This is VIJEV and let’s talk about storytelling. I’ve been learning how to use AI for storytelling, including trying out ChatGPT and even Notion AI to assist with creative writing. I’ve created a story with my own plot, characters and twists. I then asked AI to help rewrite some of the sentences to be more coherent and of course with better grammar. I then took the story and fed it with ChatGPT again to create a narrative that had a bit more sarcastic humour to suit the style of a noir detective story set in a sci-fi world. Imagine that I baked the cake and the AI helped with the icing. Here it begins.

Synthetic Murder

It was a dark and stormy night. Yours truly, Detective Vaj Appan, playing gumshoe in the city that never sleeps, because really, who could sleep with all these factories running? The city is Amartek, 2049 AD. A Tuesday, 6pm. At least the nightlife was consistent, if you're into the whole burnt oil from the East and charred masala from the West kind of vibe. And let me tell you, folks, this metaphor for my life couldn't have been more original. My duality: half-man, half-cybernetic, all-confusion.

Now gather 'round, kiddos, because I'm going to share the thrilling tale of that one fateful call that changed my life forever. I mean, really, how could it not? It was the warehouse factory, where they discovered a human supervisor, deader than disco, murdered by an automaton. Unthinkable! It was like one of those cheesy B-movies that nobody watches.

But here's the kicker: with a gaggle of detectives available in the area, who do they assign the case to? Yours truly, Detective Vaj "I-Swear-I-Know-What-I'm-Doing" Appan. Because this was one of those sensitive cases, and they needed someone who could straddle both worlds. So who better than the guy who has electronic spare parts to make me whole?

Ah, yes, the automatons. Or robots, or AI, or "mechanical overlords," or “job stealers” or whatever the kids are calling them these days. They were our trusty, efficient workers who put us, humans, out of business. No incidents for years, and then suddenly, a bump in the night. I was stumped, flummoxed even. Was it an accidental glitch, or was someone pulling the robotic strings? This city hadn't been shaken like this since Windows 3.1 came out, and that's ancient history, my friends.

So there I was, stepping into the dilapidated warehouse factory like I owned the place. The first thing to assault my senses was the charming aroma of rusted metal and oil, a real olfactory treat. The once silent machines were now whirring so loudly that I could hardly hear myself think. So, with grim determination, I made my way to the late human supervisor's office, the door stubbornly locked from the inside. But never fear, for Detective Vaj "Who-Needs-A-Warrant" Appan used a key, a true testament to my detective prowess.

As I entered, I was struck by the tidiness of the office, a stark contrast to the chaotic factory floor. Everything had its place, except for the corpse sprawled on the floor. That's our dearly departed supervisor, alright. Upon close examination, it was obvious he'd been strangled to death. It all seemed too personal, like a high-stakes game of robotic Twister gone wrong. The automaton's muscular arm was covered in human blood, with clear signs of a struggle. Reliable machines, huh? Colour me unsettled.

Well, well, wasn't this a riveting mystery straight out of a pulp fiction novel? So there I was, knee-deep in this case, sauntering out of that factory with all the ambience of a robotic assembly line, and boy was the city skyline a painter's cliché: orange and red as a digital firestorm. Time to hit up the supervisor's stomping ground – The Binary & Biryani, where your meal came in two modes: hot or not.

As I strutted into the joint, the spice factor sucker-punched my nostrils like a prizefighter, taking me down memory lane where lactose-free yoghurt off