By Daavpuke 6 Comments
I'm finally free from my Division 2 hole, after over a week of going to a node on a map, instantly dying to a hidden monster closet, retracing my steps for five minutes, dying to my skills going on cooldown, backtracking for five minutes again, dying to an elite instantly running up on me and, well, you get the gist. People on the Giant Bomb Discord are weirdly infatuated with the game, still, so if you're looking to chow down on chest high walls and lost progress, then there's one happy family waiting for you there. Glory and gear score going up awaits.
This bit isn't about the measure of quality of Tom Clancy's The Division 2, however, which may or may not significantly improve if you clench those teeth for about thirty hours. Rather, I've been spending my time in Washington cataloging the objectively terrible graffiti that drenches the walls of the shoot-y apocalypse. Like an archaeologist specialized in bad taste, I went around cringing and subsequently photographing that event for every bit of first-draft-text I encountered during my time. Believe me, that's a lot of times. Thanks to the magic of the internet, I'm now passing on this knowledge in awful writing to you, the fine Giant Bomb connoisseur. Let's get dug in, soldier! Semper fucked!
The most brilliant minds once lived in Washington. Apparently, once the apocalypse came around, they were also the first to go and the only ones who were left with spray paint, were the people who were huffing it. At least, that's what it feels like, canonically, as there are still tons of people huffing fumes, but very little suits, except for the president. This is their world now, until you get your gun and shoot the world better, with bullets!
Lincoln Force never dies!