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archonreviews · 6 years

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The Archon’s Review of E.Y.E: Divine Cybermancy

E.Y.E: Divine Cybermancy is a first-person shooter with role-playing game elements created by Streum On Studio. It is the year 15 of the New Era (About 2395 CE), and the Federation (It’s always, always a fucking federation, isn’t it?) has total and dictatorial control over ~1,200 worlds. However, things are not going well: violent crime and piracy are not only rampant, but absolutely endemic, even expected on most Federation worlds. Strange and terrible creatures known collectively as the Metastreumonic Force have ravaged any world already desolated by human industry. Megacorporations rule pretty much everything. In the midst of this horror and chaos, a shadowy and clandestine group called the Secreta Secretorum has returned to prominence. Once, they were demon hunters and mystics, fighting against the Metastreumonic Force alongside the Federation, but now horrified by its total control over so many worlds, they have decided to rebel against them, using the chaos of looter bands and Force attacks to their advantage. However, things are not going well for the Secreta either. The group is split by factional infighting, as the Culter Dei and the Jian Shang Di groups each struggle for power and influence within the Secreta Secretorum. In this moment, the Culters have made a move to strike at “an influential Jian mentor”. You were assigned to a special task force sent to complete this mission, but you wake up in a cave, amnesiac, and must piece together your past, the plot, your loyalties, etc. As a direct result of your amnesia, people assume you’re stupid because you ask basic questions. Are you stupid? Only one way to find out.

I swear to the heavens that the above splash image is not a Space Marine.

So, another FPS, this one with the RPG mechanics that were really popular with FPS’s for a while.This is one of those games where I seem to have more bad to say about it than good, and yet I end up enjoying it anyway. See also: Shadow the Hedgehog.

So how about that visual aesthetic, eh? Basically, take Warhammer 40k, Shadowrun, Crysis, and whatever other cyberpunk/dystopic sci-fi you wanna think of, toss it all in a blender, and Divine Cybermancy is basically what you get from it. Sadly, while they were busy stealing elements wholesale from wherever they could, they decided that having interesting or multi-colored backgrounds was overrated, and that having interesting and distinct character models was more so. This actually makes it a little bit difficult to determine which enemies have which weapons and abilities. In fact, there are like, 3 character models per faction? Maybe? In addition, the lack of diverse backgrounds makes it a little bit difficult to know where you’ve been before in a level. All in all, while the aesthetic is interesting prima facie, it rather quickly becomes a mass of dull colors and confusing visuals.

Quick, semi-related note: the dialogue translations are a little bit not-the-best. I had originally thought that the game was translated from Russian, but I later read that it was translated by a Frenchman who knew no English at all. So, either this mysterious Frenchman is translating from Russian into English, or from French into English. Either way, the translations are impressive... for someone who speaks no English. Some of them do get really weird later on though, so... eh, we’ll give the translations a C+ and move on, shall we?

Speaking of men, this game is an absolute sausage fest. Like, there are literally no female characters to speak of, except for a particular female enemy type among the aforementioned Metastreumonic Force. I mean, c’mon Streum On Studio, even W40K has the Sisters of Battle, and I’m sure Crysis had a lady or two. Although... almost every character has a full helmet and body armor. So I suppose, they could be women underneath all that armor. But I know for a fact that almost all the main characters are dudes.

Speaking of dudes, the tutorial is rubbish. It’s a basic level through a cave and then a sewer system, and every time a new mechanic comes up, the game will helpfully prompt you to press the T key to bring up the list of tutorial videos. Really sloppy, actually, when you could easily build a tutorial into a game like this. Although, it controls more or less like a standard FPS, so I don’t begrudge it too much, I suppose.

Speaking of grudges, there is no functioning save system. Like, at all. The game supposedly auto-saves your progress at the start of every mission, and also at the mission’s conclusion, but missions can be really long and arduous, and even then, I have encountered at least one glitch (I imagine it’s a rare one), which deleted all my progress and booted me to just after I finished the tutorial level. Without any explanation. Or warning. It was a very trying moment for me. Manly cyberpunk tears were shed.

Speaking of other game elements to pick at, if that exposition up there made no sense to you, don’t worry. It confused they heck out of me as well, but I sorta liked it anyway. Not everyday that you see the the obligatory human Federation as the bad guys. Hell, their footsoldiers are literally the Helghast from Crysis. PEOPLE WHO MADE CRYSIS DON’T SUE THESE PEOPLE, ETC. That said, the plot your character goes through is a bit of a mess, at least, to begin with. You start in a dream, where you learn you’ve killed your mentor, and then you get dropped into the beginner cave, and everyone acts like you should know everything about this world already, but you know nothing, Jon Snow. This results in compounded confusion, especially since the historical archives your allies give you access to only detail the past millennia, not really immediate events. Regardless, I’m sure the plot pans out... somehow.

^(I’m putting thus here only to prove a point about the visual similarities between these enemies and the ones in Crysis. You guys, pleeeeaaaase don’t sue Streum. It’d make me sad.)^

Now, some of the things I’ve described are not without their qualifications. Por exemple, while the visuals are generally dull, are some genuinely impressive shots one can get if they position themselves well. The game is a bit like having a lovely view out your living room window... of a totally urban environment created by someone who subsists on cigarettes and cyber-spite.

^(A vibrant, dystopic paradise...

... the halls of power in an ancient temple...

... and choice monster ass. What more could you ask for?)^

Even all that is dressing and crust for the moment-to-moment gameplay. And that gameplay is actually quite entertaining! It facilitates a variety of gameplay styles. You wanna be a cold sniper, casually making headshots against gormless assholes? Go for it! Wanna be a psy-wizard? Do it! Tech-berserker? The world is yours! Hacker extraordinaire? Enemies are hackable; hack ‘em all! Each of those gameplay styles is not only viable, but entertaining as fuuuuuuuuck. Getting regular headshots made me feel like a Shinigami, and when I was done with that character and wanted something more hands-on; well, let’s just say the transmutation of monsters into monster corpses was made all the more enjoyable with the aid of my exploding sword.

The RPG elements work well enough, and are pretty bog-standard. You get experience points for killing enemies and completing missions, and every time you get enough, you gain a level, giving you 3 skill points to distribute among your many abilities. In addition, you can equip a number of items, each of which take up a certain amount of space in your inventory. These items and your armor determine, along with your agility stat, your movement speed.

^(My tank character’s sheet. Stats on the right, derivatives on the left.)^

You may also invest in cybernetics which increase your stats or give you special abilities, or in psionic powers which are essentially magical. Each of these cost mone -- Oh, I’m sorry, brouzoufs -- and while they seem really cool, I often found that my first brouzoufs went into research. Oh yeah, you can research things in this game. These researches can grant you the use of new items, or improve your stats, or merely unlock new research topics. Really, there’s a lot to spend your resources on, whether it’s skill points or brouzoufs.

Nəticədə, I had a hard time with this game. I loved the pizza that was the gameplay, but not as much the toppings that were the ancillary bits. I’d recommend it to very patient sci-fi/cyberpunk fans, mostly. If you’re patient with the game’s faults, the game will prove quite an enjoyable experience. I would only return to playing it if I had a lot more time on my hands, honestly.

^(Of course, the best thing about the game are these friends.)^

#archon reviews #video games #review #sci-fi #cyberpunk #fps #first-person shooter #rpg #eye divine cybermancy

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jackblankhsh · 7 years

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Why I Quit: Genealogy -- The Forest of Family Trees

He stayed in the shadow of the alley, the cherry red glow of his cigarette slightly illuminating his scarred chin. He exhaled a cloud that immediately blended in with the fog blanketing the street.

In a rat like voice he said, "So our mutual acquaintance sez to me he sez you're lookin' fur a jab."

I replied, "Yes."

"Aight, I got two." He cough-chuckled, "Tonight the begga's a choser."

"What are my options?"

He said, "Ones 's real simple. Der's dis beach out in Cali..."

"California?"

"Yeah that one. Dah beach got all deez seals on it. Anyway, hippie types like to protest there 'bout, 'Leave dem seals alone.' And when dey protest you set up a booth to sellz 'em t-shirts -- all kinds uh shit."

"I think I can handle that."

He nodded, "Good, good, but dat's only part of it. See, dah udder part is deez hippies sometimes dey need incentifications."

I felt a need to probe, "Such as?"

"Such as," he twirled his hand, cigarette cherry spinning like a comet, "Occasionally you gotta go down, and stab a seal, or put out a ciggie on one, maybe club a pup with a bottle. It keeps the hippies riled up -- protesting lasts longer."

Without hesitation, "What's the other job?"

He shook his head, "Real borin' shit, man. 's like growin' family trees 'n' shit. Seal jab is way more fun."

"I'll take the family trees."

The "jab" turned out to be doing genealogy research for a website called MyRoots. Here's the thing: the main documents people need for their genealogy aren't classified papers. Anyone willing to take the time to fill out government forms like NAFT 81, 82, and 84 can get the basic documents necessary to track down ancestors. However, most folks find even that sentence hard to get through let alone the piles of papers often full of barely legible handwriting which provide bits of useful information. My first day on the job I watched an intern peel off a fingernail in mute boredom.

Basically, the job involved mountains of paperwork requesting documents such as land entry case files, immigration records, and census reports. When these arrived, rarely in an electronic format, I read them in search of a surname. This could get tricky with immigration records since names tended to change. Grandpa may have left Poland as Alojzy Trzetrzelewska, but not wanting to deal with all those letters a lazy official dubbed him Al Zulewski.

After days going through whatever bureaucratic breadcrumbs could be gathered I then sat down with clients to disappoint them.

Address the client smiling, "So your great-great-great grandmother came over from Scotland in 1830..."

Client predictably interrupts, "What about before that?"

"Well, we still have to hear from Scotland, but as far as anyone can tell, seems she was a bar maid in Edinburgh."

"So she wasn't a revolutionary rebel fleeing English assassins? Maybe Scottish royalty?"

Not sure what to say, "Is that what you've been told?"

Obviously disappointed, "That's what I hoped."

There's nothing quite like the ire of a customer shouting in anger at the revelation their ancestor fought in the Civil War... on the wrong side -- North or South depending on the client. These folks would yell at me, faces beet red, as if I convinced great-granddad to fight for them damn Yankees, or join up with Johnny Reb. History is never what we wanted it to be because we have no control over it.

"You have sullied the name of this great family, sir."

To which I might reply, "I didn't convince your granduncle to die of syphilis."

"Good day, sir."

"There's still the matter of your bill. You're credit card didn't go through."

"I said, 'Good day!'"

Occasionally a client would be happy to learn some ancestor left New York, perhaps caught up in the gold rush, and headed West only to stop in St. Louis. A few months later a marriage certificate is issued. The details are simple, the story easy enough to extrapolate. And even with fewer details than that there are those clients who realize the past doesn't have to be epic to be full of wonder. No one will ever really know why Uncle Phil moved to New Orleans, or why Great-grandma Mabel signed all her papers "She-wolf," but it's fun for them to speculate.

A matronly figure who wore thrift store clothes with aristocratic grace took a seat. I introduced myself. She greeted me with a gloved hand:

"My name is Roberta Wilcock."

"How do you do?"

"Oh, I'm well I suppose. I could be better."

I said, "How's that?"

"My husband recently passed away..."

Interject, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you. We have children, you see -- well, they're his step-children; I was married before, but Wallace, that's his name, Wallace and I had a connection, we just understood each other in a way my first husband never did. However, I don't know much about Wallace's family. I'm hoping to find out more, for our children. Something about him was always a mystery. I don't like that. You see, I never knew my parents, I'm adopted, and mystery, well, has a way of gnawing at you."

"Then I hope I can help."

I would come to regret that hope. In the days that followed I seized the slender thread Roberta left me. Starting with census reports, and what little family history she could provide, I followed Wallace back to Seattle. The two met there before moving to Chicago. Through the census I tracked Wallace to Portland. He grew up there. So did Roberta.

So far so good.

The simplicity of this job made it easy to put in overtime. Though that said, mostly I stayed after hours because I liked the quiet. The faint buzz of headphones roaring in ears, an incoherent hum at a distance, no longer surrounding like a swarm of lethargic bees. The unpredictable shouting of irate clients, disappointed to discover they aren't descended from famous historical figures; the chug, cah-clunk of the dying photocopier struggling to copy one more document; the office manager drunk by midday, fighting off boredom practicing for her all female barbershop quartet... in the afterhours, once the bulk of staff fled home, I could pour a quiet drink, and calmly peruse the bureaucratic breadcrumbs... on this occasion, to a small Portland orphanage.

It was no surprise. Roberta mentioned as much. In fact, the two of them being orphans apparently helped them bond. Whatever history the living can offer is invaluable in genealogical research. It provides starting points as well as giving a sense that one is on the right track. So I expected the orphanage. Wallace's sister, on the other hand... that is, his twin sister Roberta...

I chalked it up to coincidence at first. Some names go through periods of being trendy. Perhaps a famous singer at the time, or a local Portland celebrity made the name popular. I pictured headlines like: Ravishing Roberta Rose Dazzles Audience!

But the more I dug the more undeniable it became that Roberta and Wallace were twins.

The next day I went to my boss, "Becky, I got a problem."

"You got a problem? Member of my quartet got punched in the throat last night. She won't be able to sing, maybe ever again. She wants to go back to the roller derby, says it's less violent."

"Okay. Mine's worse."

"How so?" Becky put her feet up on the desk. Sipping a coffee mug full of gin she gestured for me to hurry up with the details.

I said, "I just finished confirming the background on this guy. Turns out his wife is actually his twin sister."

Spewing her drink laughing, "You're shitting me."

"Nope."

She sighed, "Oh that's awesome. I got that beat though. A while back I had a guy come in, turns out he married his daughter."

"So this is not uncommon?"

She shrugged, "It's not common-common, but it seems to happen; and hey, it's usually an honest mistake, so I say fuck it. It's not like if gramps turns out to be a Nazis. Lord knows I've had plenty of those."

"Me too."

"Anyway, what's the problem?"

"I can't tell this woman she married her own brother."

"Why not?" Becky leaned forward, "The look on her face will be priceless. I promise."

I returned to my research station -- an oversized cubicle, big enough to allow clients -- where I found Roberta waiting for me.

She smiled, "They told me to take a seat. I was in the neighborhood, so thought I'd stop by to see if you've made any progress."

"Yes, a little." My phone rang. Grateful for the distraction I answered it.

My boss whispered through the line, "Is that her?"

"Yes," I said, instantly knowing I'd made a mistake.

"Hold on till I get there." The line disconnected before I could protest. Soon Becky began orbiting my cubicle waiting to see what happened when I dropped the bomb.

Roberta said, "Whatever you have, well, I think it'll be interesting."

"You can say that again," Becky said, unsubtly aiming a smart phone at Roberta.

At that point I realized if I didn't say anything Becky would. So, hoping to deliver the news as softly as possible, I said, "There's no easy way to say this."

Roberta sucked in a muted gasp, "Oh my, he wasn't," she whispered, "Negro?"

Suddenly I didn't mind saying, "No, he was your brother."

Her eyelid twitched. Her face fell, slackening on one side like melting wax, "I'm sorry. Wha... wha?"

"You married your twin brother," Becky said. She seemed ready to laugh until Roberta's eyes rolled back, and the old woman collapsed onto the floor. Becky stopped filming, "Oh shit I think she had a stroke. Still posting this online."

I called 9-1-1. As the paramedics carted Roberta away I mentioned to Becky, "I quit."

I didn't feel comfortable being in charge of other people's secrets, especially the ones that induce strokes. Yet, those seem to be the only ones with any relevance. After all, an ancestor being a cowboy doesn't make their descendants anymore rugged. Perhaps interesting to know, it means next to nothing. It's like people are always looking for what defines themselves outside of themselves -- looking to an incomplete past to inspire their future. Except for the curious who simply wanted to know, it felt like inspiring people to be echoes instead of voices.

So I collected my things, and left the orchard of family trees.

#writing #honestyisnotcontagious #short story #odd #fiction #genealogy #weird #satire #comedy #dark comedy

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