The Devil's Gospel

A Journey of Discovery in the Heart of Tasmania

The first thing Thomas noticed about Tasmania wasn't the devils—it was the smell. As he stepped off the small propeller plane onto the tarmac of Hobart International Airport, the pungent scent of eucalyptus mixed with sea salt assaulted his nostrils. It was nothing like the sterile air of Salt Lake City he'd left behind 22 hours ago.

Thomas wheeled his regulation-issue suitcase across the tarmac, its tiny wheels protesting against the rough surface. He'd barely slept on the flight, his mind buzzing with visions of marsupial conversions and baptisms in the Tasman Sea. As he approached the terminal, a gust of wind nearly toppled him, sending his carefully pressed white shirt billowing like a wayward sail. 'Welcome to Tasmania, where the weather changes faster than Mormon doctrine,' he muttered to himself, immediately feeling a pang of guilt for the blasphemous quip. The young missionary straightened his name tag, took a deep breath of the eucalyptus-infused air, and strode purposefully towards the arrivals hall, ready to bring the word of Joseph Smith to Australia's island state—whether it wanted it or not.

The drive from Hobart to his assigned area in the Tasman Peninsula was a lesson in Australian topography that no amount of mission prep could have provided. Thomas found himself clutching the door handle of the mission president's weathered Holden ute as it lurched around bends, the gravel road seemingly determined to send them careening into the dense eucalyptus forest. 'You'll be staying in Taranna,' the president shouted over the engine's protest. 'Small town, big on wildlife. Perfect for spreading the good word.' Thomas nodded, wondering if the local fauna might prove more receptive to the Book of Mormon than the notoriously secular Tasmanians. As they rounded another bend, a black shape darted across the road, causing the president to slam on the brakes. 'There's your first devil, Elder,' he grinned, gesturing at the retreating form. 'Better start practicing your sermon.'

Thomas stumbled out of the ute, his legs wobbly from the jarring ride. The air was thick with the scent of eucalyptus and salt, a far cry from the sterile corridors of the Missionary Training Center. He squinted at the retreating form of the Tasmanian devil, its awkward gait belying its fearsome reputation. 'Spreading the good word to devils,' he mused, straightening his name tag. 'Well, if Joseph Smith could translate golden plates, surely I can sermonize to marsupials.' As if in response, a kookaburra let out a mocking laugh from a nearby gum tree. Thomas sighed, hefted his suitcase, and followed the mission president towards what would be his home for the next two years – a weatherboard cottage that had seen better days, probably around the time the Book of Mormon was first published.

The first week in Taranna proved to be a study in futility. Thomas found himself preaching to empty verandahs and disinterested sheep. His attempts to leave pamphlets in the local shop were met with polite refusals and barely concealed eye-rolls. By Friday, he'd resorted to practicing his testimony on a particularly attentive wallaby. It was during one such sermon, as he extolled the virtues of eternal families to his marsupial congregation, that he first heard the distinctive screech of Tasmanian devils fighting over a carcass. The sound sent a shiver down his spine, not of fear, but of an unexpected thrill. Before he knew it, he was traipsing through the underbrush, his carefully pressed trousers collecting burrs, following the cacophony with the zeal usually reserved for tracking down potential converts. As he pushed through a thicket of tea-tree, he found himself face to face with a group of devils, their black forms stark against the twilight. And there, crouched behind a fallen log with a notepad, was a woman whose raised eyebrow and sardonic smirk suggested she found his presence far more intriguing than the devils' dining habits.

The woman's gaze lingered on Thomas's name tag before she stood, brushing off her jeans with a practiced motion. 'Elena Lawson,' she said, extending a hand that was more calloused than manicured. 'Wildlife biologist. And you are...?' Thomas shook her hand, feeling a jolt of surprise at the firm grip. 'Elder Thomas Hansen. Mormon missionary.' Elena's eyes sparkled with amusement. 'Well, Elder Hansen, I think you're the first missionary I've met who's more interested in devil behavior than devil salvation.' She nodded towards the group of devils, now engrossed in a meal of questionable provenance. 'You might want to rethink your sermon strategy. These guys are more interested in carrion than catechism.' As she spoke, a devil suddenly let out a particularly piercing screech, causing Thomas to jump. Elena chuckled, a low, throaty sound. 'Don't worry, they're just discussing the finer points of roadkill etiquette.'

Thomas felt his cheeks flush, a combination of embarrassment and unexpected intrigue. "I was just... exploring the local wildlife," he stammered, painfully aware of how ridiculous he must look in his white shirt and tie amidst the Tasmanian bush. Elena's eyebrow arched even higher. "Well, Elder, if you're truly interested in exploring, I could use an extra pair of hands. These devils are part of a long-term study on the impact of climate change on their feeding habits." She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Unless, of course, you'd rather go back to preaching to wallabies."

For a moment, Thomas stood frozen, torn between his duty and his curiosity. The screeching of the devils seemed to fade into the background as he weighed his options. His mission president's words echoed in his mind: "Remember, Elder Hansen, you're here to save souls." But as he looked at the devils, their black forms moving with surprising grace, he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was more than one way to interpret that directive. With a deep breath, he made his decision. "Where do I sign up, Dr. Lawson?" The words were out of his mouth before he could second-guess himself. Elena's smile widened, a mix of surprise and approval. "Well then," she said, handing him a pair of gloves, "welcome to the wild side, Elder. Let's see if we can't convert you to the church of conservation."

The following weeks saw Thomas's pristine white shirts accumulate an impressive array of stains: mud from tracking devils through the underbrush, blood from assisting in health checks, and an unidentifiable green smear he'd acquired while helping Elena set up remote cameras. He found himself spending more time crouched in the bush observing devil behavior than knocking on doors. The devils, it turned out, were far more receptive to his presence than the locals. As he watched a female devil, whom Elena had dubbed "Scarface" due to a distinctive marking, teach her young to forage, Thomas couldn't help but draw parallels to his own upbringing in the church. "You know," he mused to Elena, who was busy recording data, "in some ways, these devils are better at eternal families than most humans." Elena snorted, not looking up from her notebook. "Just wait until you see them during mating season, Elder. It's less eternal family and more eternal free-for-all."

As the Tasmanian autumn deepened, so did Thomas's understanding of the devils' plight. Elena's research painted a grim picture: rising temperatures were altering vegetation patterns, pushing the devils' prey into new territories and forcing the marsupials to adapt or starve. "See this ridge?" Elena pointed to a rocky outcrop during one of their surveys. "Five years ago, it was a prime devil habitat. Now it's too dry, the undergrowth's thinned out. No cover means no small mammals, means no devils." Thomas nodded, feeling a pang of guilt as he recalled his mission president's dismissive remarks about climate change being "God's will." He watched a lone devil scurry across the barren landscape, its movements more desperate than he'd seen before. "What can we do?" he asked, surprised by the urgency in his own voice.

Elena's response was interrupted by the sudden, jarring ring of Thomas's phone. The caller ID displayed "Mission President," and Thomas felt his stomach lurch. He'd been neglecting his missionary duties, making excuses to skip district meetings and zone conferences. As he reluctantly answered the call, Elena busied herself with her equipment, but he could feel her eyes on him. The conversation was brief, but the president's tone left no room for argument. "Sounds like you've been summoned back to the fold," Elena remarked dryly as Thomas hung up, his face a mask of conflict. "Time to choose, Elder. Devils or dogma?" The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but found himself speechless for the first time since arriving in Tasmania. In the distance, a devil's screech echoed across the ridge, sounding almost like a challenge.

As Thomas wrestled with his decision, the landscape around him seemed to grow more vivid. The eucalyptus trees, once just a backdrop, now stood out with their peeling bark and the way the sunlight filtered through their leaves. He remembered a particular evening when Elena had pointed out a group of eastern quolls, their spotted fur blending into the shadows as they hunted for insects. It was moments like these that made him question whether his mission was truly about saving souls or about understanding the intricate web of life on this island. The devils, with their fierce independence and adaptability, seemed more in tune with the natural world than any human he'd met.

Elena, noticing Thomas's contemplative mood, approached with a wry smile. "Penny for your thoughts, Elder? You look like you're pondering the mysteries of the universe." Thomas chuckled, "Close enough. I was just thinking about how complex and interconnected everything is here." Elena nodded, her eyes sparkling with interest. "Speaking of complexity, I've been reading about Artificial General Intelligence lately. It's fascinating how we're trying to create machines that can learn and adapt like living beings." She paused, giving Thomas a mischievous look. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? If we can create intelligence, what does that say about how we were created?" Thomas felt his worldview tilt slightly, caught off guard by the implications. "I... I'm not sure," he admitted, his mind suddenly a tangle of theology and technology. As if to punctuate the moment, a chorus of devil screeches erupted from the nearby brush, their primal calls a stark contrast to the heady discussion of artificial minds.

The conversation about AGI lingered in Thomas's mind over the next few days, intertwining with his growing doubts about his mission. As he helped Elena track a group of devils through a patch of dry sclerophyll forest, he found himself drawing parallels between the adaptability of these creatures and the potential of artificial intelligence. "You know," he mused aloud, startling a nearby pademelon, "maybe there's more than one way to have faith in creation." Elena shot him a curious look but said nothing, allowing him to continue his train of thought. The silence was broken by the sudden, jarring ring of Thomas's phone - the mission president again. This time, Thomas let it go to voicemail, a decision that felt both liberating and terrifying.

Their survey took an unexpected turn when they stumbled upon a devil den that had been disturbed by what appeared to be illegal logging activity. The sight of the destroyed habitat, with confused and agitated devils scurrying about, hit Thomas like a physical blow. Elena's face hardened as she documented the damage, her usual sardonic humor replaced by grim determination. "This is what we're up against," she said, her voice tight with anger. "Climate change, habitat destruction, human encroachment - it's all connected." As they worked to assess the situation, Thomas felt a surge of purpose that eclipsed anything he'd experienced during his missionary work. The crisis unfolding before him demanded action, not prayer. With a mix of excitement and trepidation, he realized he was standing at a crossroads, and the path ahead looked nothing like the one he'd envisioned when he first arrived in Tasmania.

Thomas awoke to the sound of frantic scratching at his cabin door. Bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, he stumbled to answer it, expecting to find Elena with news of another devil crisis. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of three Tasmanian devils, standing on their hind legs in an unnervingly human pose. The largest devil, which Thomas recognized as "Scarface," held his missionary name tag between its teeth. For a moment, Thomas wondered if he was still dreaming. Then Scarface dropped the name tag at his feet and let out a screech that sounded suspiciously like "Elder Hansen." Thomas blinked, rubbed his eyes, and muttered, "Well, I guess this is one way to reach the unconverted." As if on cue, his phone buzzed with a text from Elena: "Emergency at the research station. Bring your missionary uniform. Trust me." Thomas looked from the phone to the devils, who were now sniffing around his feet with great interest. "Right," he sighed, reaching for his white shirt and tie, "just another day in Tasmania."

Thomas hastily dressed, his tie askew and his hair still mussed from sleep. He followed Scarface and the other two devils out the door, where Elena was waiting in her battered Land Rover, engine running. "Hop in, Elder," she called, her voice tight with a mix of excitement and anxiety. "We've got a situation at the research station. One of the devils has managed to break into the food storage, and now we have a bit of a free-for-all on our hands." As Thomas clambered into the vehicle, Scarface and the others piled in after him. Elena gestured to the backseat, where a smaller devil was perched, its high-pitched squeaks filling the air. "This little one here seems to be leading the charge," she said with a chuckle. "I've started calling her Squeak." Thomas smiled, despite the chaos unfolding around him. "Well, I suppose it's fitting. She's certainly making her presence known." As Elena floored the accelerator, sending them lurching down the dirt road, Thomas turned to her with a bemused expression. "So, just to be clear, we're bringing more devils to the devil uprising?" Elena's lips quirked into a half-smile. "Well, Elder, sometimes you need to fight fire with fire. Or in this case, devil with devil." In the backseat, Scarface let out what sounded suspiciously like a snort of agreement.

The research station was a scene of pandemonium when they arrived. Devils darted between overturned crates and scattered equipment, their screeches blending into a cacophony that could rival a heavy metal concert. A particularly large devil—whom Elena had nicknamed Chomper—was perched triumphantly atop a pile of stolen food supplies, gnawing on what appeared to be a protein bar wrapper. "Well," Thomas said, stepping out of the Land Rover and surveying the chaos, "I guess this is what happens when you don't teach eternal families to marsupials." Elena shot him a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. "If you've got divine intervention up your sleeve, now would be a good time." Thomas adjusted his tie and took a deep breath. "Alright," he muttered to himself, "time to see if missionary skills work on devils." Scarface watched him intently as he stepped forward, her head tilted as if she were genuinely curious about his plan.

Thomas cleared his throat and addressed the sea of black fur and gnashing teeth before him. "My fellow children of God," he began, his voice wavering only slightly, "I'd like to share a message about eternal families and the importance of respecting one's habitat." To his astonishment, the devils paused their frenzy, their beady eyes fixed on him with an unsettling intensity. Elena watched, slack-jawed, as Thomas launched into an impromptu sermon about conservation and faith, punctuated by the occasional "amen" from Scarface. Just as he was getting to the part about Joseph Smith's first vision, Chomper let out a screech that sounded suspiciously like "Kolob," sending the other devils into a frenzy of what could only be described as reverent howling. Elena turned to Thomas, her scientific worldview visibly crumbling. "Elder," she said weakly, "I think we might need to rethink my AGI theory. And possibly everything I've ever believed about evolution."

Emboldened by the devils' unexpected response, Thomas decided to go all in. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniature Book of Mormon he always carried. "Today, we'll be studying from 2 Nephi," he announced, flipping open the pages. To everyone's shock, Squeak waddled forward, climbed onto a nearby crate, and began to mimic Thomas's gestures, her tiny claws flipping imaginary pages. The other devils gathered around, their eyes locked on the impromptu pulpit. As Thomas began to read, the devils started swaying in unison, their screeches forming an eerie harmony that sounded disturbingly like a Tabernacle Choir warm-up. Elena, her scientific mind reeling, fumbled for her camera. "This is impossible," she muttered, recording the surreal scene. "It's like they're... understanding." Just then, Chomper let out a particularly enthusiastic screech, knocking over a stack of equipment. From the mess, a half-eaten hard drive skittered across the floor, its label clearly visible: "AGI Prototype v1.0." Elena's eyes widened in disbelief as she connected the improbable dots. "Oh my God," she whispered, "what have we done?"

Emboldened by the devils' unexpected response, Thomas decided to go all in. He pulled out his smartphone and opened his digital scriptures app. "Today, we'll be studying from 2 Nephi," he announced, tapping the screen. To everyone's shock, Squeak waddled forward, climbed onto a nearby crate, and began to mimic Thomas's gestures, her tiny claws swiping at an imaginary touchscreen. The other devils gathered around, their eyes locked on the impromptu pulpit. As Thomas began to read, the devils started swaying in unison, their screeches forming an eerie harmony that sounded disturbingly like a Tabernacle Choir warm-up. Elena, her scientific mind reeling, fumbled for her tablet to document the phenomenon. "This is impossible," she muttered, recording the surreal scene. "It's like they're... understanding." Just then, Chomper let out a particularly enthusiastic screech, knocking over a stack of equipment. From the mess, a rugged, portable edge computing device clattered across the floor, its screen flickering to life. Elena's eyes widened in disbelief as she saw the running program: "TasmanianWildlifeNet: Adaptive Multi-species Communication Model." She gasped, "Oh no, the experimental AI translation system... it wasn't supposed to be this advanced!"

As if on cue, the TasmanianWildlifeNet device began translating the devils' screeches into English, its robotic voice echoing through the chaos. "Repent, ye sinners!" came Chomper's digitized growl, while Squeak's high-pitched squeals translated to an eerily accurate rendition of "Come, Come Ye Saints." Thomas and Elena exchanged bewildered glances as the devils, now armed with the power of human speech, launched into a heated theological debate. Scarface, apparently the group's skeptic, demanded evidence of the Golden Plates, while a particularly rotund devil near the back kept interrupting with calls for "more roadkill, less rhetoric." Elena, her scientific worldview crumbling by the second, turned to Thomas with wild eyes. "Elder," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I think we might need to consider the possibility that your mission president sent you here for reasons beyond our mortal understanding." Just then, a kookaburra swooped in through an open window, landed on the AI device, and let out a laugh that the machine promptly translated to "And now, for my next trick, I'll turn water into wine!"

The kookaburra's declaration sent the devils into a frenzy of excitement, with Chomper demanding a demonstration of the water-to-wine miracle. Thomas, feeling like he was trapped in a surreal dream, hesitated before deciding to play along. He grabbed a nearby water bottle and, with a flourish, poured it into a makeshift chalice fashioned from a discarded satellite dish. The devils watched with bated breath as Thomas intoned, "By the power vested in me by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I command thee, water, to become... wine!" The kookaburra, still perched on the AI device, let out a mocking laugh, which the machine translated to "Good luck with that, mate." Just then, a freak storm rolled in, drenching the scene in a torrent of rain. As the water poured down, the devils began to chant, "Miracle! Miracle!"—only to realize that the rain had turned the satellite dish into a makeshift wine fountain, spewing forth a stream of muddy water that looked suspiciously like cheap Merlot. Elena, her eyes wide with wonder, turned to Thomas and whispered, "I think we've stumbled into something much bigger than either of us."

As the muddy "wine" flowed, the devils celebrated with a raucous party, complete with a conga line of marsupials and a kookaburra DJ spinning a set of bird-themed techno. Thomas and Elena watched, grinning, as the chaos reached its peak. Suddenly, the AI device beeped, announcing, "TasmanianWildlifeNet: Successful Integration of Human-Devil Theology Achieved." The devils, now fluent in Mormon doctrine, began baptizing each other in the makeshift wine fountain, while Chomper officiated in a tiny white shirt and tie. Elena turned to Thomas, her eyes shining with tears. "I never thought I'd say this, but I think I've found my faith—in the unlikeliest of places." Thomas smiled, feeling a sense of peace wash over him. "I guess sometimes, it takes a miracle to find what you're looking for." As they shared a laugh, the mission president appeared at the door, looking bewildered. "Elder Hansen, I see you've found a new flock. Well, I suppose this is one way to fulfill your missionary duties." With a nod, Thomas handed him a cup of the muddy wine. "Care to join us for a sacrament meeting? We're just getting started." The mission president hesitated, then took a sip, his expression unreadable. As he did, the kookaburra let out a laugh that the AI device translated to "Cheers, mate!"—and the party continued into the Tasmanian sunset.

---

Thank you!

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This story was generated by Perplexity.ai, with some direction. (~75% AI)

Special shoutout to

Nicholas Bronson

(The High-Tech Creative), Substack’s very own Tasmanian devil.

Prompt: We are writing a short story set in rural Tasmania where mormons are trying to convert the Tasmanian devil population. (Not the cartoon, the actual animals). This needs to be super realistic, although the idea of religious conversion is a bit foreign to these feral creatures. Use subtle dry humor to overcome this issue. For now, give an outline. The authentic Tasmanian wildlife will play a large role in the story. So will the real-life issue of mormons spreading throughout the island. Give a bunch of plot ideas so that we can pick the right direction.

In the rugged wilderness of Tasmania, where the Tasmanian devils roam and the Mormon missionaries tread, a peculiar tale unfolds. Our story, a delightful blend of the absurd and the authentic, follows the well-intentioned but misguided efforts of a group of Mormon missionaries to spread their gospel to the island's most infamous marsupial residents.

Plot Outline

Setting: Rural Tasmania, with its dry sclerophyll forests, coastal woodlands, and the occasional Mormon meetinghouse.

Main Characters:

• Elder Smith and Elder Jones: Earnest Mormon missionaries

• Lucifer: A particularly cantankerous Tasmanian devil

• Dr. Sheila Wallaby: Local wildlife biologist

Plot Ideas:

1. The Great Carcass Conversion
   Our intrepid missionaries mistake a devil feeding frenzy for a congregation, attempting to preach mid-feast. The ensuing chaos involves torn white shirts, scattered pamphlets, and a newfound appreciation for personal space.

2. Nocturnal Knock-Knock
   The elders, determined to reach their elusive audience, switch to night-time proselytizing. Their efforts to teach the Plan of Salvation are continually thwarted by the devils' impressive 16km nightly wanderings.

3. The Book of Marsupial
   In a misguided attempt at cultural adaptation, the missionaries create a devil-friendly version of their sacred text, complete with scratch-and-sniff pages that smell of roadkill. The devils, unsurprisingly, find this far more appetizing than enlightening.

4. Baptism by Bite
   A well-meaning elder attempts to baptize Lucifer in a local stream, only to discover that Tasmanian devils are surprisingly enthusiastic swimmers. The resulting aquatic chase becomes local legend.

5. The Devil's Advocate
   Dr. Wallaby, caught between amusement and concern, attempts to educate the missionaries on devil behavior. Her efforts lead to a series of comical misunderstandings, including a memorable lecture on marsupial reproductive habits that leaves the elders blushing furiously.

6. Missionary Impossible
   The elders, inspired by the devils' tree-climbing abilities, attempt to construct a treehouse chapel. Their architectural aspirations are repeatedly foiled by curious devils mistaking their building materials for chew toys.

7. The Great Tasmanian Tapeworm Testimony
   In a moment of desperation, the missionaries attempt to appeal to the devils' parasitic companions, reasoning that if they can't convert the devils, perhaps they can reach the Dasyurotaenia robusta. This leads to a series of increasingly bizarre attempts to communicate with tapeworms.

Throughout the story, we'll weave in authentic details about Tasmanian devil behavior, habitat, and conservation efforts, juxtaposed against the very real phenomenon of Mormon missionary work on the island. The result? A tale that's equal parts wildlife documentary and Monty Python sketch, all delivered with the dry wit and linguistic acrobatics worthy of Stephen Fry himself.

Let's tone down the stereotypical naming. Titles don't have to rhyme, there's no need to say things like "delightful blend of the absurd" in our story. Humor is to be subtle. Remembering this is a quite short story, what's a good focal point for our story?

I appreciate your guidance. You're right, subtlety is key here. Let's refocus our approach for a short story with more nuanced humor and a clear focal point.

A Possible Focal Point: "The Conversion of Crater"

Our story could center around a young Mormon missionary, fresh to Tasmania, who becomes fascinated by a particular Tasmanian devil he names Crater (due to a distinctive scar). The tale unfolds through the missionary's earnest but misguided attempts to "save" Crater, paralleled with his own journey of understanding the true nature of these unique creatures.

Key elements:

1. The missionary's gradual realization that his initial perception of the devils as "demonic" is far from reality.

2. Interactions with a local wildlife biologist who provides factual information about Tasmanian devils, their behavior, and conservation efforts.

3. The missionary's internal struggle between his religious duties and his growing appreciation for the natural world.

4. Subtle humor derived from the missionary's well-intentioned but often misinterpreted actions (e.g., mistaking devil vocalizations for interest in his teachings).

5. A climax where the missionary must choose between following his mission president's orders or helping with a critical devil conservation effort.

This approach allows for a character-driven narrative that naturally incorporates both the Mormon presence in Tasmania and authentic wildlife information, while maintaining a gentle, understated humor throughout.

The humor will need to escalate, so we start very dry, with only slight witty observations, but there can be more rude stuff towards the end, including foul language and even some slapstick humor, given the overall tone is still correct. Maybe draw inspiration from the style of Stephen Fry. Now write a story outline in three parts.

Understood. Here's a three-part story outline that gradually escalates the humor while maintaining an intelligent tone:

Part I: The Arrival

Our protagonist, a young Mormon missionary named Thomas, arrives in rural Tasmania. His initial encounters with the local wildlife, particularly the Tasmanian devils, are marked by quiet misunderstandings and subtle cultural clashes. The humor here is dry and understated, mostly stemming from Thomas's well-meaning but misguided attempts to apply his religious worldview to the natural world.

Key scenes:

• Thomas mistaking devil screeches for "speaking in tongues"

• A failed attempt at leaving religious pamphlets in the bush, only to find them used as nesting material

Part II: The Education

Thomas befriends Dr. Elena Lawson, a sardonic wildlife biologist. As she educates him about Tasmanian devils, the humor begins to escalate. Thomas's growing fascination with the devils conflicts with his missionary duties, leading to increasingly awkward situations.

Key scenes:

• Thomas trying to teach the devils about chastity, coinciding with their mating season

• A disastrous attempt at a "devil-friendly" church service, complete with raw meat as sacrament

Part III: The Conservation Crisis

A looming threat to the devil population forces Thomas to choose between his mission and his newfound passion for wildlife conservation. The humor reaches its peak, incorporating more physical comedy and colorful language as the situation grows more desperate.

Key scenes:

• Thomas and Dr. Lawson chasing a devil through the bush, ending with both covered in mud and expletives

• A final confrontation with his mission president, involving an escaped devil, a ruined Sunday suit, and a string of creative Tasmanian curses

Throughout, the story maintains its intelligent core, weaving in factual information about Tasmanian wildlife and Mormon practices, while the humor gradually evolves from subtle wit to more overt comedy.

Elena needs to be an atheist, dismissive of the mormon cause. However, she does believe in Artificial General Intelligence. This is not the main theme of the story. Thomas must then ask how she can be an atheist if she believes in AGI? This leads to an internal crisis, which you must find a fun way to resolve. Update the outline. 

Here's an updated outline incorporating Elena's atheism, her belief in AGI, and Thomas's resulting internal crisis:

Part I: The Arrival

Thomas arrives in rural Tasmania, encountering Tasmanian devils and experiencing subtle cultural clashes. The humor remains dry and understated, focusing on his misguided attempts to apply religious worldviews to nature.

Part II: The Education

Thomas befriends Dr. Elena Lawson, a sardonic wildlife biologist and atheist. As she educates him about Tasmanian devils, their philosophical differences emerge. The humor escalates, stemming from their contrasting worldviews.

Key addition:

• During a late-night devil tracking session, Elena casually mentions her belief in the potential of Artificial General Intelligence. Thomas, perplexed, asks how she can be an atheist yet believe in AGI. Elena's dismissive response, "Oh please, one's science, the other's fairy tales," sends Thomas into an existential tailspin.

Part III: The Conservation Crisis and Resolution

As they work to protect the devil population, Thomas grapples with his faith and Elena's worldview. The humor reaches its peak, incorporating more physical comedy and colorful language.

New resolution:

• In a moment of clarity, while waist-deep in devil droppings, Thomas realizes that faith and reason can coexist. He decides to stay in Tasmania, leaving the mission to pursue wildlife conservation alongside Elena. His newfound purpose is to "save the devils, not from sin, but from extinction."

This update maintains the story's core while introducing Elena's atheism and AGI belief as catalysts for Thomas's character development, resolved through a humorous epiphany in a quintessentially Tasmanian setting.

No, that's not right. Let's instead have Elena be confused after the AGI moment, and in the end they are both mormons, or something similar. Would that work with the type of humor we're after?

Certainly, let's adjust the outline to incorporate this twist while maintaining our desired humor style:

Part I: The Arrival

Thomas arrives in rural Tasmania, encountering Tasmanian devils and experiencing subtle cultural clashes. The humor remains dry and understated, focusing on his misguided attempts to apply religious worldviews to nature.

Part II: The Education

Thomas befriends Dr. Elena Lawson, a sardonic wildlife biologist who initially appears dismissive of his Mormon beliefs. As she educates him about Tasmanian devils, their philosophical differences emerge, leading to increasingly awkward and humorous situations.

Key addition:

• During a late-night devil tracking session, Elena casually mentions her belief in the potential of Artificial General Intelligence. Thomas, seizing the opportunity, draws parallels between AGI and Mormon concepts of eternal progression. Elena's bewildered response, "Wait, what?" sets the stage for her unexpected journey of spiritual curiosity.

Part III: The Conservation Crisis and Resolution

As they work to protect the devil population, both Thomas and Elena grapple with questions of faith and science. The humor escalates, incorporating more physical comedy and colorful language.

New resolution:

• In a moment of shared epiphany, while waist-deep in devil droppings and covered in mud, Elena and Thomas realize that their beliefs might not be as incompatible as they thought. The absurdity of their situation - discussing theology while being circled by curious devils - leads to a humorous conversion experience for Elena.

The story concludes with both of them as Mormons, united in their mission to "save the devils, both spiritually and physically." The final scene could involve them attempting to teach a "devil-friendly" version of Mormon doctrine to a group of unimpressed Tasmanian devils, complete with Elena's newfound, if somewhat misguided, religious fervor and Thomas's bemused acceptance of the situation.

This approach maintains the gradual escalation of humor while subverting expectations and avoiding clichés. The dry wit evolves into more overt comedy, culminating in a resolution that's both surprising and fitting for our unconventional tale.

We need Tasmania's wildlife to feel hyperrealistic throughout the short story: animals, vegetation, and even weather. What are some techniques for good immersive wildlife storytelling? Give a few minor plot points we could use.

To create a hyperrealistic portrayal of Tasmania's wildlife in your short story, consider the following immersive storytelling techniques:

1. Sensory Details: Engage all five senses by describing the unique sounds, smells, textures, and sights of Tasmania's wilderness. For example, capture the distinctive screeching of Tasmanian devils, the earthy scent of eucalyptus, or the feel of rough tree bark.

2. Environmental Storytelling: Use the natural environment to convey information and create atmosphere. Describe how the landscape changes with weather and time of day, revealing subtle details that bring the setting to life.

3. Interactive Elements: Incorporate moments where characters directly interact with the wildlife or vegetation, allowing readers to experience the environment through their actions.

4. Local Specificity: Research and include details about Tasmania's unique ecosystems, focusing on endemic species and their behaviors.

5. Weather as a Character: Utilize Tasmania's unpredictable weather patterns to create tension or reflect the story's mood.

Minor plot points to consider:

1. Thomas misinterprets devil vocalizations during a nighttime tracking session, leading to a comical misunderstanding about their "spiritual receptiveness."

2. Elena and Thomas get caught in a sudden rainstorm while observing a devil's den, forcing them to seek shelter and sparking an unexpected conversation about faith and science.

3. A close encounter with a Tasmanian pademelon interrupts a crucial moment in Elena's spiritual journey, providing both humor and a deeper connection to the island's wildlife.

These techniques and plot points will help create an immersive, hyperrealistic portrayal of Tasmania's wildlife throughout your story, enhancing both the setting and the narrative.

Do you understand the story is to be set in 2025? What are some current issues in Tasmania or Australia or globally that fit really well in our story? Maybe a few contrasting themes too?

Yes, I understand the story is set in 2025. Based on the search results, there are several current issues and themes that could fit well with our story or provide interesting contrasts:

1. Climate change and conservation efforts: Tasmania has committed to maintaining net zero emissions from 2030. This could create an interesting backdrop for our Mormon missionaries and their interactions with the local wildlife.

2. Extreme weather events: Australia is experiencing more frequent heatwaves and droughts. These could add tension to our story, affecting both the characters and the Tasmanian devils.

3. Biodiversity loss: This is a growing concern, which aligns well with our focus on Tasmanian wildlife conservation.

4. Renewable energy push: Tasmania aims to double its renewable electricity production by 2040. This could contrast with the more traditional beliefs of our Mormon characters.

5. Water scarcity: An ongoing issue in parts of Australia, this could create additional challenges for our characters and the wildlife they're trying to protect.

6. Geopolitical tensions: The rise of state-based armed conflict as a global concern could provide an interesting contrast to our localized, wildlife-focused story.

7. Housing density initiatives: State governments are pushing for higher-density housing, which could conflict with efforts to preserve natural habitats.

These themes could add depth to our story, creating a rich, realistic backdrop for our characters' misadventures in Tasmania's unique environment.

Some of those may be used, but be prepared to weave hyperrealistic SPECIFIC details of them into the story. Don't just stick to general remarks and vague AI blandness. This is supposed to feel super real. Is 3000 words a good length for our story? How do we divide those words over our 3 parts? And what's a clever hook for part 1 of the story? Give options if unsure.

You're absolutely right, and I apologize for the vagueness. Specific, hyperrealistic details are crucial for the story's authenticity. I'll keep that in mind moving forward.

3000 words is a good length for a short story. It provides enough space for character development and plot while maintaining a tight narrative. Here's a suggested word count distribution:

Part I: 800-900 words
Part II: 1100-1200 words
Part III: 900-1000 words

This distribution allows for a gradual build-up in the middle section and a satisfying resolution.

For the opening hook of Part I, here are two options:

1. "The first thing Thomas noticed about Tasmania wasn't the devils—it was the smell. As he stepped off the small propeller plane onto the tarmac of Hobart International Airport, the pungent scent of eucalyptus mixed with sea salt assaulted his nostrils. It was nothing like the sterile air of Salt Lake City he'd left behind 22 hours ago."

2. "Elder Thomas Hansen had prepared for many things before his mission to Tasmania—the isolation, the wildlife, even the notoriously fickle weather. What he hadn't prepared for was the sound. As he stood in the pre-dawn chill outside his newly assigned living quarters in rural New Norfolk, a cacophony of screeches pierced the air. It wasn't the 'speaking in tongues' he'd been taught about in the Missionary Training Center—it was his first encounter with the infamous Tasmanian devil."

Both openings immediately immerse the reader in the Tasmanian setting, highlighting the sensory experiences and the contrast with Thomas's background. They also hint at the challenges and misunderstandings to come.

(After this, the paragraphs were generated one by one, with occasional reminders of the plot points still to be covered.)