oldmanpaco
Master of Siestas
All this modding talk and not a single nude mod on the nexus.
Pathetic.
Pathetic.
It does generally depend on the level of work and creativity involved. If you just tweak some miranda_butt_size variable somewhere, or do bug fixes, or run textures through some kind of filter/upscaler, that'd not really be enough of your own creative action or effort to qualify. But anything involving creating of new or significant manual alteration of vanilla textures/models/sounds/levels/characters/etc would qualify.Mods are content created by modifying copyrighted content, though. It's difficult to predict whether a modder wouldn't lose in court; not because they've breached the eula, but because their content is similar enough to the original. Happens with art too.Copyright is well defined as applying to any work of art and has mountains of precedent to back that up.
Family of Lilura perhapsI you read her post, you'd know she wants the right to be the one to convert her mods or grant permission to others to do so. She's angry because Skyrim modders have that right, but not ME modders, for technical reasons.So the creator wants to retain exclusive bragging rights basically saying "I made it first and how dare you replicate my mod and make it better. Fuck Nexus for not giving me power over others."
It's not about bragging rights, it's about owning your work and the effort you put in, and being able to continue that work if you desire to do so without anyone taking it away from you.
Seems reasonable to me.
This is the same modder that has specifically blocked compatibility patches for other mods previously.
They are a prima donna of the highest order.
Mods are content created by modifying copyrighted content, though. It's difficult to predict whether a modder wouldn't lose in court; not because they've breached the eula, but because their content is similar enough to the original. Happens with art too.Copyright is well defined as applying to any work of art and has mountains of precedent to back that up.
https://www.polygon.com/22436615/mass-effect-legendary-edition-police-ea-bioware-brooklyn-99
Mass Effect’s revival reminds us it’s time to abolish the space police
What would it mean to defund the Normandy?
After the wave of protests last summer following the police killings of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor (among others), the topic of defunding the police began to see more frequent and serious public discussion. Several city councils even introduced measures to reallocate police funds to social programs with vastly inferior budgets. Police corruption, which had previously been glossed over by reformist appeals to root out the few bad apples, was finally cracked wide open, revealing the racist structural rot underlying the entire institution. Maybe policing, as a concept, was bad? Maybe it couldn’t be reformed, but should be abolished instead.
The far-reaching fallout from these traumatic events and revelations wound up affecting the world of entertainment, notably including NBC’s Brooklyn Nine-Nine. A show in the creative lineage of other workplace sitcoms like The Office and Parks and Recreation, Brooklyn Nine-Nine is about a fictional police precinct in Brooklyn, staffed by a young and diverse crew of wisecracking cops. Despite being a far cry from Oakley-stunting, tactical vest-wearing, thick-necked white male depictions of police, the characters on the show could not escape the reckoning sweeping through the media landscape. It became the subject of viral tweets and a Collider article asking the question of whether subsequent seasons of the show might not see the beloved cast transferred to an entirely different and depoliticized line of work, like becoming firefighters, post office workers, or even public school teachers.
The Collider piece paints a compelling picture of the show’s root problem: What happens when we love a story’s characters but hate the ideological foundation of their jobs? Can the two even be separated?
Legendary Edition and released on modern consoles — arguably suffers from a similar problem. These games experienced runaway popularity at their height and retain a dedicated fan base to this day. The Legendary Edition is proof enough that there remains a lasting sense of goodwill toward the franchise, enough to invest the time and energy needed to update and re-release it.
But when most fans reminisce about what they truly love about the games, it’s the memorable relationships between the young, diverse cast of characters that they tend to bring up. Less warm recollection is spent on the jobs these characters hold, which exist (in various forms) in the military arms of the galaxy’s major political players. Whether it’s as Earth Alliance Military, Cerberus Commandos, or reinstated Alliance Navy Officers, Shepard and their crew are always some version of glorified space cops. They travel the galaxy, maintain security, and enforce order, while largely being unaccountable to any power beyond their own.
How, then, might an abolitionist perspective impact a series like Mass Effect? What new jobs might Shepard and their crewmates be assigned that would still allow them their camaraderie, their heart-wrenching moments of dramatic tension? How do we take these rich instances of sci-fi melodrama and extract them from the unseemly and violent drudgery of enforcing order across a vast and chaotic frontier? How do we move away from a premise that simplifies the Lovecraftian mystery of the Reapers into interchangeable robo-zombies to be shot at from behind chest-high barriers? A premise that neatly classifies a vast plethora of alien races into categories of the law-abiding and the lawless — one group to romance, another to gun down within the dimly lit corridors of space stations?
As a package, Mass Effect doesn’t immediately resemble modern American policing. Rather than a neighborhood beat, Shepard patrols light-years of space. Their crew is made up of aliens, robots, and humans of many different races and genders (though, it is worth noting, Black women are absent). Their remit is truly limitless, ranging from noir-inspired detective cases to terrorist attacks to full-blown military skirmishes.
Yet like most science fiction, Mass Effect models its far-flung fantasies on the structures of our own society. The form of government that rules over the game’s setting is a familiar, seemingly liberal one. An alliance of Earth nations cooperates with a more powerful council that represents the other dominant alien societies (Space-NATO, if you will). Unlike the apparently authoritarian bent of the ancient Prothean empire that came before, Mass Effect’s contemporary universe resembles our own, both in structure and in messaging. Freedom of choice, as a concept, is cherished (or at least, the illusion of it is). Individual freedoms and representative democracy are apparently the standard.
But these supposedly enlightened modes of rule come with the heavy arm of law and order firmly attached. In his book A Critical Theory of Police Power, Mark Neocleous argues that “the genius of liberalism was to make the police appear as an independent, non-partisan agency simply enforcing the law and protecting all citizens equally from crime.” He adds later that “the existence of discretion allows the state [...] to appear as standing at arms-length from the processes of administration and thus the policing of civil society.”
Standing in stark contrast to the Citadel Council’s seemingly measured and cautious form of governance, Shepard’s driven and hegemonic power hogs the spotlight. They are given free rein to do what the Council is unwilling to be seen as doing: keep everyone in line. Regardless of their various official titles, Shepard acts with the approval of the galaxy’s ruling powers, who give them total discretion. How else would you describe the events of Mass Effect 2, in which Shepard comes back from the dead, now working for Cerberus — a violent pro-human organization labeled as terrorists by the Council — and is allowed to continue operating pretty much the same as before? And when they return to the fold in the third game, they’re never taken to task or made to account for their previous decisions. This is because Shepard’s power is a police power. It is a form of power, as Neocleous puts it, that “persistently manages to break through any parameters imposed on it.”
This being the case, it seems pretty appropriate to view Mass Effect through an abolitionist lens. Like the police forces of the liberal West that so often cross the line and tragically resort to violence, Shepard explains away their own brash and violent behavior as a regretful necessity. In fact, like cops in real life, whose “special status as the sole legitimate users of force has contributed to a mindset of ‘them against us,’” as Alex S. Vitale describes it in his book The End of Policing, Shepard tends to aggressively defend the need for their reckless and hyperviolent approach. In one scene, they rail against a news reporter who tries to challenge their narrative. They’re also endlessly impatient with the Council’s caution and its natural distrust of the upstart human race. Despite the later games’ increased focus on maintaining relationships and navigating ethical quagmires, Shepard will always remain a burning point of white-hot light, unable and unwilling to slow down and reflect on the consequences of their behavior.
In discussing the hypothetical career changes of Jake Peralta, Charles Boyle, Amy Santiago, and the rest of the characters from Brooklyn Nine-Nine, the Collider piece suggests that there is little thematic connection between the characters’ lives and their status as police officers. But this rings false, considering how much of the show is committed to the “copaganda” of valorizing police work. When they’re not up to zany hijinks at the precinct, the officers of Brooklyn Nine-Nine are out solving crimes and catching criminals. This is pure fantasy, a fabricated depiction of what police actually do, which falls more along the lines of harassing the homeless and mentally ill, and profiling and frisking young Black men. At its root, the show’s purpose is to defend and uphold the myth that police are our guardians. It’s a myth that contributes to the “self-serving and convenient obfuscation,” as Neocleous puts it, citing historian V.A.C. Gatrell, that “the police are concerned first and foremost with crime.”
Even when Brooklyn Nine-Nine tries to address police wrongdoing, such as in an episode where Terry Crews’ character is accosted by a racist fellow cop, it reduces the problem to one bad apple who needs to be reported, leaving the system itself intact and reified.
Mass Effect is equally invested in defending Shepard’s role as galactic super cop, as the man or woman upon whose shoulders all of galactic security rests. From the earliest moments of the first game, you are told that the galaxy is on the verge of violent chaos, even if you are rarely actually shown it. Rest assured that, outside the boundaries of “civilized” space, there are pirates, slavers, and other bogeymen, which unaccountable figures like the Spectres must fight against.
Once the Reaper threat is established in Mass Effect, it takes over the remainder of the games’ plot as the ur-concern. Here, in convenient all caps, is a challenge not just to the Council’s political hegemony, but to the very fabric of civilization. It’s hard to argue against Shepard needing to discard the rules and considerations of the status quo, against them needing to utilize every tool in their violent arsenal in order to face this massive threat. Unquestioned is why only Shepard can fill this role, why only they can be the one to ultimately decide what is to be done with trillions of souls. “Part of the illusion of security is that we are meant to bow down before it without even asking what it is or how it came to be granted such a status, just as we are expected to bow down before the police power that claims to secure us,” Neocleous says.
This dynamic plays out in the ways in which Shepard relates to the rest of their crewmates as well. When not serving as appendages to Shepard’s will, Shepard’s comrades will often bring their own personal dilemmas and problems to the table. Yet they usually rely on Shepard to make the final decisions about how to handle their issues. It is Shepard who has ultimate agency over how they live out their lives. They play defense attorney for a helpless Tali facing the accusations of her own people. They decide what happens to Thane’s criminal son, Samara’s criminal daughter, and Jacob’s criminal dad, to stay on theme.
IT’S DIFFICULT TO PICTURE MASS EFFECT WITHOUT A CENTERED AND PATERNALISTIC SHEPARD
Policing is about power, the power to maintain order using one’s maximum discretion. In providing police with such a free mandate, we make the trusting assumption that they will always make the correct decision. When they make a mistake, as they inevitably and often do, there are very few mechanisms with which to punish them. This makes the police — like the government it represents — a fundamentally paternalistic organization, one in which we are to place all our faith so that it may secure our lives (though only in the ways that it sees fit).
Knowing all this, it’s difficult to picture a version of Mass Effect without a centered and paternalistic Shepard. What is Mass Effect if you remove this figure who is established to police both political and personal boundaries?
The themes of order and hierarchy thread their way through every layer of the narrative, determining who is cherished and who is vilified. Even though the games go to great lengths to establish the diversity and rich variety of the galaxy, it remains a divided and unequal place. The Citadel and the main worlds you visit tend to be populated by select, respectable civilizations. Rarely do you visit the “lesser” worlds populated by alien races like the Batarians, who only tend to show up in combat zones as interchangeable cannon fodder, or in background stories as cartoonish villains threatening innocent colonists. They lash out from beyond the borders of settled space at the elites living in the center, a permanent criminal underclass. An underclass that arguably encompasses any alien who isn’t lucky enough to be a part of Shepard’s crew on the Normandy.
Just as Brooklyn Nine-Nine would not be the same show if it didn’t use its plotlines to valorize cops, Mass Effect would not be the same game if it stripped away its militaristic aesthetics and was led by someone other than its quasi-fascistic super soldier.
The intractability of this format comes down to a limit of imagination. Just as it is difficult to imagine a world like ours free from state violence, savage individualism, and insurmountable hierarchies, it is equally difficult to envision a game like Mass Effect where you are not playing as the ultimate securing force, the one who gets to put everything back in its place.
“The ideological work that the prison performs,” Angela Davis writes in Are Prisons Obsolete?, is that it “relieves us of the responsibility of seriously engaging with the problems of our society.” Games often perform a similar function. Shooting everything into place is the path of least resistance, and the one so often taken. But that doesn’t mean other paths are impossible.
You can explore a vibrant and colorful galaxy without serving as its enforcing power. You can experience these complex narrative systems in satisfying ways without requiring all final decisions to be subject to your own approval. It’s all possible, but it requires courageous vision, as well as hope and trust in others. Mass Effect lends rhetorical support to this cause, particularly in its endings, which aim for “peace across the galaxy” while also arguing that a lone, unaccountable hero is the one to deliver it to us. In reality, it is only we, as players and as people, who must find our own way toward a better world.
How would social workers handle the Reaper crisis?
Someone actually gets paid to write this dogshit. Not much, but still.
Maybe Bioware will hire him after this.
...Shepard (in the cut scene after his first fight with Saren) has a chance to shoot Saren, but oddly doesn't take it. It shows Sheperd stop, aim his gun at Saren, then inexplicably drop it to let Saren fly away. It's a weird moment that the game never references or explains again.
...Shepard (in the cut scene after his first fight with Saren) has a chance to shoot Saren, but oddly doesn't take it. It shows Sheperd stop, aim his gun at Saren, then inexplicably drop it to let Saren fly away. It's a weird moment that the game never references or explains again.
Forgot about that moment, shows that there was at least something going on in the writers' minds with ME1. Despite my endless problems with this franchise as a whole, the first game is easily the best.
Saren was a fantastic baddie. Very disappointing when when ME2 ended up lacking any central villain at all (let alone one as charismatic and fun as Saren). But then Kai Leng and TIM were even worse
Either way the most important thing about the ending is that it must find some way to incorporate all the decisions Shepard has made during the series and reflect them in the ending result somehow.
Basically everything in this post is wrong, including that you mistakenly attributed that quote to me instead of yosharian.Either way the most important thing about the ending is that it must find some way to incorporate all the decisions Shepard has made during the series and reflect them in the ending result somehow.
The current ending does that, though. The only problem is that people see this game's "ending" as being only the last 10 minutes when Sheperd makes his choices, whereas the ending is actually the entirety of Mass Effect 3, where he goes around visiting every single person he's ever met, wrapping up each of their story arcs. These games have more C&C than any games that Codex typically reveres for C&C, but people still complain. Random sidequests such as whether or not you got the data for that random NPC on Feros in ME1, will have pay off in ME3. In most cases, it's done so seemless that you don't notice, though (I had no idea that Feros quest affected anything in ME3 until I read the wiki).
If I have a problem with ME3's ending, it's more that they already did a perfect ending in ME2, so it's weird that they didn't use the same formula for ME3. Personally, I would have liked the ending of ME3 to be done more like ME2's suicide mission, where you actively have to make choices about what your teammates and various armies you've gathered will do, and depending on your choices, some will die and some will live. There's a tiny amount of that in ME3's current ending, but it's not as elaborate as it was in ME2.
Modders should do forced labor alongside vegans and cyclists, bunch of whiny little bitches.
As did I. The one where you shoot the kid in the face and then have Liara leave a message for 50000 years in the future, mind you. People would've hated it but winning should've never been an option to begin with. Could've set up a sequel trilogy taking place thousands of years later as well, instead of leaving you with only the Andromeda horseshit the "only" option. "But muh choices!" -Eh, you could've ended up picking who lives or dies or whatever.I liked the original ME3 ending, because it didn't over explain anything.
This. This I don't understand either. Nothing that people try to add to the story after the ending feels like it belongs there. Like said, it would have been the same if the wonderkid out of another story would have all of a sudden jumped in between Luke and Darth lightsabering, saying that you both lost. The End, gentlemen, please choose your colour.Why would you make your setting unusable with a shitty plot and dumb ending, though? This is essentially what Bioware did. They probably spent an inordinate amount of time creating the universe for ME, only to destroy it with a galaxy-spanning events. Playing a neo-noir story with Garrus as the MC would've been better.