I'll be honest; I had sort of forgotten that we make goofy comics. I'd gotten used to being a purveyor of dead boys, girls with nominal "blessings," and haunted-ass men! I'm genuinely confused right now that this kind of thing is what makes up the bulk of our archive. I like making those, too, I just... forgot.
Gabriel being gone only compounded the process, giving further credence to the idea that I am the meshed gears of some hermetic thought engine. I have been alone here for a long time, long enough to concoct a thoroughly convincing unreality, and when he walked in it was a tremendous surprise. Eventually I was able to mimic his speech enough to ask him what he did while he was in "the not-here," and he told me a bunch of weird stuff that we're almost certain to collect in strip form.
I do not envy "343 Studios," what Microsoft calls its Halo Manufacturing Center. I think of myself as being reasonably capable; I can turn a blank page or similarly ornamented text field into something a person might want to read. But I would never - never - take a job at 343 Studios. There's tempting fate, and then there's telling fate to go fuck itself, and taking up that mantle bears those fate-fucking connotations.
They're literally making it inside the building Bungie vacated to go be Bungie somewhere else, in a tomb, trying to create light. Bungie left a lot on the table, as we have repeatedly said: they have a peculiar talent for making great stories they can't subsequently tell in game form. Even so. Picking up four games in, I don't know how you do that. I wouldn't be able to move. I would sit perfectly still until I died in my chair.