With Far Cry 2, early on, I tried to do their suggested missions, follow the maps and all that. This turned the game into work. When I changed and started roaming around, leaving a path of destruction behind me, it became fun. You'd be surprised how many goals one accomplishes while fighting bad guys across part of a continent.
For instance, in the picture above. You will, perhaps, notice a formerly serviceable jeep laying upside down. It is on fire and will doubtless be less than useful from this day hence. What happened was upon this wise. When I started driving up to this camp, the ...residents started shooting at me. Now, no self-respecting mercenary can abide such behavior. I backed my own vehicle up the hill out of harm's way, then got out and approached on foot.
Unfortunately for these guys, I had several Molotov cocktails with me. I lit my first, like Johnny Cash in Sunday Morning Coming Down, and threw it into the profusion of goods strewn around the buildings. What followed was impressive. Fire erupted and guys were screaming. Okay, I was expecting that. But then, vehicles starting exploding and flipping in the air in a graceful dance. I saw one in flames and thought idly that it was too young to smoke, laughing softly to myself. About that time a grass fire broke out, which didn't really bother me. But...the wind changed and the blaze came my way and seared my eyebrows and caught my britches leg on fire. I had to break open a healing doohickey on myself which caused my digital hand to pat down the area and extinguish the flames.
Soberly, (and a mite sore), I drove past the camp and on into the terrain beyond, gazing back at the jeeps and the people who were so unwise as to rattle my cage. Later I was in a village(?) called Mogubo(?). It is, perhaps, ostentatious to call this settlement a village. This conjures a picture of some order, mayhap there being streets or churches, the odd dog, a soda shop or a theater. Perhaps some ladies walking along brightly lit streets like in Atlantic City. Ha, ha. No, this is not the case. Rather, it is a large collection of sheet metal shacks, mostly open-ended with no air conditioning, no floors. The local riff-raff were dumping their old tires and used oil in what must have been a pristine creek at one time. The most obvious feature of the town was a large wind mill. They had a guard there. I suppose because they used it to power a generator or a water pump. I hope they purified the water, if they used the abused creek, because without chlorine in it, they will likely all die. Humanitarian that I am, I saved them from such a fate, when they attacked me.
There were scads of these reprobates and they attacked, entirely devoid of a sense of fair play. The Marquis of Queensberry Rules were under-appreciated, obviously. At least at this "Rumble in the Jungle". Fortunately, I had recently found a rocket launcher and shared it with my new friends. My wife has taught me, over the years, that "Sharing is caring". I also used my crossbow with some exploding arrows. For dessert, I served up my automatic rifle fire. A good time was had by all. It was a heck of a fight, as outnumbered, I ran from hut to hut, in one door and out the next. Men chasing me, shouting in an odd, lyrical language which I might have found charming under more pleasant circumstances. Even when facing violent individuals I wax philosophical. Because, after all, I have the soul of a poet. Ha, ha.
Hey, I found a cache of diamonds in an old, burned-out bus. Cool. There were only three, but I am a humble man, with humble needs. By the way, these guys' safe houses are really crappy. I mean, a cot is about it. To risk your life for such accommodations is absurd. I wasn't expecting the Ritz, but really...
Hey, I almost forgot! I stole a boat in one place and blew town. I traveled down the river and occasionally would pass a dock, where one of the friendly locals would shower me with bullets from the weapon of his choice. Judging that "it is better to give than receive", I gave return fire in like amount. By the way, I was in a scrape and injured, when my friend, the male dude whose name I never remember, saved me. A friend in need is a friend indeed. I owe him, big time.
To sum things up, I think you should go and buy this cool game. I will doubtless return to chronicle more of my exploits, in the land where jeeps smoke. Oh, speaking of smoking, I ran across an area where these guys had a series of huge greenhouses. They were aggressive, heavily armed and I suspect they were growing wacky weed. Good night, from the author's green retreat.
CE Wills.
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