Bethesda attempted a classic Indy move this week: acquire artifact, dodge boulder, retreat with dignity. Unfortunately, the boulder was a quote-tweeted facial recognition séance and the escape vehicle was a corporate delete button on rollerskates.

The now-scrubbed clip allegedly features a character who, according to the internet’s top archaeologists of Outrage Canyon, resembles Charlie Kirk. He’s never named, but apparently if a jawline echoes in the algorithmic forest, a thousand think pieces hear it.

The studio reacted like a museum curator discovering the idol is actually a toaster with a podcast. A hand reached into the timeline, swapped the video with a bag of approved sand, and tried not to make eye contact with the snake labeled Discourse.

As a technology reporter, I timed the whole chase scene. From first resemblance rumor to full deletion, we clocked a tidy 12 minutes, 37 seconds, which in PR-years is fast enough to qualify as time travel and still miss the ethics exhibit.

By then, someone at HQ had booted up the brand safety AI dashboard and watched the little whip icon lash the delete key until it confessed. The tool reportedly flashed a warning: “Strong likelihood of Unscheduled Politics in Proximity to Fedora.”

Patterns emerged like hieroglyphs. The Ministry of Faces That Look Like Other Faces convened an emergency panel featuring one influencer, two torches, and a solemn vow to never again show a generic man while a drum beats ominously.

Predictably, the clip’s disappearance spawned theories that break fewer NDAs than they do hearts. Was it a stealth cameo, a parody, or simply a man with skin and lighting? Bethesda chose the most ancient treasure of all: the idol of Avoiding a Friday Afternoon Ticket.

Fans began speedrunning Forensic Pareidolia, scrubbing frames until pixels cried uncle. One streamer unfurled a size chart of jaws while wearing a USB-C fedora with ring light, which at least kept his conclusions evenly illuminated and firmware up to date.

Then arrived the communal scroll of half-apologies. We value all adventures, said a statement that sounded like it was translated from Aramaic by a lawyer. We love our fans, our critics, and anyone with a boulder-proof torso.

For the spec heads: the clip topped out at 68 frames of “Is that—?” and 41 frames of “Probably not.” The remaining runtime was legally distinct temple ambiance, plus a snake doing brand integration with a hiss that rhymed with monetization.

Meanwhile, the culture war again tried to speedrun the tutorial, tripping every trap labeled Nuance on the way to the gift shop. Everyone went home with the same souvenir: a T-shirt that says My Favorite Part Was The Deletion.

In the end, the greatest mystery isn’t whether a character looked like a pundit; it’s why the map to modern content always leads to the Temple of Moderation Due. Bethesda escaped with the idol, the torches went out, and we all learned the same lesson Indy did: it’s not the snakes you should fear—it’s the privacy setting that only says “coming soon.”