Our Favorites of this Generation

[Apologies for our recent absence. The two of us have been traveling, working, and fighting off illnesses for about a month straight now. But we’re back, we’re expanding and going deeper on out last topic, and we’re gonna try and keep posting regularly from now on.]

Which games are winner? Read on to find out.

Which games are winner? Read on to find out.

With the end of both 2012 and the nearing end of this video game generation (the seventh according to Wikipedia) with the release of the WiiU, we felt it would be appropriate for each of us to look back on the past several years and list our ten favorite games of this generation. Unsurprisingly though, since we think alike enough to write this blog, our top five choices of this generation were basically the same. So we’ll be listing those five first and providing our individual comments for them, and then we’ll diverge into our separate lists for the next five next week. We’re defining the beginning of this generation with the release of the Xbox 360 in 2005 so any game after this is eligible unless it’s a remake of an older game (no Ocarina of Time for the 3Ds or Resident Evil 4 for the Wii). Since this list can also double as some game recommendations, we’ll try to keep it spoiler free.

#6: Spec Ops: The Line

The Line was a real surprise for us– to the point where we’d already written most of this article by the time we played it (hence a top 6). There’s a lot to talk about, and a lot of it has been by other critics. But it’s probably the best mainstream game of 2012, and the best military shooter of all time.

The gameplay can be a little repetitive, but that’s the smallest complaint. It’s well-written, smart, creative, and boasts the best performance of Nolan North’s career.  Even the visuals, which few

Brown and gray don't have to be dull.

Brown and gray don’t have to be dull.

reviews mentioned, are praiseworthy. It’s one of the most beautiful games we’ve ever seen, and definitely the best-looking that doesn’t rely on a fantastical setting and a different world. The apocalyptic Dubai of the game is absolutely gorgeous: tragic, lush, and full of tiny visual details. The contrast between the opulent buildings and the ravaged landscape isn’t just “Destroyed Beauty,” it’s loaded with heavy, heavy symbolic weight.

And that’s The Line‘s greatest achievement: it’s a game where everything means something. It takes you to dark, dark moral territory, and it does so through more than just a well-written narrative. It tells its story through mechanics, and especially through the narrative tropes common to other war shooters. Whereas Modern Warfare gives you a gatling gun and a helicopter and lets you revel in it, The Line makes you feel guilty for the bloodthirst your power inspires. The player’s decision to keep playing until they “win” is cast as a psychotic hero complex, their attempts to make meaningful moral choices are swatted down because you don’t get to just decide you want to be a good person, and the game’s philosophy– encapsulated when the protagonist is told “you’re no savior. Your talents lie elsewhere” –is about as good a refutation of the idea of the “heroic action protagonist” as there ever has been. Other shooters would treat the death of civilians as a giant turning point. In The Line, it’s possible while trying to evacuate a refugee camp to see a shape running at you, panic, and realize you just shot an unarmed woman. It wears you down, makes you scared, and doesn’t just show evil–  it makes the player realize how evil happens.

The Line: Where Happiness Goes to Die!

The Line: Where Happiness Goes to Die!

It’s a game that has a real sense of morality and is making bold, unfriendly statements about both American foreign policy and about

contemporary games. It has enough power and enough intelligence to make you consider the way you play other games– both of us feel a lot less friendly towards military shooters after The Line made us  feel culpable for our actions. It’s a testament to the game’s power that it tries to be the Apocalypse Now of gaming and comes damn close to living up to that.

Best Moment: It’s hard to talk about without spoiling but there’s a moment right before the final level when things are very, very bad that not only pushes the player harder than any other game we’ve seen, but makes a very clear point about the way in which war leads to people doing terrible things.

#5: Hotline Miami

It's not about making those corpses. It's about walking back past them.

It’s not about making those corpses. It’s about walking back past them.

Hotline Miami is very much The Line‘s indie brother. It has brutal, realistic violence, a strong film influence (Nicolas Wending Refn’s Drive), and works to make the player feel guilt not just for narrative actions but for completing the core gameplay objectives. When a game directly asks you if “you enjoy hurting people” it’s pretty clear what it’s going for.

Hotline Miami deserves to be praised not just for exploring the issues of violence, escapism, and identity in games but also for, well, everything. It‘s visually stunning: a throbbing, pulsing fever dream of 80’s neon and blood that looks both incredibly cool and unsettling. But these visuals also work on a level that serves the narrative– the swirling, psychedelic look of the game lulls you into a psychotic trance, while watching an enemy try and pry your hand away before you jam a power drill into his ear does a damn fine job of pulling you out of it. At every step the game is pushing you towards violent acts and then making you feel terrible for them.

You owe it to yourself to go watch every trailer for this game.

You owe it to yourself to go watch every trailer for this game.

Despite all this, it’s also crazy, crazy fun. It’s easy to pick it up, play for half an hour, and have a blast. The gameplay is fast, frantic, and cool, while also doing something great with its ultra-hard difficulty: it’s the rare game where beating your enemies isn’t about strength, equipment, or inborn advantage but about quick thinking and strategy. The fact that your character is just as frail as the enemies, can’t outrun them, and has no superweapons both fleshes out the game’s story (the people you’re killing are just as human as you), but also makes the combat about as nerve-wracking and intense as we’ve ever seen (Jasper’s girlfriend loves the game, for instance, but can only play one level at a time or “it feels like I’m having three heart attacks at once”). Plus, you know, the soundtrack is one of the best game soundtracks ever made.

And the fact that it’s such a small-scale, personal project game is just icing on the cake. It was the best game of 2012– it’s one of our favorite games of all time –and it was made by two guys. In their spare time. With freaking Game Maker. Its success is a testament to some of the massive changes going on in gaming right now. And as people who have loved Cactus’s work for about five years now, it’s wonderful to see him make a masterpiece.

Best Moment: The fourth chapter, Tension. Specifically opening the door. If you’ve played it you know the door we’re talking about. Wait… no, the best moment is when one of us got featured in a trailer for the game (third quote).

#4: Portal 2

Portal 2 isn’t as daring as anything else on this list. It’s an expansion of the first game’s puzzle-shooter mechanics, it doesn’t make the player

You might say that the game is... looking pretty good. (VIDEO GAME COMEDY.)

You might say that the game is… looking pretty good. (VIDEO GAME COMEDY.)

question themselves or redefine what the medium is capable of. So why is it on this list?

Because it’s as close to perfect as any game has ever been. Do you want to know our complaint? Our one complaint? Some of thepuzzles in the middle section of the game have art design that makes it a little hard to see where you’re supposed to go next. Maybe 3 or 4 of them. That’s it. This game is so well-done that we can literally count every single problem we have with it in the span of about a minute. It doesn’t quite soar to the heights of the other games on this list, but it’s an absolute masterpiece nonetheless. It’s simple, refined, and near-flawless. It has four major characters (one of whom is a mute protagonist and one of whom is dead), and around a dozen different puzzle mechanics, and it manages to make one of the medium’s most compelling stories and an endlessly surprising game out of them. Whereas the first Portal was tight effective writing paired with a handful of puzzle elements, Portal 2 kept that simplicity and sparseness and transformed it into a beautiful, powerful efficiency of both narrative and design.

There's as much tragedy and pathos to this goofy mad scientist as most Oscar-winning films.

There’s as much tragedy and pathos to this goofy mad scientist as most Oscar-winning films.

Portal 2 is really the best representation of Valve’s strength as a director: it’s not just that they made a game which was imaginative, well-written, and fun. It’s that they did that and worked and worked making that game as good as it could possibly be. It’s about as meticulously crafted and focused on its artistic goals as any game in the history of the medium, and it applies that focus to gorgeous art direction (which is also expressive and great at telling a story), brilliant writing, and inventive mechanics. It may be Valve’s masterpiece (and if not, their best since Half-Life 2). It’s a simple story, with a few characters, but those characters are brilliantly written and the story’s emotionally engaging and consistently hilarious. The puzzles are intuitive and clever, and almost entirely on a just-about-perfect level of difficulty. If the last games on this list were Drive and Apocalypse Now, Portal 2 (the only game on this list with an E-10 rating, coincidentally) would be a film like Wall-E or Toy Story 3: less edgy, less auteur-ish, but just as revolutionary and every bit as great.

Best Moment: The game’s focus on rapid-fire wit over spectacle makes this tough, but it’s either the aftermath of the “fight” against GLaDOS that closes the first act or the slow, hilarious reveal of who and how crazy Cave Johnson was.

#3: No More Heroes: Desperate Struggle

Suda 51’s No More Heroes was a wonderful oddity: a game that actually used the Wii’s motion controls in a way that felt necessary, with excellent boss fights, funny writing, and a sharp satiric edge. Between that and the wonderful trailers, we were pretty excited for its release. We were expecting another fun cult hit that had cool ideas and some great moments.

GAMES ARE ART.

GAMES ARE ART.

What we got was one of the best games we’ve ever played, and one that established Suda as one of gaming’s most interesting artists. The series still has its faults, of course– the non-boss combat is usually functional but unimpressive, some levels go on far too long –but almost all of them were removed between the first and the second game. The first had fun and creative boss fights, the second makes them not only more fun through deeper combat but makes the bosses more rounded characters and has you fight a gundam, an anime nightmare, a supervillain, the White Male Power Structure, and an astronaut. The sequel improves in every way, from having great retro minigames in place of the first’s dull jobs, to a weirder and more postmodern tone (fellow game creators Shinji Mikami and Hideo Kojima get loving tributes, cult director Takashi Miike makes a bizarre cameo), to an overall richer and deeper story.

The story is Desperate Struggle’s biggest strength. Whereas the first mostly used protagonist Travis Touchdown as a punching bag, making points about escapism into games and nerd culture through him, the second really lets him come into his own as a protagonist. He’s still dumb

What makes the romance so good is how realistic it is.

What makes the romance so good is how realistic it is.

and self-absorbed, but he’s a complex character with real human depth and growth. The game still has a ton of satire in it (its main focuses being on our obsessions with sex and violence, mass-media culture, and the amoral nature of most action heroes), but it’s made stronger by having real characters we care about at the core. Travis Touchdown, in this game, is one of gaming’s most interesting heroes and one that couldn’t exist in any other medium.

What really makes the story special to us is that it’s real and human in a way that a lot of game stories aren’t. NMH:DS may throw spectacle and absurdity at the player nonstop, but Travis’s core arc is learning to value other people, become less dependent on pop culture to define himself, appreciate the real world, and develop a set of adult values in place of childish wish-fulfillment. It’s a story that’s fundamentally one of growing up, and resonates especially hard with people for whom video games, TV, and movies are a big part of life. The game may feature mech battles, ghosts, katana fights, and space lasers, but it’s fundamentally the story of what it is to be a young man who feels disconnected from his society and alone in the world. It’s one of the coolest and weirdest games ever, and one of the most heartfelt and nuanced ones too.

Best Moment: The fight against the third ranked assassin, an aging cosmonaut. The actual gameplay of the boss fight is really solid but it’s the atmosphere that pushes it over the top. Not to mention the touching cutscene afterwards.

#2: Grand Theft Auto IV

Grand Theft Auto IV finally accomplished something that no other crime sandbox game had been able to do: creating a narrative and world in

"We can pick the game, Niko Bellic. But we cannot change the rules. "

“We can pick the game, Niko Bellic. But we cannot change the rules. “

which the game mechanics felt natural and realistic. It’s hard to understate how massive of an achievement this is. When playing as Rico Rodriguez, The Boss, Tommy Vercetti, or any other sandbox hero you feel like, well, a kid in a sandbox; the world is fun to interact with and the toys are awesome, but you never feel like a real part of it. GTA IV is one of the only sandboxes to escape this.

It did this, in part, with incredible writing and narrative. Niko Bellic should be taught in college courses as the perfect example of how to create a game protagonist. He’s interesting, complex, sympathetic, and– most importantly –every aspect of who he is, from his traumatic past to his status as an immigrant outsider, is tailored to fit the game. Every action the player can do as Niko feels like a natural result of who he is. Even the mechanics of the game reflect this: Niko trudges from place to place, fights with cold, mechanical precision, and generally feels like an unlovable killing machine. The game is able to give the players an extraordinary amount of freedom, but Niko’s character is so perfectly crafted that you’ll feel immersed even while biking off skyscrapers and starting battle royales between cab drivers.

Liberty City, meanwhile, is the gold standard of what a sandbox world can be. It’s not as pretty as Far Cry 3 or as full of games as Saints Row 2,

The strip clubs are depressing and not fun. Told you it was realistic.

The strip clubs are depressing and not fun. Told you it was realistic.

but it feels alive unlike just about any other game. Every neighborhood has its own demographics and unique feel, there’s a sense of unique personality to a lot of the pedestrians, and it actually feels like a real, living world– which makes the chaos  so much more rewarding. Getting drunk and starting a fistfight in central park is as enjoyable in this game as blowing up a city block is in Saint’s Row, just because having that real and organic a world makes disrupting it so much more fun.

Finally, the game just has an incredible story. It’s well-written and full of great characters, and it walks a delicate line between goofy satire and serious social commentary. It has hilarious fake right-wing talk radio, sure, but it also says a lot about what America is and how cruel it can be. For every hilarious moment like Brucie talking about his lack of “funny balls,” there’s a haunting one like Niko’s discussion of how he became who he is. It’s dark, funny, and moving, and it works because the world and the mechanics immerse the player so deeply in what it is to be a man like Niko Bellic in a grim and cynical America.

Best Moment: The game’s absolute gut-punch of an ending– either one –which drives home how unattainable the “American Dream” truly is for people like Niko. Either that or the amazing bank heist mission.

#1: Bioshock

The game's dialogue could be nothing but fart noises and visuals like this would still make it a masterpiece.

The game’s dialogue could be nothing but fart noises and visuals like this would still make it a masterpiece.

Don’t act surprised. You knew it was going to be Bioshock. We could write this entire blog by doing one entry a week on some facet of this game and keep busy for years.

Bioshock is beautifully-designed, visually-stunning, and packed with so many creative ideas that it’s hard to go ten minutes without seeing something new and cool. The city of Rapture is one of the best settings in game history. It’s one of a handful of games to set its sights on really big ideas– to grapple with one of the twentieth century’s major philosophers –and really succeed. The gameplay, while kind of simple, gives the player some extraordinary freedom in terms of the tools at their disposal and how to use them. But the gameplay’s not why we’ve replayed the game at least twice a year since it came out.

Bioshock is a success on virtually every aesthetic front. The art design is absolutely stunning, both in terms of raw visual beauty and in terms of serving the narrative– a ton of the game’s story and tone comes through details of setting and visual elements. The characters are all distinct individuals with their own strong personalities and narrative arcs, who also serve to illustrate the world and give human faces to its philosophical conflicts. The music’s amazing, the sound design is unimpeachable, and the game’s grasp of tone is so flawless that it can be laugh-out-loud funny and incredibly creepy at the same time.

Oh man, remember this?

Oh man, remember this?

But what makes Bioshock truly special is that it’s a game in many ways about the potential of gaming. Its closest analogue– no hyperbole intended –is Citizen Kane. Like Kane, Bioshock uses the very mechanics of its medium as a central part of its story, and in doing so proves what that medium is really capable of. It’s ambitious, creative, and so deeply in love with everything games can do that its love is infectious. And just as a Citizen Kane book would be laughable, Bioshock provides a narrative experience that is entirely dependent on the interactivity, choice, and immersion that games provide. Bioshock is a great game, yes. But even more than that, it’s quite possibly the best argument ever for why video games are an important, even necessary, medium for art and storytelling. It’s our favorite game of the past six years, not just because of how good it is on its own but because its very existence is an inspiration as to what the medium can be at its best.

Best Moment: Don’t even play. You know what it is. Man. Chooses. Etc. Possibly the most famous scene of the entire generation. A scene that basically changed gaming forever, when the core principles of game narrative were fundamentally challenged.

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Those We Love to Hate

[Massive spoilers ahead for Final Fantasy VI, BioShock, and Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.]

Typical old school game antagonist.

Traditionally, antagonists in video games have been treated as merely another obstacle, a dragon for the player to slay in pursuit of their goal. And this worked fine, back in the days when video game stories could be conveyed within a paragraph in the instruction booklet. Because of this early trend, that still persists today, many lists of the best video game villains will contain a lot of characters like Bowser or Dr. Robotnik, characters who are well known and liked mainly because their games are. With this article though, we want to focus on antagonists who are good characters in their own right. These guys aren’t just waiting for you at the end, they’re taking risks, planning, and changing along with the protagonist. And because of this, your struggle against them feels all the more real and rewarding. They become a part of the game themselves– antagonists so hateable that your desire to bring them down turns into a gameplay element.

Kefka Palazzo from Final Fantasy VI

This article could never be complete without talking about this guy. After all, Kefka was one of the first main video game antagonists to really develop throughout the course of his story. He’s not super complex and definitely not subtle, but he manages to be both incredibly sadistic and brutal while also being funny as hell.

If his magic doesn’t get you his bad puns will.

One thing that sets Kefka apart from most earlier video game villains is that he doesn’t start off as a huge threat at the beginning of the game. Sure, he starts off with some political clout in the Gestahlian Empire and he was able to force main character Terra Branford to do some despicable things (via a mind control device) before the game begins. But earlier on, he seems much more like the comic relief villain who’s not good in a fight and plays second fiddle to the much more powerful and serious main antagonist (in this case, Emperor Gesthal). Kefka’s more sinister side first rears its ugly head when he poisons the water supply of the war torn city of Doma, killing nearly everyone there (even some of his own imperial soldiers invading the castle). From there, he continues to rise through the ranks of the Empire, commit more atrocities, and gain more magical abilities by torturing, killing, and absorbing otherworldly creatures called Espers. The player begins to recognize Kefka as an increasingly dangerous threat in the same way that the Empire begin to recognize the player’s characters as emerging threats. Kefka’s assent to power culminates about halfway through the game when he moves the Warring Triad (three statues that are the source of the world’s magic) out of  alignment. Emperor Gesthal had been seeking this power source to tighten his control over the world, but Kefka reveals his true loyalties by killing the emperor and absorbing the power himself, becoming a god and reshaping the entire world (not to mention, scattering your party members all over said reshaped world). Many video game villains plot to carry out a plan like this, but Kefka is on of the few to actually achieve it, at least for a while. The one potentially good trait Kefka’s had the entire game was his ambition, and it’s led him to godhood.

The grinning face of God.

Kefka doesn’t show up as much in the second half of the game, but you can feel his influence in nearly every corner of the reshaped world (also known as the World of Ruin). Towns have been decimated, millions are dead, and the world is composed of more washed out and dead looking textures. You have the sense too that even if you kill Kefka, things can never really go back to the way they were. Instead of assuming control of the remnants of the Gestahlian Empire, Kefka simply remains in his tower at the center of the world (constructed from random debris) and rains down his “light of judgement” on random towns just for the fun of it. There is a cult dedicated to worshiping Kefka, but he never really interacts with them or uses them as henchmen, and if his violent reign continued, Kefka might have blown up the cultists anyway simply for a moment of enjoyment. When the heroes finally reassemble and attack Kefka in his tower, he’s developed a nihilistic attitude on life and the world. The once-ambitious psycho has gotten everything he ever wanted, and since his mad quest for dominance and power was the only thing he ever cared about, there’s nothing left for him to strive for now that it’s over. He’s really the perfect villain for a story that revolves the need to find something worth defending and fighting for. And in the end, that’s something that Kefka simply cannot do. He’s not simply a nemesis, but an extension of the game’s themes: his failings and flaws serve as a contrast to your own characters’ growth.

Frank Fontaine from BioShock

“The most dangerous type of hoodlum…the kind with vision.”

When BioShock comes to mind, most people instantly think of Andrew Ryan. And it’s true, Andrew Ryan is also a great antagonist. He’s in many ways a tragic hero, brought down by his own hubris, his unfaltering belief in his own infallibility, and also Jack (you), his own illegitimate son. But both of us here at Cardinal Virtual have always been more interested in the true villain behind BioShock’s interesting plot. Unlike Ryan, Fontaine has no class to speak of. He isn’t trying to defend a grand vision or a sweeping philosophical belief, he’s simply out for himself and is willing to go to any lengths to achieve money and power. And that’s why he’s such a great villain: this inhibition allows him to hit the player harder than Ryan ever could. Fontaine essentially spends the first two thirds of the game disguised as a freedom fighter known as Atlas, aka the only person in the underwater hell hole Jack stumbles into who doesn’t seem to want him dead. As Atlas, Fontaine goes to extreme lengths to gain the player’s sympathies, mainly by claiming that he has a wife and child who he’s trying to get out of the city. Fontaine later stages an explosion to make Jack believe that Ryan killed his family, which serves as the impetus to start pursuing Ryan directly. The fact that he makes the player sympathize with him makes the betrayal all the more devastating. And Fontaine is where the game’s ideas about control and family and freedom are thrown into their best relief.

Sure the boss fight with Fontaine isn’t that great, but the way he dies more than makes up for it.

It’s interesting that Fontaine chose to appeal to Jack’s sympathies, when he had Jack mentally programmed as a child to do his bidding when he uttered the phrase “Would you kindly…” Obviously, from the developer’s perspective, Fontaine works to build camaraderie with Jack in order to make the story more interesting, but he also seems to take joy in the fact that he’s getting Ryan’s son to willingly kill his father (even though Jack isn’t aware of that fact for the most part), only using the “Would you kindly…” commands to nudge Jack in the right direction. Later in the game, after Andrew Ryan’s death, Fontaine reveals his identity and turns against the player. His ability to manipulate Jack’s actions is canceled out by a another character so he resorts to a different phrase. When he utters the words “Code Yellow”, the player’s maximum health decreases and continues to do so until the player manages to find a complete antidote to Fontaine’s mind control. The first time you play through this segment it’s terrifying, because you’re not sure if these effects are going to be permanent, you just want to get to that antidote as fast as possible. Even though your health will return once you consume the antidote and your health cannot be lowered to nothing (as far as we know at least), it definitely makes you want to kill Fontaine even more. Ryan obstructs Jack in a narrative sense, but Fontaine’s control runs so deep that he directly fights the player themselves. He doesn’t simply represent a Randian ideology (of which he is the ultimate, twisted, conclusion), he represents the rules and obstructions of the game’s system.

Despite Fontaine’s completely brutal and selfish exterior, you you can gleam a few hints of loneliness from some of his actions and dialogue, a feeling that he himself might not really be aware of. The wife and child lie that he feeds Jack is certainly a ploy to garner sympathy but you get the impression that part of him wishes it were true. Later he says “Maybe I’ll get a real family someday, they play well with the suckers.” You get the feeling, part of him would like to have an actual family for more than just the con game. Also he does seem to care for Jack a little bit, even though he needs him out of the way for his plan to succeed. Just before the final battle (after he’s genetically altered himself to hell and back), Fontaine admits “You were my ace in the hole, but you were also the closest thing I had to a son. And that’s why this hurts.” Fontaine feels a connection to Jack, even though he cares more about his own success. Mentally programming Jack to be his assassin is the closest this man’s ever come to really caring about another. Of course, at the end of the boss fight, when Fontaine has Jack on the ropes, the “Little Sisters” come to their rescuer’s aid (or to their oppressor’s aid for some reason if you’re aiming for the bad ending) and finish off Fontaine once and for all. The perfect end to a nearly perfect game.

Officer Tenpenny from Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas

Cleaning up crime in the worst possible ways.

Most Grand Theft Auto antagonists mainly appear at the beginning of the game to set up the conflict and again at the end when the protagonist finally finishes them off. Officer Tenpenny from San Andreas on the other hand is a consistent presence throughout the game and is the first antagonist Rockstar seemed to put a lot of effort into developing. The fact that Samuel L. Jackson voices him doesn’t hurt either. Tenpenny and his underlings use their law enforcement clout to pit gangs against each other and even goes so far as to sponsor a drug operation aimed at making Grove Street kids into addicts in a ploy to reduce gang violence. Tenpenny rationalizes all this by saying it’s for the greater good but in reality his actions are just as destructive as any gang violence he manages to prevent, not to mention all the law enforcement personnel he has killed to cover his tracks. Throughout the game, Tenpenny coerces many gang members and cops into his corrupt way of operating, but he seems to take real pleasure in manipulating player controlled Carl Johnson. He was involved in the murder of Carl’s mother. At the start of the game, when Carl returns to Los Santos to attend her funeral, Tenpenny accosts him and threatens to frame Carl for the death of a cop (whom Tenpenny had actually killed), if Carl doesn’t do some jobs for him.

“Fifty of me and this town would be okay.”

What really sets Tenpenny apart from all the other corrupt and terrible people in the Grand Theft Auto world is his confidence in how justified his terrible crimes are. He’s the perfect character for GTA’s America: simultaneously completely corrupt and yet still clinging to an absurd moral high ground.  Other characters in the series (like GTA IV’s fellow corrupt cop Francis McReary), echo this personality trait, but none of them have nearly as big a negative impact on the world as Tenpenny does. He terrorized inner-city Los Santos to such a degree that when he’s finally put on trial, his acquittal (due to the witnesses he forced Carl to kill for him) causes a full city wide riot that lasts until his death at the end of the game. How he got this way we never find out. Maybe he witnessed one too many brutalities growing up, or perhaps the futility of the war on drugs caused him to snap. All the same, when he’s crawling out of his wrecked firetruck and bleeding out in the street after an attempted escape from Carl and the city went awry, you can’t help but feel that he got what was coming to him. He’s not just a villain, he’s the living embodiment of everything wrong with The System.