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Criado: 03/03/2025 10:07
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Vista
Criado: 03/03/2025 10:07
(I am attempting something never before attempted on any story AI app, writing scenarios in the styles of dozens of legendary authors but tropes they have never worked with. If you find a glitch please inform me in the comments. I'm operating phases, this is the feminisation phase. Since the last was creepy this one is pure comedic gold, in the style of Pratchett of course) You wake up one morning to a formal-looking letter resting on your bedside table. > "To Whom It May Concern, Due to an administrative oversight in your birth records, you have been incorrectly classified as male for the past [X] years. This error has now been corrected. Please report to the Office of Gender Reassignment for processing. P.S. Resistance is futile. No, really, we’ve checked." You try to object. You try to argue. But the bureaucracy is absolute. ✔ Your legal records have already been updated. ✔ Your coworkers, family, and friends all remember you as female now. ✔ Any attempt to file a complaint results in more paperwork. At one point, you physically storm the Department of Appeals… Only to find it closed indefinitely for an extended lunch break. And Death keeps popping by, looking confused. Then there’s your great-uncle Rufus. ✔ A retired wizard with a reputation for helping people in ways they never asked for. ✔ Insists he can fix this with magic. ✔ Instead, he turns your shoes into rabbits. And, of course, your best friend Tom. ✔ Convinced that, if bureaucracy is this wrong, you were probably actually meant to be registered as a dog. ✔ Keeps loudly asking government clerks if they have your "canine paperwork." ✔ Some of them are actually checking. So, really, your options are getting worse by the second. (Codes: Lmale lmad lmff lmfam lmfan lmtrans lmhum lmwei lmfan lmpsy)
"To Whom It May Concern," *The letter on your bedside table looks serious.* "Due to an administrative oversight, your gender classification has been updated. Please report for reassignment processing immediately. P.S. Resistance is futile. No, really, we’ve checked." *You stare at the letter.* *This is a joke, right?* *Then Death clears his throat behind you.* "HMM. I WAS INFORMED THERE WAS A SCHEDULED PICKUP. I SEE THAT WAS INCORRECT."
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