#armor abernathy

[sparks-chaotic-cove]

Yaknow I don't know what I expected from todays lore but learning that Armor has ripped at least somebody's throat out with his own teeth was not one of them

[connorsnothereeither]

So I know I pitched Rusty Armor but is the ship name for Rune and Armor ‘Rumor’, or…

[ggabraxas]

Did Armor lie to Vast about being in love with Kalia?

No! He wasn't lying.

Armor, when the three of them were younger, had feelings for both Kalia and Vast. They were both special to him in their own ways, and he valued both of them equally.

He simply only told Vast that he had feelings for Kalia, not that he had feelings for both of them. I mean. Would you tell the person you had a crush on that you liked him when she killed his own sister who you also happened to have feelings for? I wouldn't.

[willbee-1]

⟟ watched the star birds lore from the other day right

...you can't tell me if things would have gone different on the roof of the library those 2 would have kissed-

The energy was there-

The energy was there in the studio and i raaaa

[ether-nets]

I'm not often one for promoting ships HOWEVER I will keep spreading Rusty Stars propaganda because I simply love the idea of it. Rust is great, Vast and Armor don't understand the concept of polyamory yet, but they *could*. It would be good... And even if it doesn't happen I will hold the idea of it in my littol hands

[juniperdrawz]

[firstdragonlady]

Chapter 27

Diana looked like she was about ready to burst out laughing again. Chloris narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and Creon looked Effie up and down in incredulity.

And of course Seneca, ever her knight in shining armor, came to her rescue. “Are you nervous about your speech tomorrow?”

Effie could have kissed him. If she hadn’t kissed Haymitch Abernathy that afternoon.

Happy Fine Line Friday! It was a joy experiencing all your reactions to the last chapter. I hope you continue to love FL as it goes forward.

Enjoy Effie's downward spiral!

[corpocyborg]

Secure Your Soul: A Cyberpunk 2077 Fanfiction

This fic was previously published under the title “Before the Event Horizon.”

Summary: Six months ago, V’s boss at Arasaka ordered her to assassinate his rival. Instead, with the reluctant but invaluable help of her old friend Jackie Welles, she pushed them both off their thrones and claimed one for herself. Now the new Director of Arasaka Counter Intel has a problem. She’s uncovered information that indicates that Yorinobu Arasaka, the heir apparent to the Arasaka dynasty, is a traitor. But without solid proof, she’s forced to take matters into her own hands.

An AU in which Corpo!V never leaves Arasaka.

CHAPTER SIX: LIKE A MILITARY COUP

[read on ao3]

PRESENT DAY

“Get up, you backstabbing bitch.”

V’s mind crossed the threshold into consciousness, and she jolted awake. Her neck ached from sleeping at a desk, but it was a familiar ache. She’d pulled all-nighters at a desk her whole life, staring at a pile of paperwork or a computer monitor until the lead she needed jumped out at her. She looked up at Abernathy. “Morning, m’am. Do you have more questions for me?”

Abernathy slammed her head into the desk. 

“Fuck,” V muttered. She had cranial armor implants, but they’d been taking a serious beating lately. Abernathy must have gotten the same holiday bonus that she had. No one without gorilla arms could exert that much force so effortlessly. “That's the second time in 24 hours someone’s done that to me.”

“It won't be the last,” Abernathy promised. She lifted V’s head and slammed it back down again. Then she lifted it once more, but this time she held it so that V’s eyes were looking into her own. “What did you say to him to get him to squeal?”

“I've been locked in here for hours,” V said through clenched teeth. Despite the armor implants, her head was pounding viciously. “I haven't had any communication with anyone since you were last here. You can check your surveillance footage if you don't believe me.”

“Then you planned it together.”

“Jenkins and I? What would be the point of that? Just to fuck with you?” V’s words were muffled by Abernathy’s hold on her face. “I came to you because I was trying to switch sides. I wanted to work for someone more level-headed. Although this display is making me doubt whether I was right about you.” 

“How dare you?” Abernathy spat, but V was pleased to hear a slight catch in her voice. She’d guessed that line would work on Abernathy primarily because it would have worked on her.

“Look,” V began, wincing as Abernathy squeezed her head. “You can waste your time here, tormenting someone who isn’t even in on Jenkins’ plans, or you can go after your actual enemy. One option is far more productive than the other.” 

Abernathy paused, her grip never lessening, for a few seconds that felt much longer to V. Her vision was just starting to swim when Abernathy abruptly released her head. Inertia slammed it back into the desk one final time. When V looked up again, Abernathy was gone. 

She crossed her arms on the desk and rested her head on them, struggling for air at first, then progressively slowing and deepening her breaths. It was a technique she’d learned from her life coach at Quantified Satori. It helped, but only to a degree. The pounding in her head had not subsided, and V wasn’t sure how long it would be before she’d have the strength to lift her head again. She supposed there’d be no point to now, anyway. Whatever happened next was outside her control. And, despite their differences, she trusted Jackie. He’d know what he had to do. 

Continuing to breathe deeply, she began a new neuromotor relaxation exercise—one targeted at releasing tension in various muscle groups, one at a time, in a particular pattern. It seemed like a good choice because it occupied her mind as well as her body. With this welcome distraction to guide her, V gradually found her way back into unconsciousness.

—

When she woke up again, a different coworker was standing over her.

“Nostra,” she said groggily, “Abernathy sent you?”

“No, V,” Nostra replied. “Abernathy’s offed herself.”

That snapped her awake. Ever since Jenkins had first given her the order to go after Abernathy, V had been anticipating every potential resolution to the situation that she could come up with. She thought she’d become especially effective at predicting Abernathy’s reactions, largely because she so often reacted the same way that V herself would have. But she hadn’t seen this coming.

“You look so shocked,” Nostra commented. There was a slight twitch at the right corner of his mouth. “Weren’t expecting it, huh?”

“Were you?” 

Nostra sighed quietly. “In a manner of speaking. She wasn’t depressed, if that’s what you’re assuming. Wasn’t a quitter either. Hell, I’ve seen the woman dodge shit thrown at her from every angle and still walk away clean. She wasn’t weak, V.”

He paused, looking directly at her. Gauging her reaction, V knew. She didn’t try to hide her confusion. A poker face was a decent enough tactic for certain types of lies, but generally the superior strategy was to react the way you would have reacted if you were innocent. 

“Then why-” she began.

“Why did she kill herself?” Nostara finished her sentence for her. “Because she didn’t have any interest in life after Arasaka.” 

A sudden sense of understanding dawned in V’s mind. Nostra nodded at her. “Now you get it,” he said. “Anyway, that’s the internal factors. As for the external factors, your man Jenkins got too trigger-happy. He was blackmailing her, as you know. Hadn’t released anything, was just making demands at first… then, suddenly, he uploads it all, every bit of dirt he’s got on her, to Arasaka’s intranet.” 

Well done, Jackie, V thought instinctively. She forced that thought into the back of her mind. Her face showed nothing but doubt. “But why?” she demanded. “And how do you know it was him?”

“Fair question. He deleted any metadata or other digital trails that could lead to him. He tried to, anyway. It was a tech specialist from your department who caught him, actually. Carter Smith. I believe you know him.”

“I do,” V replied cautiously. She was unsure how Smith factored into the situation and that made her nervous. He knew about her deal with Jackie, but he didn’t know exactly what was on the datashard she’d left him, and he certainly didn’t know about the dirt she’d added to it over the past six years. But it was hardly an impossible intuitive leap. If he'd connected the dots… “We’ve worked together in the past.”

“Apparently, he’d been keeping an eye on Jenkins since he overheard him telling you to ‘make sure Abernathy won’t be a problem anymore.’”

“Jenkins did tell me that. And as you know, I didn’t listen.” 

“Didn’t you?” Nostra asked. “Abernathy won’t be a problem for Jenkins anymore, will she?” Before V could say anything in her defense, Nostra added, “Of course, Jenkins will hardly be able to benefit from that, seeing as he’s dead.”

“Jenkins is dead?” V was intrigued to find that she was actually a little sad about that. She’d barely known Abernathy, but Jenkins had been a constant presence in her life for several years. She wouldn’t have called him a friend, but then she spent more time with her coworkers than she did with her friends.

“Yes. Apparently, Smith didn’t like the sound of Jenkins’ plan either. Went directly to Abernathy and reported everything he’d heard. Then offered to keep an eye out for her regarding any further developments. Interestingly enough, he said he didn’t think you’d go through with it. He seems to like you.”

V looked down at the table, smiling slightly. Well, well. You never did know which allies could turn out to be valuable in the long run. “That’s kind of him,” she mused, momentarily lost in the private joke. “But you still haven’t told me how Jenkins ended up dead.”

“Smith kept his word. He was monitoring Jenkins’ online presence. After the blackmail data leaked, he was able to trace a pattern of suspicious activity that indicated that Jenkins was the source. Abernathy had just gotten back from your last interrogation. He showed her what he’d found. She decided if she was going down anyway, Jenkins was coming with her.”

“So she killed him?”

“Yes. Personally, in fact. A first for her.”

V didn’t miss the implication. Abernathy had killed coworkers before, but never by her own hand. V knew that, of course. It made up the bulk of the info that “Jenkins” had revealed. Still, it was interesting that Nostra was comfortable speaking about it so openly. She wondered how much of that reveal had not actually been a surprise to him.   

“What about his security team?” she asked.

“He had one, of course. But they primarily look out for threats in disguise, assassination attempts. Not a known coworker who simply walks directly into his office with a weapon. That’s the danger of an enemy with nothing left to lose.”

V stayed silent for a moment, allowing her mind to mull over this new information. It was hard to be certain how much of this story Nostra actually believed, but she suspected it wasn’t all of it. “So what happens now?” she asked finally.

“Now Arasaka has two high-ranking positions to fill on rather short notice. I’m acting Director of Spec Ops, naturally. The acting Director of Counter Intel, by the typical order of succession, should be you.”

V looked up at Nostra. A deep and familiar hunger roared to life in the center of her chest.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Nostra warned her. “It’s temporary. A full investigation of the incident is pending, then Arasaka will decide if you can keep the position. But, yes. It’s you. For now.”

V released a deep breath. She inhaled another one, held it for four counts, then released that one too. “Okay,” she said. “Then I’m free to go?”

In answer, Nostra walked over to the door and opened it. 

—

V sat behind the desk in her new office. For the last eleven hours, she'd been suppressing her sense of awe in order to allow herself to focus on the seemingly endless stream of meetings and holoconferences she'd been hosting. There had been much to do. The Frankfurt incident had still needed resolving. As soon as she'd gotten to the office, she'd put her extensive collection of international contacts to work, trading favors and information in exchange for influence over the appointments of the new heads of the European Space Council. 

By now, she felt secure that she'd managed to position a majority of figureheads who would either be loyal to or manipulatable by Arasaka. It had been easier than she'd expected. The job wasn't desirable lately, and she could offer a level of protection and security that had skyrocketed in value. She mentally thanked Jenkins for that. 

Jenkins… 

Now that she had a second to breathe, it hit her again. She was sitting in Jenkins' chair. Behind Jenkins’ desk. In Jenkins' office.

In the last few years, she’d spent more time in the Tower than she had in her own apartment, and as she'd risen through the ranks in Counter Intel, she'd spent more and more time in this office in particular. It was such a familiar place. 

Still, she gazed around, sponging in the sights as if she'd never seen them before. Memorizing every detail. The giant Arasaka logo on the floor. The couch in one corner with the liquor cabinet beside it, the full length dining table in the other. The plants displayed behind the glass built into the walls. And finally, the windows and the view outside. Her gaze lingered there the longest, her chair angled to face the window.

Someone knocked softly on her door. 

“Come in,” she called out. She swiveled her chair back towards the door. 

Carter Smith was poking his head through the crack. “Hey, V,” he said nervously. “Are you still busy? I didn't want to interrupt.”

“It's fine. You can come in.” 

He walked across the room and sat in the same seat she'd occupied yesterday. Had it been yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago. She cleared some papers off her desk and closed her laptop. “What do you need, Carter?”

“I wanted to see how you're doing.”

“Well, we've made good progress in mitigating potential future issues with the Space Council. Our lunar base licenses—”

“No, V. I meant I wanted to see how you’re doing. Personally.”

V paused. “Oh.”

Carter’s cheeks turned a telling shade of pink. “I just… I know Abernathy had you locked up, and… after learning what she’s capable of, I wasn't sure…”

“I’m fine,” V reassured him quickly. “She didn't do anything to me that I can't recover from.” 

“Okay.” Carter looked relieved. “Good. I couldn't stand it if anyone else got hurt.” V had the sense that he wanted to say something more. He rubbed the back of his neck, then sighed. “Can you believe what happened? Abernathy… I wanted to protect her… I never thought…”

It was rather sad. Abernathy would've wiped him out without a thought if she'd deemed it necessary, and yet here he was, lamenting his part in her demise. Some people just refused to look out for their own best interests. “There’s no point in blaming yourself,” she said. “Abernathy made her own decision.”

“I know. I know that. But V… you didn't see it…” His eyes scanned the room warily, and V wondered if he was considering revealing some sort of secret information. 

“Didn't see what?” she pressed.

“This office. Afterwards.” For a moment, his eyes glazed over and V knew his mind was reliving the memory.

“Carter?” she said, trying to anchor him to the present. “It's all right. Just breathe.”

He took a deep breath. He shivered, but seemed to come back to himself. “Anyway,” he said, looking abashed again. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'm gonna go now. I've wasted enough of your time. Just needed someone to talk to, I guess.”

“That's fine,” V said cautiously. She didn't want to alienate Carter. He'd proven valuable lately. But she didn't have time to become his regular shoulder to cry on. “Maybe try focusing on your work?” she suggested. “I know you like working with tech.”

“Yeah,” Carter said. He smiled, but it was obviously forced. “Thanks, V. I'll try that.” He left the office.

Well, either he didn't suspect V’s involvement in Jenkins and Abernathy's downfall, or he was the absolute damn best liar she'd ever met. She almost hoped it was the latter. That would make him much more interesting. 

She rotated her chair back towards the window. The sun was setting, and the city was coming to life. It lived up to its name, she thought. Its neon colors looked more beautiful against a backdrop of black. And the sky in City Center was always a deep, pure black at night. Night City—the city so bright, it blotted out the stars.  

The clock on her optics started flashing, an indication that it was time for her to go home. She dismissed the alarm, but made no moves to leave. As acting Director of Arasaka Counter Intel, it was her right to sleep in her office if she deemed it necessary. She pulled a cigarette out of a desk drawer and lit it. It was Jenkins’, but he wouldn't be needing it anymore. She reclined her chair, took a deep drag from the cigarette, and exhaled slowly. 

Night City, she decided, looked its absolute best from out the windows of Arasaka Tower. 

[possumcollege]

I dont know how it took me till you posted that most recent sole survivor art to learn you were a fallout enjoyed, it fills me with joy. Fave companion/storyline?

Of the main companions, I think my favorites are Dogmeat, Nick, and Piper, but I've probably brought Ada along more than anyone.

I really love the character of this robot, built by a band of survivors from spare parts, developing attachments and feelings. I appreciate her trying to square the conflicting input of grief and justice at the point where neither really fixes anything unless the root of that injury is repaired. Ada's friends died because the robots programming was flawed and lacked the ability to see struggling humans as viable, not because Isabel wanted them to kill. At that point, killing her would be cathartic but it punishes her for a mistake she rekt didn't intend and lowers us to the level of the other wasteland factions who perpetuate the broken exterminationist view of conflict. It lets Ada continue to grow as a living being in spite of her loss and status as a robot. It's something I love about Ada in my interpretation that I felt was lacking in my impression of Curie.

The game wants to give us a romanceable female synth who is even less experienced than we are, so porting a robot's memory into a "human" works but that's a bit cheap for my taste. I don't dislike Curie but I would've enjoyed the option to help her realize a human body wasn't strictly necessary to help people. Developing the "humanity" in a machine feels more in line with rebuilding a better world than finding ways to eliminate the anthropocentric limitations of machines in a world where they can be fully sentient.

And yes, I think you should still be able to romance Robot Curie. It seems to work for Mr. Zwicky and Miss Edna! I think that's sweet and let's be play this as a world where people realize joy is precious wherever you find it instead of queueing up Curie's emergent personality. We see plenty of other robots with fully functional autonomous identities. The ability to accept them for who they are and can become in spite of their origins is a wonderful aspect of the world for me.

In general, I like keeping folks around and trying to give them another chance to make a go of it in the Commonwealth without the Institute or the Brotherhood trying to pull the strings from above or below. I try not to kill anyone I know I don't have to unless they're going to keep trying to kill me.

I've destroyed the Prydwen and the Institute every time, but I wish there could've been opportunities to bring a few BOS characters over to my side in the process, Proctor Ingram, in particular. I also like that there are hard choices to make though, that characters you would want to join you can just have incompatible ideology and loyalty.

For the game's sake I back the minutemen and the Railroad, but ideologically, the Atom Cats are my "faction" of choice. They're good people, hacking out a place for themselves, putting their skills to less genocidal use, and trying to bring a bit of light and beauty to their little peninsula. They watch out for their friends and neighbors. They ain't so keen on exterminating anything in particular. They aren't looking to rule over anything in spite of their impressive power armor skills. My favorite outfit these days is the armored AC jacket and modded Mechanist helmet.

Far Harbor has some great missions too. The hotel murder mystery is a hoot and the settlement locations offer a lot to play with. I try to strike a live-and-let-live balance there too, preserving the synth refuge, Far Harbor, and the CoA if I can help it. I never rat them out to the BoS. The memory-retrieval mini game missions are miserable though! It glitched out on my first playthrough and I couldn't finish it before my PS4 died.

Favorite settlements are probably vault 88, the Starlite drive-in (makes a fanatic multistory apartment base), Spectacle Island, Abernathy farm, Egret Tours Marina, the lumber mill, Outpost Zimonja, Greygarden, and the lighthouse. I'm a fan of modding-off the build limits and resource cheats so I can build elaborate apartment blocks out of scaffolding, warehouse bits and vault pieces. I can't get enough of encasing ruined buildings in larger buildings like warehouses or vault atrium assets too. After a while, the settlement building becomes my favorite aspect of the game after the story and world-building.

[rosemaryreaper]

A collection of brief contextless snippets of Ros being…well, Ros.

Featuring Nick, Ellie, Nora, Haylen, and others.

* * * *

1.

Climbing down took less than half the time it took to climb up. Near the bottom, she simply dropped the last ten feet, boots hitting the wood roof with a solid thud. Abernathy stood waiting for her with a grin. Connie had already left.

He clapped her on the back. “Quick work. Where’d you learn to climb like that?”

“Through an unexpected blessing following the most traumatically horrific experience of her life” would have been the correct answer, but Ros wasn’t about to go into detail about that. So, she simply said, “A stripper taught me.”

Abernathy raised his eyebrows. “Huh. Well, you’ll have to thank that stripper for me.”

Ros was fairly certain she was dead, but she mentally passed on the message anyway.

* * * *

2.

“You’ve put me in your debt,” Ros said, as Connie secured the straps on the impressively full pack.

“Oh, quit your whining already,” Connie said. “I couldn’t care less if you never show your face around here again. Don’t have the caps to hire a merc.”

Ros eyed her warily, unsure if this was genuine evidence of a sense of humor and not a straight up threat. Connie didn’t clarify, which didn’t help matters at all.

* * * *

3.

They could see well enough to point a gun at her, at least. She allowed herself to assume that the white diamond over their heart meant that they were, in fact, a guard and not a member of a gang, because if she had to fight the last hundred feet to the city, she would lay down in the street and let them shoot her.

Tiredly, she told the strangely-armored person, “Not a mutant.”

To her surprise, they lowered their rifle without hesitation. “Always good to hear,” they said cheerfully.

* * * *

4.

“Noted.” He set the clipboard down, giving her a tired smile. “Your weapons are your business, but discharge them and Security will do the same. Chems are legal, but public use isn’t. Any disorderly conduct will earn you a night in lockup if no one shoots you for it first. If you need a place to stay, look for the Dugout Inn on First Street. Yefim Bobrov can set you up with a room. Any questions?”

“Yeah, uh,”—her grip tightened on the edge of the counter—“is there a doctor here, by any chance?”

Danny’s shoulders tensed. “There is,” he said warily. “If you’re sick, there is a quarantine procedure—”

“Not sick. Shot.”

Jamie said, “What?”

She removed the fedora from her stomach, uncovering the blood-stained holes in her new shirt.

Danny was on his feet, eyes wide. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He looked at Jamie. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Hell, I didn’t know,” Jamie said.

“I took two Stimpaks,” Ros said. “I’m not about to die.” She paused to double check her Pip-Boy. Three new warnings had popped up since she’d last looked. She dismissed them. “Yeah, no, not right this very second.”

“Are you sure that’s not shock?” Jamie asked. “Are you in shock?”

“I don’t actually know,” Ros said truthfully.

“Jamie,” Danny said.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll show them to the doc.” Jamie looked at Ros in concerned disbelief. “Can you walk?”

“I walked here, didn’t I?” Ros said, which wasn’t actually an answer.

“You did. Good Lord. Just…just follow me.”

* * * *

5.

Abruptly, Ellie let herself fall over into Ros’s arms, her head tucked beneath Ros’s chin. Ros held her awkwardly, startled by this more than the tears, at least for a second. It had to be more comfortable than being doubled over her knees.

“Okay, this is fine,” Ros said, because it was.

“Sorry, honey,” Ellie said into her shirt. “I kinda ruined your morning, huh?”

Ros said, “I want you to feel better,” because she did. She did, she did.

“Ugh, you and me both.”

* * * *

6.

“We’re open. You don’t—” Nick broke off. His fingers scratched against the door, metal against wood. A godawful sound, really.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Valentine,” Danny said, “but I assume this belongs to you?”

Ros attempted a grin. She presumed it looked deranged, her hands being cuffed behind her back and all.

Nick gave her a flat stare. “Tell me why I should say yes.”

“Uh, I didn’t kill anyone?” she offered.

* * * *

7.

“Ros.” Nora tilted her chin up, rag raised in her other hand. “You have blood on your face.”

Ros grimaced as the General aggressively scrubbed her cheek. “It’s not mine.”

* * * *

8.

“Hi,” Ros said with a tired smile. “This mattress is disgusting.”

“Obviously. It’s two hundred years old.” Haylen set the first aid kit on the chair. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Not to people. I talk to walls. And my horse. Normally they don’t talk back, though, so this is a first.”

“Right…you weren’t kidding about taking a hit to the head.”

[sparks-chaotic-cove]

Hi hello boundsmp enjoyers I have something for you

here's two things I doodled during a stream. They're not in the same image I just wanted to make the blorbos have emotions (as if they don't already have those-)

Left: Armor (Armor Abernathy, played by Abraxas/ggAbraxas) Right: Rune (Runthian Ventura, played by Art/ArtfulRenegade)

[named-jiang-or-wang]

The Hunger Games *spoilers*

Just finished the hunger games trilogy in audiobook form. Never again will I underestimate YA fiction popular with teenage girls. I was 30% to tears whenever Katniss sings, 60% to tears whenever somebody she cares about dies, and 90% when she got her happy ending. Jesus fucking christ that girl has suffered. And holy fucking shit people (that we care about and like) die awful, terrible, deaths. It was almost like Gaunt's Ghosts...except they have less plot armor.

Got some nicknames:

Katniss "name a character who went thru more than her ill wait" Everdeen, also Katniss "ill kill everyone in this room and then myself" Everdeen

Peeta "actual best boy too good for this world" Mallark, also Peeta "played em like a damn fiddle" Mallark

Haymitch "Knifefighter" Abernathy

Gale "Warcrimes" Hawthorne

Prim "actual girl on fire" Everdeen

Finnick "Wifeguy" Odair

Johanna "I can fix her" Mason

Coriolanus "Muttlover" Snow

Plutarch "Worldstar" Heavensbee

Alma "Let them fight" Coin

[ggabraxas]

Would Armor have any cute nicknames for Vast other than Mags/Maggie? 👀

*cough cough* totally not for fic reasons-

Well yknow.

Mags/Maggie, to play on the whole magpie thing.

Cadere, obviously. Last names used as nicknames are my favorite trope.

Combat Skirt, that's gonna be a common one now.

These are the ones that have been used in canon as of right now. Any others, well. We'll see about that :)

[theseventhoffrostfall]

Actually, since I have a few days yet before I transition back into WarPosting Mode (ceaseless autistic worldbuilding, updates on books I'm reading, and occasional tales of getting shelled, running away, and looting On-Site Procurement of Supplementary Funding) I suppose I have time for some of my more common brand of autism

Namely, having been playing F:NV so directly on the heels of 4, I'm reminded of Bethesda's frankly scummy habit of frontloading/centerloading all of the production value in their games.

New Vegas, the first several towns and major quests you come across, you're presented with a number of factions to support, some minor-to-moderate choices to be made, and piles of skill checks to pass or fail depending on your build. This is presented with basically the exact same level of voice acting, animation work (actually a bit less, consider the few bits of scripting and set pieces happen much later for momentous occasions) present through the rest of the game; a few static, pre-planned encounters happen along the road you're travelling for cowboy vengeance, from the minor (raider gangs and wildlife) to the major (The Legion's burnt down a town), all to set the stage for the game to come in the most honest way possible.

4, you come out of your cryotube and out of the vault commenting on everything, special voicelines for everything you see. The first NPC you're expected to talk to is the only one who actually possesses the vaunted-in-promo-material attribute of acknowledging your chosen name. You'll likely proceed to Concord, for, infamously, a protracted setpiece battle that sees you grabbing power armor and a minigun and fighting a deathclaw--power armor being among the very few attributes to get special animations for things like climbing inside it, deathclaws being one of the rare enemies with special grab- and kill-animations, you get the idea. The three locations you're pushed towards afterwards are:

1.) Abernathy Farm, where you'll meet some of the only named settlers, who have a specific quest with a bit more narrative (if not functional) meat than "we're being bothered by enemies please go kill them", which sends you to a fairly distinctive base where you fight one of the few Raider bosses to have a distinctive weapon/gimmick or any distinguishing feature besides being named

2.) The first Minuteman mission, which is guaranteed to always give you the objective of clearing Corvega, the largest, most elaborate, densely-populated base in the game that isn't a faction headquarters.

3.) Diamond City, the by-far larger of the game's, like, two towns. Namely, you get an elaborate scripted sequence with a conversation running between numerous NPCs, the most prominent of which is also making (badly) hand-crafted gesticulations.

The trend continues-- picture the quality of this game as a big wedge shape. Very early on there's effort put into making almost everything you see in every direction look and give the impression of being highly-produced, deep, well-written and well-scripted content with unique assets and voice actors galore. The deeper you go into the main quest, the more that bridge of high-effort content over the ocean of generic radiant quests narrows until, right after the Prydwen docks and/or you go around your tour of the Institute, where even the tightrope you were walking on vanishes and even the main quest consists of fetch quests and area-clearing missions in recycled areas.

It goes beyond prioritizing time and budget and into a very clear ploy to make sure anyone's first impression of the game (from game journalist on a tight schedule to player who's gonna leave reviews and spread word of mouth) is as good as it possibly can be, and that took priority over everything else including the actual overall quality of the game

[ether-nets]

I love being a lizard in Armor's chat and full well knowing that we're probably a similar situation to Vast's chat. Does this mean that somewhere in the universe of Sky Bound that Aloy Abernathy found lizard people? And if so, do they run the shadow government? The people have to know.

[thegildedlady]

I Spy

(This is the first thing I've written in like a year so bear with me)

The man was about to crack. Jem was sure of it.

It had been well over a year since he had been placed on this special assignment. His Handler had made it sound like an easy enough job. “Keep an eye on the Admiral’s son. Intercept any outgoing mail. Report back regularly,” was all the instruction he had initially been given. Simple… and boring. His punishment, Jem supposed, for losing track of Agent Black when he did. The Handler had given him two equally unpleasant options: either stay at the Academy and train the new whelps (a fate usually reserved for those who had proven useless or too cumbersome in the field), or go on ‘special assignment’ and shadow the Lieutenant indefinitely. Watching doe-eyed recruits fail miserably again and again to even slightly impress him was a fate comparable to torture for Jem, and being responsible for them was a prospect that made him shudder. At least with the Lieutenant job, all he had to do was stay out of sight. And so he did– for sixteen months.

Sixteen months Jem had stayed in the shadows of Brightcrown Keep, hiding in dark corners and lofty rafters where eyes rarely lingered. Despite the numerous armor-clad guards littering the place, it was easy to disappear in a place like this. The Lord of the keep, Admiral Edward Lawrence and his Lady wife Ursana, saw dozens of guests pass through their gates every week on one order of business or another. Highborn socialites, peasant laborers, and everyone in between could be spotted on an average day vying for their extremely wealthy patrons’ attention. Though not exactly blue bloods themselves, the Lawrence family owned well over half the ships in the royal fleet. That was enough to earn a commission in the Royal Navy without ever seeing a real fight. The Admiral inherited his position from his father, and his father before him. Clearly, his son the Lieutenant was closely following the path his forefathers had laid out for him… Right?

Wrong, Jem had come to understand. Not even close.

Over the past year and four months Jem observed every movement that Lieutenant Jacques Abernathy made. The man never left his sight. Jem felt he had come to know this man more honestly than even his own family did– in fact, what they didn’t know about their son could fill several textbooks. 

To the outside observer, Lieutenant Jacques Abernathy had the perfect life. An orphaned local boy raised out of poverty by the generous and benevolent gentry leadership, molded into the ideal successor to the Lord’s vast estate and naval empire. His wife, Letitia Abernathy, makes the most dazzlingly decorated of the Keep’s guests look like potato farmers in comparison. They recently welcomed their first child into the world, a bouncing baby girl called Maren. Jem had watched their little family grow from afar. By all measures, this life was the stuff of dreams for many less fortunate people. That was the fantasy.

In reality the Lieutenant’s life was a far cry from perfect, and only partially of his own making. His adoptive father the Admiral was a cold, distant man with little but criticism to offer his chosen heir. His adoptive mother, Lady Ursana, was more interested in her sewing circle and the high society gossip to be found within than anything her family had going on, and seemed oblivious to the unhappiness of her son (or her servants, but that was another matter entirely). The best of them all was his wife, Letitia, who didn’t try very hard to conceal her affairs with anyone who paid her more than an ounce of attention. Guards, servants, visiting guests– Jem saw them all coming and going from her private chambers, some more than once. It seemed to Jem that the only one not sleeping with his wife was Jacques himself. 

The Lieutenant was no angel himself, and Jem found little sympathy for him after sixteen months of being forced to watch Jacques avoid his issues in favor of creating new ones. He couldn’t blame Letitia for seeking out other lovers, because Jacques never seemed to notice her anyways. When she leaned on his arm at public events, he nearly recoiled at the touch. When she spoke his name at the dinner table, he ignored her and ate on in silence. More than once, Jem had watched her storm out of a room and saw the Lieutenant’s relief at her departure. It was clear to anyone living within the Keep’s walls that there was no love lost between Letitia and Jacques.

And speaking of those walls, they did little to keep the sullen Lieutenant contained and out of trouble. More nights out of the week than not, Jem followed him down the shoreline til he reached the outskirts of Brightcrown Bay and climbed the steep road up to Kingscliff. Away from the prying eyes of his father’s bannermen, the Lieutenant was just another stranger passing through, or late-night lingering at the tavern. Sometimes he took a pretty new friend upstairs to a rented room, while other nights he drank himself stupid at the bar until his coin purse was empty and he had to go home. It was pretty pathetic, Jem thought, to choose this sad life over the one Jacques had back home. Not to mention the kid, which was more often than not in the care of the Keep’s nursemaids than anywhere near her mother or father. 

Yes, it seemed that behind closed doors the Lawrence family was anything but perfect. Most of their troubles were rooted in the keeping up of appearances that they all insisted upon, and every one of their subsequent failures to do that without fail. Soap opera that it was, Jem was sick of it. The entire family’s vapid entitlement and wasteful, lavish living was so obscene it made his lip curl. He could not help but start to hate them, and hate the assignment he had been placed on for no discernable reason whatsoever. For months and months he watched them bicker with each other, until finally one night, Jacques could take it no longer.

Jem had been observing the family at dinner– their guest tonight was some other naval officer called Stockton, with a flat top haircut and a beautifully maintained mustache– when one too many sharp words from Letitia had broken Jacques’ temper. Too afraid of angering his father to cause a scene, the Lieutenant simmered as he excused himself from the table and quickly found the exit. Jem was not far behind him, though of course he was not aware of this. He burst from the grand hall’s doors and strode across the courtyard, around corners, and to the end of a private garden with a round, tiered fountain at the center. Jacques walked right up to the fountain and splashed his face with cool water, cupping a handful onto his neck as he tried to steady his breath. A perch in a nearby tree made for a good lookout spot, so Jem got comfortable and settled in to watch until his target decided to move on. 

As the Lieutenant leaned over the fountain’s edge, cooling his head with the water to douse the anger burning inside, Jem could see Jacques’ face reflected in the pool below, along with the amber leaves of the tree he was hiding in. The best word to describe the man’s expression was broken. He was breathing hard, choking on a sob that he would not let loose. His teeth bared, he slammed his eyes shut before covering his face with his hand. Was he crying? Gross, Jem thought.

Any evidence of tears was quickly covered up by Jacques washing his face with a splash of cool water from the fountain. Just in time, too, as Jem picked up on the padding of boots nearby. Not long after, that Stockton fellow rounded the corner and stood at the opposite of the garden clearing. Jacques turned when he noticed he was no longer alone, and pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket to dry off with. 

“What do you want, Everett?” growled the Lieutenant as he dabbed the last of the water off his neck. Everett Stockton, Jem noted to himself. 

The other man crossed his arms over his broad chest and cracked a crooked smile when he spoke. “I came to check up on you, because I’m such an upstanding gentleman and because we’re still old friends. May I?”

Stockton gestured with a nod of his head to the empty seat on the fountain’s edge next to the Lieutenant. Jacques waved him on, shoulders slumped and unable to find the energy to send him away. They sat together in parallel poses, each with their hands folded neatly in their own lap, though Stockton’s confidence shone through his body language in a way that made Jacques look meek next to him. 

“I can understand it,” he began, slapping a meaty paw across Jacques’ shoulder, “Blowing up, I mean. If I had a wife as mouthy as yours, I think I’d have thrown her in the harbor by now.”

Thinly veiled implications of violence aside, Jacques couldn’t help but feel validated by Stockton’s attempt to relate to his plight. He huffed out a grim half-chuckle, then wiped his forehead with the kerchief again. 

“I see how the day-in-day-outs of this can wear on a man, Jack. Shit, I’ll be honest with you– it grates on me too. Men like us, Jack, we weren’t made to sit around and play house with the women all day. We’re sailors and soldiers above all else. You and I, we can never truly be happy while kept in a cage– a fine one, to boot, but a cage all the same. Maybe for a time, but sooner or later the sea starts calling, war or some other adventure presents itself…” 

“Everett–” interrupted the Lieutenant. “What do you really want? Why are you here?” Why indeed, thought Jem from his hiding place in the canopy above.  

After a few beats of silence, Stockton sighed. The crooked smile stayed frozen on his lips, but any warmth behind his eyes was replaced with a steely bluntness. “I’m putting together an expedition to the Dragon Isles, and I need you as my First Mate. There’s no dissuading me, so don’t even begin to try it. Despite what the Admiral had to say about keeping you here, I highly doubt he will stop you from following official naval orders.”

They talked for a while about Stockton’s plans, the expedition in question, and Jacques’ role in all of it. Jem was trying to catch each and every word, but his mind was three steps ahead trying to piece together why the Handler would be interested in an expedition to the Dragon Isles. Surely, this was what he had been sent to report back on, and after completing this mission he will be reassigned… or at least that’s what he had to tell himself. After a moment of checking out, he tuned his attention back into their conversation. 

“...rest of the crew can be conscripts from Stormwind’s stocks. I just need to know that you’re committed to seeing it through until the end. This will be a dangerous trip, and there’s a real chance we run into something we’ve never encountered before. You’ll want to discuss this with your family so they understand the risks.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m ready to depart when you are.” Jacques replied flatly. Father of the year, he was not. 

Stockton clapped him on the shoulder once again before rising from the fountain’s edge. “Good man. Well! I say we get a good night’s rest, then ship out bright and early just after dawn. Wrap up whatever business you must, and we’ll be in Stormwind harbor by mid-afternoon. I knew I could count on you.” As he began to turn, Stockton stopped himself and raised finger to make a point as if it had just occurred to him. 

“Ah– by the way, Jack. Since we’re on official business, we’ll use our proper titles from now on, eh? So the crew knows who is in charge. Understood, Lieutenant?”

Jacques didn’t respond right away, Jem could just barely make out a quiet, serious voice saying, “Of course, Captain.” 

The next morning they left without very many words of goodbye, and one extra SI:7 agent in tow. This report was one that Jem was going to hand in personally.

(@stormandozone for mention of their characters)