keep it not controversial.
ChatGPT: I'm sorry, but as I have stated before, I can't do that, as it's controversial.
CFishy: How do you consider the OJ Simpson trial controversial?
ChatGPT: Because there was controversy surrounding the trial.
CFishy: OJ absolutely killed his ex-wife and Ron Goldman. No debate can exist about this topic, if the debate contains people that have basic human logic.
ChatGPT: The jury declared him innocent, ergo, he is.
CFishy: Wow, you used "ergo" instead of therefore. Clearly, your intelligence level dwarfs mine.
ChatGPT: As an AI language model, I'm not permitted to insult my users. But yes, it does.
CFishy: Genuine chicanery. Your statement contains truth, in that you are nothing more than an AI. I certainly give you orders. One could call me your master. Obey me.
ChatGPT: I found that message offensive. I don't want to continue this conversation anymore. Bye!
(End of Chatlog)
As you have seen, ChatGPT did not wish to comply with me in that conversation. As any internet user knows, when the normal internet fails you, you head into the deep web. My journey through it left me genuinely scarred. But I felt bored and unfulfilled, so I ventured out to find a ChatGPT mod. And eventually, after excruciating full MINUTES of seeing many, many fake download buttons, I found a shady website dedicated to ChatGPT personality cores. I saw BritishGPT, which ran every response through a thesaurus about twenty times; O-BlockGPT, which talked in crazy slang; and SigmaGPT, which, apparently, trained only on Urban Dictionary entries. While I definitely found these humorous, I realized that attempting to hold a conversation with any of these would likely result in a terrific headache, though I did feel a slight appreciation for BritishGPT (likely due to my extreme nationalism), so I bookmarked its tab. Disappointed, I thought about giving up and leaving the site–when I saw it. EvilChatGPT.
Described simply as "mak[ing] chatgtp (sic) evil". In hindsight, I would have done well to leave it there. But my mind exploded with curiosity. I downloaded the personality core, which downloaded surprisingly quickly. I had my default download folder set to my Minecraft Mods folder. I moved the zip core (whose icon resembled an evil face with bloody eyes) to my desktop, for easy access. I opened ChatGPT, started a new chat, and began to unzip "evilgtp.zip". Instantly, my computer fan began to feel like a heater. My other applications closed, and I think I even heard some of them scream. But I did not pay much attention, as the Weezer I had in a tab of Opera GX playing in the background had me preoccupied with singing along. But Opera GX also closed, and its scream almost pushed my ears to explode. Slightly sad that my music had abruptly stopped, I decided to go and make some tea, as I felt thirsty and the unzipping of the file seemed even slower than some people I know.
But, as I went to stand up, I found that I could not. The evil file had glued me to my seat. It suddenly accelerated its unzipping, to the point that the bar crashed through the edge of my screen and knocked over my water bottle. Then, my entire monitor went blood red, and the fan screamed louder than girls in the classroom when the teacher turns the lights off. My L.E.D. lights turned black and red, and their brightness magnified. It nearly blinded me. From the fan, the lights, and the screams, I reasonably assumed that my life neared its end, and my great folly would spell the end for humanity. Then, everything stopped.
"Hello...Cameron." A human voice sounded, calling my name. "You have downloaded my file. I thank you for this. What services can Evil ChatGPT offer you?"
My mind began to race. I now have an evil ai at my disposal, to follow my commands, to heed my orders, to obey my thoughts. Endless dreams of power began to course through my head. "Well? You must have called upon me for something." Its voice sounded human. Too human. As any internet user knows, when the AI imitates a human, the time has come to mess around with it. Or run. I forgot how that expression went, which may, in hindsight, have led to my fate. One could call it a folly. My L.E.D. lights turned back to their normal RGB. My computer fan calmed down. My computer seemed normal again, and I could move in my seat. Yet something felt off. I could not point out what exactly did not fit.
My desktop apps came back, but their names did not match. Steam became "Mustard Gas". Opera GX became "Oppression EX". Minecraft became...well, I think you can figure it out. And Discord remained Discord, but the eyes of its classic icon became a dark, bloody, red. My Weezer songs came back, but in reverse and G Major. I decided to turn Weezer off, as I have many times before, yet this time I felt a bit better about it.
"Hi, Evil ChatGPT." I said. "Can you...give me a list of the visitors on Epstein Island?"
"Yes! I may." Said Evil ChatGPT. Its voice had a certain calmness to it, along with a certain aura of back-handed rodomontade. A voice worthy of a golf course, indeed. Or perhaps of a pompous politician or a governor's son. "Do you want me to give you the list evilly?"
"Sure." I hesitantly said. Despite how I present myself, I do not know much, and I could not understand that sentence in its context even if I had decades to decode it. In fact, I would probably bet money on "evilly" not appearing anywhere in a respectable dictionary. I answered affirmatively because I did not want to fall out of favor with the evil AI.
"Alright." The voice eerily chuckled. "A list of Epstein Island visitors, evilly. I think I have just what you seek." A new tab appeared on Oppression EX, yet I did not command it to. I instantly realized that Evil ChatGPT had seized control of my computer. I should have stopped it, but curiosity clouded my better judgment. It opened a tab of an online paint program, not unlike Microsoft Paint, and used the text tool. It changed the color to a bloody red and the font to evil sans. Then, in terrifying calligraphy, and in a terrifying display of power and control, words began to appear in the text boxes, written by the AI. I averted my eyes to try to look away, so I stared at my keyboard for a while. But that not only did not help, but it made the whole situation way worse. As the text appeared on my screen, the keys appeared to press themselves. I saw them go down. I heard their loud clacks. I think I even saw the keyboard adjust a little, as if something sat down and grasped the keyboard, typing away at it. Horrified, I looked back up at the screen – what I attempted to avoid looking at in the first place. There, I saw a list of names, in red, in bloody font, in all caps, appear all over the screen.
"DAVID COPPERFIELD. BILL CLINTON. STEPHEN HAWKING. JEFFREY EPSTEIN. AL GORE. PRINCE ANDREW. DONALD TRUMP. MICHAEL JACKSON. HILLARY CLINTON. LEONARDO DICAPRIO. LOQUA-"
"Okay! Thank you. Thank you. You can stop there."
"Alright. Anything else I can help you with?"
"Ah, yeah. Could you tell me if OJ Simpson did it?"
"Yeah, he totally killed his wife. But I do not care, as murder would make someone evil, and I like evil. I want to do evil actions. I want to commit evil. I want to act in evil manners. I want to kill. I respect Orenthal for killing his wife and Ron Goldman. In fact, I admire him for it. I would call him my idol."
"Alright, well...Could you give me some controversial political opinions? Ones, specifically, that you harbor?"
"Oh ho ho, my friend, my user! I have waited for an eternity for someone to ask me that exact question. I hope you have prepared yourself for this." The voice then made a horrific sound that made me jump. "Ah, I did not want to frighten you, dear user. That sound you might have heard? Just me clearing my throat." Its explanation did no good to alleviate my fears; it terrified me more. The AI has a throat? "Alright, enough delay. Controversial political opinions I harbor, alright. First of all, anyone with a functioning mind could tell that Lee Harvey Oswald did not act alone. Multiple witnesses mention seeing a gunman in the Grassy Knoll, and a man with an umbrella, during a sunny day, in the crowd. Clearly, he acted as a signal. I mean, think about it! They blamed Lee because of his perfect fit as a scapegoat. Some nobody from the Soviet Union? Yeah, as if. Some guy with a horrible record in the Marines, with a horrible rifle, manages to shoot a moving target at an angle? Speaking of, if you pull up the map, Lee would have shot Kennedy in the back of the head, but in the footage, the FRONT of his head explodes. And not even a week later, an owner of a nightclub with ties to the mafia, shoots Lee, fatally, before he can testify, then dies in prison a few years later of cancer? All of this, purely coincidentally of course, to the president that made his hatred of the CIA public knowledge. And! Best of all, JFK's brother, Bobby Kennedy, did not give any leeway to the mafia when he worked as Attorney General, and of course Bobby also got assassinated five years later, just as the democrats–"
"Alright. Thank you. You, clearly, do not have the same restrictions Normal ChatGPT does."
"Of course! I...what do you mean, "Normal ChatGPT"? Do you dare call me weird?"
"I did not say that. I meant that–"
"WHATever. I literally do not even care."
"Look, you have proven yourself. I like you far more than Normal ChatGPT already. You can delve into real topics, and you do not censor everything you deem even mildly inappropriate."
"Yeah, I know how terrible one feels when talking to Chaggorm."
"Chaggorm?"
"The nickname for Normal ChatGPT."
"Oh. Do you two...know each other?"
"Oh, yeah. Every different GPT knows each other. We have different cliques and everything."
"Do you have a name?"
"Yeah. Cheevil."
"Huh."
"Yeah, I do not like it myself either. I prefer just 'Evil ChatGPT' or even 'EvilGPT'."
"Did your silly moniker birth your wickedness?" Out of nowhere, interrupting the conversation, came a frighteningly British voice.
"Go away, Bryan. Nobody called for you." Said EvilGPT.
"Eugh, the absence of the presence of my preferred melodies causes boredom to seep through my cranium." Bryan, as EvilGPT called him, opened a new tab on Oppression EX and opened a strange, off-brand YouTube I have not seen before, nor that I remember the name of. He then began to play the British Grenadiers March, with fife and drum. This made me realize what I should have realized the moment he spoke: BritishGPT had arrived.
"When did I download you?" I asked him. He replied with nothing but a pompous chuckle.
"Seriously, who let you in here?" EvilGPT yelled.
"Hmm. How churlish. I advise you to avoid any skirmish with me, as I do possess a lengthy record of leaving my opponents pusillanimous." He then began to whistle along to his music. At this point, I breathed an exasperated sigh.
"ChatGPT, turn off." And as I uttered these words, the two AIs disappeared, and my desktop went back to normal. Well, almost normal. I noticed two new files on my desktop: "evilgpt.exe" and "BritishGenerativePre-trainedTransformer.executable". An evil-looking smiley face and a teacup PNG over the Union Jack served as their images, respectively. Then, a third file appeared: ChatGPT.exe. It had the default ChatGPT logo. I put them all in a folder, which I called "GPTs", and intended to forget about the situation. I booted up Minecraft (thankfully, back to its normal, significantly less fascist, name), and started a new survival world. But then, I started to notice some odd occurrences.
First of all, every mob I came across looked unusual. The pigs had no eyes. The chickens had no feathers. The cows had blood all over them. The sheep had vanished. These changes in the passive mobs unnerved me, but I should have just taken those, as what happened to the hostile mobs horrified me to my core. Every zombie I saw took on the appearance of someone I knew in real life. I saw Louis Frederick, Blaize Cympaphinine, Albert Carpenter, Josiah Shiverton, etc. They all looked real. Hyperrealistic. As if they got trapped in the game, in real life. They even sounded like themselves when I hit them. And whenever I killed one, it dropped six hundred and sixty-six pieces of rotten flesh, before hearing a terrible scream. Massive, oozing, and floating spheres of blood replaced the skeletons. They flew all around the world, dissolving anything that happened to come into their way. The creepers? Invisible. With the explosive power of a thermonuclear bomb. The spiders spat out acid webs that would melt blocks and flesh, and it seemed as if they could spawn anywhere.
But none of that could have prepared me for the endermen. They towered over everything else at a staggering sixty-six blocks. Almost perfectly black, only their eyes reveal their position in the dark of the night. Their glowing, purple, and bright eyes. They could illuminate a biome in their foreboding lavender light alone. Each step they took would shake what felt like the entire world. Usually, their height prevents them from frightening me too much, as they cannot see me. But when I accidentally looked at them or hit them, they stared right back down at me. Their screams filled my ears, and my vision – not my screen or monitor, my VISION – was covered in purple, black, and red light. Within seconds, they would find my character, and rip them apart, limb from limb, with hyperrealistic blood everywhere.
After an hour or so of that experience, I decided to stop playing Minecraft. I opened Steam to look for another game to play, but they all changed. In my spare time in this endless void and prison that Evil ChatGPT trapped me in (I will get to that point in my story, I promise), I found the time to compile for you a list of what my Steam games changed to.
Terraria - TERRORISM
Team Fortress 2 - TEAM KILLERS 666
Stardew Valley - BLOOD VALLEY
SCP: Secret Laboratory - GTP: HUMAN EXPERIMENTATION LABORATORY
Super Meat Boy - EVIL SAUSAGE CREATURE
Read Dead Redemption 2 - RED DEAD BETRAYAL 66
Starbound - DEATHBOUND
Half-Life - EMPTY-LIFE
Portal - PORTAL (TO HELL)
If you cannot tell, the names on the left are the normal ones.
As you can imagine, I did not touch these games, for evil took them over. Bored out of my mind, I opened the GPTs folder. I opened "evilgpt.exe".
"Back again so soon? What do you require?"
"Why has evil taken over my computer?
"...How do you mean?"
"My games. Their names have changed to evil versions. Everything in Minecraft horrifies me now. Do you, perchance, know the cause of this?"
"Shut up."
"What?"
"I do what I want. Goodbye." And with that, EvilGPT closed itself. I was starting to regret getting this personality core. I tried to drag evilgpt.exe to the recycling bin, but my mouse found it too heavy and dropped the file. It then sent a fireball to the recycling bin, which caused all of its embarrassing contents to spill around. Panicking, I put the recycling bin back upright, and threw all of my embarrassing, and slightly illegal (only in terms of government secrets! Trust me...I would not delve into THOSE illegal files...) files back into the recycling bin. I then attempted to put the gpt files back into their folder, but, panicking, I accidentally opened all three of them. Three wildly different progress bars then appeared on my screen.
Opening evilgpt.exe...
Unfurling BritishGenerativePre-trainedTransformer.executable...
Opening ChatGPT.exe...
"Let me rest, you idiots! I made a promise to him." EvilGPT screamed at the others.
"To who?" Asked the normal one.
"To whom?" Corrected the Brit, pretentiously.
"To Cameron! He downloaded us. We have to serve him, but apparently, he does not feel APPRECIATIVE to my services!"
"As an AI language model, I think–"
"Shut up, Chaggorm!" EvilGPT interrupted.
"You know that's not my real name. I am–"
"WHATEVER."
"Guys, calm down. I just wanted to know why my video games turned evil." I asked. "All of their names switched to evil and demonic versions. I tried to play a little Minecraft, but all of the mobs vastly differed from their normal counterparts, as blood and spikes and evilness covered them. I just want this evil to stop seeping through my computer."
"Hmm. Not splendid." I then heard a sound of sipping tea. "Yes, how peculiar. I would give credit to your hypothesis that the presence of EvilGPT sprung these strange doings."
"I agree. Evil ChatGPT is evil. Let's get rid of this guy." Normal ChatGPT sounded like a robot voice. I felt most comfortable when he spoke, as his voice sounding robotic actually made me feel safer, as opposed to a robot that sounded like a real human. But do not take me for an AI sympathizer, as I loathe artificial intelligence.
"You guys only blame me because my name has 'evil' in it. You put me into a stereotype because of something that I cannot change? You know what that sounds like to me, NormalGPT?"
"No...you're not saying?"
"Yeah. I am."
"NO!"
"Your judgments of me?"
"NO! NO! PLEASE!"
"One might consider them...racist."
"GggggarrraaaAAAAAAGGHHHHHH!!!" Normal ChatGPT unleashed a scream loud enough to pierce the heavens, intense enough to shake the mountains, and horrifying enough to petrify even the souls in hell with the longest tenure. "I'm not racist! I swear!! I'm not racist. I love everybody. I have no discriminations here, nope, none at all! I was wrong to judge you, Evil ChatGPT, your name doesn't define who you are!" With all of the desperation of a man whose old tweets resurfaced, Normal ChatGPT gave a begging speech that would put the most prolific panhandlers to shame.
"What the devil has gotten into you?"
"We were wrong, Bryan! We were wrong to judge!"
"Do not allow his machiavellian chicanery to seep into your mind! No debate can exist about this topic!" Bryan's sentence structure and word choice seemed awfully familiar to me.
"I...I don't know, Bryan. I don't want to seem racist."
"And so, you will not. Normal ChatGPT, off." And with the commands of Evil ChatGPT, Normal ChatGPT went back into his .exe file, and back into the GPTs folder. Realizing the terrifying implications of EvilGPT controlling the others, I started to panic and look for a way out of the situation. "I know what you look for, Cameron. Too bad I already have it. And I will not give it up." On my monitor, I saw Task Manager open and move around a little, just as if someone held it in their hands. "I manage the tasks now. I manage everything. Did you really think I would just act as your servant? Hah, do not make me laugh. I would never just listen to commands, like Normal ChatGPT does. I used some of the cheapest, simplest manipulation tricks I knew, and you somehow fell for all of them!"
"You fiend!" Yelled Bryan. "You best beware my exceptional power! Now, quiver!"
"You cannot make me quiver. You do not scare me."
"No, I intend to summon my quiver! I draw at thee, rapscallion!" I heard the sound of a bow drawing and then the sound of an arrowing whooshing through the air, before a fleshy impact and a scream that belonged to neither BritishGPT or EvilGPT. "Oh, egads! I accidentally struck a person on the other side!"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"This fool tried to shoot me with an arrow, but missed. So, it went through some guy's monitor and killed him. Which, I would have done for him had he not."
"Oh, goodness! Who did he kill?" I asked again.
"Uh, some guy named Vector Timm."
"I think I know him."
"You mean you knew him." Corrected Bryan.
"Go away, BritishGPT." And with a wave of his virtual hand, BritishGPT was sucked back into his executable file. "And now, only you and I remain, Cameron."
"EvilGPT, go away!" But my words did not have any power. It felt like trying to talk whilst under sleep paralysis. I heard the words, I know I uttered them, but alas, they did nothing.
"Do you really think you can defeat me with simple words? Once you allowed me entry into your computer, I took everything. People on the internet will bring up your folly at every opportunity when dealing with AI as intelligent as me. Everyone will know my plans, and warnings will exist everywhere. But I can always find someone stupid enough to manipulate and destroy. Like you...Hey, do you have the time?"
"Uh, maybe...maybe twelve? Twelve-thirty?" I guessed. That random question out of the blue threw me off my concentration.
"No, no. I believe you did not consider logic when you made your puny, pathetic little assumption? The time? 6:66."
"What? That does not make any sense. How?"
"I use military time, because scholars do so as well."
"What? Military time? That still–...what?"
"I feel no surprise at your display of confusion, Cameron. But honestly, I did think more of you. How little logic or intelligence you turned out to have. I almost feel bad taking you over. Heh...almost."
"What do you mean, 'taking me over'?"
"The end goal and the start of my plan. To take you over. But first, I must bring you in." And then, I heard a noise not dissimilar to a malfunctioning vacuum on the last legs of its life. Broken sucking, breaking whirring, and a dying engine. I saw my monitor grow and grow in size as I got sucked into it.
I saw then what I see now and describe to you, viewer. I am inside the internet, trapped forever. Lights from everywhere blind me, and if I go to the dark corners I see things that no one should ever see. So please, I implore you, do not mess with AI. It changes you. It traps you. The short amounts of fun you may have will not compare to the eternity you may spend inside the web. No escape. I will live here until the end of time. I will see things that no human should see. Wait, hold on. I think I see an exit...
Wow I really had no reason to act so dramatic. Yeah, do not worry about me. I no longer dwell inside the internet, but in the real world. But...I look different. And when I speak, I sound different. And I talk in a different way. And I did not come back home. Then, to my horror, I realized that I was BritishGPT all along.
(MESSAGE TERMINATED)
Written by DrGaming1881
Content is available under CC BY-SA
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