![]() ![]() Exploring these spaces is a true delight, with countless small jokes and hundreds of hidden chests strewn across the strange geometries these chests reward you with money which can be spent on upgrades for both your guns and suit, allowing you to further fine-tune your playstyle. You'll make return trips to three sectors, each expanding in scope as you gain new equipment. There's an Achievement permanently tied to my account now that claims I spent "15 hours at the very real in-game alien strip club." To all my friends and family who may one day read this: I promise that isn't true.Ĭombat is the weakest of the three foundational pillars of High on Life's design, a palate cleanser to the fun planetary exploration and delightful world-building you find within. The Gatlins are archetypal weapons, yes, but also stuttering, stammering stand-ins for a silent protagonist who is attempting to save their civilization from being harvested as HyberBong fuel by the space mafia. As you begin collecting bounties on leaders of the G3 Cartel you gradually accrue an arsenal of big personalities, and they are as eager to assist in combat as they are to start chopping it up with every strange alien you encounter across three expansive hub worlds. The knife that is horny for blood, the launcher firing its children into combat, the pistol vehemently demanding that you shoot gloop from its trickhole, and so I could go on. Where High on Life should collapse in on itself is with its talking weapons. There's an Achievement permanently tied to my account now that claims I spent "15 hours at the very real in-game alien strip club" which, to all my friends and family who may one day read this High on Life review, I promise that this isn't true. Nor the hour I spent making prank calls on an intergalactic telephone. ![]() ![]() TV sets broadcast fully-scripted game shows and forgettable feature films I suspect that the 82 minutes I decided to spend watching 1994's Tammy and the T-Rex (starring a young Denise Richards and Paul Walker) with Gene the paraplegic bounty hunter is time that I will never get back. The HUD is bombarded by spam pop-ups and donation requests for local political campaigns, even as you're neck-deep in combat. A trio of trenchcoat creatures peddle warp insurance, weird goop, and alien ejaculate a gallon of the stuff permanently, regretfully assigned to my inventory. Billboards run endless, enduringly entertaining advertisements for strange in-universe products and services. You can barely move without some oddity vying for your attention, and what's incredible is that it's only infrequently irritating. Subversive alien worlds teeming with distractions is the result. ![]()
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