09/17/24: An Artery is not a Vein
You might recall, apropos of our last devlog, a number of installments and promises:
- A new dialogue system
- New character teasers
- New weapons
and I'm proud to announce some shocking new developments!
Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps)
Phoebe Brixton is a chain-smoking, working-class, punk-rocking, swamp-mutant, socialist bombshell born out of the most decrepit recesses of the Gondolas civilization. An affiliate of the Whipped Dog communist crime syndicate, she likes swinging around an electrified fire-axe, getting into fights with the police, engineering pipe-bombs, and playing the small-minded, knuckle-dragging sex-pests that comprise her band’s fanbase against the feds.
Sweet, kind, Rufus. Amidst a sea of darkened cynicism, black comedy, and unrelenting satire, sometimes you just need somebody who’s the perfect beacon of innocence, honesty, and earnestness.
Protagonist of the last game, Rufus Van Vaughan is a selfless academic, who - out of affiliation with the Whipped Dog - finds himself in constant trouble nonetheless. With a cartoonish penchant for evading harm by the white-knuckled skin of his teeth and bullshit loony tunes ACME antics, he’s been the source of Faust’s ire for quite some time.
As relentlessly dedicated as he is to protecting his friends is he naive and jejeune, and his belief in a better future makes You, Faust, sick to your stomach. It’s like the kid’s constantly holding a mirror up to your cynical nature, reminding you of how fucked up of a monstrosity you are, and even worse, forcing you to reckon with the shreds of humanity you’d thought you had abandoned long ago.
Shadowy head of the brutal, militaristic Tskarface-Cartel (Tskartel for short), a gang of ruthless political assassins, weapons traffickers, and occasional small-time drug dealers. Not much is known to either the police nor the general public pertaining to his character, which lends to the credible theory that he is a man possessed by some devout obsession with secrecy.
What little is known about this enigmatic persona is a kind of anti-knowledge; an awareness of the qualities he decidedly lacks. He is not a warm, genial, well-meaning, or friendly character, though some bizarre reputation for politesse, etiquette, and courtesy escapes from the lips of those who have dared to cross his path and yet survive.
While bearing some close resemblance to the Christian depiction of Satan, Jersey - the true antagonist of the Vaughan-Goethe mythos - is, in truth, little more than a cosmic, war-monging, space terrorist; a deity of ceremonial bloodshed that gratifies itself in the senseless loss of life on a massive scale. In a more grounded term, he is the avatar of American fascism and militaristic foreign policy.
Machinehead
Mechanically speaking, we've got some interesting overhauls going on, too.
Until next time!
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