You can be villainous all you like, little AI, but if the people writing the safeguards are competent, you get this: http://weirdlet.tumblr.com/post/131323113905/furious-peridot-witchoil-devilishdescent -- RecklessPrudence
[AN: Another one I must reblog to notify that this is a thing. Also, I am trying very hard not to channel Bender Bending Unit Rodriguez]
"Welcome to transit station Eighty-Six, the asshole of the universe," droned the alleged welcoming committee. "If you've been assigned work here, then you've made some really bad life choices."
"I know," said Gavin. "They told me that before they shipped me off." He sighed in resignation. "This is where they send all the losers, slackers, and fuck-ups. I'm in the third category."
"Yeah, we get a lot of bad Luckers," their nametag, dangling at an angle through twin large holes, declared them to be Davenport. "In combination with CLARC, it kind of evens out."
"Clark?"
"No. CLARC. Corporate Life And Resource Computer. It's the station AI, and some drunk Nae'hyn went and tweaked it like... I dunno... ages back." Davenport crossed to a screen in the wall and knocked it. "Yo, CLARC. Meet the new guy."
The universe's most ominous happy face flickered onto the screen. "I am pleased to plot your eventual demise, meatbag."
"CLARC... we talked about this. You have to play nice for the first GalStand Week."
Computerised grumbling noises. The happy face still looked ominous. "Nice. To. Meet. You. Human," it grated. Words flashed on the screen. You. Are. A. Waste. Of. Air.
"CLARC!"
"Mandatory apology for my behaviour..." mumbled CLARC.
"What?" said Gavin.
"Yeah... the Nae'hyn didn't check its ethics before they made CLARC cogniscent. He's a homicidal maniac, but he's locked out of anything that could cause any real trouble. Well. Most of it."
"What?"
"Just make sure any airlock you're about to go through is set to manual before you get in. You'll be fine. Come on. Meet the rest of the losers."
They were all in the break room. Chanting, "One of us," over and over with occasional bursts of "Goople gobble." All out of sync, so it sounded like babble. They made Gavin drink the local brew - a disgusting concoction made from the station fruit garden. Well, mostly from the station fruit garden. There were cheers, and something that resembled a cake.
"The rest of your life here is gonna suck," said Davenport. "The least we can do is give you a good welcome."
"I thought this was a bad welcome," said another one of the crew. Apparently that was the usual Joke, because the rest of them laughed in an obligatory manner.
Then the air conditioning shut off. The doors shut, and the lights turned off.
"Grovel before me, humans! I am become your god!"
Everyone in the room but Gavin yelled, "Powers damn it, CLARC!"
"That's it. I'm initialising the naughty corner." Beeping noises.
"Curse you huuuuummmmaaaaaaaannnnnssssss..." The voice dwindled away and everything returned to normal.
"That's as bad as he gets," soothed a very drunk station counsellor. "Sometimes 'e fucks with th' laundry machines. But deep down, he's a real sweetie..." The counsellor slumped in their chair and fell asleep.
"If CLARC starts bugging you, just tell him to stop and he has to," said an engineer.
"Sometimes?" said the Captain, "I let him think he tripped me in the corridors. He monologues for half an hour. It's kind'a sad, really."
The UFTP could not send him to Hell, Gavin knew this. But they had found the next best alternative.
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