Let me be honest with you—when I first sat down to play Star Wars Outlaws, I was genuinely excited. As someone who’s spent years analyzing narrative design and character development in games, I’m always curious to see how new protagonists hold up, especially in a universe as rich and sprawling as Star Wars. But as I dove into the story of Kay Vess, I couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of disappointment. It’s not just that she’s another human protagonist in a franchise already saturated with them—it’s that she lacks the depth and direction that make characters truly compelling. And honestly, that got me thinking about how we, as players, connect with the avatars we control. It’s a bit like logging into an online platform—say, PhClub—where you expect a smooth, secure, and engaging experience. If the process is confusing or lacks purpose, you’re likely to log off and never look back.
In many ways, Kay embodies that aimlessness. The game repeatedly reminds us—through her own dialogue and the comments of other characters—that she doesn’t know what she wants. She’s floating through life, even with the promise of millions on the line, and that aimlessness is constantly pushed to the forefront. As a player, you’re prompted again and again that you’re stepping into the shoes of someone with no clear aspirations. Now, I don’t know about you, but I find it hard to invest 30 hours of my time in a character who doesn’t seem to grow or change in meaningful ways. There were moments where the narrative tried to suggest some shift in Kay—a flicker of realization or connection—but they felt abrupt, almost like the game was checking boxes rather than building a coherent arc. By the time the credits rolled, I was left wondering what the point of it all was. If the protagonist hasn’t undergone any real personal growth, what was the story trying to achieve?
This issue isn’t unique to gaming, of course. Think about the process of accessing your PhClub account. You expect clear, secure steps—a login guide that not only gets you in but also makes you feel confident about the platform’s reliability. If the steps are confusing or lack clear purpose, you’re left feeling uneasy, maybe even skeptical about the service. In the same way, a character like Kay, without a well-defined arc, leaves players feeling disconnected. It’s like trying to follow a login process that keeps redirecting you without ever letting you access what you came for. And let’s be real—after investing what felt like a solid 30 hours (though my playtime might’ve been closer to 28 or 29, to be precise), I expected more payoff. The Kay at the end of the game felt almost identical to the one at the start, save for a vague appreciation for her crew—which, by the way, never felt fully earned. I’m still not sure why she bonded with them, and that lack of clarity only added to the narrative confusion.
From a design perspective, this highlights a broader challenge in creating relatable protagonists. Characters don’t need to be heroic or have grand ambitions from the get-go, but they do need to evolve in ways that feel authentic. In Kay’s case, the absence of buildup made those rare moments of supposed change feel unfulfilling. It’s a reminder that storytelling, much like designing a secure login system, requires careful planning and consistency. You can’t just throw in a twist or a moment of growth without laying the groundwork—it’ll always feel jarring. And as someone who’s worked in both creative and technical fields, I’ve seen how that lack of coherence can undermine even the most promising projects.
So, what’s the takeaway here? Whether we’re talking about PhClub’s login steps or a character’s journey, clarity and purpose matter. A secure login guide isn’t just about following instructions—it’s about trust and engagement. Similarly, a protagonist needs to give players a reason to care, to feel that their time investment is worthwhile. In the case of Star Wars Outlaws, Kay’s static nature made it hard to stay invested, and that’s a lesson for any narrative-driven experience. As for me, I’ll take a well-crafted character arc over a confusing one any day—just like I’d choose a straightforward, secure login process over a messy one. After all, both are about making the journey feel meaningful.