Whitzz/544K-RP-Datasets huggingface dataset:
Thread: Zombieeeees!

Allan looked around the back yard, dowel at the ready. The coast seemed to be clear, so he set down the dowel, walked over to the tool shed and pried the rusty door open. It made the typical ear-splitting creak, and Allan scrunched his nose. The shed smelled absolutely foul. When he finally got the door open, he reached up and pulled on the light chain. It dimly lit up the shed, exposing the sparse ingredients stored therein. Surprisingly, there was quite a bit of wood, although about a quarter of it was rotten through. He picked up a couple of short planks of 2x4 and some sections of particle board, stacking them on the ground outside, then looked around the shed. Plenty of old paint cans, smallish canister of gasoline, about a dozen bent screwdrivers, a broken car exhaust pipe, well-rusted of course, a flat spare tire, unicycle with missing seat, lawn chairs, chain saw Allan raised an eyebrow. Hello. he said, picking up the chainsaw and gasoline. He walked to the back door and put both down, then returned to the shed and gave it a final once-over. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something, and crouched down. There was an old metal grinder underneath the lowest shelf. He pulled it out and blew on it. It was in surprisingly good shape. He tugged on the light switch and kicked the shed doors closed. Setting down the grinder on the stack of wood, he picked up the bundle and walked back to the door, setting the stack down and began to retrieve his keys. Suddenly, he heard a crack gunfire. It echoed for a bit, and then there was another shot. He turned his head and looked around, trying to find where it had come from. It was relatively nearby, maybe only a couple of blocks away. There were so many things that gun shots could mean. Allan fumbled with his keys, managed to get the door open, and quickly stuffed everything inside, shutting the back door and locking it as quickly as he could. Vera. he said, but she wasn't within earshot. Vera! he called, and walked to the foot of the stairs. He paused, and trudged up the stairs. Did you just wwuh w-what are you doing? he asked, staring into his bedroom.
Thread: Zombieeeees!

Vera was two steps from the landing when she heard it. She'd watched enough movies and played enough video games to immediately recognize the sound. Gunshot. She paused - frozen on the stair - when the sound rang out again. Her first thought was Allan and she turned, ready to go back downstairs. Then she realized that the shots weren't coming from her own yard. Besides, what could she have done? Come charging out of the house with her blow dryer in one hand and hair straightener in the other? Definitely not. She hovered between two stairs while she wondered what to do. The prevailing thought was to run and hide in her closet. Regardless of what she did, alcohol would precede it so she redirected herself back to Allan's room. She crossed the threshold and looked around with her hands on her hips. His normally untidy room was even more disheveled from him digging things out. It looked like something had thrown up everywhere. She was so focused on finding the bottle that she didn't hear him call the first time. Upstairs, she yelled back once she heard her name. She took a cautious step inside, whirling around at his statement. Despite knowing that he was approaching, she still felt startled. Jeebus. I was looking for that bottle of stuff. Like you can find anything in here though. She looked him over quickly. Find anything good? Oh, and did you hear those gunshots? Sounded close by. Are we really going to have to shoot these things? None of the reports have been much help on how we're supposed to get rid of them. It should be like 'Signs' when all we need are glasses of water and a baseball bat.
Thread: At your service! (Tristeza and missedstations)

The ship silently docked on the port of the luxurious space resort. It looked simple in it's midnight blue paint job, compared to the highly ornate vessels that were stationed by its side, clearly out of place. Aerodynamic, shaped like an arrow, no frills or golden indents or mermaid shaped figure heads, reminiscent of times long gone. All in all, it just didn't belong there. And neither did the person that ported down by its side, staring coldly at the surrounding opulence. It just wasn't his cup of tea, if he'd ever have any. The contact had been made. Same deal as usual, half up front, half in the end. It was a usual customer, so Gerrard would had no problem saying yes. And the pad on his hand already reflected the amount that had been tranferred to his bank account. Here was what he liked. Speed. Honesty. And a whoooooooole bunch of zeroes, damn! A small smirk cracked on his hardened, tanned face, a brief, flighty thing. It soon disappeared with the sound of footsteps on the metallic floor of the port, assuming a rigid position, hands behind his back, feet at the width of his shoulders. If it wasn't for his garb, one'd mistake him for a military. Maybe he'd have been one, if uniforms were his gig. Then again, probably not. Gerrard wasn't too great at taking orders. The first thing one'd notice when the mercenary entered the room was his height. Even with all the genetic manipulation, it was uncommon for someone to stand a full 2 meters. Coupled with work out muscle, and there we go, a human wall, covered in a black trenchcoat. Patches of light composite armor shone on his torso, on top of a dark blue overall matching the ship's color. And a pair of big, black boots. Of course, if that didn't demand enough respect, there was always the gun dangling from the belt he wore, a shining silver revolver on steroids, proportional to the man that carried it. Not even a speck of stubble marred his face. The only thing that seemed out of place in this scenario was the hair, long enough to reach his waist, made into a thick, light brown braid. A personal quirk, everyone had them. He had a braid. Go figure. 'Oooooh, ooooh! they're coming! I can't wait to see who I'm carrying this time!' A metallic voice buzzed into his ear through the headphone, making him sigh deeply. Oh, the patience he needed for this ship... Not now Zyx. Gerrard mumbled, staring at the approaching entourage.
Thread: At your service! (Tristeza and missedstations)

At first, Gerrard just ignored the 'attachment' to his employer, his large, physical work worn hand contrasting with the master's smaller, manicured and impecably polished one as he met the handshake. The difference between someone who did hard work and someone who hardly worked at all... with his hands, at least. Likewise, always a pleasure. Especially with the amount of zeroes... oh yes, Gerrard loved himself some zeroes... on the right side of the number, of course. The spaceship wasn't exactly of lowcost maintenance, and he'd do everything for the baby of his eyes. Except decorating. That part was a waste. When he did acknowledge the person he'd be carrying... person? No, thing! Urgh, sex slaves. It was a gamble, the sort of personality they had. Generally though, they were as smart as a stick, as clingy as a leech and as impossible as a... a... a child! Urgh, children. Never again! He had to repress an eye roll really, really well, summoning the patience required with every fiber of his being. And it had to be to an icy planet in the confines of the galaxy. At least there was nothing special about this one, not that he noticed right off the bat. If worst came to it, Zyx could always take care of the 'special' needs. There was no complaint, usually. Then again, normally it wasn't top end merchandise... it could be trouble. The mention of the 'perk' made the mercenary chuckle, shaking his head. Thank you, Russell, but you know it's not my taste. In fact, he had no taste. At all. Sex was a burden, an unneeded complication for some flighty seconds of pleasure. For that, Gerrard'd much rather travel through the dark void, hunting comets, piercing nebulae and whatnot. A much more lasting pleasure - and one that needed no extra upkeep. He's in good hands. A small bow from his head, and suddenly it was just the two of them. The towering man and the meek red head. Now was the first time he took a good, long look at the slave. Such a little pathetic thing... it wouldn't even last a day in the real world... These were the kind of thoughts Gerrard entertained as the boy tried to find his ground, silent, icy blue eyes almost piercing holes through the poor Kitten's skull. Gerrard is fine. the mercenary mumbled, sighing. Oh, what long, long, loooooong travel this was going to be. I'll be taking you to your new master. This isn't a luxury cruise though, and I have some errands along the way. So I have two rules for you. One. Don't mess with the ship. Two. Don't mess with me. Understood?
Thread: At your service! (Tristeza and missedstations)

Plenty of people did not see Kitten's like as a person but he was used to that and didn't really expect better treatment. Simple commands were best, and he was good at trying to follow them. Trying being the key word here... Anything that took significant amounts of self-control or required the ability to wait patiently led to a complete failure. What did 'don't mess with' mean? Oh dear. That wasn't clear at all. No, sir... Kitten said miserably, shifting from foot to foot, very uncomfortable with the way he being looked at and at the way that he was being spoken to. Maybe this man didn't like him. But that surely wasn't right. He dropped his eyes in the face of that glare. Usually he got stared at for entirely different reasons, mentally undressing him, not mentally trying to get rid of him. Of course, there were the occasional abolitionists, and someone had tried to explain that position to Kitten, but they used too many long words, and it just hadn't worked. Erm, if you're taking me to my new master- And such a long timespan was pretty much infinity, as far as Kitten was concerned, because it didn't actually mean anything to him. - does that mean you're my master until you get there? He looked a little proud of himself for that conclusion, which had, in his opinion who no one cared for, had no way of actually being wrong.
Thread: At your service! (Tristeza and missedstations)

Gerrard. The man instantly corrected, sighing deeply. Just as much as he hated orders, her hated titles. It'd actually earned him a spat with a high ranking general from the governmental forces before, but in the end he came out on top. Like always. In the end, his work was more valuable than some prissy fuck who only sat on a chair all day. Hah. However, that was far from his mind right now. He had a much bigger problem at hand. This one was a complete hollow head. They hadn't even left and he was already rubbing his eyes. I'm NOT your master. Your masters are Mr. Russell and his companion. I'm just getting you there. That's all. From point A to B, he thought about adding. But something told him that wouldn't really get through to the boy. It didn't even matter to him that he could have dented Kitten's little pride with bashing his 'brilliant' conclusion. Gerrard wasn't a soft man, he'd long given up on it. In fact, there wasn't much the mercenary clinged to . Baggage bogged people down. Baggage got people killed. Now, pick up your bag. We have a lot of ground to cover and not that much time. Your master can wait, but my other employers cannot. Gerrard ordered, turning his back on Kitten to look at his ship. Zyx, take us in. And, before Kitten knew it, they were ported inside, just like that. If there'd been anyone he wanted to say goodbye to or something, too late. Still, Gerrard somehow doubted that. Slaves like him had no attachments, no morals, no nothing. Toys jumping from hand to hand. Disgusting, as far as he was concerned. The inside of the ship was as spartan as its owner. It had the commodities for one to live in it in fact, the enough for five people to be lodged in. What it didn't have though, was comfort. Everything was utilitary and simple, in white and silvery tones, some blue here and there at best. The area that could eventually be the most heartwarming would be the bedrooms, but not even those. Kitten'd find himself, along with Gerrard, on the bridge of the ship, a large screen mirroring the outside, as if it was glass. It wasn't too big, one certainly couldn't run in there, and in the front center, a lonely chair, surrounded by the ship controls. The place Gerrard immediatly blocked with his body, to prevent Kitten from having any strange ideas, if he happened to be in some form or shape enticed by the faint glow. Among other things, this was what he'd meant with not messing with his ship...
Thread: At your service! (Tristeza and missedstations)

But if I am supposed to obey you until I have to obey someone else, then what else are you, sir? As far as he was concerned, whoever was ordering him around was his master. But he wasn't meant to contradict a master now, was he? This was going to be difficult. His face did fall a little and he bent down to pick up the bag. There wasn't even much in it, just a couple of changes of clothes and his wash things. It wasn't as if he had possessions . Certainly no one had ever given him something he might be sentimental about, or would try to keep. Someone else had even packed the bag... Kitten didn't have the foresight to know what he needed. In fact, he had exceedingly little of that at all. It was a well known fact that stupid, unimaginative people tended to be happier with their lot, and hence why would anyone try to improve his mind? It was only bound to lead to something unfortunate down the road. Nope, Kitten indeed had nothing to be overly attached to on this planet. He wasn't even that attached to his master... It was only the things that were immediately near that commanded his attention. For something that might end up changing masters many times, it might be unfortunate if it actually pined and got depressed after realising it might never see them again. He had only been ported a couple of times, and both had ended up with him throwing up something about it didn't quite agree with his modified biology. He shuddered delicately and covered his mouth with his hand. That would really annoy this man, no doubt, to end up throwing up all over this incredibly shiny floor... Kitten looked up at the screen and his response was Oooh. Nausea almost forgotten. He didn't get to see many views, and this was an interesting perspective on the dock. Shiny. Despite having been transferred from planet to planet several times, he'd never actually got to see space, spending those times mostly in his master's room, forbidden from going outside of it. Normally he wasn't allowed to touch any technology that was the only serious rule Mr. Russell had him follow, so he wasn't even tempted by the consoles. Well, he was, but knowing he'd be punished was even less tempting. This man Gerrard was so big he could probably break him like a twig! Luckily for them both, it looked like Kitten was momentarily lost for words.
Thread: At your service! (Tristeza and missedstations)

Gerrard sighed yet again, shaking his head at the small whelp. He probably hadn't had a lot of exposure to anything but bedrooms and the cozy, fluffy insides. This was bound to be somewhat of a major change. At least he hadn't tried anything stupid. Yet. Okay, once again, rules. Don't touch anything in this room, Kitten. If you do, I'll lock you away in one of the rooms by yourself. You're free to roam the ship if you want, if you don't I don't care, but any doors or boxes, things that are locked, stay locked. Don't open them. Simple enough? Oh please Gerrard, he's just a simple boy, it's not as if he's going to open a hole in my hull... A jovial male voice resounded from seemingly nowhere, clearly not the mercenary's... and very awkward sounding overall, considering Gerrard. He'd been questioned before as to why he'd chosen such an AI for the ship. His answer was always rather simple. He didn't. At the time he'd bought it, he didn't have the money to change it. As time passed though, and Zyx proved his worth time and time again, despite the quirky personality, Gerrard actually grew attached to it. His ship was his best and most loyal friend in the whole universe. If you say so... but then you're the one in charge of him. Gerrard grumbled, taking his seat to start preparing to leave. As far as he was concerned, he was done dealing with the boy, at least for now. First came the take off. Then everything else. Behind Gerrard, a soft white glow began taking the shape of a humanoid, the voice clearly coming from the forming figure. Don't worry, sweetie, you're in good hands. After all, someone had to give this place some sort of feminine touch, why not the place itself, yes? When it stopped glowing, in front of Kitten, slightly taller than him, was the figure of a teenage boy with silver skin and long teal glowing hair that floated impossibly behind him, clad in a black mesh sleeveless shirt and some lome relatively loose jeans. His eyes had the same color and glow of the hair, and spread across the visible 'skin' of his body were streaks and designs of the same kind. Other than that, a perfectly normal human male. That floated. Hello, I'm Zyxadine, but you can call me Zyx! He leant forward to Kitten, with a wide smile. Oooooooh, you're just so adorable!!
Thread: At your service! (Tristeza and missedstations)

Ooh, this man had remembered his name! He felt a tiny bit flattered. That sort of punishment did, however, sound horrifically unpleasant. Kitten was terrible on his own. It was lonely and usually very very quiet, and he did badly with both of those. He wasn't made to be left alone. It wasn't that he got bored, but after a while it upset him that there was no one to serve. He hadn't really analysed his neediness in those terms, of course, all he knew is that he was always immensely relieved when his master came home. Yessir, he said quickly, putting his hands in front of himself just so that no mistake could be made. How would he even open things that were locked? What a strange order... Maybe his brief bafflement showed. It was nice that he might be allowed to wander the ship, though! He had heard that plenty of creatures like him were just kept locked up in a single room, and that plenty were treated cruelly by their masters. He visibly jumped at the other voice. An AI...? He had heard of them, he had, of course, never met one. Most were far too superior to actually interact with someone so stupid. The conversation between the two went 'whoosh' right over his head while he was distracted. Huh, he said idiotically, staring. Zyxad-...? He was definitely going to forget that. He shortened his ambitions to just Zyx. Are you an AI? he had to ask, going absolutely bright red at be compliments. The idea of being complimented by a computer was just awkward. Artificial construct to artificial construct..? No one had ever told him how to behave around one of those!
Thread: At your service! (Tristeza and missedstations)

Oh my, yes, I surely am! Zyx posed, adding some momentary glimmer just to further awe his audience. But don't let that bother you, I'll just be your friend from now on! He zoomed over Kitten and squeezed him in a tight hug, squealing in excitement. Don't mind the grumpypants over there. Zyx whispered on the slave's ear, pointing at Gerrard's back. He just isn't too good at being cheery... Zyx, you're talking too much... Gerrard grumbled, glancing back over his shoulder. Darn loud computer. Why don't you go show him around while I do that piloting thing you suck so much at? Mockery was Gerrard's common way of appreciating things, especially his computer. Zyx just stuck his fluorescent tongue in response, turning his back on them and leading Kitten off into the hall We'll just leave him be for a little while, because this part is soooooooooo hard to do... The AI rolled his eyes, shrugging off Gerrard's words. Just because I put a dent in Mr. Wiley's ship doesn't mean I can't autopilot myself. Yeesh. The corridor extended itself before them, not too long because it wasn't that big - it was a modest ship after all. So, lets see... Zyx pondered, looking at the doors. First things first, you need a room, yes?
Thread: At your service! (Tristeza and missedstations)

He made a little very undignified sound at being squished like this. What was it like to have friends? Kitten didn't know, so he could only manage to look a little dubious. This was very unexpected. Of course he accepted Zyx's authority, though Gerrard was the human, the really important one... Though even in a legal context, an AI had more rights than Kitten did. Obviously the idea of an entirely autonomous human being created artificially creeped out far too many people. Kitten threw a look back at the screen, curious to see what takeoff would be like, but letting Zyx tug him away anyway. He didn't want to annoy people in his first hour . He made a nondescript sound of agreement at Zyx's words not knowing what to say at all, but knowing that most people liked him to agree with their cleverness. He'd done it all the time for Mr. Russell, and the master had sometimes used to ruffle his hair and call him 'cute'. Er, I do, sir? he asked the AI, surprised. The title was a reflex, more than anything, trained into him. I've never had my own room. He'd always slept in his master's bed, or on the floor next to it sometimes. It wasn't as if he needed the privacy!
Thread: At your service! (Tristeza and missedstations)

Finally alone, Gerrard could now concentrate on his task. Ports with a lot of movement could be somewhat of a pain in the ass, not because of his abbility, but the lack of it others sometimes displayed. Some people simply shouldn't be allowed to drive anything, really. In the back, Kitten wouldn't feel a thing as the ship raised into the air softly and took off to the stratosphere. It might be a modest ship, but that didn't mean it wasn't well equipped. And really, many of those rich pieces of junk would probably kill to have stabilizers like Zyx's. Alone, Gerrard chuckled at the thought, as the sky progressively gave way to the empty void of space. In the meanwhile, Zyx nodded, smilling gently. I figured as much, sweetie. He floated a bit down the corridor, stopping in front of two doors, one in front of each other. You're used to sleeping with your master, right? But you saw Gerrard. Company just isn't something he enjoys. Makes for a very lonely life. It's sad, really. Heartbreaking even. The AI pressed his palm against the sensor by one of the doors and the respective door opened, revealing a small room. The biggest thing was the kingsize bed, tailor made to fit the large man. Otherwise, there wasn't much to it, other than the wardrobe, included on the wall and a cupboard, where a small pile of books rested, some new, others worn out. Gerrard enjoyed the touch of paper, an old, rare thing nowadays in the most advanced worlds. Not in the fringes though, where technology enjoyed fluking out from time to time. This is Gerrard's room... Zyx presented, then took the hand off, letting the door close as he shifted to open the one on the other side. ... And this will be your room. It looked exactly the same, save for the bed, which was a smaller size, and the glass desk, where a computer terminal sat. Guests didn't have the priviledge of accessing Zyx, but that didn't mean they'd have to be cut off from the world. Even if it probably wouldn't be of any use to Kitten. You can live your stuff there, I'll get it tidied up for you later.