inFamous 2 and Just How Bad a Writer I Really Am

           

 Infamous 2 is a fun game. That is all I have to say about that. A full review would take too much time, and I haven’t even finished it yet, so to publish a review would involve shoving my head so far up my own ass I’d look like a pillbug. No, instead of writing a silly review that absolutely nobody will neither read nor give half a shit about, I’m going to do something a little different that nobody will neither read nor give half a shit about. Y’see, one of the big narrative draws of inFamous 2 is its morality system, which allows the player to make Cole a shining paragon of truth and justice in the flooded remains of a once brilliant and thriving New Orleans-esque city, or to turn him into an electric bastard the likes of which the world hasn’t had since Adolf Hitler first realized his political aspirations. There is no middle ground for Cole, which is a purposeful decision given inFamous’ comic book influences, wherein the hero is a saint and the villain the devil, but this isn’t a problem for me. No, instead of being the 458,293^rd person on the internet critique the morality in this game, I will take this opportunity to present to you, precious reader and beloved Rule of Six community member, my ideal vision for Cole McGrath. I apologize preemptively for wasting your time, should you decide to read it. You have been warned. Enjoy!

            It’s another beautiful sunny day in New Marais today. I can hear the people starting to mull about the streets, going to work or finding something to eat. Somewhere in the distance I hear a street performer playing a saxophone, panhandling since he likely has no worthwhile talents to contribute to society. Looking to the horizon I see the sun’s reflection gliding across the surface of the water, running abruptly into the wall of a building half-submerged in the sea. I can’t see them, but I know that somewhere over there in Floodtown, there are some sad people clinging desperately to life while everybody here carries on as if nothing is wrong. Some backwater redneck militia seems to have set up shop over there, making Floodtown their own little territory and recklessly shooting at anybody who dares approach them.

            But none of that matters to me right now. No, right now, all that I care about is this fucking living statue standing in front of me. While everyone else in this city struggles to make a living or even just to survive, this asshole decided when he woke up this morning that he was gonna slather himself in glittery silver paint and silently beg everyone around him that actually deserves their money for a freebie. I hate him.

I’ve been staring him in the eye for a good four minutes now, and I can tell that I’m starting to scare him. His eyes keep darting back and forth and he’s beginning to tremble. “Hey asshole, why don’t you fucking do something with your life instead of standing there like a retarded, mute, gay...” I struggled to think of another insult to hurl at him. I’m getting so angry that my head’s starting to hurt. “Bitch!”

Shit yea, I got this cocksucker good. Ain’t no way he’s got a comeback for that one. As I stood, basking in the brilliance that is me, while never breaking direct eye contact, I noticed his lips begin to move.

“Come on, man, I’m jus-” I immediately ran up and slapped him.

“YOU ARE A GODDAMN STATUE! STATUES DO NOT TALK!” I paused momentarily, and he seemed confused. I realized that I just got mad at him for not being a statue, when clearly I’ve been mad at him this whole time for trying to be a statue. I punched him three times in the solar plexus to punish him for making me contradict myself. He fell to the ground and started wheezing, and at this point I became furious. Not only was he being worthless by pretending to be a statue, he wasn’t even being that good of a statue. When I hit a statue, it is supposed to silently buckle beneath the force of my might, not whimper and bleed like a hungry child!

I knelt down next to him and whispered into his hear, “I’m going to break you, statue.”

He started crying and making a scene, and people began to notice what was going down, though clearly none of them had the balls to stop me. Nobody can stop me! I am the Electric Man, dammit, and this city is mine, they just don’t know it yet.

“Well, statue,” I said coolly, “looks like you’re in for a real shocker. BUT NOT THE HAND POSITION! I mean I’m going to electrify you to death, not stick my index and middle finger up your-”

I was quickly losing hold of this one, and the crowd seemed to sense it. The statue had just finished peeing himself, but looking into his eyes I could see that he was laughing at me, so I vigorously kicked him in the shins. Even still, I just couldn’t seem to rein this one in.

“-in the stink? Why would I do that to you when clearly aren’t even the right gender for it? I should think it would be obvious what I meant by it. Then again, I guess with my powers that would still be a pretty gruesome finish. Where was I going with this?”

I completely forgot why I even brought this up, and looking up at the clock tower I noticed that I had been ranting at him about the shocker for about six minutes of violent kicking and now I’m starting to get really bored… and horny for some reason? Weird. I started charging up and was getting ready to topple this statue - man, why do I only think of the good puns in my head? The shit ones are always the ones I end up saying…

“It was ICE to meet you statue, but you’re in for a world of HERTZ!” Ugh, work on the puns later. “Time to –”

“There he is! Get him!”

Oh shit it’s the cops! Book it!

♪In my eyes I've got the power, villains run from the static shower. ♪

Phew, that was a close one. I almost ran out of electricity at one point, but thankfully that hospital generator was nearby to fill me up. I later found out that I broke the thing and indirectly killed a lot of people at that hospital. C’est la vie. I had met up with Zeke, the only friend I had left, but we weren’t on very good terms. It had something to do with how he tried to kill thousands of people so he could get powers and ended up killing my girlfriend. But really, if it weren’t for the lack of poon I don’t think I’d be upset with him. But now I have a good excuse to call him fat without feeling bad. There’s always a silver lining, isn’t there?

Nyx and Kuo were here too. They were trying to organize some kind of mission to do something something something for poor people, or something. I was having a hard time focusing on what they were saying, still mad about that whole statue thing, I guess.

“Cole, if we don’t break the cops out of the cells that the Militia have captured them in, we’ll have no chance of breaking into Bertrand’s hideout, it’s too well defended.” Kuo made a fair point. Bertrand’s place was really well secured. I remember one time I was just walking past it on the street and some dudes there just started fucking shooting at me, and I had done fuck-all to piss them off. I decided right then and there that I would kill them all, finding out they were the bad guys was just a happy coincidence.

“Nah, baby, we don’ have ta botha with all dem cops. There’s an easier way ta get in. All we needa do is load up one of those street cars always passin by the entrance with enough C4 to take out the whole block. Think about it baby, you know it don’t get any betta than that.” Nyx’s point was thus far better than Kuo’s.

Of course, Zeke decided to lower his jowls and do that thing where he makes noises with his throat. “I don’t know about that Cole. A lot of innocent people would get hurt if we did that, and I don’t think –”

“Shut up, fatty!” Zeke let out a little wimper. “No, all of your ideas are terrible. Nyx, you’re on the right track, but blowing up the street car won’t do enough damage to the whole compound. And Kuo, you know as well as I do that the cops are as useless to us as a treadmill is to Zeke. Here’s what’s gonna happen: we’re gonna go and rescue all those cops like you wanted, Kuo. BUT, we will instead plant some amount of pounds of C4 on each of them. Then, after they’ve helped break the perimeter and storm the compound, we detonate all of the C4 to get a critically focused explosion that will cripple them! Then, with nobody left to stop me, I will become the undisputed Emperor of New Marais, and each family will have to offer me their first born daughter and two whole boxes of Tang. Also, nobody is allowed to drive cars and ALL street performers are to be punished. Especially the statues! Those smarmy faced motherfuckers have had it too damned good for too damned long. I mean, really? Who the fuck do they think they are, standing around all day in shiny paint, as if that alone is enough to deserve free money?! I mean, I know I don’t work for any of my money, and actually just end up stealing what I want, but I work for it, dammit. Nobody would miss them either. You know their parents have already disowned them. They can’t possibly have friends, except for other fucking statues. Oh god? What if they have children?! We have to get rid of them too. What if they become statues like their parents who will certainly be slaughtered for their decisions? And then they’d probably want revenge too, what with me having savagely, and in all likelihood, publically ending their partents. I don’t know if I –”

Somewhere during this rant, Kuo left, disappointed and disgusted. Nyx seemed on board with the initial plan, but she couldn’t endure my rant, which, admittedly, did carry on for several hours too  long. The only one to stay with me was Zeke, but it wasn’t out of friendship. He knows that I would hunt him down if he EVER left me. I don’t remember how this happened, but the last thing I remember before falling asleep was harassing him for being fat, zapping him with little shocks and laughing as I watched his rolls of fat jiggle in the warm tropical air. Life can be good sometimes too, y’know?