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  Udon Entertainment putting out a major BGC artbook
Posted by: STMPD - Yesterday, 04:29 PM - Forum: Drunkard's Walk II: Robot's Rules of Order - Replies (2)

Holy moly.

Yeah, 304 pages of book - I suspect this is as close as we’ll ever get to a translated B-Club.

They’re also selling it at SDCC this year - and Sonoda-sensei will be around for a few days, I think doing a panel - but I don’t have tickets to get there. Also promising additional merch, which they better sell elsewhere or else I’ll be super peeved.

Anyway, I’m hyped! Are you hyped? You should be hyped.

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  simulacrum (D&D housecat): I Think My Cat Wants to Kill Me by Doris Knight(?)
Posted by: classicdrogn - 06-11-2024, 07:24 AM - Forum: The Game Everyone Loves To Play - Replies (9)

Questionmark because the track is purportedly an AI restoration of a 1940s record, but I don't know enough about music history (nor am curious enough to google it at the moment) to say whether that's true.


(lyrics in description)

Simply enough, this song calls up the simulacrum of what appears to be a common housecat, but which has fighting abilities capable of killing 3-4 normal human civilians per six seconds. Doug rarely needs to do anything like that and generally has better options if he does, but the cat is also agile and tough enough to make a good distraction against more durable foes, and can respawn up to eight times if destroyed as long as there's still time left in the song. It's also cute and fluffy, and under Doug's control more willing to let a stranger hug and pet it than most real cats if he needs to distract a comfort someone while taking care of business.

More importantly, it lets him actually pull the old gag where a lookout hears something and investigates, but only finds a cat rustling around in the garbage cans or whatever, without using up a less situationally specific song.

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  [Story]The difference is, a Lightbulb stops working...
Posted by: Dartz - 06-10-2024, 02:33 PM - Forum: Fenspace - Replies (10)

A repost of some things posted previously - but now re-ordered into something resembling a story.


The booth had been designed to fit an average human - it hadn’t been designed to fit anything like Jet Jaguar. Even with her body mostly hidden by a fur-collared silver cloak, she still sat awkwardly, with her legs shifted to one side to block the leather bench beside her.

Only a glimpse of her feet revealed her true nature to anyone who could see her. Anyone who might care to look, had their eyes focused instead on the stage far below as the show built to its climax

Jet took the opportunity to slip a plastic document case out from under the table, placing the tube on the top of the table, between a glimmering candle and Kohran Li. A small holographic projector sat beside it, waiting for the third member of the group.

“Those’re the draft designs,” she said.

Kohran Li placed a gloved hand on the case, pulling it towards her.

“You printed them?”

Jet nodded. Kohran flipped the lid open, withdrawing a roll of white paper a few centimetres, before sliding it back in.

“Ye’re puttin’ Godzilla in a can…”

“It’ll work,” said Jet, turning her eyes away for a moment

“I ain’t comfortable with things that can run on a positive feedback loop.” Kohran added. “Especially things that’ll sterilise entire planetoids.”

“I know,” said Jet, her mind clearly not entirely in the room.

“Do you understand what the consequences of this thing getting out will be?”

“I do,” said Jet. In a moment, the look on her face changed and Kohran realised she’d been in the room the entire time. “I know how many people the last accident killed. I just don’t know who they are yet.”

“You’re not filling me with much confidence.”

“Everything else will either take too long, put up too many red-flags - or be even more dangerous.”

Jet didn’t read like a madgirl, locked into the one course that triggered her blue hair fascinations. Resigned, was the word that came to Kohran’s mind. Either unable, or afraid to think of another option.

A failure of imagination, was what came to mind.

A small light on the comm-link on the table flashed red once, twice and then a third time. A moment later, a hologram shimmered to life above it - an image of a dark sphere. Electric circuits flickered in a gridded pattern across its surface, all coalescing at a single staring red monoeye.

“Well hi everybody, I didn’t think you’d be here so early.”

“I’ve never been to this sort of show,” said Jet, showing a flash of a smile. Kohran realised it’d been the first time she’d seen her smile since she arrived. “I’d some time to spare.”

“So what’s the verdict?” Kohran asked.

The sphere revolved, its mono-eye glancing at each of the pair in turn.

“I have run multiple simulations - to account for all combinations of production tolerance and fuel loading scenarios,” Eddie said.”I’m sorry to say, there is a larger delay in stabilising action of the temperature coefficients than the Soviet designers thought.”

“How bad?” If the hologram had had a throat, Jet would’ve jumped down it.

Eddie’s monoeye turned to face her. “How much of a delay, depends on the reactor power, reactivity margin, coolant flowrate, quality of the fuel and the thermal interface between channel and core stack. Using a nanotube-reinforced graphene foam to provide a thermal interface between the zircalloy technical channels and the diamond lattice does significantly reduce the time constant for power correction.”

So, not that bad? An expression of hope entered Jet’s face.

“In some edge cases, there remains a potential for the positive void coefficient to trigger an explosive power increase before it is damped by the negative temperature coefficient. This can occur once in every five thousand reactor operating years”

“Damn,” Jet breathed, deflating into the chair. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

For a moment, she looked just like a child being told she couldn’t play with her favourite toy

“Plan C?” suggested Kohran.

“I have something in mind,” answered Eddie. “I am still trying to solve the proliferation issue in an elegant manner.”

It seemed to bug him that it’d taken more than a moment’s thought to come up with something. The tracings on the hologram began to glow as he dedicated more and more of himself to simulating different designs.

“Maybe the issue’s one of control,” suggested Jet. Her blues eyes moved between the pair, looking for support.

“AI systems,” Kohran added quickly, getting a little more comfortable with the idea of a system that couldn’t be corrupted by someone.

“A mind with well directed training would effectively eliminate the risk.” Eddie confirmed. “With a second system running a continuous look-ahead simulation of all possible reactor states from current. These can be fed back to the matrix to allow the mind to trial different solutions.”

Easy when you knew how.

“What kind of mind?” Asked Jet. Her face darkened, a visible discomfort filling her armour. Of course she’d feel more uncomfortable with a mind controlling a system, than with a system that could sterilise an asteroid if it malfunctioned. .

“Beta-class, with an Alpha specialisation would at least would be sufficient.” Eddie assured her. “I understand, of course, how you would feel about it, considering your brother, which is why I dismissed the option.”

And he samed most relieved that it was back on the table.

“You’re assuming things will go as smoothly on Frigga, as they would on the Forge.” Jet answered. “That doesn’t happen. Especially with handwavium.”

Her ice blue eyes dared Kohran, or Eddie, to disagree. Kohran sensed something beyond a punk’s natural spite in her voice - a rippling undercurrent of unease.

“I don’t see why not,” Eddie answered calmly.

“This is probably the biggest engineering project in space. The amount of work needed to do it is -” she stopped to search for the right word, “- immense - and it all has to be done right, on time, on schedule and be near perfect.” Jet took a breath “The people who’ve to do it have spent the last year being bitched at by grandstanding BNF’s on Venus whenever something didn’t go right. And that was before the reactor blew.”

Kohran heard a real anger cutting in her voice, the kind that - in the moment - reminded her of so many Boskone self justifications - the kind that seemed amazed nobody could sympathise with their petty reasons for evil.

“And then the whole universe took the chance to gloat about the idiots who blew up a reactor, rather than cheer the heroes who stopped an accident from becoming a disaster.”

“Are we talking about the people on Frigga, or you, Jet?”

The sharp look the cyber threw her direction gave Kohran her answer. Yes.

“All that negativity is going to poison any attempts to create any handwaved solution.” The cyber’s voice remained even.“You handwave afraid that it’ll fail, and what’ll happen?”

“I find your lack of faith disturbing.”

Kohran suspected Eddie meant it as a joke. His deadpan delivery dropped it flat on the table.

“People tell me we live in a world were technology and handwavium will solve all our human problems,” said Jet. “More and more it feels like I live in a world where they won’t.”

“This is not a project that can be completed by feelings and opinions.” Eddies voice took on a harder edge - something had irked him

“Which is why I want to keep the wave out of it,” Jet shot back.

Kohran had the sudden realisation that a shouting match between a cyborg and an AI would probably draw a little too much attention in the middle of a show.

“You really think handwavin’ this thang’ll be a disaster?”, she asked, keeping her voice as calm as she could. Her own natural accent twanged through despite herself.

Jet’s eyes locked with hers.

“Do yeh want to run the risk of a Paul Ritter living in the computer system having direct control over this thing?”

Kohran saw a pure, thoughtless terror flash across her face, right from the depths of the soul.

“That won’t happen.” Eddie reassured, aghast that anyone could possibly think otherwise. “We are the best at this.”

Kohran felt the air begin to simmer. Of course Eddie’s reassurances had struck a sour note.

“We could look at the helium cooled designs again.” she said - trying to change the subject. “They have none of the void coefficient issues, the neutron spectrum is ideal and the temperature is suitable for power generation.”

“Didn’t we have material problems with the alloys required?”

“I have solved all the problems.” Eddie answered with the same, cheerful confidence. “The required high-temperature alloys can be made in quantity.”

“Do you honestly think we can implement that? In the time we have.”

Jet didn’t even give it a thought. She just assumed it’d be completely beyond her capability.

“The Forge can.”

Of course it could. Eddie stated a fact. Jet took it as an insult. Eddie wasn’t stuck with her. Kohran was.

“And we’re back to shit that’ll work on the Forge but won’t work on Frigga.” Jet cut back. “You’re forgetting the people element. The one’s who’ve to run it, repair it and live with it”

Kohran drew on deep breath.

“We can argue over this for another six months and still be in the same place.” She rubbed at her temples. “We’ll take a break for a couple of days. I think that’s for the best.”

Let everyone stop being children. Maybe they’d cool off.

“Agreed,” said the holographic sphere. “Time for some to reconsider would be helpful”

Jet looked at her, a flash of anger on her face - almost like she’d been betrayed. It died as her conscious mind caught up, a flush of warm embarrassment reddening her cheeks.

In a moment, it disappeared in a pursed-lip pout worthy of any teenager who knew they’d done something wrong - and hoped they wouldn’t be called on it.

Kohran, of course, had a sense of diplomacy.

“How’s Mackie doing?”

The question, of course, caught a Jet who’d fully prepared to defend herself, completely off guard. The cyber sat for half a heartbeat as she swallowed the words that had been sitting in her throat.

The edge of her lips tweaked up into the first smile Kohran

“Last I heard - Gaige qualified with the Knight Witches.”

Taken aback. Kohran felt herself blink.

“That’s a five year contract.” she said, before her mind caught up. “With an all female unit.”

“Her decision,” said Jet, with a smile. “It was either that, or live the next five years under protective isolation.” she took a breath, looking down at the stage below. “She preferred freedom.”

Kohran settled herself back into her chair - recrossing her legs. Her hand settled on the plastic case of the reactor plans. Below them, the show continued.

In moments, Jet was lost in the lightshow.

Kohran decided to wait until the intermission, at least. It’d been a while since she’d watched her own show. It was the mark of a good Engineer to eat their own dogfood from time to time, and Makoto gave the Revue an entirely different colour of sparkle.

It’d be a shame to interrupt.

The auditorium moved to the beat of the show. Jet’s finger tapped out the rhythm on the glass surface of the table.

Kohran watched her get lost in the music.

Something about that felt wrong - like Grits and Maple syrup. It just didn’t fit the cyberpunk image, did it?

Kohran found herself musing on that, on how pigeonholed so many people could become, once their schtick had been decided. Few ever transcended what people expected of them.

AI’s expanded beyond their base image. Humans tended to contract towards their public image - until they became little else.

The thought lingered in her mind until the lights came up for the mid-show intermission. The crowd below shuffled out to stretch their legs, relieve the pressures of sitting for an hour at a time and replenish their glow sticks.

“That was good,” said Jet, after a moment. She settled back into the booth as much as her body allowed her to. For the first time, Kohran saw a real light in her eyes, a little spark of happiness.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen one of these shows.”

“Never had the chance,” Jet answered. Naturally.

Kohran placed her hand on the case. Passions had cooled. No better time than now to ask the question

“Can you tell me Why’re you so dead set on this?” she said. “You really slammed the door on Eddie there. He was just trying to help.”

Jet looked at the plans, then at her

“Because this will work,” she answered. “It’s the best chance of working. With the fewest questions.”

“You know the risks?”

Jet gave a slow nod.

“A reactor explosion is a problem. An atomic explosion is a nightmare.” she said. “The wave has given me too many nightmares.I don’t want to risk another one.”

She meant it too. Kohran could see the fear in her face, a nip of panic that ran up her spine and widened her eyes. Something that could fester, given half the chance. The fear that always ended in suffering.

“Maybe you don’t need to do this.”

Her lips stiffened. “I do.”

Had Jet misunderstood?

“It is okay to step back and let someone else carry the torch. You’re not the only one who can make this project work.”

Kohran wore an earnest smile, hoping Jet’d agree. A chance to bow out without shame - to be something else for a while.

Jet looked at her again, then down at the reactor plans. “It’d be out of character for A.C.to do something like this - she comes up with the clever solutions. It’s far too close to ground zero to be done by anyone on Atalante and I don’t think Stellvia would be crazy enough to fund this - or have a need for that much power. The conspiracy only works on Frigga.”

Jet took a moment, before giving a thin smile.

“Thanks though.”

Of course, it all seemed logical to her, fear could make it seem logical. Mixed with a little pride and the comfort of an already solved problem. Everything from the basic principles of how it worked, to the worst possible failures - and their causes.

And even that, was a known quantity. In the real world, and in Fenspace.

There was comfort in the known. Kohran understood that, at least. Better the devil you know, no matter how evil the devil.

Kohrans eyes fell to the case with the plans.

“Not building a bomb, is so much harder than building one.”

---- (2)

Five waited in the corridor, each wearing the same anonymous disposable white overalls.

The door opened. Beyond it, the bright lights, timber wall panelling and floral patterned linoleum of the de-aerator corridor gave way to gloom and concrete, flaking Soviet-era paint transforming the corridor into something ominous and entirely unnatural.

The scent of damp concrete, mould and metal drifted on a cold breath from within.

A handheld meter alarm, followed by a second, then a third within a heartbeat

“What does the dosimeter say?” asked the tallest of the three.

“3.6 Roentgen,” said the second, a goofy grin plastered across their face. Her blond hair spilled from under the square white cap.

“3.6, Not Great, Not Terrible,” the third answered, before taking a photograph of his gamma-scout with his phone. All three giggled like schoolchildren, as if nobody’d ever shared an instagram post of a panicking gamma-scout at Chernobyl before.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, thought Serhiy Kobrin. If the meters read anything, it was in microsieverts. Harmless for a short while. They wouldn’t allow tourists anywhere dangerous.

“Tourists,” he huffed in his own language

“They bring good money,” said Khem Starodumov - official plant tour-guide.”Especially with the anniversary.”

Serhiy raised his head in grudging agreement.

“Walk straight. Walk quickly. Do not touch the walls. We are approaching the control room of reactor four. Do not touch consoles or equipment. Photographs only. Everything is contaminated. If you are contaminated you will not be permitted to leave.”

Without being decontaminated, he didn’t say.. .

“I was on a Discovery Channel film crew twenty years ago. I touched a switch. Now I am a tour guide,” added Khem with a smile.

One wall of the original corridor had been damaged by the blast. A new one had been built along with the shelter object, guiding the small group through a turnstile, a radiation checkpoint, another doorway, and then into the new corridor, built alongside the run of the collapsed de-aerator corridor.

Even after ten years, the layout felt new to Serhiy - just that little bit wrong and unfamiliar compared to how he’d learned it..White LED light’s from the tourist’s phones lit the corridor ahead, throwing hard black shadows onto the walls. Steel pipes and cableways plunged into the darkness, inert and empty for four decades.

A new steel door stood where the Shift Supervisor’s desk had once been. The wall had been added to support the demolition of the shelter object.

Prior to that, the room had lay in state for twenty years - untouched like the city beyond the station.

Serhiy almost found himself wishing it’d remain that way. A monument to the moment a routine Saturday morning test became a life-long nightmare.

He watched the visitors move through the room from the doorway, making sure they disturbed nothing. Footsteps took a space

“A little bird told me you’re retiring,” said Khem, with a faint smirk on his lips.

“From Chernobyl,” Serhiy confirmed with a single nod. “Someone sent me a job specification.”

“Hmmm…” The silence begged for more information.

“A station blew a reactor last year. They’re replacing it with a fission reactor - an RBMK derivative. Which means someone experienced has to train them how to operate it.”

“Why would they build an RBMK?” Khem asked. He might’ve asked why they bothered sacrificing a living child on an altar for the look for shock on his face.

“God only knows. But it’ll pay better than this…”

Raised voices interrupted their quiet conversation, as the tourists played their roles.

“You’re delusional. RBMK reactors don’t explode.”

“Take him to the infirmary.”

Serhiy drew down a deep breath, watching them re-enact a re-enactment. “...I’ve no reason to stay anymore. And I’ll take any chance to run a reactor once more, rather than another tour group.”

“Ah…” said Khem, understanding everything.

And of course, they touched things. They snooped around the room, gamma-scouting for the hottest of hotspots - perhaps the tiniest mote of reactor fuel or graphite that’d settled in a crack to decay peacefully for four decades.

They seemed to revel in a danger long since passed.

Their flight to Ukraine would’ve registered a higher rating on their chirping counters, if they’d bothered to look.

His eyes closed for a moment. Somehow, he could still taste metal.

“Excuse me, Can I ask a question.”

She stood taller than him, and far thinner. A dustmask hid her face, but her brown eyes stared down at him in a way that made his skin crawl - as if maybe she thought he was nothing more than a tour guide - something beneath the contempt of one able to afford the tour. It rose up his back, crawling with a thousand legs, mingling with the taste of

He didn’t feel like holding back.

“I was a trainee operator in reactor room three. Yes, I was on duty. And I knew everyone in this room. Proskuryarkov and Kudryatsev were my friends, and I spent four months in Hospital Number Six because the ventilators were not switched off and I finished my shift in three. A year later they restarted the reactor, and here I am still. Is there anything else you would like to know?”

She blinked. For a moment he thought, maybe she got the point. Even behind the mask, he could see her scowl.

“We paid to be here you should treat your customers better - we have ‘gram accounts you know…I’ve over a thousand followers”

And then he understood. To her, Chernobyl was a TV show - a documentary - a word from a foreign country that’d become the latest Dark Tourist hit - another place where you could purchase your own personal fragment of a tragedy.

“I can’t do this any more,” he said, in his own language.


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  Summer fundraising
Posted by: zojojojo - 06-07-2024, 01:44 PM - Forum: General Chatter - Replies (1)

I've been kicking around this board for quite a while, making minor contributions here and there but mostly just lurking in the fanfic area... I may have mentioned in the past that I ride bikes for fun. Well, it's Summer here in the American Northeast, and that means 2 things: it's generally warm enough to want to bike a lot, and (relatedly) various groups are doing events for fundraising. What this means for me, is that I'm biking 175 miles from Boston to Provincetown (at the tip of Cape Cod) at the end of June to raise money for Multiple Sclerosis. Why am I telling y'all this? because I'm hoping some of you would be willing to donate to my ride. If you would rather help cure cancer instead of MS, then I'm also biking 50 miles through the Bershires in September for the PMC and will happily take donations for that event as well!

Thank you in advance! No donation is too small. (also, no donation is too large!).

tl;dr: I'm biking a lot this summer. Donate to National MS Society. Donate to PMC (Dana Farber).


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  Fic Update Thread 54: Find a spot out on the floor!
Posted by: Mamorien - 06-06-2024, 04:54 PM - Forum: Other People's Fanfiction - Replies (75)

Previous thread here. Reserving this name now.

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  Political filk and fragments
Posted by: classicdrogn - 06-06-2024, 02:50 AM - Forum: Politics and Other Fun - No Replies

(to the tune of Portabello Road from Bedknobs and Broomsticks)

Bloated orange toad, bloated orange toad
Cheat who has somehow never been told "no"
Any crap and every grift this jerk can unload
is spewed out in barrels by this bloated orange toad...

(to the tune of Karma Police by Radiohead)

Gazpacho Police, arrest this sham
She talks in lies, has the spine of sliced ham
It's a demented MAGA show...

I'd take them further, but I use music to calm down and thinking about it just makes me angry and/or depressed.

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  (utility) You​’​re Gonna Learn a Lesson in This Delicatessen
Posted by: classicdrogn - 06-03-2024, 07:39 PM - Forum: The Game Everyone Loves To Play - Replies (3)

It's not rocket science, bitch, you're just ordering a sandwich!

(lyrics in the video description)

For the duration of the song, Doug can turn ingredients into ready-to-go sandwiches effectively instantly -- in game terms, one combat action for any number of the same kind of sandwich as long as ingredients are available, without regard for normally needed tools or prep, cooking, or cleanup time. He does experience all the steps of the process as if performing them normally, and onlookers can tell you everything he did as well, it just all sort of happens at once, and on recordings it's just a blur like the camera glitched.

It also gives him a modest all-around boost to physical fighting when unarmed or using improvised weapons, as long as the fight is happening inside (or within close proximity to an open-air stand or the like, defined as "would still be in the shot if it was a fight scene in a movie or comic book") of a restaurant or shop that sells ready-to-eat food.

If he's catering to beings with unusual physiologies or only has improvised materials on hand the exact definition of valid ingredients is quite mutable, but cannot intentionally include substances that would be harmful for the recipient; the song does however let him sidestep what would be tedious and difficult procedures to make things that would be marginal or dangerous in their raw form into something at least nominally edible and nourishing, and to whatever extent is possible tasty.

"Oh my god, that's moose turd pie! ... it's good, though..." Big Grin

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  ICQ ending operations on June 26
Posted by: robkelk - 05-28-2024, 06:58 AM - Forum: General Chatter - No Replies

Venerable ICQ messaging service to end operations in June

Quote:A brief statement on the service's website states "ICQ will stop working from June 26" without any explanation, and suggests VK Messenger as an alternative.
Note that VK Messenger is difficult to find outside of Russia -- it isn't in the Google or Apple stores.

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  Terminator or A. I. Love You? Discussing the robot revolution
Posted by: classicdrogn - 05-27-2024, 11:36 AM - Forum: Politics and Other Fun - Replies (2)

(05-26-2024, 09:39 PM)Labster Wrote:
(05-26-2024, 06:55 PM)Norgarth Wrote: [Image: zWLIBX7.jpg]

But you'd be so much better at laundry and dishes if you had 7 fingers on each hand!

"Specialist skill" niches are going to die outside unpaid hobbies or luxury/rarities, regardless of type, because there will only ever be so many humans with the time or talent to train them, while an AI whether pure software or controlling the required hardware can be built to order for use by the masses without. Music and visual art will be first, because getting it wrong just means trying again rather than doing damage, but more will follow as the technology matures.

Humans will only be needed to fill multiple physical roles too small to spend the money on a robot (yes, like the chores in a single home) or figure out how to solve uncommon problems or reframe them to refer to a specialist AI in a way it deal with, or to navigate and travel around uneven and disorderly spaces like natural territory or for emergency services/disaster relief. Sorry, that art degree is just fancy toilet paper in another decade at most.

Surgeons will probably hang on the longest, at least the rest of the century, as chief of an AI team working on an operation in order to make sure life's random bullshit doesn't throw a curve ball... though with that metaphor, I am reminded some people do like watching sports, so professional athletes will undoubtedly also remain.

Soldiers, too, if only because fiction has beaten in how bad an idea automated systems programmed to kill are over and over since before steam engines were a thing, and because things break in the field and figuring out how to get it unfucked enough to keep working on the field or at least fall back to a better location for more extensive repairs (and then working with the resulting lash-up) is another of those breadth-vs-depth and adaptability things, as is the boots-on-the-ground work of taking or holding territory and interacting with locals. Remotely piloted vehicles are great for the very tip of the tooth, as Ukraine has repeatedly underscored, but they still need muscle and bone for the jaw and there's a whole lot of tail behind that.

But on to the most critical question! Can we fuck the robots?

Sex slavery is the only form of the practice still widespread across the world, and certainly when only looking at developed nations. How much of that could be eliminated by the creation of acceptably realistic (or appealingly unrealistic) sexaroids? Nobody with a choice about it kept humans working cotton fields once a few machine operators using harvester tractors and cotton gins became more cost effective, so a handful of bouncers and cleaners who can double as maintenance techs for common problems plus a stable of horny-on-full-blast robots that cost less to plug in to recharge for a couple hours than supplying food and drugs to as many whores could see a lot of jobs lost to automation where the more of a social crusader a given activist is the happier they are to see them go.

You can even argue that working toward fuckable robots is the most morally correct use of the technology, since materials that can withstand harsh cleaners to keep from spreading disease are already a solved problem, forcing a human to accept such a role is a horrific violation of autonomy while training an AI to do the job is data entry, and there's no accidental pregnancy with a sexaroid.

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  (simulacrum) Vincent Price by Deep Purple
Posted by: classicdrogn - 05-24-2024, 10:07 AM - Forum: The Game Everyone Loves To Play - Replies (1)


As you would expect, this song calls up a copy of Vincent Price, either as the actor himself or in the persona (complete with any movie-magic abilities) of one of his roles. Handy when Doug needs a partner for some kind of occult investigation (for not quite five minutes, anyway) but perhaps even more valuable as a versatile character actor to play distraction, or collaborate as a "bystander" to make a set piece work or provide an example for a crowd of civilians to copy in running for safety instead of doing something stupid and unpredictable when trouble breaks out.

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