I’ve never been someone who plays video games online with friends.

That may seem like a strange way to start a piece that is largely about Fallout 4, Bethesda’s latest single-player role-playing juggernaut, but it’s an important concession to make. Though I played some computer games when I was younger, the multiplayer appeal of games my friends were playing, such as World of Warcraft or Diablo II, never really resonated with me; I was typically found lost within the confines of Heroes of Might and Magic or Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind. On the console end of the spectrum, the majority of my friends went from owning a Gamecube to an Xbox 360; meanwhile, ever since making the jump from my Sega Genesis, I’ve always been comfortable sticking with Playstation. While I’ve certainly had my fun, it has kept me out of the loop with multiplayer, as I’ve never had the chance to buy into the hype surrounding Halo or Gears of War, nor have I ever been able to join in on my friends’ routine crew sessions for Grand Theft Auto Online.

That’s not to say that I don’t play online at all, however. Since the beginning of the last console generation, I’ve spent countless hours playing both competitively and cooperatively, ranging from Warhawk in the early days of my PS3’s life cycle up until my rabid obsession with the more nuanced and tactical nature of The Last of Us. I even participated in a number of MLG tournaments for Guitar Hero III, repeatedly nursing the sting of defeat for each of my miserable performances. However, regardless of whichever game I happened to be playing, regardless of how well my team performed or whether or not we were cooperating or using microphones, I never felt a sense of comradery; more often than not, I felt uncomfortable talking to and interacting with these faceless, unknown players. These feelings, coupled with my inability to interact with real-life friends when in-game, prevented me from enjoying online gaming as much as I may have otherwise.



But I’ve always loved LAN sessions.



There is something incredibly appealing about filling a room with multiple televisions and consoles, close friends—both in spirit and in proximity—crowded together, sharing the experiences of a new game. In this regard, many of my favorite single-player games develop their own unique multiplayer aspect. Even if our digital avatars can never be together, there is an irreplaceable beauty in our stories intertwining in this unique, tactile way.



However, with this latest console generation, there has been a massive advent of users towards Playstation. All of my friends have joined me and the experience I felt from LAN play has been extended over our internet connections. When Metal Gear Solid V was released, we all eagerly hopped on board; after an introductory few hours, we soon had a chat lobby established, nonsensically communicating with one another while playing through a game we had all eagerly anticipated. I’ll be honest—to an extent, this approach definitely removes me from the immersion and story elements of a game. I miss certain nuances or beats that I may have otherwise picked up on. On the other hand, whereas many players felt discontent with MGSV, I walked away thrilled. The gameplay felt incredible, the parts of the story that I picked up on were interesting enough (and I listened to nearly every audio log in my spare time), and I shared the experience with like-minded friends whom I care about and miss. I don’t mind that the second chapter felt weak; by the time my friends caught up to where I was in the story, we were moving on to dominate in Metal Gear Online together. And for similar reasons to the campaign, I seem to love MGO far more than the internet hive mind does. The added human connection of interacting with people close to me provides a far stronger pathos than many of these games ever could on their own, changing how I experience and perceive the medium this console generation.



"I always thought that was something anyone who played these kinds of games just expected and accepted."

This brings me to my main argument—bugs, glitches, and any general brokenness in Fallout 4.



A close friend of mine and I were playing Fallout 4 last night. We were each a few hours in and speaking through voice chat when I asked them if they had experienced any bugs (aside from Radroaches) or framerate issues. They responded, “Not really, and I didn’t know that was something people really cared about. I always thought that was something anyone who played these kinds of games just expected and accepted.”



Thus began the thinkpiece.



I never got into Fallout 3 enough to comment, but Skyrim was broken. The PS3 version of the game boasted an inconsistent framerate, glitches galore, and that really great problem where the larger a save file was, the more unstable the game became. I fondly remember having one of those aforementioned LAN sessions with another friend, him on his 360 and me on my PS3. In a single game session, spanning maybe four or five hours, his system red-ringed three times. I couldn’t help but laugh at him. Meanwhile, in my attempts to collect all of the special dragon masks, the game would only run properly for about forty-five minutes at a time, forcing me to save and restart the game constantly. This was on top of the console itself failing; apparently, some part of the circuitry had fried (this was a launch model) and would regularly cause a blue error screen of death. Our combined scenario was a living masochistic nightmare of an unplayable game we loved so much that we were willing to do anything to just get more of it, even if only in pieces. I think that is testament enough to what’s at the heart of Bethesda’s games.

At best, bugs and glitches may ruin the immersion of a game. At worst, they corrupt or delete a save file. But I think that, when it comes to a game—an experience—of this caliber, the good outweighs the bad. And I think many people lose sight of that, expecting perfection, feeling betrayed when they find something human instead.



I’ve seen many people argue that modders will do a better job at x or y than a studio will, so may as well wait to play the game. This argument always seemed strange to me, as if the person making it is severely devaluing the work the studio has accomplished. I can’t argue against waiting to play a game—that’s entirely a player’s own volition and, in many instances, waiting will provide them with a more complete and enjoyable experience. And yes, a modder may fix a certain mechanic or improve textures and assets in a game. However, the studio had a far larger scope and far much more data and programming to deal with than this singular instance that the modder is working with. The studio created the playground for the modder to exist; without the studio, there’d be no playground in the first place. Both have their respective spaces in the development of a game, but I think the crowd is a little too quick to throw corporations to the pits.



I understand that I am writing from a position of privilege. I am fortunate enough that if I buy a full-price video game and it ends up being a dud, even if I only spend a few hours with it, it’s a financial loss that I can shrug off and it will not affect me. I can move on and find another game. I understand that’s not the case for some people—very likely a reason why many internet dwellers furiously defend their purchases and chosen games when faced with disagreeable review scores. And while I understand that mine may not be the popular opinion, I still think it’s one worth voicing.



I’m also writing from the perspective of a console gamer, so this essentially is just a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing—right?



Personal experience and attitude will affect an individual’s enjoyment with a game far more than any line of code ever will. Shin Megami Tensei IV is a game that was praised both critically and commercially, but the fact that it got me through a particularly terrible point in my personal life elevates its status to being one of my all-time favorites; conversely, no matter how objectively decent Ni no Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch may be, it will forever be associated with a particularly wretched ex-flame, removing any and all desire I have to ever finish the game. Sorry, Mr. Drippy.



All I know is that, this weekend, I’m visiting a friend that I haven’t seen in two years. I’ll bring my television, my Playstation, and my copy of Fallout 4, and we’re going to have a great time.



I hope you do, too.

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