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ikroah · 4 months

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A girl can get somewhere in spite of stringy hair or even just a bit bowed at the knees if she can show a faultless…personality! —“Personality,” Johnny Mercer and the Pied Pipers (1946)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #26 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding V

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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

ohhhhh my god why did i make this script so long my hand hurts this took forever aaaaagh

Welcome to the Lucky 38! This is a script that has remained basically the same for a long time but went through COUNTLESS extremely small rewrites over the course of production just to really nail Mr. House's dialogue. He's a long-winded guy, this whole issue is basically just him doing monologues, and I wanted to make sure it was all interesting and non-repetitive. I think I took out at least three uses of "merely" from the first draft.

One of the biggest production decisions of this issue was whether or not to cut the scene with Agnes and Cass and Victor, which immediately follows the end of the previous issue. The reason to include it was because it very necessarily established the change in location from the Vegas Strip to the Lucky 38 penthouse, which would have been jarring otherwise; the reason to exclude it was that it the issue was already extremely long and I thought opening right on Mr. House would have been more impactful. Ultimately, I did keep it, which was a good decision, but only because of the literally issue-saving idea to convey it as closed-circuit television footage instead of actual panels. Every single attempt at overlaying them with the lead-in to Mr. House was way too busy, but that idea really tied the page together like a nice rug.

And lastly, the framing device of the tarantula and the tarantula hawk was actually an extremely late addition to the comic. I had already finished the first three pages when I thought of it. My problem was that Mr. House's constant monologuing and Agnes' sad expressions got pretty repetitive. I needed something to break the action up while adding thematic heft and artistic variety. I've become a real enthusiast for wasps and tarantulas over the last couple months, so this one really was just a stroke of luck. It took only minimal revisions to make room for the framing device, with the most dramatic change being the complete replacement of the last page (which was originally just a splash page of the Lucky 38 in Vegas; bookending the first and last pages is so much better). So you see, the only reason for weaving a scene into this issue of a skittish desert-wanderer getting paralyzed and dragged toward a certain demise by a predator almost perfectly evolved to destroy it was just that I like bugs a lot. That's the only reason, yep.

Original Pencils:

Due to all of the photo-collage in the final version of the comic, there's a lot of panels and details that I (thankfully!) didn't have to draw myself. Sorry that the pencil isn't blue on the last three pages, I've been on the move for the holidays so they got scanned in grayscale by accident.

I did experiment with drawing the tarantula framing device myself, but ultimately went with the photo-collage method because the artistic juxtaposition actually made it much more readable when interspersed with the proceedings in the Lucky 38.

Transcript:

EXT. DESERT OUTSIDE OF NEW VEGAS. The city glitters in the distance, nestled between the shadows of mountains, with the spire of the LUCKY 38 towering above all else.

In the wilderness, a TARANTULA emerges from its burrow.

EXT. THE NEW VEGAS STRIP. On closed-circuit television monitors, a SECURITRON ROBOT approaches AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY, saying

VICTOR: Well howdy, partner! Fancy meetin' again here in Vegas!

CASS: What the fuck?

AGNES: Victor?

Unlike the usual police units, VICTOR's robotic "face" is that of a cowboy.

VICTOR: And heck, ya clean up nice! Sure lookin' a lot better now than when I rustled ya outta the bone orchard back in Goodsprings*--

CAP: *As was explained to Agnes way back in IKROAH #2. --Lou

VICTOR: --so how's about ol' Vic skips the rigamarole, huh? 'Fore all my yappin' makes ya want to go back, heh-heh-heh! I'm the welcome wagon, see. I'm to come and collect ya.

CASS: Agnes--

VICTOR: Boss wants t'see you, is what I'm sayin'.

AGNES: Boss?

VICTOR: Only of all of Vegas, friend!

CASS: Agnes.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA crawls beneath the starlight.

VICTOR: So why don't we mosey on over to the Lucky 38? And your good pal can come along, too!

CASS: I need to know what the fuck is going on, right now.

AGNES: I...I don't know.

VICTOR: And y'know, boss ain't ever let a soul inside before, least for not as long as I've been rollin' around on my spurs, so this ain't just an everyday social call, mind...

On the closed-circuit television monitors, VICTOR escorts AGNES and CASS to the entryway of the LUCKY 38.

VICTOR: ...but heck, I reckon ya'll oughta get along like franks on a fire! So come on! Lift's in the lobby here, and up to the top floor--and we can get the formalities out of the way before ya'll get [cut off]

INT. THE LUCKY 38 PENTHOUSE.

AGNES stands awestruck, looking upward, bathed in electronic green light. With horror, she ekes out a single question.

AGNES: ...what are you?

???: A "Hello" would have been preferable, but it'll take more than a crude faux pas to tarnish this moment. Who I am, Agnes--

What AGNES is looking at is a gigantic SUPERCOMPUTER and terminal, flanked by closed-circuit television monitors and guarded on both sides by SECURITRON police units. On the supercomputer's massive screen is the green-lit image of a face. The face

MR. HOUSE: --is ROBERT EDWIN HOUSE. The President, CEO, and sole proprietor of New Vegas--and more to the point, the intended recipient of a long delayed package.

AGNES: Oh, you...you mean the platinum chip?

MR. HOUSE: Correct. It's a...very precious artifact of the old world.

MR. HOUSE: My world, once.

In the back of the room, beyond AGNES, is an oil painting of MR. HOUSE, standing outside in front of what must have been a very large robot.

MR. HOUSE: In that world, I was the founder of RobCo Industries--a titan of innovation. We created a litany of robotic solutions for diverse markets, such as the Securitrons that you see here, and even a line of consumer-grade devices like the wrist-mounted Pip-Boy. But the platinum chip was, more than any other, my design. It was my vision.

MR. HOUSE: But it never left the factory in which it was originally made. Before it could even cool off from its assembly...we had the Great War. An international, thermonuclear bombardment of unimaginable power that annihilated the world in all of two hours.

MR. HOUSE: But not the entire world. Not Vegas. Not my Paradise. From my fortress of the Lucky 38, I saw to that. But as for the rest of the world, and my platinum chip--it took generations.

MR. HOUSE: First for the scarce remnants of humanity to crawl out from under their rocks, and for the world to at least resemble a functioning society again in which to do trade. And then for the work itself--of countless scavengers, treasure-seekers, and the like, all contracted to comb over the wreckage of Sunnyvale. It cost millions of caps, and later, New California dollars. And a not insignificant piece of my pre-war fortune as well. I, quite literally, moved mountains.

MR. HOUSE: I do not believe in providence, Agnes, but I do believe in destiny. How else to explain it? It was pristine when it was found. Neither the bombs nor the passage of time had so much as scuffed its sheen. But still...its value far transcended the mere market price of pure platinum.

MR. HOUSE: Amusingly, despite the discovery, I was still only as close to acquiring the chip as I had been originally in 2077. A final ordeal remained for me: how to ensure the safety of the platinum chip en route to its destination, from Sunnyvale to Vegas, without broadcasting its preciousness to thieves, armies, and raiders--or worse, to heavily armed fetishists for pre-war technology like the Brotherhood of Steel?

MR. HOUSE: Misdirection. Through a network of anonymous liaisons, I contracted the Mojave Express for a batch of deliveries, all superficially similar knick-knacks, to various intermediaries of myself. All but one of the orders were totally worthless decoys. But your identity as the carrier of the one genuine item was somehow compromised, leading to you getting attacked, and to the second disappearance of the chip.

MR. HOUSE: But look around you. Look where you are. You've made it, haven't you?

AGNES, still staring up at the visage of MR. HOUSE on-screen, doesn't respond. She frowns, nervous. The SECURITRONS guarding MR. HOUSE observe her stoically.

MR. HOUSE: Let me clarify: I had nothing to do with Benny's ambush. Heavens no! It goes completely against my interests. It would have been a perfectly quotidian day's work for you if not for his, and I stress, unexpected involvement. The platinum chip...belies its significance. For Benny to have not only discovered its delivery route but possibly enough of that significance to motivate such an act, this constituted a very troubling breach of my security. And I had been looking into it...but in a way, the issue seems to have resolved itself. Hm?

MR. HOUSE: A wild card. Now removed from the deck.

AGNES' gaze sinks to the floor.

MEANWHILE, a small shadow blots out the starlight in the desert outside of Vegas. It flies over the exploring TARANTULA.

AGNES looks back up at MR. HOUSE.

AGNES: I killed him.

HOUSE: So you did. I only wish that we could have spoken before you went rogue on my former protégé: if this story breaks, I can grant you amnesty, but not without controversy. And your infamy as an assassin could make our further arrangements quite difficult.

AGNES: Um...I didn't think there would be more to it than delivering the--

MR. HOUSE: Oh! Of course, of course! My apologies. Two hundred years of anticipation and yet I'm still getting ahead of myself. Well--would you mind? I've been waiting a long time for my mail.

The SECURITRON closest to AGNES wheels forward with its claw outstretched. AGNES reaches her fingers into a pocket beneath the belt of her dress to produce it: the PLATINUM CHIP. She holds it in her hand for a brief moment.

MEANWHILE, the shadow descends; the TARANTULA HAWK engages the TARANTULA.

AGNES relinquishes the PLATINUM CHIP to the SECURITRON.

MR. HOUSE: Thank you--it's a relief to pay for this chip for the final time.

The SECURITRON inserts the PLATINUM CHIP into a slot in MR. HOUSE'S supercomputer, feeding it into the drive with a CLIK.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA is fighting the TARANTULA HAWK.

From behind AGNES, another SECURITRON presents her with a stack of NEW CALIFORNIA REPUBLIC DOLLARS, which she gingerly takes in her hand and looks over.

MR. HOUSE: And I trust that you're satisfied with the agreed-upon compensation from the delivery contract, yes?

AGNES: Yeah, it's...it's fine...I'll be going now. Thanks.

MR. HOUSE: Oh? But you've only just arrived. I insist that you make yourself at home.

SFX: KZZSZZZTTT

The faces on the screens of the SECURITRONS in MR. HOUSE'S penthouse suddenly change from policemen to soldiers. AGNES recoils and tries to step away.

AGNES: H-hey, uh--

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA HAWK pierces the underbelly of the TARANTULA with its stinger.

SECURITRONS surround AGNES.

MR. HOUSE: You are the first guest ever through the doors of the Lucky 38, you know. Nobody has so much as checked a coat inside since the war, so this meeting confers you a significant level of privilege...and inevitable celebrity. The people of Vegas have always gossiped, after all. Many have even clawed at the door desperately with dreams of being where you now stand. Surely you can comprehend how this compulsion to leave after such a deliberate and remarkable invitation risks considerable insult--to both myself and my citizenry? And very deliberate this invitation was. Don't you realize: if handing off my package was all for which you were needed, why wouldn't I have just had Victor relieve you of the chip outside? No, no, you see, as necessary as its acquisition was, the chip is ultimately just a key, for unlocking a new frontier...of possibilities.

MR. HOUSE: Possibilities for prosperity, peace, and technological advancement that haven't been seen in two hundred years. Possibilities greater than anything the New California Republic or Caesar's Legion could dream of, let alone achieve, by playing pretend in the clothes of their forebearers and convincing everyone else that it's statecraft. Possibilities--which if they key is turned by human hands--become certainties.

AGNES (a whisper): Are you not human?

MR. HOUSE: Don't let the video screens and computer terminals fool you: I am a living human. No less so than you. I just live with a particular set of, well...handicaps.

AGNES: You said you'd waited hundreds of years to--

MR. HOUSE: One could argue that the world has been waiting hundreds of years for this moment. Waiting for me. For the chip. For the long-dormant doors of the Lucky 38 to finally open, to a single and specially ordained individual: you, Agnes. And there are tremendous things waiting for us, waiting for us to accomplish them, together. I certainly couldn't do them with Benny. What do you say?

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA has become completely paralyzed by the TARANTULA HAWK'S venom. The TARANTULA HAWK seizes its prey.

AGNES: ...no.

MR. HOUSE: I'm sorry--"No?"

AGNES: Yes--I mean, no. No! I don't want to help you! I...

Tears well in AGNES' eye.

AGNES: ...I just want to go back home.

MR. HOUSE: ...I see. Hmm.

MR. HOUSE: How do I put this in a way you'll understand?

MR. HOUSE: The die is cast.

AGNES, crying, looks up at MR. HOUSE again. Fear bulges on her face.

MR. HOUSE: Throughout the long delivery of this chip, several precise plans and fortuitous coincidences have aligned in just such a way as to make you, you specifically at this exact juncture, an irreplaceable asset in the ongoing endeavor of this wounded world's recovery from otherwise hopeless ruin.

MR. HOUSE: Your cooperation going forward is not merely crucial to this endeavor's success, but it's utterly non-negotiable. Should you entertain the moral issue of what's at stake, it's obligatory, even. It's why your refusal comes as such a...genuine surprise. Can't you see?

MR. HOUSE: I'm not a fascist, Agnes--I would never force you. But given the circumstances, I'm entitled, wouldn't you agree, to at least a brief demonstration of my vision? The vision that the platinum chip promises? Victor has surely seen your companion to the presidential suite by now--my other Securitrons can escort you to the basement, where I'm sure you can make a...properly informed decision.

The SECURITRONS close in on AGNES, who screams in protest.

AGNES: No! I said no! I already delivered your chip, I--I killed Benny! I-- I-- ...what do you want with me!?

MR. HOUSE: Haven't you been listening? I want what's best for you--for us. I know it's a lot, but bear with me for one moment longer, and I can assure you--that this is the beginning of something very incredible.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA HAWK has dragged the paralyzed TARANTULA back to the entrance of its own burrow.

The TARANTULA HAWK shoves its helpless prey into the hole, and then crawls in after it.

The TARANTULA is not seen again.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #courier six #rose of sharon cassidy #victor #mr. house #agnes sands #ikroah archive #volume 02 #26

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ikroah · 2 months

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I have reached the breaking point, the point of no return, it’s very clear to see a fool like me will never, ever learn. I have reached the breaking point, I hear the drums of doom, I’m gonna flip my wig in one great big atomic boom! —“The Breaking Point,” Bobby Darin (1966)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #27 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding VI

Collaborative Issue! Guest Artist: @sas-afras

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Notes / Transcript:

Notes

Huge thanks to Monty over at @sas-afras for getting this one done! I handled the original layout and lettering, but the rest was all them. Layouts like this can seem simple and easy because of how straight-forward and repetitive they are, but when all you've got are a dozen and one reaction shots, every single one of those reaction shots needs to be as perfect as you can get them. And Monty did a hell of a job. Especially on the coloring! Monty, if you're reading this, you're a hell of a good colorist (on top of everything else). Thanks again!

Another note about this issue is that it, along with the previous one, were some of the most difficult to write in this whole damn comic so far. I really hate repeating in-game dialogue verbatim without good reason, but there's really not much else I could do here. It's a very necessary part of the story that is also literally a part in the game where your character is fixed in place listening to a monologue. I took some liberties, did some punch-up, not just for its own sake but to really drive home what I find most interesting and vital here about Mr. House as a character.

Anyway, Agnes is in trouble. And there's only one issue left in Volume 2! The next one closes out this arc of the story, at long last. Stay tuned.

Transcript

INT. LUCKY 38 BASEMENT. From an observation deck of sorts, AGNES SANDS watches several SECURITRON robots position themselves in a testing area, containing several sandbags, dummies, and makeshift fortifications. A voice booms from an unseen speaker.

MR. HOUSE: You're well familiar with my Securitron police force. But have you ever wondered: what exactly makes them the marquee option in perimeter security and pacification?

AGNES glances in the direction of the voice, uncomfortable.

MR. HOUSE: Well to start, the reinforced titanium alloy housing of each unit, which protects its electronic core, easily deflects small arms and shrapnel.

MR. HOUSE: As for its offensive capabilities, its X-25 gatling laser—produced to spec by Glastinghouse, Inc.—is deadly against soft targets at medium range.

SFX: BZZTZZTZZTZZTZZT

AGNES recoils as a red glow washes over her from the testing area.

MR. HOUSE: And then for close-range suppression or crowd control, the Securitron is also armed with a 9mm sub-machinegun.

SFX: DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA

AGNES shuts her eyes, wincing from the crack of gunfire.

MR. HOUSE: These features have been sufficient for keeping the peace within Vegas, but with the NCR and Legion closing in on Hoover Dam, and sizing up my city like a piece of prize cake, more than ever we need to be prepared for, well...external conflict. Policing is one thing, but when geopolitical powers are involved, my Securitrons can only pose so much of a threat.

MR. HOUSE: That is...if they're forced to rely exclusively on their secondary weapons--as they have been, all this time!

AGNES looks upward, surprised.

MR. HOUSE: Remember, the Great War interrupted a pivotal moment for RobCo's work. Consequently, all extant Securitrons have been stuck, running on a mere Mark I operating system—the first production version of the OS—which has simply lacked the software drivers for the use of their primary weapons all this time!

AGNES looks around, as if HOUSE were in the room somewhere and she could find him, in a panic.

MR. HOUSE: The platinum chip, you see, was never just a token. At a time when industrial espionage ran rampant, it was minted as a high capacity, proprietary, and uniquely irreplicable data storage device. In a way, it's more like a computer chip. And now—with the data from the platinum chip finally installed onto my nextwork—it's time for a very crucial software update. Behold: the new Mark II Securitrons!

AGNES gawks downward at the testing area, eyes wide. Oh no.

MR. HOUSE: Their newly accessible M-235 Missile Launcher gives them the ability to engage ground and air targets at significantly longer ranges...

SFX: PSSSSSHHH KTHOOM THOOM THOOM THOOM

AGNES flinches, covering her face for protecting, and screams as explosions rip apart the testing area below.

MR. HOUSE: ...and their rapid-fire G-28 grenade launching system, another part of the Mark II, makes them much more powerful in close-range engagements as well.

SFX: THMP THMP THMP KRRSSH KRAKTK KABOOM

AGNES, nearly frozen, watches the bombardment with horror.

MR. HOUSE: It also includes rewritten drivers for the Securitrons' auto-repair systems—although always sophisticated, the new optimizations render them inexhaustible in even the most protracted and attritious of engagements. Altogether, the Mark II upgrade confers a 235% total increase in combat effectiveness per unit—and it's all because of you!

AGNES lowers her arm slowly, jaw slack, mortified.

MR. HOUSE: Vegas finally has an army—worthy to protect not just the city itself, but the best interests of all of mankind, at home and abroad. Which is to say: this simple display of might remains a mere teaser for what I can, and what I will, accomplish, in an illustrious new epoch.

AGNES sinks further into a paralytic terror.

MR. HOUSE: What we will accomplish, Agnes—should you accept my offer, of employment. Ah—but I digress. I'm certain that you've had a long day. You can rejoin Miss Cassidy in the presidential suite for the night, if you'd like to, as they say, "sleep on it."

MR. In fact...say for as long as you'd like. However long you may need, to think everything over. And you'll be very well provided for in the meantime, consider it a taste of what could be...should you make the right choice before you.

MR. HOUSE: That reminds me—I've already sent Victor to collect your belongings from the Vault 22 Hotel, so no need to exhaust yourself further by making that trip on your own, hm? There's much about your future to consider, Agnes—and I would like you to think of it as our future.

AGNES stares straight ahead with a deadened expression.

The testing area in the basement has been reduced to smithereens. Fires rage on the rubble of obliterated structures, gnarled steel, and collapsed walkways. The dummies have been dismembered entirely.

MR. HOUSE: ...Goodness, what a mass. With friends like these, I sure wouldn't envy my enemies.

MR. HOUSE: Wouldn't you agree?

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #mr. house #courier six #agnes sands #it keeps right on a hurtin #ikroah archive #volume 02 #27

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