Dragon Age: Origins - Thoughts

[contains minor spoilers]

I've had a Western RPG gap in my gaming knowledge for far too long. There's a lot of elements about the genre that I love—the D&D roots, the challenging design, the expansive role-playing options—but for some reason I've never been compelled to jump in. Part of it is that I've been primarily a console gamer for my youth, but what's kept me away for the past decade is that the big-name games look daunting. Baldur's Gate II is massive, Morrowind has stolen hundreds of hours from players, and some series like Ultima and Wizardry extend so far back into gaming's history that I didn't know where to begin. On top of this, there are horror stories abound on gaming boards about "wrong builds," "cheap encounters," and most ominously of all, the sempiternal shadow of "game breaking bugs."

But over time, I've come to dabble in CRPGs as more of their systems become mainstream. Bethesda introduced me to Fallout and Skyrim, Larian Studios blew me away with the Divinity: Original Sin games, and I backed a good portion of the CRPG renaissance titles on kickstarter. While I'm still ignorant on a lot of the fabled "classic" RPGs of yore, I think I've gotten my foot in the door with Dragon Age: Origins. Speaking plainly, Origins is a very good game. It's not a revolutionary entry like Skyrim or Mass Effect 2 are, but it doesn't need to be—Dragon Age: Origins is a confident game, one whose strengths easily outshine its weaknesses.

My playthrough of the Mass Effect trilogy came under the lens of an appreciative appraisal, given that I had played the games in their entirety before. However, I'm going into Dragon Age franchise blind, only able to analyze the first game in the series—Dragon Age: Origins—as its own complete experience, uninfluenced by the direction of its younger siblings. And for the most part, it is a complete experience; besides some vague foreshadowing in the Witch Hunt DLC, you'll get a proper beginning, middle, and end to Origins that leaves you feeling satisfied and accomplished. That makes Origins an easy title to recommend to anyone, since you won't have to worry over how future titles will handle your favorite companions, nor will the dread of a divisive ending loom over your playthrough like a ten-story tombstone.

But my recommendation comes with a pretty sizeable asterisk: the combat is no joke. I played on the Xbox 360, which despite being labeled as the "easier" experience compared to the PC version of Origins, was nowhere near easy. "This is a dumb thing to claim," you might critique, "since you played on Hard. What did you expect?" Well, given that I had played through the Mass Effect series on the same difficulty (and Doom Eternal and The Last of Us on their hardest), I was taken aback to find that Dragon Age: Origins put up the biggest fight out of any game I've played this year. Scaling back to "normal" would've alleviated some of my pain, but the source of my agony was the design, not the numbers it was dishing out.

I struggled most at the start of the game for numerous reasons: relatively few crowd control abilities, melee classes lacking decent gear, a dearth of potions provided to the player, the game's healer squirreled away in a tower, and some minor nuisances like fireball being a BS insta-cast spell that applies damage over time AND knockdown. But the biggest culprit would have to be the fact that you can't manually pick and choose where all your party members go, making enemy mages with AoE spells the bane of your playthrough. You'd open a door, see a mage casting fireball, and sigh as you can only direct one unit to safety, the others gawking at the spell like a deer in headlights.

Since you can only control a single character at a time (though you can have each queue up an ability), Origins prioritizing sticking together, which leads to some incomprehensibly annoying behavior. For instance, if you tell your rogue to split off from the group and attack an enemy mage, he'll poke the caster once with a knife and then jog back to your side. Even if you spend some time tweaking the AI "Tactics" menu, you can't cover for every instance—or even every spell! Mass Effect worked fine when you could only control Shepard because you alone were a force to be reckoned with; Origins on the other hand, is in dire need of the spatial strategy granted by controlling individual positions. Without it, be prepared for your party to walk into traps and spells like a lost puppy looking for love.

Eventually, I learned to roll with Dragon Age: Origins' merciless blows. As you come across better gear, more reagents, and the occasional pouch of gold, your faults will gradually get patched over until nary a chink remains in your armor. Once you learn where to acquire for elfroot and lyrium dust for potions you can brute force most fights, and for those you can't you'll have to rely on the holy tetralogy: sleep, fireball, cone of cold, and paralysis. There's some other good ones—I used haste and shock almost every fight—but victory in Origins hinges on who can get off their crowd control spells first, so opening with an immobilization spell will often end a fight before it begins. This can make non-boss battles feel redundant in the endgame, especially once you have two characters that can alternate fireball, but to Origins's credit, I rarely found myself bored with its combat. It's no Divinity: Original Sin, but as far as gameplay in RPGs go, it's absolutely in the upper echelon.

While the combat helped cushion the length of my +80 hour playtime, it was the story that drove me forward, pushing me to explore every corner of the world. The plot may not be as sweeping and grandiose as Mass Effect, but Dragon Age: Origins excels where the spacefaring trilogy occasionally struggled: choices. And not that it provides jaw-dropping ramifications for your actions (though the epilogue may hold a surprise or two), but that the dialogue options present folks that like to play "virtuously" with icky moral quagmires. Do you force your friend into an arranged marriage for the good of the nation? Should treason be punishable by death? For how long are brutalized minorities allowed their bloody revenge?

Although the central plot of Dragon Age: Origins is about as rote as fantasy can get (oh no, super evil faux-orcs want to conquer the world!), it's the intermediary story lines that'll stick with you. Likewise, while your allies will regale you with their own storied histories, it's the party banter they have behind your back that will make you glad you brought them along. In fact it's kind of stunning that BioWare largely dropped the inter-party bickering for the Mass Effect series, since it's a great way to make your comrades more personable beyond asking them twenty questions. I also thought their love/hate reactions to your NPC interactions lend an excellent weight to your decisions, though the bars are hilariously videogamey in that you can shower someone with gifts to make them overlook your extrajudicial killings. Still, it's a cool feature to have that applies a little bit of pressure to every choice you make.

There aren't many reasons I can think of for why one might want to steer clear of Dragon Age: Origins beyond its towering difficulty. At times the game can be fairly crass—expect a lot of women to be threatened with you-know-what—but the richness of the world and its central players do plenty to blunt the edge of the stereotypical "grim fantasy" tropes. Dragon Age: Origins offers a large, realized universe that's not only bursting with content (the tiny Awakening expansion could be its own game!) but also glowing with heart and charm beneath its visually drab exterior. I have yet to dive into the real "classics" of the CRPG era, but if Dragon Age: Origins is any indication, I'm in for a hell of a ride.

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Images obtained from: Biased Video Game Blog, giantbomb.com

Super Mario Bros. - Thoughts

Playing a lot of Super Mario Bros. 35 has given me a newfound appreciation for the original Super Mario Bros. Or rather, a light-appreciation, as I've always been fond of the plumber's momentum-focused platformer. While there's plenty of other games in Mario's rich history that I'd rank over it, the original possesses a crude strength that no other game (besides Land) has: blunt simplicity. There's no in-game story, no overworld, no minigames, no saving, no hidden collectibles; Super Mario Bros. is about running and jumping. And this paucity of systems works because running and jumping as Mario feels very good.

... But this isn't an irrefutable conclusion, unless one spends plenty of time playing and adapting to Super Mario Bros's physics. Compared to Mega Man or Contra, Mario is as stiff and unwieldy as a mustachio'd van, taking too long to accelerate and dangerously too long to stop. To complicate this, certain jumps in the game are downright malicious, requiring a full sprint to cross safely or sporting a single block to land on—and in one instance in 8-2, both at once. The potbelly plumber might not feel natural to control, but mastery lurks within your fingertips—so long as you learn where and when to pump the brakes.

I've never thought of the original Super Mario Bros. as a difficult game (especially compared to the rest of the NES library), but it can definitely be challenging at times. Later stages not only demand precision from your leaps but will also starve the player of resources, reinforcing the importance—and advantage—of a strong start. Sniffing out fire flowers and preserving your 1-ups will help get you to the end faster than having sharp reflexes will... though those don't hurt either. And even when you lose to the likes of World 7 & 8 (the game's real run-enders), you're only ~30 minutes away from reaching your last checkpoint. Throw in some super obvious-to-find warp-pipes and the game can be conquered in 10 minutes by even the most lax speedrunner.

There's a lot to love about Super Mario Bros.'s demure design, though I didn't truly appreciate it as a kid. I always thought Super Mario Bros. was disappointingly "samey", reusing stages, themes, and gimmicks more than I would've liked. And... I wasn't really wrong about that: several levels are repeated with the only identifiable difference being the enemy quantity. But the other stages have a distinct flavor that I hadn't really noticed until now, shaking up the generic "1-1" feel one might have when they think of the game.

For instance, foes in underground sections have darker colors, several stages see Mario running across treetop canopies, 2-3 and 7-3 are dominated by catapulting cheep cheeps, 3-1's black background gives the impression of starless night, 4-3 uses mushrooms instead of trees, and my favorite level 6-3 is drained of color, awash in a lifeless grayscale as if time has stopped. The only stages that radically shake up the gameplay are the underwater sections, though the gravitational pull of the pits combined with the nettlesome bloopers will make you wish every stage was a sprint-fest. Plus there's no power-up blocks deep beneath the waves, making the swimming levels particularly grueling.

Speaking of, I came to appreciate was the elegant nature of the power-up system. Health bars can be a finicky mechanic to design around; they can make enemies feel unthreatening while pits & spikes feel too cruel. But the mushroom acts as a devious bit of insurance: at the cost of expanding your hitbox, it'll protect you from a single attack. The fire flower provides an added reward for playing well, giving you the firepower to deal with some of the worst enemies in the game (like the RNG-nightmare hammer bros), but you'll still get reduced to tiny (regular?) sized Mario should you take a hit. Always being two hits from death makes accidentally speeding off the edge of a cliff a mild aggravation, unlike when you fall to your doom in Sonic with 100 rings in tow.

Prototypical of many of the NES games to come, Super Mario Bros.'s challenge is offset by the speed at which you can blaze through it. In a way it feels like the perfect blend between a platformer and racer, giving you opportunities to find secret coins, stars, and 1-ups should you need assistance, and letting you run full-throttle to the end if you don't. I won't deny that it looks visually plain and lacks dynamic gameplay mechanics, but there's little details sprinkled around that really make the game shine when you ruminate on it in retrospect. In the wide venue of NES platformers, Super Mario Bros. is a meal of unsalted steak and potatoes. It's able to satiate your hunger without stuffing you so full you can barely walk. And sometimes that can really hit the spot.

Super Mario Bros. 35 - Thoughts

 
Super Mario Bros. 35 is a fantastic game that stumbles over its own short legs. Its premise is my dream battle royale: make 35 players compete in randomly selected Super Mario Bros. levels, where defeated foes from bowser's army are sent to other players' games to hassle them. This keeps the single player experience intact while offering a competitive twist that makes the game feel tense but never mean-spirited. However—like with any multiplayer game—an optimal way to play bubbles to the surface, and boy howdy is it boring.

Super Mario Bros. 35 suffers from a fatal flaw, one I assume could be easily fixed: too many damn World 1 levels. Before each session, each player picks a course from Super Mario Bros. they want added to the play pool—and most seem to either pick 1-1 or 1-2. That, or they're added to the pool as filler levels, because their prevalence is maddening. I have over 200 clears of 1-1 and nearly half that for 1-2, meanwhile everything beyond world 5 has been played once or twice at most. While the early stages provide a nice reprieve to collect fire flowers and hidden 1-ups, this comes at the cost of your adrenaline and excitement, as it's a fairly safe, uneventful and thoughtless run (unless a squad of lakitus is being sent your way.)

The abundance of early levels vastly extends Super Mario Bros. 35's optimal play time, turning what should be a rapid-fire adventure through oldschool courses into a sloggy, amateurish affair, every World 1 stage a boring pitstop you're rarely in need of. This issue isn't so terrible as to turn me off from the game, but I'm only reminded of how invigorating the game can be when a random gauntlet of tricky stages comes at me back to back (like 3-4 -> 2-2 -> 5-3). Not only does this wake me up from the rote stupor 1-1 lulls me into, but it provides a decent challenge that's likely to knock out a few players, even when it's down to the final five left.

And getting to the final five is another source of my frustration, since this is where you'll be spending most of your time. When you first reach this threshold it's a thrilling, nerve-wracking experience that'll have you crossing your fingers over even the smallest jumps, but the excitement fades when you learn what a long road you have ahead of you. After the initial 15 or so players are culled thanks to the first two stages, Super Mario Bros. 35 becomes about keeping your timer high and collecting a lot of coins. You extend your timer in a number of different ways, most noticeably by repeated kills via stomping heads and kicking shells. The coins on the other hand feed into the game's roulette power-up system, which can provide you with an instantaneous—albeit random—goodie at the cost of twenty coins.

On paper, both of these are excellent ideas. They give you a reason to explore the level as well and not skip over enemies, instead of turning success into a speedrunning competition. But conversely, it means that speed is downright useless—as long as you're receiving a steady trickle of foes from other players, you can keep your clock fed by slowly inching forward, hopping from one noggin to the next. This, combined with the ever-present 1-1 (as well as 1-2's warp pipes to skip problematic stages,) turns the game into a resource management of sorts. As boring as the World 1 stages are, you're better off spending as much time as possible in them collecting goodies to prepare for the endgame. After about seven minutes (which is quite long in game about reflexes) the timer in the corner will rapidly tick down, making whoever stays in the game the longest the winner—and this is usually the person with the most coins.

The issue of the slow, grindy gameplay preceding the frantic endgame isn't something that has an easy fix. The best I can come up with is that there should be some kind of speed incentive, like the flag at the end adding 60 seconds to your timer instead of a measly 15. Or maybe introducing a certain amount of stages to beat in order to claim the crown. As it stands I'm too easily bored by the monotony of the early game but find myself entering the endgame at a disadvantage. That's not to say that I'm unable to eke out a win by simply playing well, but when I lose to time it feels like there was very little I could've done, especially when my reserve of coins is wasted rolling POW blocks over and over again. For what it's worth, the endgame with the red clock is at least exhilarating every time you reach it, which is a lot more than I can say about starting on 1-1 for the umpteenth time.

Super Mario Bros. 35 is an clever competitive-platformer, but it'd be massively improved if latter levels were shuffled into the mix more often, or was quicker to reach the endgame. And hey, for all I know, this is an issue that'll fix itself as newer players drop out and the hardened vets that love running 8-1 are the only ones that remain. But like with No Man's Sky, I can only form my opinion and what the game currently is, not what it'll become some time down the road (speaking of, what reason is there to pull the game on April 1st Nintendo?) I have no plans to stop playing Super Mario Bros. 35 any time soon, but I've spent enough time with it to see that—while it's loads of fun—it's not quite the ideal Mario battle royale I had hoped for.

Heavy Barrel - Thoughts

Data East's Heavy Barrel is an aged, unflattering polaroid of the NES era. Though it's stylistically closer to Ikari Warriors than Jackal, I think drawing a comparison with the latter game will better punctuate my thoughts on this janky adventure. I wouldn't deign to call a terrible game, but it's plagued with an ugly aesthetic, baffling design choices, and periodic moments of sheer boredom. Whereas Jackal is laser-focused on its strengths as a fun experience, Heavy Barrel is muddled, its strengths diluted down into a lukewarm puddle of "eh."

I praised Jackal highly for its variety of stages that took you through colorful yet down-to-earth territories swarming with entrenched foes. Heavy Barrel on the other hand cares little for realism, preferring bright, clashing colors and large mechanical bosses. The abstract nature of the game isn't a knock against it—Rygar is fun largely due to its nonsensical enemies—but I doubt anyone would label Heavy Barrel as a "looker". Stages are bland and forgettable, merging into one another due to a lack of a cohesive theme for each level. Sure, one stage might have mine cart tracks or a blue elevator ride, but... so do other levels later in the game. You'll basically be ping-ponged between outdoor areas and techbases until you inexplicably find yourself squaring off against the final boss.

The shooting in Heavy Barrel is serviceable on paper: it provides a nice blend of enemies to put down and powerups to collect. You have a rapid fire machine gun to use against a majority of the opposition, with anything more durable (tanks, turrets) requiring explosives... provided that you can land your shots. The grenades add a hint of skill to the gameplay but they're far from a good weapon; their long arc and delayed impact can only be described as "bothersome", especially considering how little damage they do.

But for the most part, Heavy Barrel provides the player with plenty of mindless fun—so long as there are things to shoot on screen. Once you get to the aforementioned blue elevator ride, the action grinds to a halt for minutes at a time, the enemies spawned being easily countered and dodged. I'm usually undisturbed over how ubiquitous elevator sequences are in games, but only insofar as they continue to provide gameplay. Heavy Barrel's snail-like descents are just a glorified shooting gallery that might amuse you the first time through, but become very obvious ammunition (and time) sinks on replays.

One bad section that repeats itself several times isn't enough to outright ruin the game, but it's a major annoyance that stands out among Heavy Barrel's other numerous flaws; other issues blotting the game only become apparent the more time you spend playing it. Chief among these is that enemy attacks give the player little time to react, rockets fired from tanks guaranteed to decimate you should you find yourself in their crosshairs. Whereas Jackal can be beaten with vigilant thumbs, Heavy Barrel opts for shameless memorization, especially when flame grenadiers start getting thrown into the mix. That can still be fun in its own little way—it's pretty invigorating to finally make it past a difficult section unscathed—but most of the time it's vexing due to the sudden, unavoidable deaths. Plus once you're trained to start blasting spawn points, the game becomes sapped of most of its replayability.

Compounding the muck of memorization is Heavy Barrel's power-up system, which serves to highlight just how good Jackal is by keeping things simple. There are two primary weapons, three separate grenade abilities, and an elite superweapon that requires five pick-ups to activate (and you know you'll have acquired it when your character shouts so loud your speakers blow out.) It's a solid amount of diversity for a top down run 'n gun game, but in almost all situations you'll want the flame shot and flame grenades, as both of these have wide attack zones that are able to pierce enemies.

It's not a huge problem to have unbalanced weapons in your video game, but what makes it worse is when it's impossible to parse which ability you're acquiring. Spending a key to open up a power-up cache yields a single square sprite that is used for every power-up in the game, meaning that if you're hunting for more parts to your superweapon, you could unintentionally swap out your stack of 99 flame grenades for the dinky whirlwind attack. And since the weapon caches are not randomized, the winning strategy is to memorize which boxes hold the flame shot and then straight-up ignore the rest of the boxes until you die. Yes, even hilariously large superweapon is not worth the risk of turning your grenades into those silly stationary whirlwinds.

I'm probably overly-harsh on Heavy Barrel due to Jackal still being fresh on my mind. To be fair to Data East, I think the key mechanic for opening weapon caches is really clever: you're allowed to hold up to four keys in reserve, creating tension between saving keys for opening boxes after you die or blowing your key reserve in anticipation of finding more superweapon parts. I also feel that manually destroying the trapezoidal gates at the end of each level—while repetitive—provides a small, satisfying pat on the back. But Heavy Barrel is not an experience I'd recommend to anyone other than the biggest NES nerds whom have already been conditioned to view the warning of "memorization required" as a selling point. Heavy Barrel may be plenty playable, but its problem at the end of the day is that you have to twist yourself into knots to call what's playable "fun."

Jackal - Thoughts

Konami's Jackal is an unaged, heartwarming polaroid of the NES era. It is exemplary of the good games of its time, although inventive it is not—you probably won't find the game listed on too many "hidden gems" lists. But what Jackal offers is Konami's trademark forte: action. And not just action, but fairly tight, difficult, reaction-based action that has you skirting around bullets like an insta-death slalom. Don't let its age fool you—this old war jeep's got plenty of kick once you start it up.

Jackal is short, punchy, and straight to the point. The plot is paper thin: bad guys got our guys, so free them by blowing up everything. When you destroy a detention center, you can rescue POWs and drop them off at a helipad for points (used for 1-ups) and a weapon upgrade. In terms of unique mechanics, the liberation system is really the only thing Jackal has going for it. There aren't other weapons to acquire, vehicles to use, or even on-foot sections to change up the gameplay. To vanquish the enemy forces you're left with only your machine gun and a stack of explosive ordnance.

Yet it's all Jackal needs to be an exciting, action-packed experience. The simplicity also belies a number of interesting gameplay quirks. Firstly, explosive ordnance is lobbed in whatever direction you're facing, while your machine gun is stuck firing solely northward. Since explosives are both 1) unlimited and 2) upgraded when you rescue friendlies, they'll be your primary mode for dispatching foes, relegating the machine gun to situational backup. You can also squash enemy soldiers under the wheels of your four ton vehicle, but it's almost always easier (and safer) to just toss the stuff that goes BOOM.

It may seem boring that Jackal is dominated by a single weapon, but variety isn't the name of the game here—it's precision. Enemy shots are tiny but frequent, denying land you're trying to maneuver through or blocking a vulnerable angle of attack. You can mindlessly throw your grenades about in a hail of desperation, but learning to make quick, accurate shots is going to save you in the long run. Each upgrade also adds another layer to your attack, at first turning the grenades into speedy rockets, then granting a horizontal blast to the explosion, and finally a vertical blast. These come at the cost of being able to arc grenades over enemy walls (a brilliant tradeoff), but the upgrades grant you a new angle of attack, introducing trigonometric planning to your warfare (eg "Aha! If I shoot to the northwest, the blast will expand below the point of impact and destroy the turret!")

Jackal's emphasis on precise shots, bullet dodging, and a fixed order of upgrades all merge together into a challenge that's heavy on execution and light on memorization. Memorization can definitely help (like knowing where specific POW camps are located), but it isn't the silver bullet one might think it is. If you're quick to respond to enemy shots you'll likely get to the final level on your first try—and if not that, the end of the game. But if you happen to Game Over your first time (like me), Jackal takes a paltry thirty minutes to finish, meaning it's no hassle getting back to where you last died.

What helps to keep the experience invigorating for re-runs are Jackal's colorful stages. Konami has always been great at giving their levels a distinct flavor, and—despite the unimaginative setting—it's no different here. You'll tread through jungles, harbors, swamps, and mountain ranges, facing a variety of foes that are unique to each stage, like the medusa statues in level 2 and the train in level 4. Likewise the bosses you'll face in Jackal are satisfying, even though half of them are obviously glorified turrets. The ludicrous final boss deserves a special mention for being a phenomenal closer to a truly phenomenal game.

Jackal isn't perfect, but I'm not sure any of its foibles warrant a lengthy discussion. Its greatest offense is a flaw that run 'n gun fans are all too familiar with: certain sections are exceptionally brutal without weapon upgrades. But roughly 90% of Jackal is both fair and fun, testing the player's reflexes across a treasure trove of solid levels. I only played it for the very first time a few days ago, and yet I can't help but feel charmed by its simplistic, humble design. Pop this one into your NES if you haven't and thank me later.

The Curse of Issyos - Thoughts

How Locomalito's Curse of Issyos is both 1) not on Steam and 2) free to download baffles me. It's a Castlevania tribute set in Greek mythology, swapping bats and mermen out for harpies and... well, mermen. The experience lasts a little under an hour on a successful playthrough, and puts up a decent challenge without going overboard on the difficulty (I think it's roughly as hard as Super Castlevania IV). Curse of Issyos isn't as universally approachable as Shovel Knight is, but for fans of NES platformers, the minotaur-slaying adventure is an absolute must-play.

One of the important things to understand about Curse of Issyos is that it doesn't try to do anything ambitious—it's just a really polished game. There are health upgrades to pick up and two different weapons to try out... and that's about all you get for customization. The writing, sprite work, and music aren't super memorable, but they're of a professional quality and serve the game well. The real draw of Curse is its stellar level design, introducing new enemies and hazards with every stage. The levels aren't complex but they're littered with smart (ie dangerous) obstacles, like bouncing rocks in Stage IV and the cycling spirits in the underworld. Personally I find that for old-school platformers, refinement trumps novelty—and Curse of Issyos demonstrates why.

Foes share traits with Castlevania's bestiary but it never feels like Locomalito is copying from Konami's template. The bosses are especially impressive, avoiding the repetitive & easy patterns of Bloodstained: Curse of the Moon in favor of simple & randomized attacks. It's likely you'll have to die to a couple to get a proper feel for their attack patterns, but Curse of Issyos rarely throws the player any unfair curveballs; as long as you persevere, victory will be yours in the end.

Althouuuugh that statement comes with a dirty little asterisk. My only real gripe with Curse of Issyos is that reaching its true ending requires a lot of flawless playing, thanks to a notably cruel design decision: you don't get healed after boss fights. I don't think it's a monumental task to beat the game without using continues, but one poor boss encounter can quickly throw a wrench into that plan, especially if you happen to lose your spear. Throw in a couple convoluted tasks required to reach said ending, and I recommend that most people just play the game without worrying about a replay.

I think it speaks to the high quality of Curse of Issyos that despite finding the true ending path annoying, I didn't really mind playing through the game four times to achieve it. Locomalito knows his chops: the controls are solid, the enemies are dangerous, and there's enough randomization that that you can't get through it based on memory alone. Curse of Issyos is an exemplary model of why I love old-school platformers, and it's made me very eager to try out Maldita Castilla EX.

Metroid Super Zero Mission - Thoughts

Metroid Super Zero Mission is a hack of staggering ambition. Crafting a unique rom hack out of Super Metroid's mold is difficult enough, but to throw Metroid: Zero Mission's blueprint in there as well—a game which itself is a reinterpretation of the original Metroid—is a mind-boggling task. The original Zero Mission acts as a sort-of interquel between the two Metroid titles, so I wasn't sure what Super Zero Mission was going to bring to the table. Plus most Super Metroid rom hacks are already "remixes" of the base game (aptly deemed "halfhacks"), and those are typically so lazily cobbled together that I prefer a hack that's wildly new and fresh (like Super Metroid Phazon). But SBniconico's take on the formula blew me away; Super Zero Mission is not only a stunning game in its own right, but its old school design is so meticulous that it becomes downright terrifying at times.

I would be hard-pressed to say that Metroid Super Zero Mission feels like a proper Nintendo title. It's as refined as Another Metroid 2 Remake, but AM2R frequently exhibits a soft, careful touch, so as not to drive off newcomers. Super Zero Mission, by comparison, is very much a game made by a Super Metroid expert for Super Metroid experts. It could theoretically be beaten by someone that has casually finished Super Metroid, but it would be an arduous and frequently punishing endeavor, requiring tight maneuvers like the midair horizontal shinespark. God only knows what is demanded of the player in the hard mode of the hack!

While Super Zero Mission is unarguably tricky, it never becomes insurmountable or cruel—not once did I need to revert to save states or backtrack to find e-tanks and missiles. But Super Zero Mission relentlessly tests your dexterity, observation skills, and memory of the older games. Even the bosses have undergone meaningful changes, their room layout altered and health buffed. There are two noticeable difficulty spikes in the game (Pirate Ship & Chozodia), but as long as you keep your wits about you and press on, you won't be stymied beyond a couple of painful deaths. I'd personally label the game "beatable" in the same way that I would tell anyone that Dark Souls or Contra is "beatable"; those unable to rise to Super Zero Mission's expectations will find it unfair, confusing, and ultimately frustrating.

Though the game is nowhere near impossible to finish, 100%ing it is a different matter. A couple power-ups are tucked away in such mystifying, nonsensical spots that finding out how to access them is akin to reverse-engineering a programming puzzle. For instance, speed booster blocks will taunt the player in a location far from flat land, and there's a constant use of foreground tiles that hide tiny morphball-sized paths. The presence of these ultra-hard power-ups don't ruin the game—I was definitely comfortable with my arsenal by the end—but it will be extremely vexing to completionists. Don't be surprised if Super Zero Mission reveals just how little of Super Metroid you truly understand.

Besides the maddening items that will linger just out of reach, the design of Metroid Super Zero Mission is also... pretty maddening. But it's a good kind of maddening, something that turns level designers green with envy. One of the biggest examples of this is that SBniconico has made hack super speedrun-friendly. This manifests itself in minor ways while you're playing; occasionally you'll stumble across a crumble-block cul-de-sac that tips you off to the presence of a shortcut. The concept is ripped directly from Zero Mission's speedrun-friendly layout, and like that game you're not likely to utilize any sequence breaks until you read about how you're supposed to access them.

What makes this feat more impressive than Zero Mission's is that the hack is massive, littered with plentiful opportunities for the player to get themselves into an area they're not prepared for. Yet SBniconico's design is so precise that it's not likely to happen, even when you think you've stumbled upon a secret path. In fact, Super Zero Mission depends on you sniffing out obscure tunnels in order to progress normally, especially towards the end when the game explodes into a maze of optional paths. This keeps you feeling like an intrepid explorer while hiding the fact that you're barely scratching the surface of the game's mysteries.

You would think that dull rooms and getting lost would be an inevitable byproduct of a hack of this size, but Super Zero Mission is almost always on point. Every room serves some kind of purpose and acquiring a power-up has you organically funneled towards your next destination. Even vets of Super Metroid will find themselves surprised by some of the twists and turns here; Tourian in particular is an awe-inspiring section that kept me on edge. If I had to describe Super Zero Mission in one word, it'd probably be "brilliant"—but it's a niche brilliancy, one that works due to the Metroid framework, cleverly juggling the known with the unknown.

Metroid Super Zero Mission's excellence is undeniable. Every area has been properly changed and feels perfectly tuned, incorporating an adroit blend of the base game with Zero Mission's philosophy—while still managing to exhibit SBniconico's unique, personal flavor. It's a great game!... but it's not for everyone. For Metroid experts, Super Zero Mission is a satisfying (and occasionally challenging) meal. For regular fans however, I fear it'll be an arduous climb that'll either make you hungry for more or turn you off of romhacking forever. I wouldn't stop anyone from trying the game out—it is great after all—I just wouldn't be surprised if their takeaway is that it's "too much."

XCOM 2 - Thoughts

My first playthrough of XCOM 2 did... not go well. Having completed the previous game on Normal Ironman mode (where character deaths are permanent), I thought I was more than properly equipped for the sequel when it came out in 2016. But when several members of my A-Team bit the big one during a risky mission, I knew I was on a death spiral to annihilation. Rather than push on with my last living sniper and her squad of wide-eyed rookies, I hung up my hat and didn't return until four years later. Which is a huge shame because only now do I understand that XCOM 2 is a fantastic, well-balanced experience.

My failure in 2016 didn't make me dislike XCOM 2, but my perception of the game had always been warped due to being bullied into a corner. Since I've been making a conscious effort to wrap-up any half-played games in 2020, I was determined to liberate humanity from its xeno-dystopia with a brand new playthrough—Ironman mode still intact. I wasn't sure how to avoid making the same mistakes this time around, but that wouldn't matter because my second shot at saving Earth was a resounding success. My A-Team was so implacable that had the final mission thrown twice as many enemies at me, it would've been no sweat to come out on top. Finally, it was the aliens cowering in a corner, not I!

Despite the disparity between my two playthroughs, I wouldn't deign to label the game as "swingy" or "poorly balanced". The honest truth is that I simply played wiser in the second playthrough, less content to leave the survival of my squad hinging on a single RNG shot. Two tough missions kept me the game from feeling like a walk in the park (both of which had rooftop-perched units falling several stories down), and even in retrospect I wouldn't call XCOM 2 an "easy" experience. What you'll be ever-aware of while playing is that even when a mission is going well, you're usually one mind-control, critical hit, or accidental pod reveal from the operation devolving into a bloody, casualty-infested brawl.

One of the things that makes XCOM 2 the superior experience compared to its predecessor XCOM is that enemies aren't so gung-ho on slaughtering your units. Sure, they want your forces splattered across the battlefield as much as you want that for theirs, but ADVENT is more keen on using buffs and disables to win this time around. There will still be plenty of fire fights (especially when your units get flanked) but expect priorities to change in battle as your units are marked, bound, and suppressed. This plays up the strategic aspect of the game and makes it feel considerably less like a series of die-rolling face-offs. Sometimes a fight will inevitably boil down to making that (seemingly unlucky) 70% shot, but I appreciated how much more flexibility XCOM 2 offered, thanks to enemies like the Shieldbearer, Archon, and Codex manipulating unit placement on the battlefield.

Even though it boasts a meaty playtime, what helps to keep XCOM 2 a smooth, fast-paced experience is its repeated use of timers. From extraction missions to ADVENT retaliations, XCOM 2 cares more about you being bold than being safe. As much as I adored the vanilla version of the previous game, its gradual overwatch crawl is its most glaring flaw, transforming otherwise tense missions into endurance marathons. Thankfully, you can't get away with that tactic here. If anything, a couple of the timers are probably a bit over-tuned, since on more than one occasion my squad escaped without a single turn to spare. But having to make tough decisions with the clock always on your mind trumps playing it safe and losing units only when complacency sets in.

Probably the only thing I like more about the previous XCOM is its premise, and even that comes with a subjective caveat. I'm generally more into "command an elite army to stop an invading alien force" than "establish resistance networks to slow down your oppressor's operation", but I still appreciate how ambitious Firaxis was about shaking things up. After all, XCOM is a beat-for-beat reimagining of UFO Defense, and no matter how much I gel with that theme I have to admit that XCOM 2 is the bolder of the two modern titles, carving a truly unique space out for itself. While it may stand on the shoulders of a giant, that itself is standing on the shoulders of an older giant, it doesn't negate the fact that XCOM 2 is arguably the pinnacle of the series. It's the most board-gamey and tactically balanced of the franchise, almost always offering you (and your foes) a fair fighting chance.

While I'm not upset that my initial failure kept me away from XCOM 2 for so long, I am very glad I returned to finish the fight. My first squad had been precious to me, but the struggles of Smokey, Paladin, Hat Trick, and Earth's MVP Sarah "Lockdown" Becker was one for the ages. We were a finely tuned alien-disposal unit that blew up robots and headshot officers from across the damn world with 110% accuracy. And while Classic Ironman sounds like a headache to play for vanilla XCOM, I'm more than willing to jump into Commander Ironman for XCOM 2, excited to face a stronger adversary. Where a Terror from the Deep clone would've sufficed, Firaxis went above and beyond for XCOM 2, crafting what is probably my favorite strategy game released in the last twenty years.

Terraria - Thoughts

[contains minor spoilers]

With Re-Logic having finished their last major update for Terraria, my brother and I figured it was time to jump back in. We had previously gotten about halfway through it several years ago, but this time we were in it for the long haul, determined to start fresh with mediumcore characters and really sink our teeth into this cute, 2D Minecraftian adventure. It took a while—a lengthy 44 hours to be exact—but our journey was fun and thrilling, containing some really wild ups and downs. The critical thing I did not expect (and really should've in retrospect) was that the Terraria wiki would be an essential contributor in our victory over the game.

I suppose you could finish Terraria with nothing more than experimental mindset and some elbow grease, but hardmode will undoubtedly test that theory. For those that don't know, after descending into a literal hell to slay a fleshy monstrosity, new monsters, items, and features are added to the world to bring this once-explored land back to life—lovingly called "hardmode". I'm fairly certain I stopped here the last time I played because I definitely would've remembered the ass-whooping Terraria handed me had I tried to continue. Resilient enemies prowled the landscape, safe houses were frequently invaded, and the number of corpse runs I undertook had more than quadrupled.

Terraria does a decent job at directing you where to go by suggesting what your next achievement should be, but its mostly a breadcrumb of bosses to kill rather than gear to acquire. And once in hardmode you'll find your gear woefully underleveled, especially if you try to tackle one of the nasty mechanical bosses that can assault your base at night. Looking up how to spawn better ore, what enemies drop what components, and how to acquire wings and/or mounts are the first steps toward surviving—and the game does an abysmal job at telling you this. Hell, I'm not even sure if it tells you how to properly build a house that villagers can live in, let alone what triggers NPCs to finally sell pylons (which are the best way to travel across the overworld for like 90% of the game).

I sympathize a bit with Re-Logic on this issue; nearly every crafting-oriented game becomes so bloated with information and options that it's irresponsible to add a text box simply suggesting, "Player should make X armor and Y weapon". But this diminishes your sense of discovery since you're forced to stumble across most of the secrets on a wiki, instead of experiencing them yourself within the game's world. If you stubbornly refuse to do outside research, you'll find yourself staring slack-jawed at your inventory, oblivious that "soul of light" can be crafted into a boss-summoning totem at an anvil made from mythril, the second ore generated from every triplicate of altars destroyed. For the record, the first NPC that arrives does share a crafting list when you show him an item, but good luck learning where how to locate the other reagents (ah yes, to get an avenger emblem I have to farm an earlier boss I previously had zero reason to fight! Of course!)

There are definitely worse aspects in Terraria than having to do some wiki sifting, like its occasionally abysmal drop rate and the unwieldy UI that gets exponentially more cumbersome with mediumcore deaths. But at no point are any these bad enough to dissuade you from further playing. One of the coolest things that Terraria possesses that other games like Minecraft don't is an urge to evolve. You'll start the game deceptively humble, happy to craft an iron sword to replace your old copper one. But by the end your final state will be practically unrecognizable from how you started, a whirlwind of rockets and magic and spears and yo-yos flinging from your fingertips. Terraria explodes outwards in options as you progress through it, showering you in items that are as cool as they are delightfully stupid. The lack of self-seriousness gives the game a lot of charm, reminiscent of media melting pots that middle-schoolers often brew together. So what if you have orcs, martians, pirates, pixies, and disembodied lovecraftian eyes existing alongside one another? They're all cool! Bring on the pirate jacket and eyeball helmet!

I never really minded hardmode's dramatic ramp in difficulty, mainly because the sense of getting stronger is so well done in Terraria. Every play session starts and ends with you ruminating on your next objective. Slowly you'll work from point A to B to C, crafting a new armor set, grabbing extra health crystals, and discovering new equipment that makes you audibly "ooooh!" Blood moon events that once left you shaking in your boots become minor nuisances, and when the final boss falls you'll feel practically immortal, able to fend off literal armies while bathing in lava. If anything, the game will probably get a little too crazy by the end, transforming into a nonsensical shmup that's tremendously hard to parse. But you don't come to Terraria for its finely-tuned combat—you play it to learn its secrets and then slowly conquer it, biome by biome, boss by boss.

Similar to Destiny 2, another obfuscated game I adore, your experience will be significantly smoother playing with someone that knows what they're doing. When you're first stepping out into the unknown forests of Terraria's wilds, it can be a truly captivating journey—until you run into a wall and have no idea how to proceed. But check out the wiki and stick with it, because Terraria is about the ascension from a simple lumberjack to a gaudy deity capable of summoning unicorns, dragons, and UFOs to their aid, armed with Excalibur in one hand and a gun that shoots bees in the other. It's ludicrous, but reaching that level of absurdity is absurdly fun.

(Also there's a ton of mods and they look pretty cool.)

Destiny 2 - Thoughts

I barely spent any time with Destiny 2 when it was first released. I mean, I played enough to finish the main campaign, but what does that mean for a massively-multiplayer video game? I had no idea what reputation was used for, attached no mods, finished no exotic quests, and was nowhere near being raid-ready. I bounced off of it as quickly as I had for the first Destiny, finding the story pointlessly convoluted and the gameplay good... but not addicting. The only conclusion I could surmise is that the series just wasn't for me—and that was fine. There were plenty of other MMO/GaaS games in the sea.

... But when Destiny 2: New Light was released on Steam (for free), I jumped back in and got hooked. I put in a whopping 100 hours, purchasing both Forsaken and Shadowkeep. I finally got around to exploring all the missing bits of content I missed: Crucible, Gambit, Nightfall, Menagerie, dungeons (but not raids yet—it's been tough trying to organize them with friends). My vault is packed with exotics, my weapons and armor pieces kitted with mods, and I experienced the pain of grinding for Pinnacle Engrams firsthand. Yet despite knowing more about the game than I ever thought I would, the true nature of Destiny 2 continued to allude me.

What the hell was this game that I had sunk so much time into?

I mean, I get it—but I don't. And it's not a hard sentiment to understand if you've spent any time with Destiny 2. When you jump into New Light you're allowed to go wherever you want and play any mission you like, which makes the game more confusing than freeing. Like what should you do? What do you even want to do? The quality of your gear determines your level, so it's probably best to search for higher level equipment... but you can find it almost anywhere. Plus why are you trying to get better gear in the first place? Campaigns, adventures, and strikes are level-independent activities, and most PvP modes ignore level advantage altogether. The most obvious thing you'd need it for is the newest raid, but that requires five other players to group up without a matchmaking function, meaning it's probably not a priority for the amateur player. True, the raid is an objective, but so is killing Onyxia in World of Warcraft—and that game at least guides you towards that destination, whereas Destiny shows you a pamphlet on swimming and then flings you into the deep end.

This cavalier aimlessness is the central reason why Destiny had so much trouble getting its claws in me—and the lack of a strong narrative only made it worse. There are clever plot threads and diverse races interwoven throughout Destiny 2's tapestry, but Bungie purposely keeps its fabric vague and insubstantial. You're told you're a Guardian that owes its life to the Traveler thanks to the Light bequeathed to you, but none of those terms are well defined. There's some robots trying to rewrite reality and the remnants of an inter-dimensional king's army faffing about, but you never get a firm grasp on their motivation beyond "let's rule the universe." Ironically the plot in Destiny 2 is relayed in a much more considerate way than the first game (I honestly still have no idea what that one was about), but it's a far cry from the epic space fantasy the series wants to be. Characters will bark orders at you with resolve and urgency, but you won't really comprehend anything beyond "dark is bad."

So Destiny 2 is a hard game to get into. But it's also, without a doubt, the most aesthetically pleasing FPS I've ever played. From the satisfying "thunk" of a grenade launcher to the gorgeous skyboxes full of interstellar anomalies, Destiny 2 is covered in fine, sensuous details. Even the UI—as clunky as it may be—looks and feels unique, the sounds of swapping mods and popping engrams embedding themselves into the pleasure zone of your brain. The armor design is considerably varied so that you can look like anything from a pirate king to a long-forgotten astronaut, and I really like the shader system too, allowing your grossly mismatched gear to blend together effortlessly. 

Speaking of, the colors—the colors! Destiny 2's visuals are cohesive despite every planet wielding its own vibrant palette, like the oppressive orange sandstorms of Mars, the crushing green tidal waves of Titan, and the resplendent gold of the mighty Leviathan. The architecture is just as memorable, utilizing a lot of simple geometric shapes for Vex shrines and rigid, mucus-y metal for the Hive dens. The Earth and Cabal stuff are good too, but they're extremely mundane compared to zones like The Dreaming City and its ghostly capital. The aesthetics of Destiny 2 are so captivating that my main motivator for playing was to witness more of its world. That's not to say the gameplay is bad either—shooting stays captivating for hours on end—it's just that there's not really any FPS that captures the scope and grandeur of an alien world quite like Destiny.

Even if you enjoy being a tourist in Destiny 2's gorgeous universe, eventually you're going to want a goal to strive towards. The game is loaded with repeatable bounties and adventures, but the most structure is derived from trying to complete its various Exotic (ie rare weapon) quests. But here is where you'll run into one of the most novel-yet-frustrating aspects about Destiny: it's esotericism. Questlines are plentiful, disorganized, and stupidly vague, often just pointing you in a random direction with a single riddle to guide your way. Some of the bigger, more impressive quests (like the Whisper of the Worm) you'll have to research how to access, and quests with unique level designs are unfortunately few and far between. Plus due to the fact that you'll be playing several seasons of content simultaneously, you're bound to get a stack of quests that'll be impossible to parse the value of—do you even want the gun that's at the end of this quest line? Do you know what to do to get its catalyst (ie final upgrade)? Do you know what the objective on the catalyst is?

Like a lot of MMOs, you'll spend a chunk of time outside of the game researching things: build guides, how power level specifically affects you, and the frequent "how the hell do I get this quest/item/heroic event?" Eventually the annoyance will fade and you'll come to accept that this is simply what Destiny 2 is. Don't get me wrong—it can still feel vexing—but having to dig in order to uncover the game's cooler aspects can be... kind of neat? At least for me it was; the unorthodox design extends all the way into its level structure, going as far as to incorporate confounding oddities like a secret NES-style password system in one of the raids. The PvP Crucible is probably the best mode since it's the most straightforward one (plus it's actually endlessly replayable), but uncovering the game's weird secrets is personally the most rewarding activity available. Even Destiny's strange reliance on platforming and shortcuts in some of their quests (like Outbreak Perfected) has tickled my curiosity more than most games have in years.

No matter what you're playing the game for, the core loop of Destiny 2 distills down into three things: gathering Exotic (and sometimes Legendary) weapons, gradually raising your power level, and hoping to find better stats on your favorite gear drops. The game is still wildly aimless—how you accomplish each of these is largely up to you—but you'll come to define all your actions in one of these three ways. And it's... weird, personally, to play a game where the ultimate objective is to keep you on a treadmill running forward, hoping you're hungry enough to savor every crumb of progression that's doled out. I realize most games utilize this kind of incremental-power engine, but here it's so naked and disappointing that I can't look past it. I mean, am I really going to play this for 100 more hours in the hopes of finding something as meaningless as boots with high Discipline and Recovery? Because it feels like that's my only choice.

Destiny 2 operates on a seasonal model where new content and story developments are rotated in every ten weeks, which should give you new reasons to play. But even if you pay for the ridiculous seasonal pass ($10 for access to a temporary event and bounties?!), it doesn't provide you with better endgame material—it just makes the treadmill run a tiny bit easier. The juicy PvE content I thirst for (Master Ordeals, new dungeons) come out at a grossly infrequent rate and lack matchmaking, turning them into a greater challenge than I bargained for. And since the game doesn't accommodate for solo or duo teams, I end up having to wait until I can blast through them at vastly higher light levels (like the Pit of Heresy). What's crazy to me too is that Destiny 2 includes a item modifier the player can use to adjust the difficulty level and special conditions of PvE events, but it only works for Nightfalls! Why Bungie? Why must you do this to me?

Whenever I think about Destiny 2, a thousand thoughts zoom through my mind and collide like a turbulent asteroid belt: It's cool! Annnd it's weird! And some of the design choices are really baffling! But it's so beautiful! Wait, do I really have to keep playing the same content over and over? At least the enemies are diverse. A shame that the bosses are just bigger regular enemies though. How the hell do I get this "Recluse" everyone talks about? Woah, the Darkness is coming in these dope pyramids! Or the pyramids... are the Darkness? Hold up, what is the Darkness? Et cetera, et cetera.

This colliding jumble of impressions and questions keeps me from reaching a consensus on Destiny 2... but they also urge me to return every now and then. I'm not sure that's a good thing—I inevitably find myself left speechless at how confusing and uncommunicative its content is—but the best thing I can say about Destiny is that it is wholly unique. Despite coming from a big, well-loved studio, there's not really another game you can compare it to. Nowhere will you find a more peculiar blend of majestic artistry, convoluted storytelling, excellent gunplay, divisive platforming, and repetitive content than in Destiny 2. Again, I'm not sure this is a good thing, but Bungie will always have my attention when it comes to this franchise—for better or worse.

Super Metroid Phazon - Thoughts

It is nearly impossible to re-capture what made the original Super Metroid so special. So much of the game is immersed in nostalgia, and what isn't is difficult to quantify and explain. There's a je ne sais quoi to its world and atmosphere—familiarity and alienation are masterfully blended together, forming a curious stew that you can never quite identify the ingredients of. And for the most part, a lot of Super Metroid rom hacks approach this untouchable recipe with strict reverence: weapon progression is similar, zones feel roughly the same, and your journey will always end with the player blasting Mother Brain to bits. But Super Metroid Phazon eschews with the formal, seeking to hone in on something that Metroid fans love but don't frequently emulate:

Weirdness.

Now, of course there's a lot of ugly, oddball hacks out there, but what those fail to understand is that Metroid has always had a sort of... dignified weirdness. The fauna is unnatural (if not a bit quirky) and the zones are colorful, but nothing is mismatched, nonsensical, or garish; a bright pink mossy almost makes sense coexisting next to a ruddy stone shaft. Metroid unnerves but never repels, and Super Metroid Phazon respectfully understands this concept. Not only does it shake up the typical Super Metroid item and boss progression, but it tugs at player expectations with its eerie alien ambition.

First, you'll awake as Dark Samus inside of a malfunctioning capsule, mere steps away from a free energy tank and an empty red door on the ceiling. Rather than run across the surface of an alien planet in search of the morph ball, you'll dive through underwater passageways, climb frozen cliffsides, and dart past a boss for your first missile pack. Soon you'll uncover a big room that displays a picture of all the areas in the game, your next destination indicated by a small flashing dot. You won't find maps to download, a ship to recharge at, or item hints on the minimap. And as you collect beam powerups, you'll find your arm cannon gets slower—rather than stronger—when the beams are stacked. While Super Metroid Phazon may look familiar, it doesn't feel familiar in the slightest.

What really helps differentiate it from a lot of other Metroid hacks is the visual presentation. Super Metroid Phazon brings with it a massive graphical overhaul, changing nearly every enemy, every zone, and even the UI itself. Caverns, phazon groves, and underwater trenches look realistic and beautiful at times, while the massive complexes of Tetrafuse are unsettling and inexplicable. The entire world of SR217 is infested with snakelike piping, protected by strange machinery that rarely resembles anything humanoid. The bosses themselves have really excellent sprites (Kraid in particular), their attack patterns the only indicator of what they once were. In fact, if there's one thing from Phazon I'm likely to remember, it's how bizarrely rectangular most of its enemies were.

Besides the new coat of paint, the most memorable aspect of Super Metroid Phazon is how massive the world is. My run-time clocked in at a total of 7:24 with only 77% of the items obtained, and (at least I thought) I was pretty thorough. A good chunk of time was spent hunting down the Prime-esque collectibles required to reach the final area (an interesting addition), as well as traversing the land since the screens themselves are also gargantuan. The Tetrafuse towers are mechanical mountains to explore, and the lower depths of the Sewers is one of the coolest journeys: it goes on forever and is mostly empty. "Vacancy" may not sound like much of a compliment, but plunging down to its dark, aquatic depths will make you feel insignificant and alone, eager to find signs of life (or missiles!) amidst the coral.

There's really not much criticism I have to offer for Super Metroid Phazon, as I really dug its aesthetic and direction. If anything, I feel the first half of the game where you're brilliantly strung along from powerup to powerup is the strongest, and sniffing out the Prime-collectibles in the second half not only lacks difficulty but is a bit too aimless (I accidentally missed the final beam powerup). I wouldn't say Phazon overstayed its welcome, but for as cool as the long trek through cavernous rooms are the first time, they're plainly exhausting on revisit. Warp points thankfully mitigate this issue, but you should still prepare your legs for a hefty workout.

If Super Metroid is one of your favorite games, I implore you to give Super Metroid Phazon a try. It's not a major overhaul that retools enemy AI or adds cool new items, but it deftly transcends the typical "second quest" trope a lot of hacks fall into. From the great new visuals to the completely new world, Phazon feels like an alternate dimension parallel to Super Metroid—or maybe more aptly, a third party stand alone sequel. It plays around with the Metroid formula and succeeds, creating a tantalizing soup to Super Metroid's special stew.