NoMoreSanity said:
Really? I never heard anything like that about the game, quite the opposite in fact. Half the fun is achieving murder in the most gloriously over the top way imaginable.[/quote
Yeah, like nailing an old lady's limbs to a wall in the shape of a body...
I should stop talking now.
Not at all. Share your evilness. I am widely considered on the internet to be the most avid Fallout 3 fan/psychopath.
Across the ~900 (not a typo) hours I've lovingly given to the game, I've not been evil. Or even satanic. I have actually been the purest, most deformed, terrifying, fabled angel of doom, death, torture and downright destruction that the Wasteland has
ever seen.
I bringeth the fire and the sword to the innocent, and I take merriment from the pain of others by my own hand. The sweet burn of torture in others, the pain of a crying relative. I kill for numerous reasons ; money, power or simple desire, but generally, I kill for the simple tear on the face of a golden haired child. I kill for the look in others' eyes when the life leaves their bodies, and with their final cursing breath, they feel nothing but suffering and betrayal.
I once held Megaton in my own ring of terror. Every night I would creep out with my Chinese Stealth Suit and Trench Knife and I'd slip into someone's house. I'd creep upstairs, moving so gently that no floorboards would creak... I'd stop breathing as I neared their bed. I'd steal in, like a phantom of the night, and I'd slice their fucking knee. Slipping into the shadows they'd scream out, and bleed their life into simple nothingness. Often they'd cry, and beg for mercy, for they could not run towards me, their doomsayer. I'd hover the pain over them with my small knife, occasionally slashing another tendon open, ripping muscles apart and relishing in the glorious wails of a dieing being.
Every day afterward I would swagger about the town, simply reveling in the fear. The terror, the suspicion. I had brought my wrath to their puny lives, and it was good.
Once I found a talented, kindly old woman named "Agatha". Her death was nothing spectacular or even that glorious. I sliced her belly open and bled her like a pig. No, the true point of this tale lies in the afterthought. There was this kind, gentle soul, surrounded by nothing but doom and destruction, willing to bring some happy times from the olden world into these poor people's lives. She had nothing but her talent and her meager shack, but she played for all the world to hear. A shining beacon of hope for those who sought to see the country restored to its former happiness. And I'd snuffed out that beacon. Completely. For ever. I'd removed the symbol that she was entirely, and I'd done it for no purpose beyond the simple but fascinating pleasure behind the knowledge that I was responsible for her death, and that nobody would ever know of her again. Not her name, her music, her simple regard for life and all that she entailed. Damn that felt good.
Yes, OP. We are most definitely playing the same game.
