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snowdice · 4 years

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Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 8)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil, Virgil & Deceit, Logan & Patton, Emile & Remy, Roman & Remus & Janus

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Deceit, Remus, Roman, Logan, Emile, Remy

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping, murder mentioned, guns mentioned, pepper spray, blood mentioned, drugs mentioned (more to be added)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve affectionately named it the Goblin Brain Fic because it’s helping my brain actually get motivated for studying. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 My Master Post

“What the fuck do you mean Virgil is missing?” Remy asked.

“That’s the second thing Logan said to me!” Emile said. “When he heard you died, he sent an agent over to check on Virgil, but there’d been signs of a break in and Virgil was gone. They don’t think he actually got kidnapped though because the car of whoever broke in was still there.”

“Well, then where the hell is my kid?!!” Remy yelled.

Emile flinched at his suddenly loud voice. “Leaping lizards Remy, I don’t know. I thought you did since you’re not actually dead.”

“Well I don’t!”

“Yeah, I’m getting that, calm down for a second.”

“Okay, right now is not a good time to tell me to calm down,” Remy said. “My kid is missing.”

“I know Remy,” Emile said in his professionally soothing voice, “but we have to think in order to do something about that.” Oh, he was thinking. He was thinking really hard right about now. He was thinking about how the person who sent someone to kidnap his son was the woman who’d just tried to have him fucking executed. God, Remy hadn’t even wanted her around his fucking kid when she’d just been a bitch and not an enemy agent out for his blood.

“We should call Logan back,” Emile suggested. “He might have more information.”

“No,” Remy said. “It’s still too risky.”

“Remy.”

“I said no, Emile,” Remy snapped. “What if she has him and intercepts the phone call. She doesn’t have any reason to hurt him right now,” other than the fact that he had quite the mouth on him and would probably piss her off by being a little shit especially if she wouldn’t tell him where Remy was, “but if she knows I’m alive she might.”

“Would she really…?”

“The woman just tried to shoot me with poisoned bullets. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Poison bull-? It’s not important,” Emile said. “If we’re not going to get information from Logan then how are we supposed to even start with finding Virgil?”

“Easy,” Remy said. “The tracker I put on him.”

“I’m sorry you put what on Virgil?” Emile asked.

“A tracker,” Remy said. “It’s in that bracelet he always wears. I don’t really want to go back to the house, but I think I left one of the devices to find him in here in case of emergencies.” He started digging through Emile’s glove box.

“Jiminy Crickets, you can’t just put a tracker on your teenage son Remy!”

“Why not?” Remy asked, still digging through the papers. Did Emile ever get rid of old insurance cards and also how many drive-through napkins did he need to keep?

“It’s an invasion of privacy,” Emile sputtered.

Remy waved him off. “Oh, please. I’m a secret agent, a (usually) off duty one, but still a secret agent. Sometimes I need to know where my kid’s at. Like now. Besides, I told him what it was when I gave it to him, and it lights up when activated. He can just chuck it out a window if he doesn’t want me knowing where he is.”

“Oh, well that’s okay then,” Emile said.

Remy hummed as his hand closed around the phone sized device hidden at the back of the glove box. “Ah, here it is.”

“When exactly did you put that in here.”

“Like two years ago,” Remy said. “Clean your car every once in a while.”

“Remington, I have seen your garage.”

“Maybe, but I never claim to be responsible.”

The thing was out of charge, so he plugged it into the car, and it booted up pretty quickly. Emile leaned over to look at the map that popped up. Remy pushed a couple of buttons to activate the tracker.

A red dot appeared on the map and Remy blinked at it. “Where the fuck?” he asked. He pushed another button and the device beeped, finding Remy’s current location on the map and putting a green dot there. The map had to zoom out quite a bit to fit both dots on the screen. A number appeared at the top of the map. “Shit.”

“Please tell me that’s feet,” Emile groaned.

“How the hell did he manage to get 50 miles away? I’ve been ‘dead’ for less than an hour and a half!”

“Did one of Barbara’s people get to him?”

“I’m not… he’s moving in the wrong direction if that’s the case,” Remy said. “Her house is in town and the secret base I know of is north of here. He’s going south east on the interstate.” He squinted at the map.

“Well then where is he going and how is he going there?” Emile asked.

“I’m not sure, but you need to start driving.” Emile hesitated for a moment. “Now.”

He nodded and put the car in reverse before pulling out of the parking lot and turning toward the interstate.

“Hey, Emile,” Remy said pleasantly after about 2 minutes. “Remember how mother said to not speed unless it was absolutely necessary?” Emile glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s absolutely necessary today.”

Emile gave him a slightly disapproving frown, but the car did speed up.

“So, what about poisoned bullets?” Emile asked.

“I’ve had a long day,” Remy said.

“Nope, no, you’re not getting away with that,” Emile said.

“We’re busy,” Remy tried.

“Assuming he continues to move in the same direction, we have over an hour car ride in front of us. So, talk.”

“You and talking,” Remy mumbled. “Why couldn’t you just be a secretive, suppressed secret agent like everyone else in our family.”

Emile shot him a glare.

“Emmmmmmmyyyyyyy,” Remy whined.

“Remington.”

“Okay… so it may have, sort of been, my idea.”

“Remy.”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Please, tell me this is not why you wanted me to watch Virgil tonight,” Emile said.

Oh, yeah… Remy winced.

“Remy, you have to at least tell me if you’re getting me and Virgil involved in this sort of thing. Or better yet, not do that. What was I supposed to do if someone had come to the door to kidnap Virgil? Which they did, by the way!”

Remy shifted in his seat. “To be fair, the plan didn’t exactly go how I expected it to. You were just a precaution in case it took too long. I didn’t expect to ‘die.’ Or at least if she was going to try to kill me I though she’d hesitate more than 0 seconds.”

Emile spared him a glare as he merged onto the interstate.

“Okay, fine, so maybe I should have,” Remy admitted, “but she was up to no good! And I know I’m supposed to still be on desk duty, but I’d heard through the grapevine about her plans and, I mean, I was in the neighborhood. How was I supposed to know she’d see right through my lie about asking for money to buy Virgil a car?”

“Maybe because you’ve never asked the woman for anything, ever, especially in relation to Virgil and Virgil hasn’t even taken drivers ed because he’s still too scared to try to drive after the golf cart incident.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever babe,” Remy brushed him off. “Anyway, we were talking, and I think she maybe got a little pissy that I wasn’t drinking the wine she gave me. It was probably poisoned now that I’m thinkin’ about it. Anyway, she must have finally gotten tired of me and pushed a button. Suddenly a bunch of guards were storming the room and, man, they were definitely the shoot first, ask question types ‘cause they immediately started shooting at me. Luckily I was wearing the light weight bullet proof vest Logan’d gotten me and I dove under her desk and, let me tell you, for how organized she is about her criminal empire and how clean the rest of the house is, she doesn’t clean much under her desk. I think it’s probably ‘cause she doesn’t let any of the maids in there to clean. Honestly, that might be where Janus gets the whole leaving snack wrappers and tissues all over the house. Because gee her desk. And-”

“Remy.”

“Right, so, there I was under her absolutely filthy desk and I look up and she’s standing there staring at me and she just takes out a gun and bang shoots at my head. Luckily it missed, but it ricocheted off her desk and ended up in my calf.”

“You were shot in the calf!”

“It’s not a big deal, I’m fine,” Remy said. “Anyway, those were the poisoned bullets.”

“You got shot with a poisoned bullet?!”

“Yeah, so, luckily it was a poison I got doused with once in Italy in my 20s and if you manage to survive it once, you’re good forever or whatevs, but like, I knew she thought it would kill me so I played dead. So, then after that, she called in Gilbert, you know Gilbert, the butler with the little trapezoid shaped beard? Yeah, so Gilbert comes in and she’s like, “get rid of his body” and he’s like “cool beans” or something to that extent. Anyway, he drags me out’a there, but the thing is Gilbert’s cool or maybe not cool because he’d totally bury my body without flinching, but he’s cool enough not to kill me himself or even run and tattle. So, I go, ‘yeah, not dead,’ and he’s like ‘Kay, but don’t tell her I knew that,’ and I’m like ‘jolly good, mate.’ Then I run off to her office (the secret one, not the one her and the armed guards are in) and steal the flashdrive. I go to get in my car, but she already ordered it to get blown up! I mean, rude, bitch! At least give my body time to cool. So, I end up hiding in the back of the catering company van that had come to get the kitchen ready for the gala she’s throwing later tonight which, I mean really, you’re serving shrimp and salmon, what type of monster are you? You do seafood and steak, not seafood and seafood. Ugh. Why did I ever have sex with her again? Anyway, I ride in the van to town and then bolt out of there before they can see me. Then, I get on a bus because I have a bus token in my wallet, but the bus driver is a bit chatty and this is a covert mission so I tell him my name is Gilbert, since Gilbert the butler was on my mind and that I am visiting my new granddaughter in the states but I’m actually from Quebec and I spoke French to prove it. I was going to get off near the one clothes shop on third, but then we drove by your office and I saw your car so I got off at the corner and picked your lock to get in your car and waited for you to come out because I thought that’d be quicker.”

“You’re doing the thing,” Emile said.

“What thing?” Remy asked flippantly.

“The thing where you use misdirection and slang to attempt to distract people from serious issues.”

Remy slunk down in his seat. “Ah, that thing.” Damn him and his stupid fancy psychology degrees.

“Is your leg okay?”

“Smarts like a bitch, but it was just a graze. I already bandaged it up and disinfected it.”

“Good,” Emile said. “Would you prefer if I yelled at you in chronological or alphabetical order.”

“I’d like to see you try out alphabetical.”

“Well,” Emile started. “First of all…”

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 9

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obscurehistoricalinterests · 5 years

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P.J. Ransone on finding himself through Generation Kill

Twenty-seven is a strange age in the most Joseph Campbell sense of the number, especially for the male persuasion. It is the time when you realize you’re not 20 anymore, that whatever clever antics you may have done at a younger age now make you cringe. You’re also coming up hard on 30 and I think you start to evaluate the path that you’re on. Twenty-seven is the age when rock stars die and become legends, but to me it marked the death of my youth, when my past caught up with me and punched me in the head.

I weighed 115 pounds, was about 30 grand in debt and had developed a pretty healthy heroin habit. I had a few accomplishments under my belt as far as my career was concerned: I had been in some successful movies and television shows, and a few almost-successful rock bands. I was “cool” (in my mind at least) to a handful of downtown Manhattan degenerates. Things got so out of control in my head, that at one point I remember being offended when my agency would send me scripts for roles as “the junkie.” Looking back, I was far from the person I wanted to be. I was quickly on my way to being a 30-year-old adolescent. Twenty-seven changed that.

I was involved in a five-year relationship with a wonderful woman who I loved very much. It had run its course. Or to put it more succinctly: she got fed up with my bullshit and finally decided to leave. Let’s face it — junkies don’t tend to make the best boyfriends.

This set off a chain of events that led me to sober up and step up to the table as far as being a man was concerned. There were a lot of things going on inside me that I hadn’t faced, or at the very least, refused to acknowledge for a long time. There were a lot of hard corners in me that needed to be softened. I had no idea what the results were going to be as far as taking some responsibility for my past, but the outcome has been pretty remarkable.

It’s funny what happens to you when you decide — or are forced to decide — to make positive changes for yourself, because in my experience it starts a nuclear chain reaction. Change is painful no matter what form it takes. I’ve learned that the only constant in this weird life is, in fact, change. If I’m not going through it, something is wrong.

I feel like I evolved into the human being I had hoped to become while living in Africa working on a miniseries for HBO called Generation Kill, based on the book by the same name written by Evan Wright about his time embedded with a battalion of reconnaissance Marines during the initial six weeks of the invasion of Iraq. The book is basically an apolitical, true-life account of what it’s like to be on the ground as an enlisted serviceman in modern warfare. Ostensibly, it’s a road-trip story. Writers David Simon and Ed Burns adapted the screenplays with Wright, and I had worked with the pair previously on HBO’s The Wire. When I arrived in Namibia — where I was to live for seven months while filming the show — I had no idea what to expect. I had landed the part of Cpl. Ray Person, the sped-up Marine who drove the point Humvee in Iraq in March of 2003. The role itself was much bigger than I had anticipated. The amount of work cut out for me had yet to sink in.

The day I turned 28, I was participating in a simulated night mission that marked the end of a boot camp that all the actors were required to participate in before we began filming. It was kind of unreal how much had changed in a year. Part of the catalyst for growth was the job itself, but much of the credit can go to the people with whom I got to share the experience. During this time, I became acquainted with two guys who changed my life.

Eric Kocher and Jeff Carizales are two Marines who fought together in OIF1 (Operation Iraqi Freedom). They had been brought to Africa to be military accuracy advisers during production, and their input was instrumental to the credibility of the show. Not only are they Marines, but they are two of the actual guys about whom Evan Wright wrote in his book. So here are these two dudes, reliving the drama of their lives, watching actors interpret their stories so that they are portrayed as accurately as possible. I think the word “trippy” comes to mind. I had no idea that I was going to end up loving these guys as much as I do.

Eric Kocher is imposing in the most terrifying sense. Imagine a shorter version of the Incredible Hulk with Tom Selleck’s face and a brain filled with an encyclopedic knowledge of military history and modern warfare tactics. By age 28, he had served in the Marine Corps for close to 10 years and done more than five combat tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan. While on a combat mission in Iraq, his Humvee was hit by a rocket- propelled grenade that nearly blew his arm off. Another member of his team, who was in the back of the truck, lost both of his hands in this same attack. Later, he would tell me that he himself pulled out the pins that had been surgically implanted in his hands so that he could get back to combat sooner. When people ask about the insane scar on his right arm he usually tells them it’s from an old “skateboardin’ accident.” He is one of the funniest people I know. For as intense as his appearance is, he’s one of the most loyal and kind-hearted human beings I have ever met.

The other Marine I befriended was Jeff Carizales. He drove the same Humvee that Eric was in during the invasion in of Iraq. He is 100 percent Texan, through and through. He is the type of person who will insult you within seconds of making your acquaintance, only to test your resolve. It’s hard to sum up Jeff in anything short of an epic poem. When I first met him in a bar in Africa, I wanted to punch him in the face within about three minutes. He insulted my clothes, the city I lived in and my general way of life. We only started to bond after we opened up about the demise of both our long-term relationships and our mutual disdain for most actors. Certain anecdotes can paint a better picture. For example, while traveling in Europe recently, he would meet other international backpackers and tell these elaborate stories about what he does for a living. He liked to regale these people by telling them that he was a small-arms dealer training guerilla forces in northern Africa so they could overthrow their governments. The truth is, he is an engineering student at Texas A&M. When he flew home from Europe, he thought it would be funny to dress up in Chechnyan mujahedeen garb, thereby convincing airport security that he was a terrorist. Yes, this is the man I spent seven months with.

These guys introduced me to a side of life with which I had been unfamiliar. In some way, they reconnected me to myself. As a shit-bag junkie who lived in New York, I rarely came across servicemen unless they were sailors visiting the city during Fleet Week, in which case they were usually just in the way on my way to the bar. My father is a Vietnam vet, and my natural inclination towards people who would volunteer for that life could politely be described as “resistant.” I just never understood why someone would knowingly sign up for something that seemed so conformist, in my opinion. I was way off base in this assumption.

Let’s start first by saying that I don’t support this war or the reasons why we are over there. I am of the school of thought that we should clean up our own yard before we start to clean up someone else’s. Having said that, the people I have met who are in the armed forces are doing a uniquely un- American thing. It’s unique in the sense that we grew up in a country of excess, to the extent that in this post-industrial, post-sexual-revolution age in America, my generation gets to live off the fat of the land without developing a work ethic that generations before ours seemed to have had. In the age of short attention spans and reality television, Marines are a group of people that actually strive to go against that excess. As Wright points out in his book, “they have chosen asceticism and assimilation over the idea of being an individual” who can dream big and be the next American Idol winner. Out of this, it seems, comes maturity.

There is a school of thought that seems to imply that as Westerners, we have lost a certain amount of our identity because the rites of passage into adulthood are viewed as archaic. There is no tradition for sending boys out into the wild, not to return home until they came back men. To a large extent, the Marines seem to have experienced these rites, and for a short amount of time, I did as well. While living in Africa, Eric and Jeff forced me to grow up,to look at things differently.

We forged this bond by taking long road trips while filming the series. The production itself was grueling. We had six-day work weeks, but anytime that we would have more than 24 hours off, we would plan these insane adventures and take off on a whim with little more than half a tank of gas and a change of underwear. Most weekends we would drive 10 hours to Cape Town to blow off steam. On longer breaks we would look on a giant map of the continent, pick a spot and point our car towards it. We would have made Hemingway proud.

I can’t tell you how many times Eric and Jeff got me nearly killed, whether it was while we were breaking into Botswana, nearly drowning in the Zambezi river, or avoiding getting trampled by elephants. Our road trips got to be so infamous that the producers would send out memos specifically targeted at our little tribe, letting us know that we were an insurance risk. It’s generally considered a bad thing if one of your actors dies during production — from a business perspective, anyway. In fact, Eric and Jeff always wanted to know the location of the closest U.S. Embassy in case I did die so they could fly back to the states and not get sued by HBO.

During these trips, I really felt alive. My brother (who was with us on some of these adventures) pointed out that it was because these guys have truly lived. They have been around more death and destruction than I could possibly imagine or cope with, yet their vitality is undeniable. I don’t remember a time that my stomach didn’t hurt from laughing. I dealt with more insults and put-downs from them than anyone could imagine, but after a while I came to realize that they were forcing me to examine my shortcomings and actually do something about them. They have a fraternal bond that I envy. For a little while, I got to experience it. They treated me as a brother and tenderized me like a piece of steak, because, at the end of the day, they wanted me at my strongest.

Living in Africa with Eric and Jeff was the best experience of my life so far. The art that imitated life was imitated by life again on our road trips. The irony was that after a breakup forced me to re-examine myself, some of the most romantic moments I have had in my life were with these psycho jarheads — but not in a “gay” way.

It’s been a year since we started production on Generation Kill. I recently turned 29, and by the time this article comes out, the show will be airing. I talk to Jeff and Eric regularly. I miss them and that time in my life. Regardless of whether the show is popular or not, I am a stronger human being because of the experiences I had with them and what they taught me. I will have that for the rest of my life. This August, I plan on taking a motorcycle trip in Mexico with them. There is part of me that hopes not to return, knowing that it wouldn’t be any fun if those two weren’t trying to get me killed somehow every day we’re on the road. I think I can honestly say that while I do not support this war, I do support our troops.

- Source

#generation kill #genkill #pj ransone #hbowar #essay #article #eric kocher #jeff carisalez

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breegullbeakreviews · 6 years

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Summary: With the host of the masked ball missing, the staff have plotted to kill everyone at the party. The exception is you, Lafcadio Boone, who has been granted protection by a mysterious woman along with the ability to repeat the horrific final 12 hours of the party in hopes of saving everyone and uncovering the secrets of The Sexy Brutale.

Overall: The Sexy Brutale as of right now is a strong contender for my the best game I finally got around to this year, and last year would have given a Hat in Time a run for its money. For $20 it’s around 6 hours of quality entertainment that is absolutely worth playing.

There will be spoilers after the break, but there will be a warning prior to going into them

Gameplay: The Sexy Brutale is called a puzzle and adventure game, but I think stealth fits in there as well. The difference is that you can’t actually be caught. When the game begins not only are you granted the ability to repeat the day, but also prevented from sharing the room with anyone wearing a mask, unless you’re hiding in a cupboard. You can stumble into a room with someone else in it or they into the room you are in, but you are given time to leave before their mask tries to kill you. You can use this to quickly cross a room where you wanted to be on the other side as long as you aren’t chaining together too many occupied rooms, but considering I never “died” in this way it’s not a problem. This also doesn’t break anyone’s routine so you can’t cheat in this way.

The game starts with a simple tutorial giving you 5 in game hours which are maybe a minute each to prevent one of the deaths in a small area of the mansion. I won’t spoil the solution but the game teaches you how you spy one characters to learn how they spend their time in the mansion. Spotting the right character at the right time might grant you helpful information in regards to how to stop the murders. Since you can’t share the room with people you’ll need to peek through doors and hide in cupboards. While the former gives you a limited view of who and what is in the room, the latter gives a full view of the room. While items are reset after each day, any information you learn about the environment like passwords and secret passages you’ll retain.

Each person you prevent the death of will go back to dying in the same way the next day, but you will unlock their masks power. These will grant you various abilities that open up new paths through the mansion as well as ways to gain information. The one you get for clearing the tutorial allows you to set a new location to start each day at, limited to the mansions clocks, and fast forward to 4PM and 8PM at any clock. The second allows you to hear any whispers.

From here each ability allows you to explore a little more of the mansion a way to reach another targeted guest or a pair. In fact most of the guest’s fates are tied to another’s. In fact after the tutorial the first rescue is a couple. The game progresses at a steady and fun pace as you deal with all of the murders, then things take a turn as the narrative takes over. The next several tasks aren’t murders you must stop, but story sensitive information you need to uncover which leads to a lot less playing with routines and a lot more exploration which is kind of boring in the gameplay department. The game does end with one final murder prevention, but it’s extremely easy considering how much experience you have at this point.

I have one complaint with the story, but honestly it was more an expectation that wasn’t met. Once you had saved everyone once I had expected that you would need to play through a day saving everyone in a single day. That never happens. I’m not sure if even wise it’s possible but with the amount of shortcuts around the house I know you could save more than one set of guests easily. This would have required a much more thorough design of when and how each murder and other event occurs, but it wasn’t meant to be.

Collectibles: The Sexy Brutale has two types of collectibles, playing cards and invitations. Like any basic deck there are 52 cards and you can find them lying on the floor and by interacting with objects in the environment. Some are time sensitive which means you need to explore pretty thoroughly to find them all which allows you to unlock an alternate and overall less satisfying ending, though it doesn’t remove the original so you’re fine to hunt them all down before completing the game. The invitations are 9 in total and there is one for each guest. While most you can pick off the remains of the guests after you’ve failed them, a select few will require some more exploration of your mask abilities to obtain. While not tied to a trophy you can also unlock an info dump on every character and room in the manor. A lot of these are tied to cards, invitations, and story progression, but a few others are tied to one of the last powers you unlock.

Music: I usually don’t talk music so this game had to do something else to warrant discussing it. The Sexy Brutale has a different audio track for every area of the mansion. So the Casino has a track shared with all of its rooms and the bar has its own theme shared with its rooms and so on. What makes it special is that all of these tracks are synced to the in game clock and therefore the events that occur each day. As a gun goes off the music plays it up. In fact you can hear some of the deaths and other events from other parts of the mansion and characters will comment on them. One of the deaths in particular plays the music up big time and it’s beautiful as it tells you for an extended period of time that you have failed.

Story(Now Spoilers): No seriously the story of this game is worth experiencing for yourself.

Did you go and play it yet?

Okay let’s get into it. The Sexy Brutale plays its Groundhog Day mechanics up as entirely supernatural, and from first glance that makes complete sense. Even as the game ramps up the fantastical elements as you make your way into the staff quarters it seems like it’s simply a cult like the game’s marketing would like you to believe. The truth is what punched me in the gut.

The Bloody woman is clearly someone of importance and it was pretty obvious she was this red headed woman in the house to me before the reveal. Turns out that Eleanor is the missing host Lucas’s wife, but he isn’t missing. He’s you. The party as you see it isn’t actually how that night went down. As part of an insurance scam Lucas planned to use timed explosives to burn the manor to the ground and start a smaller and quainter life with Eleanor. Unfortunately the bombs went off early and killed everyone in the mansion. Except for Lucas who fell from the tower and lived with the guilt his entire life. This game is that guilt. The player character is an old Lucas. The antagonist in the gold mask is Lucas. The man in the tank is Lucas. All the members of the staff are Lucas. The repetition of each day is Lucas reliving the guilt every day of his life. How the Bloody woman weaves her way into this string of guilt is a mystery. The game culminates with the choice to either restart the day again while continuing to live with the guilt, or end the cycle and try and move on with your life.

We all regret something in our lives. Some things are more extreme than others. While most people haven’t accidently killed all of their close friends, we all have made mistakes. I’ve seen stories try and tackle the idea of getting over guilt with forgiveness and they all seem to miss the mark pretty hard. They always soft ball the issue. Some things are so bad that even if those wronged forgive you for them, you still can’t forgive yourself. Sometimes it is about forgiving yourself and that can be really hard to do. It can make you feel like you never deserve to be happy again and as is shown here it can ruin the rest of your life, deserved or not. I can’t say that Lucas should be forgiven for what he did, but that’s the point. It’s up to you to move on and it’s something I’ve never seen discussed this honestly.

The game has an alternate ending. Using a key you can find over by the guest rooms you can open a door near the casino to find a demon who requests a full deck of cards. This is to reflect Lucas’s gambling problem. Upon handing the demon the cards you get sent to the ballroom where everyone is happy and partying and it keeps going until you break the glass in the rear of the room. Everyone stares at you and the credits roll. I like that this ending is here, but it’s certainly not as good as the main ending.

#video games #review #the sexy brutale #tequila works #ps4 #nintendo switch #xbox one

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