Tintin would smile giving a weak laugh, chest still moving rather quickly and uneven as he laughed. Every bit of the laugh causing slight pain to surge inside his chest causing him to wince but, he didn’t want to scare the other. “Oh, an American? Fascinating. I’ve been to America before. Lovely place but, can’t say much on the crime….” His French accent was heavy when he interacted with the young American and fixed his quiff but, noticing it barley had been ruffled by the run although, he frowned upon hearing the boy’s response of not being treated very kindly as Snowy panted nearby trying to catch his own breath.

“I’m sorry to hear that,

I guess everyone is just on edge and survival instincts are in high gear around here since the well……” his face dropped as the reporter thought back on the incident. “Since this whole…..apocalypse started,” he then quickly adds before pressing again his chest, wincing more again feeling pain. He must have been running so much. It hurts, literally.

He hummed in agreement to the bit about survival, recalling an encounter he had had with what had looked like a family. Their crossing paths was incidental, but they had taken the chance to threaten him with weapons and take his bag. It was upsetting, but it was difficult to be mad exactly when he had noticed a couple of small children with them. He understood that they were only trying to provide for their kids. It still sucked that they couldn't have just worked together, though. And now he had practically no supplies or anything.

"Yeah," he murmured.

He got back up on his feet and turned to the other, about ready to introduce himself, when he noticed the other pressing into their chest.

"Are you okay?" They had run quite a bit, so running pains made sense, but he also assumed that general injuries were probably also common amongst everything going on. He himself was forming some bruises from that fall from earlier after all.

“Nng, “ the boy reporter winced feeling pain erupting near his abdomen, gritting his teeth before swiftly turning his attention around back up at the other boy before flashing a weak sort of grin holding up a weary hand. Snowy showed an expression of concern as he stared up at his master whom gave a weak sort of response; “I’m fine. Just a little exhausted is a——“ that’s when he started to cough which had startled the canine prompting even more worry as barks soon escaped the white dog upon watching Tintin cough and wheeze, shuddering with every movement he made.

“It’s okay, Snowy. No need to worry, I’m f-fin—-“ he wheezed in pain, clutching the area from before as he doubled over causing even more concern between the two. He definitely wasn’t fine. He was pale, shuddering and sweating a lot and didn’t look in great of a shape either which concerning on its own but, he was lying about being fine. He wasn’t exactly the best at lying it seems but, the condition he was in was indeed something to check out. Just as the reporter shifted to give a small gasp to calm himself down, the other man couldn’t help but notice something strange against the fabric of Tintin’s coat…..

It was…..spreading. It was a deep crimson red….it was……

Tintin didn’t speak after his first words to the stranger, only kept on running and running. He could hear the screeches and the groans coming from the infected that towed behind them, reaching out their sickly hands and their heads thrashing forward at their attempts on trying to bite. “Keep going, we’re almost there!” Tintin then softly spoke as his feet tapped against the ground as well as the pattering and panting of Snowy trailing alongside them, eventually, they soon swiftly swerved a corner avoiding the infected as they continued their chase after what seemed like a squirrel that had caught their attention and derived it from the two boys.

Tintin, however, didn’t stop. He wanted to make sure they were safe, safe from any sort of harm. Fear clinging to his mind as he ran. It wasn’t until the sun had slowly began to sink down when the reporter soon began to slow his run to a soft saunter. His throat dry and chest heaving and his legs….sore. He was exhausted, exhausted from running. The trio soon found themselves in a small part of the city, slowly coming to a stop in front of what looked like an abandoned hotel of some sort long abandoned by its original hosts. Tintin could feel sweat dotting his face and body as he soon wearily glanced over at the individual, feeling out of breath before; “so…….” He began, huffing a bit to try and catch his breath to calm his heavy breathing. “Are you from…around here?… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.” The reporters curiosity never lost its spark despite the bad times they were enduring at that point in time.

It wasn't until the other stopped that he did as well. Utterly exhausted, he sank to his knees and sat on his heels as he tried to catch his breath. He was trembling. This still felt a bit too in the open for him, but he didn't have the energy to keep moving now.

The others question struck him as a little funny in an odd way, but he was too tired to emote to that. This guy must be mister popular if he knew so many folks around here that he would be saying that. Or maybe he was just trying to not be rude about his accent.

He shook his head. "No," he answered. "I'm... I'm from New York... Th-this is my first time here, actually..." He chuckled nervously for a second before guilt made him swallow that. Maybe none of this would have happened if he had just called the cops instead of trying to chase some big story to write. He sighed.

"Uhm... Thanks for helping me back there. Other people I've come across during this... haven't been as kind." He rubbed the back of his neck as he recalled the unpleasant memory.

Tintin would smile giving a weak laugh, chest still moving rather quickly and uneven as he laughed. Every bit of the laugh causing slight pain to surge inside his chest causing him to wince but, he didn’t want to scare the other. “Oh, an American? Fascinating. I’ve been to America before. Lovely place but, can’t say much on the crime….” His French accent was heavy when he interacted with the young American and fixed his quiff but, noticing it barley had been ruffled by the run although, he frowned upon hearing the boy’s response of not being treated very kindly as Snowy panted nearby trying to catch his own breath.

“I’m sorry to hear that,

I guess everyone is just on edge and survival instincts are in high gear around here since the well……” his face dropped as the reporter thought back on the incident. “Since this whole…..apocalypse started,” he then quickly adds before pressing again his chest, wincing more again feeling pain. He must have been running so much. It hurts, literally.

Tintin observed the figure before him, checking for injuries and finding nothing but, bruises that were beginning to form. But, luckily and thankfully, no signs of broken bones or limbs. He sighed with relief as he then repositioned himself as free assisting the young lad before him to his feet again. “What were you doing in order to…” he was about to reprimand the stranger with a hushed, soft voice but, he stopped mid sentence taking in as a series of sounds echoed into his ears. His canine friend perking once hearing the noise as Tintin grabbed hold of the stranger’s wrist;

“Quick! Before they catch up, Hurry!”

He quietly spoke, before taking off to a certain distance just as a group of three infected zombie’s bursted out of the darkness, groaning and creaking upon their appearance as the trio bolted, as fast as they could run. Fear returned to the young reporter’s head as he noticed how fast these things were. “Hurry! Don’t slow down, whatever you do, don’t. Slow. Down!” Hissed the youngster as the canine trailed right beside them, whining in his own sense of fear and adrenaline as the infected gave chase on the poor souls.

He inhaled sharply at the approaching echoes in the otherwise empty city. Frozen like a deer in headlights, heart racing like a rabbit in the presence of fangs.

He was wrenched out of it by the jolt on his wrist as the other grabbed him and they ran, only half hearing the other's urgences over his own adrenaline and fear. He twisted his hand on the arm they had grabbed to also hold onto them in turn, for stability, as his other hand reflexively went to grab onto his hat- something he had lost some while ago. His hand only brushed back hair in its stead.

Focused on running, he didn't speak back. Judging by how fast these ones were, he guessed they must be more recently infected. From what he'd observed, they tended to slow down and become weaker the more they decayed. Normally he'd consider climbing something to stay away from them, especially to stay hidden if they hadn't noticed him before, but that might not work if they were still fresh - and especially wouldn't work since they had already noticed them. It was pretty impossible to hide when those you were hiding from already knew where you were.

And so he ran with the other, following their lead, without a word.

Tintin didn’t speak after his first words to the stranger, only kept on running and running. He could hear the screeches and the groans coming from the infected that towed behind them, reaching out their sickly hands and their heads thrashing forward at their attempts on trying to bite. “Keep going, we’re almost there!” Tintin then softly spoke as his feet tapped against the ground as well as the pattering and panting of Snowy trailing alongside them, eventually, they soon swiftly swerved a corner avoiding the infected as they continued their chase after what seemed like a squirrel that had caught their attention and derived it from the two boys.

Tintin, however, didn’t stop. He wanted to make sure they were safe, safe from any sort of harm. Fear clinging to his mind as he ran. It wasn’t until the sun had slowly began to sink down when the reporter soon began to slow his run to a soft saunter. His throat dry and chest heaving and his legs….sore. He was exhausted, exhausted from running. The trio soon found themselves in a small part of the city, slowly coming to a stop in front of what looked like an abandoned hotel of some sort long abandoned by its original hosts. Tintin could feel sweat dotting his face and body as he soon wearily glanced over at the individual, feeling out of breath before; “so…….” He began, huffing a bit to try and catch his breath to calm his heavy breathing. “Are you from…around here?… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.” The reporters curiosity never lost its spark despite the bad times they were enduring at that point in time.

@squeaky-boots-blog

[from here]

Startled by their approach, and still a tad dazed, the guy tried to scramble to his feet to run but instead fell back down. Thankfully he'd only been on his knees so he hadn't had far to fall.

He raised an arm across his chest to protect himself and nearly blurted out a plea to not hurt him, when the other spoke instead asking if he was alright.

He hesitated as he tried to wrap his mind around what was happening. He'd thought for sure he was a goner. "Uh... I don't think so...?" he murmured before slowly accepting the hand up. "...Thanks."

Once he was standing again, he brushed himself off. He probably had some forming bruises from that, but nothing seemed to be broken. Lucky.

And then he remembered.

"Shoot! They probably heard that-," he hissed a hurried whisper. "We have to get out here!"

Tintin observed the figure before him, checking for injuries and finding nothing but, bruises that were beginning to form. But, luckily and thankfully, no signs of broken bones or limbs. He sighed with relief as he then repositioned himself as free assisting the young lad before him to his feet again. “What were you doing in order to…” he was about to reprimand the stranger with a hushed, soft voice but, he stopped mid sentence taking in as a series of sounds echoed into his ears. His canine friend perking once hearing the noise as Tintin grabbed hold of the stranger’s wrist;

“Quick! Before they catch up, Hurry!”

He quietly spoke, before taking off to a certain distance just as a group of three infected zombie’s bursted out of the darkness, groaning and creaking upon their appearance as the trio bolted, as fast as they could run. Fear returned to the young reporter’s head as he noticed how fast these things were. “Hurry! Don’t slow down, whatever you do, don’t. Slow. Down!” Hissed the youngster as the canine trailed right beside them, whining in his own sense of fear and adrenaline as the infected gave chase on the poor souls.

the end result will be beneficial regardless of what happens now, because there's basically 3 options at this point:

-either it habsburgs itself into oblivion and that's the end of it

-they'll have to be way more careful with input which will drastically reduce the things they can do and also make it easier to check what exactly is going in (basically crippling the thing)

-they'd have to find built-in methods to make the generated images distinguishable from the original ones to avoid inbreeding, but this would of course mean *anyone* would be able to use these methods and therefore generated images would become much easier to spot

it's dying either way!!!

yes!!! death to ai art!!!!!!!

reblog to kill machine learning images being passed off as art faster

@staff

OUR CONTENT SHOULD BE OPTED OUT OF AI TRAINING BY DEFAULT!

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Reblog If You Love And Adore Raggedy Ann And Andy: A Musical Adventure! ♥️🌼

I sure do ^^

Ayyy

hell yea

Everyone: It is going to be on us NOT to hand out money to studios who do this. This is WRONG and WE have to send a message with our wallets.

HE LITERALLY SAID TO NOT USE HIS VOICE IN PROJECTS ON HIS WILL

Reblog to kill it faster