NAVSPECWARCOM's Nova Journal - Collected and edited by Baldo_the_Don
NAVSPECWARCOM's Nova Journal
Collected and edited by Baldo_the_Don
It's been several weeks since my last entry. I have been very busy avoiding the temptation to log on to NovaWorld and read some of the Forum posts
posted by our customers. You have no idea what it's like here; the constant feeling of being stalked. We've been keeping the lights off to assuage any
possibility that someone will think we are occupying the Calabasas facility.
Food ran out 3 weeks ago. If it wasn't for the box of Almond Joys I found in 818.Super.Fox6's cubicle, I don't think I would have lasted this long . .
. growing weak, however.
Banded together with a couple of employees from Tech Support. We managed to rig an alarm system that would alert us if any of our customers try and
breach the building . . . my God, if that phone would just stop that blasted ringing!
Couldn't take it any longer. A couple of us hunted down Mr..Zoom and killed him by means of constant pleading to respond to Forum questions . . . he
couldn't take the taunting . . . we had him for dinner.
How much longer can we hold out!? The infernal pestering! "flat terrains for DFX" . . . "patch for BHD" . . . "too many hacks and cheaters" . . . "too
much server lag" . . . Don't these people stop!!
an assault left us short one man . . . we ate him for dinner.
This incessant flow of Forum post is unbearable; post after post, question after question . . . What do they think we are? Machines?
Oh no! What is that? I think I see something peering in through the glass lobby doors . . .
That was close. It was only the UPS man making a delivery yesterday. We let him in so he could deliver the packages . . . we ate him for dinner.
Panic has set in. I have been separated from my clan. We went out on a food and water hunt to the company's break room . . . most of the vending
machines have already been scavenged. I was in the process of scraping up whatever morsels I could find under the ice machine when members of the
dreaded Public Relations Clan fell upon us in ambush . . . they were ruthless.
We fended them off as best as we could, but the punishment was too much. They hit us with "Promises" and "Assurances" repeatedly . . . it was just too
much. I managed to slip into the ventilation system . . . not before I could see them capture poor Smitty, the intern . . . they ate him for dinner.
I've managed to keep two steps ahead of my pursuers . . . moving in and out of the ventilation system and the Product Development Department . . .
luckily, that office space hasn't been used in years.
I still can't get the image of Smitty's face out of my mind . . . that wretched look of pain when he was cut down by "Marketing Slogans" . . . Oh,
such a fate!
I came across a hermit of a man. He was an old programmer from Delta Force 1 . . . the look of fear and confusion on his face is almost too much to
take. What he must be going through with all the changes here at Nova . . . the torment.
He hasn't spoken to a human soul in years, and he can't even remember his name . . . I think I'll call him Gas Can.
While gathering sustenance with Gas Can we came across the Comanche 4 Clan. They have been holed up in the Customer Service department . . . no one
would ever think of finding people there. They invited us into their camp and offered us food and water.
I met with their leader and he recounted the story of Nova to me. Apparently, "Darth Management" became too powerful and started slaying the workers .
. . constantly degrading their work and ever pushing for more products out the door with less quality in them. Then they started abandoning any
loyalty to Customer Support. Eventually, Nova became a mindless, autonomous sweatshop.
They recounted countless stories on how they tried to circumnavigate the forces of Public Relations, Design Leaders, Marketing, and Management as they
tried to contact Forum members directly, but were beaten back at every turn . . . their dedication is amazing.
We were given some supplies and offered safe passage to the ventilation system. As we departed, they told us of another secretive clan called Armored
Fist . . . possibly they can help.
As I ponder the events, I have come to the realization that someone must unite these broken clans and restore order to Nova . . . I must think this
A rather uneventful day. Gas Can has been able to tap into the plumbing and we now have a supply of fresh water. Food, on the other hand, is becoming
increasingly difficult to secure . . . we might have to make a risky raid on the Facilities Department . . . I will need to plan this right.
Otherwise, it could spell doom for both of us . . .
I can't help but feel the strain . . . customers on the outside, pondering; wondering what has become of Nova Support. Then me, stuck on the inside,
between warring factions intent on the destruction of the others. In any case, I feel my fate is bleak.
If it wasn't for Gas Can, I'm sure I would not have survived this long. I can only . . . Wait! What is that?
Gas Can and I have been on the run for 3 days now. We were attacked from all sides, but we never saw their faces . . . they seemed to move with such
speed and coordination that I almost felt that we were dealing with ghosts. If it wasn't for the quick thinking of Gas Can, to fire a volley of
duplicate screen names at our foe, so that we were able to confuse and throw chaos into their attack . . . just long enough for us to slip into the
copy room and dash out the other door into the storage room.
We didn't escape unscathed however. Gas Can sustained an injury to his WASD hand; I'm sure that will slow down his movement. I, on the other hand, was
overcome by a strange sense of warping and lag. I can't help to think that we just narrowly escaped an attack by the Joint Operations Development Team
. . .
I feel so cold . . .
Gas Can and I have been keeping a low profile. We did encounter the DFX Clan. However, their weapons didn't have enough range to do us any harm. We
made our escape through the cafeteria, gathering what food we could, which wasn't much.
Then we came across ravenn. He was badly ravaged, poor soul. He was too badly injured because a shelf containing thousands of suggestions from users
collapsed on him. The sign on the shelf was labeled "FOR IMMEDIATE DESTRUCTION!" We tried to help ravenn, but the overwhelming weight was just too
much. He did manage to tell us that we could seek refuge in the R&D department. We're not sure what we'll find there, but we need to make contact with
friendlies. We gave ravenn some water, but it was too late . . . so we ate him.
As we made our way through the darkened halls, an eerie sense of being followed swept over us. We weaved our way between overturned desks and vacant
cubicles. What was disturbing was that every computer had their browser bookmarks to the NovaWorld Forums permanently deleted.
Then it happened . . . we were attacked! I never knew they existed; oh sure I've heard of them, but I always thought it was just an urban legend. But
there we were, confronted by one of the most elusive of the clans . . . the Air Attack Pack Clan. Members from MiG-29 Fulcrum, F-16 Multirole Fighter,
JSF, and F-22 Raptor made their assault. If it wasn't for the fact that they really couldn't get a lock on us, we probably wouldn't have made it out
alive. As it was, Gas Can created a diversion by tossing unsold copies of Team Sabre at them, which gave us that split second to evade them.
Poor souls. I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. Now they will find themselves on empty Team Sabre servers for eternity . . . no hope of ever
Today we encountered a horrific sight. As we made our way into a darkened room, we noticed banks and banks of computers. However, these were no
ordinary computers. These computers had multiple keyboards with extra keys attached to them. It then came to me that these computers must be for some
type of multi-limbed creatures. The beings that used these computers must have hands with more than 12 fingers, and at least 4 arms each. But what
program would require such complex keyboard short-cuts?
Then I noticed Gas Can . . . his face had lost all color, and he slowly backed away. I asked him what was wrong, but he couldn't speak, he just kept
"What is it!?" I shouted.
And then Gas Can said, "We need to get out of here . . . now!"
"Why? What could it be? What could cause such fear?" I pressed.
"We are not safe here," he said, "this is the . . . N.I.L.E. Development Clan's space!"
Today we had our first encounter with the Legal Department Clan. Gas Can and I were heading for the server room when they appeared in front of us. We
were assaulted with threats of being banned from the Forum. When that failed, they tried the End User License Agreement and then the Terms of Service;
but this was no ordinary TOS, this was the complete 17-part TOS, with every "hereafter", "hereunder", "you may not . . . ", and "MAXIMUM EXTENT
PERMITTED BY LAW" they could volley at us.
Then they hit Gas Can with the Non-Disclosure Agreement. I thought it was all over for him. I could see Gas Can succumbing to the assault. I grabbed
Gas Can, lobbed several rounds of the "Fair Use Act" at them, just to confuse them. Then we had a break when NovaWorld was down and they couldn't pull
up the TOS fast enough. We were able to make our escape. Too close . . . way too close.
Gas Can and I have been holed up in the telephone switch room to nurse our wounds. Last night I went out alone to gather supplies and ran across the
night watchman . . . it was obvious he had come under the control of Darth Management because he immediately went for his radio. I had to take him out
. . . we ate him that night.
Gas Can is fully mobile again, so we abandoned our hide out. Good thing too. As we were leaving, the Financial Clan raided the switch room. They blew
the door open with increased game prices and then peppered the room with add-on fees and server rental fees (those things should be registered as
Luckily, we were well out of the way, and looked on while concealed behind a cardboard BHD Xbox marketing piece.
Disaster strikes! While slowly making our way to R&D, we came under attack from our most formidable foe so far . . . the Xbox Console Development
Clan! A hideous clan; creatures so horrific, the mere sight of them will strike fear into the most battle-hardened. They stare at you with those
glowing green eyes, drool dripping from their mouths, and they have thumbs so massive they can tear a man to shreds. They have been known to
disassemble an independent development group in a matter of seconds. Their main mode of attack is to strip all sense of strategy from their victims .
. . it's just a pure frontal assault. What's worse is that they hold no loyalty to anyone, not even Darth Management. They only pay homage to a higher
empire . . . Microsoft!
We tried to escape but they threw down a barrage of linear paths, blocking any alternative escape routes. Then they disrupted our vision by creating a
shroud of low graphics quality. Through the blurry scene, I fought my way to what looked like an exit . . . I thought we were free. As I turned around
to pull Gas Can into a hole, created by the sums of money pumped into developing BHD Xbox, it was with horror that I saw the Xbox Clan dragging Gas
Can into the blackness . . . he was gone!
Distress tears at me like some primordial creature out on a kill . . . I thought I had a chance, but now that Gas Can is gone, I can't help this
feeling of hopelessness. At every turn, there are new dangers . . . challenges . . . fears. I start heading for one objective and I'm stopped in my
tracks by some un-seeable force. I tried to enter the Server Room yesterday, but as soon as I reached the room, an alarm panel flashed. "NovaWorld is
down. Try again later." So I tried and tried, but the door wouldn't budge. I was wasting time . . . and putting myself in danger by being exposed to
the evil in this building.
I moved on to the next floor. There were offices and open cubicles as far as the eye could see. And then from out of nowhere, they hit! With a
blinding flash, bullets started flying, followed by AT4's, and what seemed like an unlimited barrage of M203 grenades . . . the mayhem was
unbelievable. It could only mean one thing . . . I've been ambushed by the BHD Clan.
There were hundreds of them all over . . . crossing fields of fire . . . bullets whizzing around like fireflies. I tried to run for cover, but soon
found myself stopped in my tracks. They unleashed their most intimidating weapon of all . . . the CI Lag Bomb.
All of a sudden, everything was frozen in time. I tried to fight back, but I was shooting at ghosts. Then as soon as it started, everything went dark
and I found myself back in the lobby. I looked around, and then I saw them . . . all three of them peering at me from the loft above the reception
desk. They were the Lost Server Clan.
I ran for the stairs to get a better look, but as soon as I reached the second floor, they were gone. Then I looked out through the glass doors and I
could see movement in the darkness. I strained my eyes . . . could it be? Yes, it is! It's a Spec Ops rescue squad! The DgD-SaPPeR Clan! I'm saved!
But just as they were ready to breach the door . . . descending like the wrath of God . . . it was the BHD PS2 Clan. I couldn't stay, for I wouldn't
stand a chance. I made my way deeper into the building. As I looked back, I could see the battle that raged below. As with the Xbox Clan, the PS2 Clan
disrupted the Spec Ops with a haze of bad graphics . . . the poor souls just stumbled around . . . unable to pick out friend from foe.
I had to keep moving . . .
To: Central Command Spec Ops
From: Commander -DgD- SaPPeR
Subject: Rescue Missions
I regret to inform you that, as of this date, we have lost two rescue squads in Calabasas, CA. NAVSPECWARCOM is still operating alone without a
handler or team. We are dutifully awaiting further orders for the next mission, but please hurry . . . he will not last much longer. The last intel we
have is that the Xbox and PS2 Clans were hunting him down near the server room.
Still no signs of life. Desperate for food, I managed to gain sustenance by eating unanswered complaint mail, which was accumulating in the Nova Mail
Yesterday I found a grisly sight . . . it was the body of the Community Marketing Manager. Apparently, the stress of avoiding the throngs of unhappy
Nova customers was too much for his soul to bear.
As I moved down the hall, I came upon one office door which seemed out of place. Its hinges were rusted shut, and dust had accumulated on the door
knob. It was apparent that this room hadn't been occupied in years. I noticed a faint, grime encrusted sign on the door. I scraped the encrusted dirt
and years of accumulated filth from the sign. I could barely make it out . . . "New Game Concepts."
So this is where Nova used to think up new and groundbreaking games. I pried the door open. A stale rush of air hit me as soon as I broke the
encrusted seal on the door. Cobwebs and dust were piled on top of computers and desks. Yes, this place hasn't been used in years.
I decided to move on when movement caught my eye. Out of nowhere shots rang out! I tried to run and hide, but I just couldn't seem to find cover! How
could this be!? I dove into an open ventilation shaft, but still I was being pursued. I then dove out of the shaft and behind a cubicle wall. How
could they find me? I thought I was done for. Then I heard the staccato of machine gun fire, but this was different. The shots were not aimed towards
me. Someone else was engaging my pursuers! Then as soon as it started, it stopped, and all was silent. I stayed prone, trying not to move or give away
my position. I could hear footsteps coming closer. I was trapped! I managed to find the leg of a broken chair. If I was lucky, I could use it as a
weapon. As I jumped up, about to make my move, a face peered at me from around the cubicle wall . . . it was . . . I couldn't believe my eyes . . .
It was Gas Can!
An emotion of such relief caused my knees to weaken and I collapsed. Gas Can came over and offered me some water. I could see his condition wasn't
much better than mine. His leg had a makeshift splint and his shoulder looked like it was put through a meat grinder. Nevertheless, he was alive!
We both sat there recounting our ordeals. I asked him how he had escaped the Xbox Clan. He told me that, even though they had superior numbers, they
couldn't move as fast as he could. He also told me that since they were so slow and counted on their low graphics weapon so much, they had a hard time
recruiting new members. Eventually, Gas Can made his escape when they were distracted by the news that the Xbox 360 Clan wouldn't support them.
I then asked him what had just happened here? He told me I was being pursued by the Chams. Gas Can said we would have to find a way out of here, and
fast. The Chams and Hacks are starting to multiply, and the Sysops Clan has retreated. We were on our own.
A lot has happened since Gas Can came to my rescue. We haven't had a day of rest since our rendezvous. The Chams and Hacks have multiplied to
We encountered a new threat last week . . . The Resurrection Clan. It is a clan of previously banned cheats and hacks who have somehow regained access
to Nova's stronghold . . . there is no stopping them!
Gas Can and I have finally made it to the 1st floor and discovered a grisly sight. Nova employees were strewn all over the place, half devoured . . .
Sysops, Programmers, Moderators, and Public Relations. Amazingly, the Novalogic Executives made their escape at the cost of their blindly loyal
employees. What carnage!
Gas Can and I were in single-file formation, I was on point. We were staying close to the wall when, all of a sudden, a torrent of gunfire rained down
on us! We could see the lobby door, our only escape, but it was blocked by returned copies of Nova's unsold games. Only the proper application of C4
was going to clear a path, and C4 was a luxury Gas Can and I didn't have.
My memory flashed upon all we had been through. Here I was, at one of the once-leading companies in FPS games. Then seeing how the Nova Executives
squandered the company and abandoned their loyal fan base, and I was left alone. No support whatsoever. I was eager to use new weapons, deploy to new
and distant lands, engage more insurgents, and employ new technology, but that seems like such a distant dream now.
Snapped back to reality, I could see them all coming at me now: The Xbox Console Development Clan, EULA Clan, TOS Clan, Lag Clan, Chams, Hacks, Cheats
. . . all coming for us! We were done for!
Our backs were against the barricaded lobby door. Gas Can was down to his last box of M60 ammo. I was left with 10 rounds for the .45.
Suddenly, a flash! My eyes were blinded and my ears rang with a deafening BANG! I felt the heat of a thousand suns on my back, and Gas Can and I were
thrown to the floor. Glass and debris rained down on us. Everything went into slow motion. As I started to regain sight, I could see our pursuers
falling like rag dolls. They were in a heated fire fight, but it wasn't with us! Then, just as my hearing returned, another deafening sound. The sound
of rapid-firing cannons! I could see our pursuers being cut down like cordwood!
Out of nowhere, a pair of boots stood in front of my face, and then a hand was lowered to me. I looked up, and I could see the chiseled face of a US
Marine. His lips moved, but I couldn't hear him. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The smell of cordite hung in the air, and was as thick
as the smoke in the room. Florescent lights flickered and sparks fell. The Marine spoke again, "Give me your hand. We're here to rescue you."
The Marine helped me to my feet and he called for a medic to look at my wounds. Another solder was helping Gas Can, but this one was different. He
wore a uniform I had never seen before, and his weapon was something from the future.
I asked the Marine, "Who are you guys!?"
He replied, "We heard of your distress. We're the Battlefield 2 and Battlefield 2142 Clan. We're here to rescue you from this place."
I then turned around to the once blocked lobby door. They had managed to set RDX Demopacks and clear the opening, and outside in the parking lot stood
a 25-foot tall L5 Riesig Battlewalker, its chain gun still smoking. There were also a thousand or more troops; Middle Eastern Coalition, Chinese,
Marines, Europeans, Pan-Asian Coalition; and a fully-equipped Support staff. The cavalry came and saved the day.
As I was walking out, Gas Can stopped at the lobby door. "C'mon man, let's go," I said.
Gas Can replied, "I can't. I have to stay here. This is my post."
"But you're free. You can join us," I told him.
In a soft voice Gas Can said, "No. There's no place for me out there. I'm old and worn out. There are better soldiers out there, and they must carry
on the battle. Besides, I'm needed here. I need to go back in and rescue the rest of the units I left behind. Maybe one day I'll be able to force a
revolt and restore Novalogic to Superpower. But until then, I must carry on the battle you started."
Then Gas Can straightened himself, came to attention, and saluted. I returned his salute. Then I could see that all of the BF2 and BF2142 members did
Gas Can then picked up his weapon, and disappeared into the smoke, back into Nova's HQ. I could hear the Marine next to me softly whisper, "Carry on,
old soldier. Semper Fi."
I turned to the Marine and said, "Let's get the hell out of here."
"Hoo-ah!" he replied.
NAVSPECSWARCOM's Nova Journal is the best thing I've ever read on the NovaWorld Forums, good enough for me to want it collected and saved on my hard
drive, so that I can read it any time I want. In the original thread, many people suggested it should be collected and posted in one sweeping epic
place, and well, I had the work done, so I put it up.
I want it undeniably clear that I do not want nor will I take credit for the writing of NAVSPECSWARCOM's Nova Journal! I merely collected the entries
from the original thread and edited some spelling, format and composition quirks to, if not make them "correct", then to make them consistent.
Besides, I've got (had) the original thread linked all over this post, and if you have the time, check it out.
Valkyr thinks it deserves its own website. So does EFU-Develion.CO.
nswc's post, "publish these," crossed my mind this morning. It'd make one hell of a comic book, wouldn't it? Paulus. would agree.
NAVSPEC said he was going to compile the Journal and offer it as a download, but when last he PMed me, he was still thinking about doing it.
I'm with Mbn.Jonah Hex. and zT l Apocalypse- in wondering where the pin for this thread is. Ain't like it'd blow up or anything...
I don't know why some of the above direct-to-post links work and others don't. I'm pretty sure it's not my fault, though.
More Editor's Notes:
Early in September 2007, NovaWorld was down for maintenance and when it came back up, all the posts in all the forums were gone. If the original posts
linked here go back up, I'll update the links.
But I have an idea. A link to NAV's Geocities page. The NOVAJOURNAL is there as a .pdf.
Even More Editor's Notes:
080807: It's been a few weeks since I deleted all my posts at NovaWorld. Today I got in touch with NAVSPECWARCOM with a short
explaination of the situation and asked about posting this at other websites (BHD Tracker, DF Barracks, DF Reload), to which he said, "I feel your pain. Feel free to post anyplace you want." And so I shall . . .
So, for those that missed the clue, this story was originally posted as a series of posts in a thread in the NovaWorld forums. I used to have a lot of
the original posts in that thread linked in various places in this edited version, but those posts are long, long gone.