This week in Zero Punctuation, Yahtzee reviews A Plague Tale: Requiem.
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I’ve got kids now. Yeah, that makes you feel old, yeah, you are put into a constant state of stupefaction by the existence of entropy, can we please stop banging on about it. Didn’t you once say you’d rather go at your joy department with cheese wire and a sewing machine than have kids, Yahtz? Well, people change. Having a kid changes you. It did something to my brain. I’ve started seeing babies as cute rather than overgrown tardigrades with money vacuums on one end and McDonalds chocolate milkshake dispensers on the other. I can’t even enjoy dead baby jokes anymore ‘cos inevitably I picture my own baby and the imagined grief ultimately outweighs getting to sleep in again. I tell you all of this to add a necessary context to the following statement: The little boy in The Plague Tale games is a shitbag and I hope he dies. Every time the camera lingers on his glimmering uncomprehending eyes like the light reflected off two buckets of stale cum I want to grab his jug ears and twist until his neck cracks like the many party poppers I will subsequently employ. That should immediately bring across the root of my main issue with A Plague Tale: Requiem (no dry heave anymore, it’s a franchise now): that the protagonist’s sole driving motivation is to appease a little cockgoblin that any sane person would yeet out the back of the donkey cart at the first bend of a rocky mountain path.