I honestly don’t think i’ve ever felt as much rage towards a fictional character as I do towards Ted Faro which I take as a sign of bomb ass writing.
Because like, it wasn’t enough for this dude to cause the literal end of the world and what was probably the largest (and certainly the most devastating) extinction event ever. Literally stripped the atmosphere and killed every living thing.
But that wasn’t enough because Ted Faro is mansplaining and the male ego taken to maximum levels
because this man caused the end of the world and still thought he knew better than the people working on Gaia/Apollo. he took away human history because he thought it wasn’t enough that they had been building fail safes into gaia/apollo. it wasn’t enough that the alphas were working on preventing exactly what Faro was worried about. No he had to go and literally delete every recording of human history and then murder all the alphas because of course he was right and they were going about things wrong
where’s my DLC where I can go back in time and punch him in the face
H. H. Asquith: He will be drunk, and distracted by intra-party division, and you will crush him. However, you will always harbour a sneaking suspicion that he deserved better.
David Lloyd George: He shouldn’t win, but he will. Probably by, ah, ‘bending the rules’ a bit, but his natural charisma will make it hard for you to bear a grudge.
Andrew Bonar-Law: Who is this man? Why do you want to fight him? You don’t know. He doesn’t know. It’s all very confusing.
Stanley Baldwin: A principled fighter who would rather lose than cheat even a tiny bit, he will win effortlessly anyway, and twinkle at you afterwards. You will like him anyway, and everyone will loudly wonder whether it was just sheer luck on his part, so your reputation is safe.
Ramsay MacDonald: See H. H. Asquith. May also decide, mid-fight, to join your team. Go along with it.
Neville Chamberlain: He will think you agreed not to fight. Then he will fight you, badly. Then he will give up and hand over to his mate Winnie.
Winston Churchill: If you don’t know whether or not you could take Winston Churchill in a fight then you have probably been living under a rock your whole life, or you are an American, or both.
Clement Attlee: Right, so let’s say you are mentally deranged, and want to fight this tiny, gentle, bird-boned man; you expect to win. You do not win. Five seconds into the fight, in fact, you are flat on your back, bleeding profusely whilst he calmly calls an ambulence and gets his mate Nye to explain the importance of socialised healthcare to you.
Anthony Eden: He should win. He is stronger, fitter, a better fighter. Somehow, though, he will cock up massively and you will beat him.
Harold Macmillan: Go on, fight him. He’s a shit, so I hope you win.
Sir Alec Douglas-Home: He is graceful, sleepy and tolerant. An easy win for you, you might think. No. This gentle fucker once got egged and caught the egg one-handed. Also foiled an attempt to kidnap him. Even if you were Harold Wilson, you might only win victory by a narrow margin.
Harold Wilson: Has a mixed record. I’m saying this one is 50/50 and depends on whether you are more of a Ted Heath or an Alec Douglas-Home yourself.
Ted Heath: You could probably beat Ted Heath in a fight by distracting him with nice music or his own hatred of Margaret Thatcher. The victory would be oddly hollow, though. It’s hard to really want to beat the shit out of a man who hacked a chocolate bust of Thatcher into pieces with a big knife.
Jim Callaghan: You don’t want to fight this sunny little sweetheart anyway, so who cares if you’d win or not?
Margaret Thatcher: You could not beat Margaret Thatcher in a fight. Please do not attempt to.
John Major: Yes, you could beat John Major in a fight, unless your name is Neil, or you are a ginger.
Tony Blair: I know you want to fight Blair, but you will not win, even though he looks weedy. He will beat you. Badly. Three times. May also lie, cheat, or deploy a Prescott.
Gordon Brown: DO NOT FIGHT BROWN, because if you harm a single hair on his head, I will hunt you down and kill you to death. I guess he’s also a great endurer and would probably take whatever you threw at him and fight until you were exhausted and gave up and therefore he would win. So that’s two reasons not to fight him. Don’t do it, kids.
David Cameron: You want to fight this genial-seeming, pink-faced, stuck-up posh-boy pig-fucker. Even if you quite like him, you know you do. Go on. You want to.
It was rude to stare, but Sirius couldn’t help it. He’d been expecting to be greeted by Andromeda, but someone else had opened the door, instead.
Sirius had heard plenty about the man while he had still lived at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The name Tonks had been tossed around in conversations and lectures about blood traitors and disgrace and throwing away your life for filthy mudbloods. It was a name he knew, a name he had reviled for a short time, between the anger of Andromeda’s departure and the inspiration that followed.
Now, the man was before him, and Sirius wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. A monster, perhaps, with two heads and twelve limbs and fourteen noses - a whimsical description his younger mind had thought up of the creature that had stolen away his cousin. Or maybe an urchin, with tattered clothes and a crooked mouth and even an eye missing - awful and dirty and not good enough.
But, he was only a man, with kind eyes and a warm smile, welcoming him into their home. So, Sirius decided that maybe he wasn’t all bad, and he greeted him with a slight nod of his head and a simple, “Sup?” before he slid past him in search of Andromeda.