Obsidian Devil and the Dead Man’s Hand

by H.P. Lovecock (力。下。愛ちんちん)
illustrated by beili

New Mexico Territory, 1859

I’d rolled into Last Ditch three days back, horseless and little more than a rucksack and the rags on my back. A sole free man wasn’t unheard of in these parts, but the more downtrodden I appeared the better. I assumed Slick Sam and his outlaws were just as like to drink with me as clap me in irons and sell me off to an eastern plantation.

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Palindrome International

by H.P. Lovecock (力。下。愛ちんちん)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/353310.html)

Let’s do a thought experiment: say you had a button that caused simulated pain. Sort of like the Milgram experiment, but in a different context. Let’s say you have four pixels on a screen in front of you, and whenever you press the button a tiny speech bubble pops up that says, “Ow!” You know the pain is simulated, the pixels don’t feel anything, the pain is a narrative. Still, what are the ethics of you causing simulated pain? What if the pixels were replaced with a video game character, scripted to walk and talk like a normal human beings within the limits of its program? What if you replace that with a lifelike animatronic mannequin? A fully functional android? A computer program of such complexity that the pain event is practically indistinguishable from the physiological reactions of organic life? Where do we draw the line for the ethical boundaries of causing simulated pain?

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by H.P. Lovecock (力。下。愛ちんちん)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/349962.html)

In my village, the elders tell a story of what was and what is to come.

Long ago, the people of the Warlord Lands emerged from the depths of hell and invaded the Kingdom of the Sacred Mountains. They wore armour imbued with the spirits of evil demons and wielded sorcerous weapons that rained death down on our ancestors, but the first king of the Sacred Mountains found a shrine to a mountain god. After prayer and meditation, the mountain god gifted him with mighty weapons that allowed us to hold off the people of the Warlord Lands once, and again, and again.

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Rites of the Witch Boy

by H.P. Lovecock (力。下。愛ちんちん)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/343090.html)

“I can’t quite describe what I saw that night on All Hallow’s Eve, it was something so marvelous and terrible and unspeakable. The more I focus on it the more something in my mind seems to push back against it, like some force outside of my mind doesn’t want me to believe it. I want to remember, because it was so beautiful and terrible, and Fionn was there… the power… beautiful and terrible…

“Sorry. Ever since that night my mind keeps blanking out. I guess this all started when I first came here to MU, when I pledged Theta Omega Alpha. They already knew about me because of my dad. He was a brother back when he went to Ol’ Misk, and his father, and his father before him. Dad was actually the president of the Thetas, so I didn’t have much say in whether I wanted to join or not. Traditions are really important to my dad.

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