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Hi! How was your day? Oh me? Well I spent the morning scheduling a hand crank delivery to Updaam. Had lunch. I returned in the afternoon, deactivated a few turrets, then hid myself behind a trash can for a while. All this just to turn off an oxygen pump and suffocate a bubble bracelet that I could easily have pulled out in seconds. Tomorrow I might climb to the top of a three story building just to collapse, machete first, into the face of a guard who killed me once a few loops back. Hello. My name is Colt and I am the smallest protagonist in the existing video game.
In his Deathloop review, Brendy described Colt as “playing him up the ass.” I liked this line, but I still didn’t understand its true gravity. I am now enlightened. I saw Colt’s real ass and grasped the magnitude of it: Colt’s ass is the antithesis of Dishonored’s heart. Blame. Boot. Blame. None of you are free from sin.
Absent from the spectral whispers of a murdered Empress for advice, or the crushing burden of a city swaying between ruin and hope, Colt allows his gluteal instincts to scribble his route across Murderparty Island. As my Emily Kaldwin scrutinizes the souls of militias trapped by poverty and circumstance and opts for Sleep Darts, my Colt stifles a laugh as he sticks four proximity mines to a firework display and throws it at one. happy drunk.
Deathloop encourages this not only by removing Dishonored’s restless narrative finger, but actively cutting it off with a machete. Then he sews on a new finger, perpetually pointing out an array of happy idiots who just can’t get enough of the very rooftops. We end up with a Colt who I can happily accept, who doesn’t think of spending a day planning an elaborate murder with the same occasional annoyance and cheerful resentment as a driver splashing water out of a puddle of water. water on the launcher that cut them off earlier at the Bureau station.
Colt is the rare video game shooter who isn’t Doom Guy and just loves his job as much as the gamer. He and Julliana are both Arkane protagonists cut from the fabric the studio usually reserves for its much more interesting fringe eccentrics, while the lead roles go to the Stoics and Mutes. I have a few gripes with Deathloop, but I’m going to take Colt and Julliana’s worst liners on Corvo lamenting the much more interesting world of Dishonored as he’s perched on a rooftop like a dark, guilty, throated gargoyle. gravel. It turns out that murderous joy is incredibly contagious.
Light, time-looped stories usually feature a sort of “seven stages of mourning” arc. Confusion. Despair. Acceptance. Then playful nihilism, like Bill Murray eating cake faces for breakfast. This is always the best part. Deathloop knows it. Personal growth and selflessness are for suckers who don’t recognize a good thing when they see it. Revenge is best served in perpetuity, in the smallest of ways imaginable. Bill Murray never had to floss again, and Colt never had to wash face fragments from his best foot boots.
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