Some people just want to watch the world burn, and Toby McCasker is one of them. And he wants to do it in a skirt.
By Toby McCasker on September 26, 2012 at 1:48 pm
For the past coupla weeks, Fallout: New Vegas has been on my mind. Don’t ask me why. I haven’t played it since I finished it ages ago. I haven’t even explored any of its DLC, which all came it out in dribs and drabs once I’d done my badass Legion thing and left the future of New Vegas in the homoerotic hands of Caesar and his army of skirt-men. I tend to only play games once and make a big personal epic out of it. When it’s done, it’s done, so I have no idea how siding with the NCR or Mr. House pans out. I shot that crusty butthole about a hundred times. Try to tell me how to live, will you.
I guess that’s why I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Fighting under Ceasar’s banner is undoubtedly a brutal way to go, but at the time I thought, “The NCR are backwards dumbasses and if they take control, this whole vicious cycle of stagnant ruin is going to start over and we’ll be right back here playing this game over again.” Then I tried to consider what Mr. House was all about but the guy just kept getting in my face and I’d had enough of his crap after about two seconds. I can’t even keep a cactus alive, so lording over The Strip myself would’ve been kind of irresponsible.
Out of all of them, only Caesar seemed to understand that you have to burn this place down before you can rebuild it again. Too extreme! Love it. He’s also a brilliant mind. Always bet on brains. Modelling himself and his forces on Rome’s assimilatory approach to unification would normally rob a place of its culture – but what culture are we talking about out here? A few worthless townships and scattered, dwindling tribes? Okay, so the anti-mutant bigotry is not cool. I like those guys.
It’s here where I realised what was bothering me: New Vegas is full of goody little two-shoes. There isn’t one human companion that isn’t, at base, some kind of paragon on the inside. As if. Every single one of them will eventually – and in Boone’s case, instantly – turn on you the moment you start doing the Legion thing.
Seriously? This is the wasteland. The end of days. There is no hope. There’s nothing. That kind of environment gives rise to survivalism, which breeds ruthlessness the longer it goes on. You mean to tell me none of these men and women want to do some wrong-ass things because who cares? You mean to tell me none of them just want to watch what remains of the world burn? Come in, Jericho.
Why am I talking about this thing when Borderlands 2 has just come out and everyone’s all about that? Because I tell you what, I want to behave badly, and mayhap I get the feeling it’s time we’re furnished with a new Fallout – previously the only franchise, apart from Mass Effect, where I’ve ever felt truly able to step over the line and into moral territory that’s darker than black. Thing is, everything’s more fun with buds. Evil flowering buds of kill everyone. Clover, please return my calls.