Far Cry 6

I’m idling by a stream at the bottom of a valley, the grass rising on either side. Not plain grass, no, it’s grass that has other types of grass in it, and bushes, lots of bushes, with so many colours a crystal would blush with embarrassment. The shadows peel off the trees and everything else around me as I stand, again, waiting for the day cycle to leave its kaleidoscope of bloom and sun rays.

I’ve walked hundreds of kilometres across this gorgeous land. A representation of somewhere in South America, I guess, and it is one that is unsurpassed in video games.

There are vehicles to drive, my favourite being the helicopter, closely followed by the tank. Both apt for elongated sessions of reasonless maniacal destruction. Calling my personal car, an icon of South American style, for absolutely no reason other than it is so cool cruising around in it while listening to a killer soundtrack. I don’t know what type of music it is, the closest I can think of is by a Spanish group called Va, or Cypress Hill.

Stopping off at the little towns littered about everywhere (sod it, blow that sign up nearby just for shits and giggles) is a special type of delight. Beautiful buildings resplendent in a slovenly South American style, set against a background of fantastic wealth drowned in poverty.

Every single step in this world is one of exploration and interest. There’s a game in here somewhere, apparently I’ve done most of it, but I didn’t let that get in the way. When I felt like I needed a break from the baronial world, my war hungry terrorist tendencies were placated as I invaded a ship, or two ships at once, or destroyed an entire port, or a thousand other things.

“Dear Nintendo,

You know Zelda: Breath of the Wild? That’s not how an open world should be done. Far Cry 6 is how it should be done – look and learn please. 

Regards,

Lee.”

Most Fridays and during the occasional evening in the week I team up with my mate. The exploration takes a back seat for co-op glee and gluttonous explosive joy. One of us drives, the other gets manic with a mounted gun. Especially in a tank. Oh, the tanks. Choose the flame thrower tank for crispy baked goodness.

That said, despite all its lavish splendour, I haven’t experienced the sheer panic of being chased by a bear while trying to destroy a helicopter with a shovel, like I did in Far Cry 5, yet. So there is some room for improvement.

The story isn’t bat shit crazy. It’s a story about terrorists, of which you are one, freeing the land of Yara. Whatever. Oo, look at that sunrise, and the body of the man I just blew up flopping past it.

There are plenty of characters in this game, but only one counts, my accomplice, a batshit-crazy psycho chicken. Many a time have I been sneaking into somewhere to destroy something, and that chicken went postal, killing anything it’s death beak could rip apart. I could instruct the chicken to go home and use a different pet, or use no pet, but why would I? Where’s the fun in that? This is one of the greatest video game characters ever. I bawl with laughter as it completely screws up my strategy and I end up running around trying to defeat a sudden sprawl of baddies seemingly coming from every direction (catching the odd glimpse of a squawky, psycho ball of feathers, beak and talons leaping 10ft into the air to rip a baddy apart) all because of a chicken not understanding the assignment. Seriously, one of my favourite gaming partners ever. I’m laughing now, writing this, just thinking about it.

Few games can scratch an itch for beautiful, pointless, destruction like the Far Cry series. I haven’t finished the game at the time of writing, mainly because I’ve been admiring the finer points of the mountain ravines and wondering how the hell Ubisoft designed and made them. I hope it continues for at least another 50 hours because parting with this game when I finish it will be a sad moment.

In other news, I am probably going to frame a selfie picture of me and psycho-chicken.