By BraindeadRacr 4 Comments
Right, so in honor of trying to discover what actually is better about Dead Rising 2 as a step-up from Dead Rising, I'm playing through the first one from start to finish. So, you can tell from where this blog is headed - There weill be spoilers, genius. So let's not screw around any further:
DAY ONE - Colorado, the most logical place to start a zombie outbreak it seems.Like a terrorist setting off a carbomb in some abandoned wheatfield.
First thing I noticed playing this game again, the camera. Oh joy. I can take pictures of the walking dead and exploit a points system that way! I'll admit, unique it certainly is. But takes up the aiming slot on the controller, so everytime I'm grabbing a heavy object and pull LT it drops the damn item for a camera view of my face being munched off.
So yeah, I'm at Middleoffuckingnowhere, Colorado. I mean, Willamette - Evil Mexican guy gives me the stare, looked at some TV screens and gasped at a few zombies nomnomnoming a lady and headed down to one of gaming's most senile openings ever. A freakin' poodle. A motherfucking poodle kicked off the events that cost the lives of potentially 120 people.
No, it gets worse. Oh yes. A old lady, a wicked old lady pushed aside two men twice her size, opened the front doors and no-one could manage to stop her. Sure she got torn the fuck apart two seconds later, but... What?
Frank then paraded on to kill 560 zombies in the starting area before rushing up the stairs, trying to troll Brad for sounding so insanely manly shouting "QUICK, GET TO THE PERSONELL ROOM!" as if the Governator within took over.
Jessie shows her massive rack, so big attach 'em to the Crysler Building and it would topple. Otis the Mute gives me his communicator of doom and a map that is painfully underwhelming. Ah yes Otis, your map didn't notify me there's a big ass gigantic metal shutter inbetween me and half the mall! Fuckin' story progress.
Right, at this point I was interested in the story. Still. Don't ask me why, but I was. So, Frank stumbles down, fetching the worlds' dumbest elderly couple - One's on the left side of the roof. A huge wide open area with only knee-high obstructions we call airvents. The other's by the elavator a whopping 20ft away. While they shout "MISTER!" and "HAAAYYY ANYONE THAR?" they're oblivious to eachother. Brought Mrs. Senile and Mr. Golfballbrain back and happily paraded on down to the mall itself.
Frank mentioned to the Boob lady that he covered wars y'know, still wearing the fire extinguisher he was gonna ram into her skull not four seconds earlier. No worries, all is forgiven. Anyways.
I then went off on the mundane task of... Helping Brad. A DHS agent who went to chase a suspect, who happened to be slick-as-shit Carl the Wormguy(Carlito the Bioterrorist for you exotics). Shot him the fuck up in a food court as he, riddled with bullets went Harry fuckin' Houdini on us and rode a rope to the roof of the mall.
Around this time Otis the Mute's been calling my communicator of hell and beyond for five minutes now, so I budge and answer. "Hey! Don't cut me off like that, it's rude."
Sure Otis, please I beg you for forgiveness! He calls in to notify me I'm currently in the food court. It's that you're bald, you old wiseass. Otherwise I'd say some serious shit about you! Like... Yeah!
Anyway. The controls still bugged me, confusing aim with the camera every five seconds. I let Brad run off to the next door where he helped himself for five minutes as I plowed through hordes of zombies with a umbrella for laughs. Grinning like a school girl. Umbrella broke, my smile died, my interest got shot sooo... Oh yeah, Brad! Ran to him, he killed roughly about 150 zombies in the time I was doing laps around the Al Fresca plaza... So, through the door we go. Opening one of those annoying shutters atleast.
Oh lookie, it's Doctah Barnabayh. The muttering old fuck who 'was lured' into the Willamette mall, in Colorado. 60 miles from Denver. In the middle of nowhere. By a Mexic--By us young whispersnappers. Ripping his old clueless ass out of the bookstore was a no go cause Brad was worried about his etiquette.
Call me crazy, but in a situation where there's thousands of raging zombies... Thousands. And you're meddling with the only man who had a clue of what was going on. Don't you think a subtle smack with a baseball bat to the skull of Doctah Barnabayh is well, okay? Worst thing that could happen is that he pisses himself in his artificial sleep and that he thinks he's George Jefferson when he wakes up. No big deal, right Brad? ...Brad? Oh, thanks. Yeah... we'll leave our only clue behind in a bookstore. Let his ass get bored and walk to us instead... clever.
Oh couldn't you atleast open the shutter to the Paradise fuckin' Plaza! Goddammit...