Satisfying in the hand, it sends foes careening across rooms on a charged-up swing it feels empowering, allowing you to control distance and crowding more effectively than with your bare mitts alone. Not only do these add variety to combat, but some of them are real bullet-sponges, giving you a need – albeit a relatively weak need – to keep half an eye on your ammo. New enemies are mingled in with the old: a green-eyed walker that gobs acid at you from afar, a shuffling ghoul that crawls along the floor after it’s been downed, and a foe that amps up its aggression when hit or shot enough – its red eyes aglow. There’s an ample few volts of challenge charged through it for starters – the first time I died was a shocking jolt to the system, one I was glad for. The symbolic restraints of the main game’s train track may be gone, but you are bound now in a meaningless and merely mechanical way.īut the mechanical, fortunately, is where The Only Traitor shines. You won’t have to look after a carriage full of murmuring passengers because there’s only one spare seat in your car, and although it’s nice to be able to read through a full conversation without needing to dash about, you’re inside a glorified cut-scene – able to craft and heal, or just listen and wait. Gone are the codes, yes, but in their place is a checklist of three things you’ll need per stop: water, food, and gasoline. You’ll no longer need to find blocker codes the car presents a level of freedom that the train couldn’t and you’re not running errands for anyone but yourself. Time to hit the open road… well, sort of. You also have a wooden bat with nails driven into it with you at all times. You’ll step into his hurried shoes and drive across the same landscape you did in the main game, peppered with deviations to new places. Waiting in the basement garage is a mustang-type two-seater with a yellow go-faster stripe slicing down its flank.
He is gruff, panicked, and eager to move. The Only Traitor, its DLC chapter, has a different focus sadly underneath the freedom it proposes, there is plenty of empty constraint.Ī young man wakes up in an apartment complex. In setting its players on a man-made trajectory, it injected purpose into a de-railing world.
The train at the game’s heart was a potent symbol for our need to press on, to cling to order and mechanism and structure, even in the face of complete chaos. The Final Station hit upon something that few games manage: it had a message.
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