Valiant Hearts: The Birth of the Prestige Game

What to say about Valiant Hearts: The Great War?

It's a good game, to be sure. It manages to deftly mix moments of humor, terror, and nail-biting tension in a narrative built around a strong emotional core, buoyed by frequent "aha" moments thanks to the numerous puzzles that form the bulk of gameplay. It features some overwrought narration and an insistence on educating the player that at times can be grating. The art style is beautiful, and by adopting this style the player isn't exposed to brutal, photorealistic gore in a manner that might desensitize them to the horrific violence that marked World War I - not to mention it makes the game much more accessible.

Overall, I enjoyed my experience with the game. But throughout my playthrough I was struck by a familiar sensation. It took me a while to put my finger on it. Then it hit me.

What I Wrote in the Guestbook at Whynot? Coffee & Wine

For me, New York will probably be remembered as the city of coffee.

I didn't really touch the stuff before I started living here in earnest. Mostly I just drank tea, and I still do, but I've since graduated to its stronger, younger sibling. I've come to appreciate the taste, but it still gets me so caffeinated that I get jittery. It becomes hard for me to focus on any single thing, and I opt instead for total sensory overload.

It's a mirror for my overall experience with this city. There are always so many possibilities, so many paths before me that at times it can be downright maddening. But whenever I try to imagine living anywhere else at this point in my life, I realize how quickly I'd get bored. Drinking decaf might have the same taste, but when the liquid's gone, what are you left with?

Titanfall: So You Want to Pilot Giant Robots Better

So Titanfall's pretty awesome. And they did something interesting with their prestige system. When you've hit the maximum level and want to start over so you can do it all again, it's presented in-universe as your cybernetically enhanced pilot opting to get "regenerated", which means a brand spanking new body but none of their original memories from since they've showed up on the frontier.

The setting also features robot infantry known as "Spectres".

So last Saturday, after a wee bit too much alcohol, I took that idea and ran with it, resulting in this:

Recorded from Hammond Robotics' Sparta Regeneration Facility, Dr. Rick ------- Ranking Technician

Next. Good morning. Here for the regen right? Good good, let me see your file here. Service on Troy, Battle of Demeter...neat stuff. Ah, first time here. Okay, gotta give you the spiel. If you'll walk this way...

World Building, Characters, Reservoir Dogs, and Lunch

The quickest way to get me uninterested in a story is by opening it with an expository monologue. Controversial statement, I know. But it's something I bring up because it's still a very important point to reiterate, because too often - especially in works of fantasy or science fiction - the person telling the story feels the need to front-end a bunch of maps, important dates, and a general overview of the history of the kingdom/colony/intergalactic empire.

And I kind of get the appeal of this "history textbook" approach to world-building. If it's good enough for Tolkien, it's good enough for you, right?

Wrong. People have been aping Tolkien for years now and quite frankly I'm sick of it. So here's what you should do instead of opening your book with a glossary of terms and technologies you'll only define this once or your movie with (God help you) a character giving an overwrought voice-over explaining why dragons are so important or how magic works in this particular universe: Have your characters go to lunch. This is how you get in your world-building and introduce your characters to the audience in one fell swoop.

The SCP Foundation and Me: A Case Study in Obsession

When it comes to well done and groundbreaking entertainment in new media, you won't find a better example than The SCP Foundation. The site is presented as the archives of an organization devoted to finding, containing, researching -and if necessary, destroying- anything deemed abnormally dangerous or harmful to humanity's perception of reality. This can range from a homicidal lizard that will never ever ever ever (ever) stay dead to a previously unknown integer that causes math to stop working to a green goo that mostly just smells minty but if it ever comes in contact with dead bodies something so terrible happens that most people aren't allowed to even know about it.

Most of the website is devoted to entries cataloguing these anomalous objects, although there are also a fair amount of stories dealing with the Foundation, the items it contains, and various other Groups of Interest that operate just outside of everyday life. The fact that the site is a wiki means that just about anyone can submit a piece, and there is a very active community involved in editing the site and reviewing new content. And I am super obsessed with a huge fan of the whole thing.

I started reading the site last year, but I didn't start binge reading until last summer, and since then I've eased into the habit of going to the site and just tabbing through the "random page" option whenever I'm procrastinating or just bored. So by now I'm intimately familiar with the site, but it's taken me that long to get there because this thing is huge. You could just chalk up my love for the Foundation to the fact that I'm a weird dude, but as I read more and more of the stuff on there I realized that my fondness for the site goes beyond mere entertainment value. There are three big themes that keep coming up throughout the site that I find rather compelling.

The Three Try to Steal All the Money, Ch. 3 Part 2

The next few months saw Jastio participating in most of the pivotal battles that drove the Insurrection of the Outer Territories to its conclusion.  After Crown’s Reach the Citizen’s Militia pushed through Pennsmouth and then Kathryn’s Bend. He saw action in both these places, ranging from street to street fighting to house clearing to protracted sniper engagements. Jastio fired his gun in every instance, and many times killed someone too. More than once he was one of only two to survive a battle. He received numerous commendations and received a pair of medals he almost never wore. At war’s end his unit was positioned behind the regular army to support their push against the final rebel stronghold in Crying Bluffs. He was far from the battlefield when the surrender was made and the brutal civil war ended. When the governor’s announcement of peace came over the radio his squad cheered. Jastio might have joined in, he might not. He didn’t really remember anymore.

The days after the war all ran together. There was brief participation in military rule of the outlying provinces before regular police forces could be re-established, and not long after returning to the city he was honorably discharged. At the end of his service, all he had to show for it was his rifle, his uniform, a pair of medals, and the inability to get a decent night’s sleep. He didn’t even have his own apartment, instead returning to live with his father just like before his conscription. His life briefly seemed as though it was geared to return to normal, the way it was before.

The Three Try to Steal All the Money, Ch. 3 Part 1

3: The Best Gunfighter in the World

On his fifty-sixth day of service in the Kingsholm Citizen’s Militia, Jastio Finnegan killed his first opponent. The suburb of Crown’s Reach had fallen to the rebels and his unit had been tasked with uprooting them as the regular forces dealt with the rebel’s main force to the east of the city. Twelve hours after occupying Finn Square a sniper’s bullet pierced the helmet of the corporal, and the rest of the squad found themselves crouching behind sandbags, statues, and signs for an interminably long amount of time as another squad tried to pinpoint the rifleman’s position. The only noise that pierced the tedium were distant bird-calls, the muted thunder of far off artillery strikes, and a periodic reverberating crack that signaled another potshot from the sniper.

After a small eternity the radio-man’s device crackled to life from his back, and the voice on the other end told them where to look for their opponent. Pfc. McCluskey took up position with his rifle as Jastio placed his helmet on a stick and moved it just above the stonework of the fountain they were using as cover. There was another crack, followed by a loud ping as the bullet ricocheted off the helmet and directly into McCluskey’s chest. Jastio scrambled and moved to put pressure on the wound, but McCluskey wasted no breath.