Let’s pretend for a moment that your City is overrun with gangs. These gangs aren’t just any gangs, they’re semi-retarded gangs; they’re like a hive-mind – except without the mind. They’ll stand still for hours until a law enforcement officer nears them, then they’ll all suddenly switch on, each one firing at the officer until the man is turned into a fine red mist in a haze of bullets. These men with their masks and tattoos cannot be bargained with, nor communicated with. Their only language is violence... and the Government’s must be too.


An artist's impression of masked hoodlums

So what does your Government decide to do? What can they do? Well, they could have a weapons amnesty, they could increase Police patrols, they could create more trained firearms officers within the force, or they could kidnap John Marston’s family and force him to kill all of the gang leaders. No, they all sound far too tame. Why don’t they create a team of cloned Superheroes that have no morals and have impromptu fits of roid-rage when they are bored? Yeah, that sounds like a great idea! And why don’t they employ an old guy with dementia with a really grating voice to look over the Agents, then he can drive them mad with his voice and his lack of memory so they can get frustrated and kill even more civilians!

This is just about the plot of the original Crackdown summed up in a nutshell. But what would it be like to be a citizen living in Pacific City?

It would be like Hell. There are so many reasons why suicide would be your best option as a citizen of Pacific City:

1.You would get no sleep. Firstly, all of the night’s ambient sounds would be drowned out by the constant thumping and pounding of the Agents frolicking around the City with their superhuman jumping prowess. And when there are two of them together? You might as well hope that you smother yourself when trying to drown the sounds with a pillow. And secondly? The constant explosions and gunshots that can be heard constantly; it would be like living in a Michael Bay movie. But on top of that is the droning sound of those bastard orbs that can be your every waking – and sleeping moment – but that’s not all; because of the un-letting green-glow of the floating abominations you would have to have your curtains closed like it’s the Blitz in London!


"I have super cars at my disposal, but I choose yours!"

2. All of your bones would be broken. Unless you were lucky, of course. But that’s so unlikely; you’re going to have to go grocery shopping sooner or later, and when that time comes you’d better pray that you don’t end up under the tyres of a dune buggy – or harpooned to one – and you may want to pray that if you are reduced to a reddish mush on the floor that your body isn’t picked up and used in a macabre game of ‘Tag’ between two arsehole Agents!


He will land on your head.

3. You would be scared shitless of any kind of vehicle. As the result of the uncountable horrific vehicular mutilations you had witnessed at the hands of Agents, your skin would crawl every time you heard the squeal of tyres or the groan of an engine. These fears would only be heightened with the numerous street-races that take place on a daily basis, which normally result in your car being flung into the air by a low-bonneted machine of death. Every time you look out of your window there’s a nine-out-of-ten chance that you’ll be staring at a giant SUV climbing your fucking building: nowhere is safe.



Basically, if you live in Pacific City you’re screwed. You’re either going to go insane or be horribly murdered by a crazed Superhero (or more aptly Supervillain) with the mentality of a twelve-year-old. This is not a good alternate reality to be in. I think I prefer this one.