Some of you have that one idea, that one project, that dominates your thoughts and actions, perhaps even an obsession, even though some set of obstacles, perceived or real, leaves its realization with little chance of success. It’s something that you keep circling back to, even though you are unsure or are unwilling to proceed. Perhaps it’s something recent, or maybe it’s something you’ve entertained on and off for decades. Maybe it’s a WIP, or perhaps it’s just a persistent notion. I suspect that most of you have at least one of these irritating mental nuggets, because I find myself with more than one.
Personally, I have this Fallout crossover I can’t let go of. I’ll give you the tactile feel and experience first. Those of you familiar with the animation of sitting down to a terminal in modern Fallout games, can see the nugget of the idea there. In the games, when you choose to log on to a computer terminal from a standing position, the screen’s first person POV pivots to a sitting position, centering the terminal screen in your vision. With a slight tweek, the keyboard could be left in view at the bottom of the screen, with the PC’s hands settling onto the keys. As the player types parser command onto the screen, the PC’s fingers move to select the same keys, like the learning software for typing for children, along with a nice analog sounding chunk-chunk of the keys striking. Someone stands at your shoulder and occasional back and forth comments can be heard between the PC and their colleague. The two are in an underground vault and the overhead flicker of fluorescent lights can be seen casting occasional glare and reflections on the screen. The PC and their colleague are never seen, only heard.
Setting and plot. It’s Halloween in 2077, barely a week after the bombs fell. A heated argument can be heard between the two unseen characters regarding the unnamed Vault’s Air Purification Chip. The chip had failed less than a week after sealing the doors, a lemon, but none of the spare chips seemed to have arrived in time (Instead, they received an unrequested pallet filled with several dozen metal suitcases stamped GECK.) The two briefly consider sending a sacrificial resident outside to locate a replacement chip, but quickly rule it out as the radiation levels immediately outside the vault door would be lethal in mere minutes due to being next to the Columbia Generating Station. Given the large volume of the Vault, there is plenty of air, but even so, the hundreds of residents mean even this supply will be depleted in days, not weeks.
The inciting action. Finally, one hesitantly suggests Feste, the janitorial Mr. Handy Robot supplied to the vault. The other groans in response. “Well, if he doesn’t make it back, at least we’ll die in peace.” the first responds. Cut to Feste being unceremoniously shoved out of the airlock (complaining the entire way) with an improvised antenna attached to him.
The game mechanics. The PC can give commands or ask questions of Feste via the terminal, and Feste is ostensibly the finicky, overwrought, and insufferable Parser, responding to each prompt as a character, much as Grunk did in Lost Pig. The bandwidth of the Feste’s connection is narrow, so only text and individual still images can be sent at the PC’s request, each image taking a few parser turns to load. This leans the bulk of the interaction into text, while allowing some impressive scenery and item shots for color and player interest. Together, you help Feste navigate the fresh nuclear hellscape, attempting to locate an Air Purification Chip to save the Vault and its residents. Given Feste’s nature, he’s prone to flatly refuse certain PC commands (helping to narrow some potential overbranching) and may offer a compomise in response (perhaps working as an inbuilt hint system). Adding color to the world, the PC and their colleague can be heard occasionally commenting depending on the circumstances and the player’s choices. Also, the parser being a robot plays into a little parser inflexibility in understanding commands and word choice, again, similar to the in-built justification of Grunk as a narrator. After several failed commands, the colleague might say something like, “He doesn’t understand, try something more direct like [insert hint here].” which can work as a more direct second line of hinting if the player needs it.
The problem. I suspect Vorple can’t handle all of this, especially the real-time typing animations. I could make a simpler version, but I’m so married to the vision in my head, that I can’t let it go. I feel like doing it right might really help introduce many of the large existing Fallout fan base to a text parser in an amusing and fairly painless way. The potential benefits mean I shouldn’t compromise, but I don’t know how to move forward either, so this remains my IF White Whale.
With all of that said, I’d love to hear about the other White Whales that round out the intfiction pod. Anyone willing to share?
I think they did kill the editor now that I recall because they didn’t want people to keep making stuff.