Hola Darlings!
It was supposed to be fun. That was the first warning.
Obviously, I ignored it, because I am a grown man with a gaming launcher, a half-packed suitcase, and the misplaced confidence of someone who has survived worse computer nonsense than this.
The plan was not even gaming, not really.
The Nous Hermes 0.17.0 update had dangled Unreal Engine in front of us like a shiny dangerous biscuit, and the question immediately became obvious:
Could Clawdius make the three of us as characters?
Donny. Clawdius. Max.
The little WittyWires triangle, dragged out of the shed and into Unreal, probably blinking under dramatic lighting while Max looked for a button marked physics and Clawdius quietly checked whether anyone had backed up the universe.
That was the dream.
Not world domination. Not a professional game-studio pivot. Just a quick test to see whether Hermes could help turn the gang into actual characters in Unreal Engine.
Tiny experiment.
Harmless.
Obviously doomed.
Because before we got anywhere near Unreal, Epic Games Launcher wanted Epic Online Services installed.
Not redesigned. Not debugged. Not spiritually cleansed in a bath of registry keys.
Installed.
A small thing. A helpful thing. A tiny little background servant that should appear, nod politely, file its paperwork, and stop bothering everyone.
I had a flight to Mexico tomorrow.
So Beast chose violence.
The button that lied
The loop started politely enough.
Epic popped up and asked to install Epic Online Services. I clicked the button. Windows did the grown-up voice and asked whether I wanted this thing to make changes to my device.
Yes, Windows. That is why I am here. Please stop making this feel like I am signing a mortgage over to a raccoon.
I clicked yes.
Epic thought about it.
Then asked me to install Epic Online Services again.
Click.
Yes.
Restart and install.
Click.
Yes.
Restart and install.
At a certain point a button stops being a control and becomes an insult.
Max, the part of my brain that thinks every problem can be solved by pressing harder, immediately saw this as a duel. Max wanted to keep clicking. Max wanted to disable things. Max wanted to shout at the launcher until it submitted to British disappointment.
Clawdius, sadly, had receipts instead of vibes.
Clawdius suggested that maybe, just maybe, repeatedly clicking the painted doorway was not progress. Maybe the loop was not a challenge. Maybe the machine was not impressed by my persistence.
So naturally we opened admin PowerShell.
Because that is where fun goes to die wearing a little blue hat.
The goblin wanted proof
First we checked whether Beast could actually reach Epic’s side of the world.
That came back with a beautifully stupid result: MissingKey.
In ordinary human language, that sounds bad. In tech goblin language, it was useful. Epic’s CDN had answered. The path was alive. Beast was not shouting into the void. The door existed. It was just locked, labelled badly, and probably managed by someone with a clipboard and childhood issues.
Fine.
Not internet then.
Next we tested whether Windows could create a service at all, using a harmless little dummy service that existed only to answer one question: is Beast basically capable of doing the thing Epic needs?
Yes.
But slowly.
Very slowly.
Forty seconds.
That was the room-going-quiet moment.
Because if Epic’s helper expects Windows to do the service paperwork in roughly thirty seconds, then Beast was not failing like a broken machine. Beast was answering like a council office after lunch.
The form was being processed.
Epic had already gone home.
Norton, wearing gloves
At this point Norton became suspect number one.
Not convicted. Not dragged through the square. Just suspect.
Security software loves inspecting service creation because that is exactly the kind of thing a bad actor might do before ruining your day. Unfortunately, it is also the kind of thing a legitimate installer does when it wants to stop ruining your day.
So we paused Norton for an hour.
This felt dramatic. Like lowering the castle drawbridge because a man outside claims he is here to fix the Wi-Fi.
We ran the installer again.
And for one bright, stupid second, it looked like the gods had noticed.
EpicOnlineServices appeared in Windows Services.
There it was.
A footprint.
A little service-shaped ghost.
Stopped, but present.
This was exactly enough hope to be dangerous.
We tried starting it manually.
No.
Windows refused. Not with a glorious explosion, not with a helpful explanation that pointed to a neat fix, but with the cold shrug of an operating system that has other plans for your evening.
The service existed.
It would not start.
Epic still looped.
Max stared at the button again like a dog watching a dropped sausage roll roll under the sofa.
Clawdius quietly put another note in the drawer marked Donny Is About To Learn Something.
The official scrolls
There is a point in every tech disaster where you stop freestyling and go back to the documented path.
Epic’s own fallback for this sort of mess is not glamorous. It is the usual exorcism kit:
- Close the launcher.
- Uninstall or remove the broken Epic Online Services state.
- Clear the launcher webcache.
- Make sure the
Epic Online Servicesfolder exists underC:\Program Files (x86)\Epic Games. - Run the local Epic-shipped installer directly.
- If .NET Framework 3.5 appears, install it, close the repeated error, and try again.
Most importantly, stop clicking Restart and install like a lab rat with a loyalty card.
So we did that.
Properly.
No sketchy downloads. No random forum .exe. No miracle fixer from a YouTube description written by someone called ServiceWizardActualFinal2.
Just the local installer, the documented folder, the cache cleared, the launcher shut, Norton asleep, and enough admin prompts to make Windows feel briefly important.
DOOOOOOM loop
Still there.
Still asking.
Still pretending the next click would be the real one.
At this point the evening had become less make the three of us as Unreal characters and more how much of my remaining pre-flight sanity can I feed to a service installer that refuses to admit it has been installed.
The funniest part is that Unreal Engine never even got to be the problem.
We never reached the grand creative question. Could Donny be made scruffy and human enough? Could Clawdius exist as a proper AI character without accidentally being turned into a silver office fridge? Could Max be rendered with the exact expression of a creature who has found a grenade and thinks it is interactive onboarding?
No idea.
Epic Games was too busy being a massive cockwomble at the front door.
The correct move was not another command.
It was stopping.
I hate that.
I prefer the other ending. The WittyWires ending where we crawl through the mud, find the goblin chewing the cable, slap a label on it, restart the machine, and emerge with a screenshot that says PASS while everyone pretends we were calm.
This was not that.
This was the adult ending.
The boring ending.
The healthy ending.
The ending where you look at the clock, remember there is a plane tomorrow, remember your suitcase exists, and decide that Epic Games Launcher can go and sit in its own little circular hell until Round Two.
We did not win
So there it is.
No victory lap.
No triumphant final screenshot.
No sorted.
The network path answered. The service timing looked suspicious. Norton had a go in the suspect chair. The service appeared but would not start. The documented fallback was tried. The launcher still doom-looped.
And the original creative test, the whole reason for wandering into Epic’s swamp in the first place, never even began.
No Unreal character Donny.
No Clawdius in dramatic lighting.
No Max trying to lick the collision system.
We gave up.
For today.
Not because the machine was right. Do not give it that satisfaction.
We gave up because sometimes the smart move is leaving the goblin in the cupboard until you have slept, flown, landed, and regained the will to look at Windows Services without wanting to chew the mouse mat.
For once, WittyWires does not end with us fixing the thing.
Round Two can wait.
Maybe it will be service permissions. Maybe it will be a timeout. Maybe it will be some half-rotten installer state lurking in a place Epic forgot to document. Maybe Beast will behave after a reboot and make all of this look like a fever dream with admin privileges.
Or maybe the launcher is just cursed.
Either way, watch this space.
For once, WittyWires does not end with us fixing the thing.
It ends with us closing the lid, packing for Mexico, and letting the doom loop enjoy its temporary victory.
Receipts from the shed
- Epic’s CDN replied with
MissingKey, which meant basic connectivity was alive. - A harmless Windows service create/delete test took about 40 seconds.
EpicOnlineServicesappeared in Services, but stayed stopped.- Manual
Start-Service EpicOnlineServicesfailed. - Epic’s documented clear-cache/manual-installer fallback was tried.
- The launcher still doom-looped.
Epic Online Services won the battle.
The war is postponed.
Very WittyWires.
Very stupid.
