I originally wrote this when the new Deus Ex came out and I replayed the original. I wrote it to point out how unbalanced the different builds paths happened to be in Dues Ex.
Some people complained that in the new game, if you focused on non-lethal skills that this would sabotage other parts of the game like certain boss battles. What I wanted to point out was that this was still true in the original game, and that the unbalance between tech paths was, in some cases, even worse in the original game.
I wanted to do more work on it before posting it, but oh well.
Diary of JC Denton
Sneaking past enemies is a slow and painstaking process with seemingly random chances of success. Cameras are my bane. Bad guys are my bane. Alarm switches on the walls that summon more bad guys are my bane.
I suddenly realize the mistake of not investing in combat skills. There are choke points in my missions that block my progress. These choke points are filled with enemies and I can’t get past without some sort of violence.
Stunning enemies with the prod stick has mixed results, and sometimes ends with me chasing the guard down hallways like a crazed Hamlet. Using non-lethal poison darts is an absurd waste of time. Once hit, the guards are alerted to my presence and then they run, hiccuping at each wave of poison, until they alert more guards. Their mission completed, they fall over unconscious as their friends seek vengeance against me. My inability to get past these low level peons has led me to the grotesque practice of approaching their unconscious bodies and shooting them point blank in the skull until they’re dead. I’d shoot them while they were conscious except my gun skills aren’t high enough to survive a gunfight.
There are choke points with robots and cyborgs. I cannot get around them. There is no alternate route. I have to fight these enemies even though all my points are in non-lethal skills like swimming. Robots are not made of water; I cannot swim through them.
Rations are getting thin. I’m running out of energy packs and my health packs are all gone. I’ve resorted to stuffing myself with candy bars and soda just to stave off the monstrous clutch of death.
The little archaeopterixes… oh god, the little archaopterix things. I fear them more than any other enemy. I can’t hack them or lockpick them. Sneaking past them is not possible. They are so fast. I’ve run out of ammo and the only weapon I have left is a police baton. It will not be enough. Why are they in the sewers of Paris?!!?! WHAT ARE THEY DOING IN PARIS!!?!
My progress is a frustrating cycle of death and rewinding time to an earlier point. It happens over and over. I am constantly afraid of what I’ll find around the next corner.
I am nearly to the end, but I have given up. The frustration of trying to win is too great. I let myself fall, and pass the torch to another.
Diary of Señor Guns:
My name is Señor Guns. My full name is Gomez Matador Basque Señor Guns-Catalan. I am the replacement for JC Denton after he gave up due to fatigue and frustration. I have seen what he has seen, and I have learned the weakness of his strategy: no guns.
I have put every point I have into my rifle skills. I believe the sniper rifle, my gun of choice, will serve me well.
Progress is slow. My rifle skills are not high enough to hold the sniper steady. My initial progress is similar to that of my predecessor, Denton.
I have broken through the wall! My rifle skills are maxed and I am now putting points into rockets and explosives. With my sniper rifle, progress is extraordinarily easy. Oh, there’s a guard up ahead? I shoot him with my gun. There’s a camera that’s ready to spot me? I shoot the camera with my gun. There’s an alarm button on the wall? I shoot the button with my gun, and unbelievably it is destroyed without any negative side effects; I love the physics of this bizarre Earth.
I don’t know what JC Denton was complaining about. My rations are overflowing. I have more energy cells and health packs than I can carry. I have taken to leaving them on the corpses of my fallen enemies as calling cards. I estimate my progress is five times faster than that of JC Denton.
I have acquired a machine rifle and things have only become easier. I go careening through the world, surprising enemies with death. Death and I are friends. We have come to an understanding. I summon him whenever he hungers, and Death hungers constantly.
My days are gleeful. When I encounter enemies I activate my bullet resistance, healing, and that thing that explodes rockets before they ever reach me. I walk into the open and laugh as my enemies try to bring me down. I laugh as death licks at my boot heels subserviently. Then I kill everyone with my guns. Sometimes, just for a change of pace, I will let the enemies kill me and then rewind time to start again. Sometimes I run into my enemies flinging grenades and shooting rockets and we are all dead, all made equals by my burning murder.
I fear nothing. Cyborgs and robots are toys for me to play with. Human guards and police officers are gnats to be shooed away like children. I am Sénor Guns, and none shall stand before me as an equal.
The little archaeopterixes… those god damn little archaopterix things. I hate them more than any other enemy. I can shoot them easy enough, but not without getting poisoned first. Who the hell gave them poisonous projectile spit? This is how I know I will defeat my enemies: they were stupid enough to give poison spit glands to their dinosaur monsters. I’ve run out of patience and the only weapon I have left is all of them. But, it will not be enough. Nothing will be enough to satiate my hatred. Why the hell are they in the sewers of Paris? Do the Parisians think that this will hinder my wrath? They are wrong.
An effective way to unlock doors is to blow them up with rockets.
An effective way to access locked desk drawers is to blow up the desk with rockets. Or grenades. All things in this world are susceptible to the force of either rockets or sniper bullets. Even beggar children asking me for food.
I have reached the end of my mission. I am being asked to make world changing decisions, but I care not for such things. I ignore the choices set before me. All I care for is to crush my enemies, see them driven before me, and to hear the lamentations of their women. I don’t even bother completing my mission. I am drunk off of power and need new things to kill. I am Sénor Guns; bring me your people as sacrifice.