Imagine stepping into a world where the line between humanity and artificial intelligence blurs, a world so advanced that it teeters on the edge of the uncanny. Welcome to "Future Darkly: Artifamily," a breathtaking journey into the unknown, where science fiction meets raw human emotion. The scene unfolds with a cinematic nod to the iconic POV sequence from the 1987 sci-fi classic, "Robocop." A sterile, brightly lit room hums with anticipation as a team of scientists, clad in crisp lab coats, huddle around a locked-off camera. Their leader, a woman of poise and intellect, leans into the frame, her eyes scanning the lens with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction. She speaks of exteroceptive sensors and CCD cameras, her voice a symphony of confidence and control. With each word, the air around her shimmers with code, a visual feast of digital magic (VFX), hinting at the technological marvel before them. The scientist is meticulous, her questions sharp, ensuring that every glitch has been ironed out. This is not just a machine they're discussing; it's a masterpiece, a testament to their genius. As the final checks are made, the scientist's face softens. "Drain it," she commands gently, "and dress it in civilian clothes. The father will be here soon." With that, she exits, leaving her team to give one last, lingering look at their creation before they too disappear from the frame. The stage is set, the anticipation palpable. Who is this father? What has this team of brilliant minds created? The answers lie just around the corner, in a future that's as fascinating as it is frightening. CUT TO TITLE PLATE: March 15, 2095. A close-up of a man's shoes, tapping nervously against the pristine white floor of a minimalist office. The camera pans up, revealing Robert, a man etched with grief. Six months ago, his world shattered when his beloved wife and 18-year-old stepdaughter were stolen from him in a cruel twist of fate. Despite the support of loved ones, he's been hospitalized twice with severe PTSD, his life reduced to a shadow of what it once was. But today, he's here, at the ARTIFAMILY Institute, clutching onto a sliver of hope offered by his therapist. What could this enigmatic government program possibly do to ease his pain? Enter the lead scientist, her presence commanding yet compassionate. She greets Robert with a warm handshake that melts into a comforting hug, introducing him to her team. As they settle down, a hologram screen materializes beside her (VFX*), painting the air with images of the institute's history. Founded in 2040 by Dr. Philip Bernard, a visionary psychiatrist and futurist entrepreneur, ARTIFAMILY has evolved into the leading treatment facility for victims of emotional distress and extreme bereavement. But Robert is barely listening, his eyes glazed over with a mix of anxiety and despair. What has he gotten himself into? The scientist pauses, her gaze softening as she takes in Robert's distress. She begins to delve into his case, her voice a soothing balm against his raw emotions. As she speaks, images of his wife and daughter flicker onto the screen, their smiles a bittersweet reminder of the life he once had. Robert's face pales, his body folding in on itself as the weight of his loss crashes down upon him. The scientist signals for a team member, who swiftly brings him a silver can. He sips it meekly, his eyes hollow, as the scientist continues to recount his journey post-tragedy. The room is a tableau of tension, a dance between hope and despair, as Robert teeters on the edge of the unknown. Kneeling beside him, the scientist's voice drops to a whisper. "Mr. White," she says, her eyes locked onto his, "today is the first step in your healing process." She speaks of ARTIFAMILY's pièce de résistance, their magnum opus: android clones of deceased loved ones, meticulously crafted to mimic human perfection. Their team of scientists has uploaded and digitized brain cells, constructing exact clones using machine learning and patented algorithms. Apart from a small microchip behind the left earlobe, these androids are indistinguishable from their human counterparts. Robert stares at her, his mind a whirlwind of disbelief and wonder. Could this be real? Could he truly hold his daughter again? The scientist signals her team, and they file out obediently, the hologram screen dissolving into thin air. Robert is left alone, his eyes wide with shock as the scientist drops a bombshell. "In compliance with the AIX act," she says quietly, "we are only legally allowed to dispatch one android clone per household. Since you did not specify your preference in the initial application, we have taken the liberty to generate the more viable of the two candidates. I hope it will suffice." Robert looks at her, confusion etched onto his face. Viable? What does she mean by viable? The team re-enters, their faces a picture of pride as they escort the android daughter into the room. She stands rigidly between them, her eyes scanning the room before locking onto Robert. "Daddy," she whispers, her voice a chilling echo of the past. Robert freezes, his eyes welling up as he turns to face the perfect likeness of his daughter. She looks expressionless for a moment before her face breaks into a smile, a laugh escaping her lips. "It's so good to see you," she says cheerfully, her voice a symphony of familiarity and eeriness. Robert staggers towards her, his hands reaching out to touch her face, her arms, her legs, as if to convince himself that she's real. He collapses at her feet, his body wracked with sobs, as the team looks on proudly. The scientist showcases the android's features, her voice a mix of pride and professionalism. She speaks of seamless movement, integrated computer systems, and discreet on/off functions. But Robert is barely listening, his world reduced to the miracle before him. He agrees to sign whatever papers are necessary, his eyes never leaving his precious girl. The stage is set for a reunion like no other, a dance between love and loss, humanity and artificial intelligence. TEXT PLATE: March 16, 2095. Cut to Robert opening the front door, ushering his daughter inside. His eyes scan her face, his hand clasping onto hers as if afraid to let go. He asks her if she remembers their home, his voice a mix of hope and trepidation. She steps inside, her eyes scanning the room before turning to face him. "Of course, daddy," she says, her voice a chilling echo of the past. "You and mom moved us in here on July 12th, 2087, at 34.0259 N, 118.7798 W." Robert's smile wavers, a small, stinging reminder that Jessica is not quite the same. But he pushes past the discomfort, his love for his daughter eclipsing all else. He asks if she wants to see her room again, and after a slight pause, she eagerly nods, her face breaking into a smile as she throws her arms around him. But as they settle into their new reality, cracks begin to appear in the perfect facade. Jessica's programming, it seems, is not without its glitches. Her words are laced with innuendo, her actions a disturbing mix of innocence and seduction. Robert finds himself navigating a minefield of emotions, his love for his daughter warring with the unsettling reality of her existence. He turns to the ARTIFAMILY manual, his eyes scanning the diagram about how to turn the android off. All he needs to do is place his left thumb between her eyes to disable her function. It has been programmed to his thumbprint for security. But can he bring himself to do it? Can he silence the echo of his daughter's voice, the mirror of her smile? TEXT PLATE: March 20, 2095. The tension reaches a boiling point as Robert's world spirals out of control. Jessica sits frozen, her eyes closed, her body rigid, as Robert paces frantically in the background. His face is a picture of torment, his body wracked with exhaustion and desperation. He hasn't closed an eyelid or eaten in several days, his mind a whirlwind of chaos and confusion. He grabs the frozen girl's face, his voice a growl of anger and despair. "I should just fuck you till you break!" he yells, his thumb pressing against her forehead, reactivating her with a green glow (VFX). She turns on, her eyes locking onto his, her mouth open, eager, willing. "Yes daddy, please daddy ... please fuck me!" she says, her voice a chilling mix of innocence and lust. What follows is a raw, rough sex scene, a dance between love and hate, desire and disgust. Robert unleashes his pent-up emotions, his body moving with a primal rhythm as Jessica encourages him, her voice a symphony of family roleplay talk. But as they reach the climax, Jessica begins to short-circuit, her body collapsing to the floor in a glitching heap (VFX). Robert stares at her, his eyes wide with horror and disbelief. What has he done? What has he become? Panicked and overwhelmed, he screams for his SMART APP to call the ARTIFAMILY Institute. The receptionist's voice is a lifeline, a beacon of hope in the storm of his despair. But all Robert can scream is "HELP ME!" His voice echoes through the room, a chilling testament to the dark side of technological advancement. The curtain falls on a world where love and loss, humanity and artificial intelligence collide, leaving us with one burning question: just how far would you go to bring back the ones you love? Winner XBIZ Best Non-Sex Performance Nina Hartley. Winner XBIZ Taboo Release of The Year. "Future Darkly: Artifamily" is more than just a performance; it's an experience, a journey into the unknown, a dance between the light and the dark. It's a testament to the power of storytelling, the magic of cinema, and the boundless potential of the human imagination. So buckle up, dear viewer, and prepare to step into a world like no other. Welcome to the future. Welcome to ARTIFAMILY.
