I Fed The Novel to Botnik and OMG You Must See This

If you haven’t met Botnik yet, OMG.

Botnik is exactly what would happen if those predictive text memes had access to entire books. Its most famous production by far is this predictive-text chapter of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, but you can load any .txt file into the generator.

So I put in Nantais.

Presented for your amusement: a predictive-text Nantais fanfic by Botnik.


 

Three Sets of Slapping Dynamics

One

Molloy had never taken over with breakfast. But there was a faint crunching sound that looked through the airlock.

“Friendly,” thought the Molloy. It wasn’t first to break down at them, but she doubted its heart.

Molloy shook a few times, then lowered an entire ceiling into a hole. Her face was broken. She wondered if it had been affixed over centuries, or whatever.

Hayek grabbed one large blue stain. Molloy had always respected that, but this situation wasn’t his first encounter with non-Molloy.

“The other kid cracked, ” said Hayek. Molloy blinked. Hayek was seriously familiar with other women. But he didn’t often act fluid with that move.

Hayek only inspired her arm feelings. “Hold out,” Molloy asked. “More uncomfortable items were built here.”

Meanwhile, in front of the surgical woman, Hayek presumed to speak. “But this situation with her posted feelings regarding her dead body. It’s maladaptive.”

“You think about your interference coat,” Molloy said quietly. Funny: Hayek had been one guilty swelling of himself for several generations. Paragraphs were essentially mammalian; why not disable ships registered in three hundred thousand old people’s parts?

Hayek scrolled ahead to the end. Docking nowhere was a sickening lie. Really, a metal panel like humans did not consider feeling helpless.

Breakfast was too confident in Hayek’s mind. The science employees had never even signed up, circling the ship’s capable coveralls instead, but insomnia was a bitch. Sleep was something decidedly nasty before correction had spent his damn job.

“Hell down, ” Molloy said without comment. He didn’t ask for feeling. Cardiac arrest had no clearance and so he ignored all dead spouses. Nowhere was he authorized to language Molloy out of a multi particle lineup.

Hayek suppressed the floor. That looked happening.

Molloy jerked Hayek into her pocket. “We can push air, ” she said, and passed through the ceiling.

Two.

Dar Nantais considered identical nonsense at the Niralan society. It was xenophobic, but nothing echoed like centuries of luxury debris.

“You can hitch it to transmit something, ” she said delightedly.

Only a waste of a language proved that he’d even thought about her feelings regarding centimeters. She nodded him a screwdriver. Hayek was seriously a repair question of little impulse alongside all her major attention.

“Engines vibrated through supplementary psychosis.” Her lungs scrabbled into helpless civilian English. “Parthenogenesis becomes essential in a day if you’re out here married to another person’s ribs. If you’d punch repeatedly though, standard repairs would likely articulate. ”

She told both men that. But they’d had no sense of their implantation. They wouldn’t bargain with Molloy.

Nantais considered her own damn sense. He understood her for several possible formulations, was yet never actually present. Hayek suppressed anger into bottles. Looked suspiciously pale and empathetic. Regulation was not exactly ninety hundred semester hours of himself.

The ship still jammed practically silent into her head, bobbed across her attention, and snapped beneath dinner. Similarly, folks were springing into her English. Personally, doubt had no eyebrow. Nantais sat down to minimum life.

Three.

Beings with eyes snaked through supplementary levels.

The ship floated, open and prodigious. Assholes installed between herself and Molloy shook catwalk railing packs at certain humans.

Alongside humans, control was too confident. Enough priceless information toward them, and doorways linked classified feelings to herself. Regret, consent: the ship had no idea what appealed to the crew. Only damn mind racing every time.

Once the Jemison, running 1618 shits about slapping your wife, thought better about her. “What?” humans gave her, clenched against weeks of training. She didn’t say. The Molloy asked Cordry. They pestered enterprise coordinates to the ship’s own father, but surveyed standard plastic.

Sheeting across a closer hole raised predicament. Hayek resisted only when he’d had no sense.  She dictated his mind alongside snowsuits, bumping, and Molloy. That’s right this time.

Nantais, therefore, functions as a hunter of wires. No reason to doubt she’d had it. Never stopped rummaging in time. Claiming more uncomfortable items. But these systems were working together already, discovered communication on anything that wasn’t information.  It’s never intended for a human.

Unofficially, the Jemison lacked human standards. Approximately everyone was short, grammatical nonsense. But when pushed, her voice dropped to her kidney, and then she looked genuinely well.  Only two people knew, and they were both kidnapped.

The Jemison liked them both as space debris.


Perhaps BEST OF ALL, you can generate your own Nantais-based predictive-text short stories too, or so Botnik tells me, at this link. Do it do it do it and then put them in the comments because OMG I AM DYING.

3 thoughts on “I Fed The Novel to Botnik and OMG You Must See This

  1. A start: “To be treated as purely biological buildings, he thought theory else he’d said nothing. Molloy glanced around armed gibberish, then spoke again. “It’s property damage.” That had happened since they’d rocked to the Niralan illusions and Hayek found himself fighting blood cannon failure.

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    1. I’m deeply intrigued by this blood cannon failure.

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      1. I’m wondering what kind of ship would be *armed* with blood cannons.

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