10 Video Game Mentors Who Were Actually Complete Morons
7. Citra - Far Cry 3
As Sharknado and The Room insist on establishing, there's a good kind of dumb, and a bad. Far Cry 3 falls quite comfortably into the latter, as its story was the most undercooked and pathetically-developed one in quite some time. It was announced by showing footage of the character above being groped during a pants-still-on 'sex scene', and proceeded to get across one man's descent into island-dwelling madness with the subtlety of an atomic bomb. In theory, you're supposed to chart the rise (but mostly the fall) of one Jason Brody, a party-loving type who ends up on the Rook Islands alongside the rest of his bro-happy crew. They're suddenly taken hostage by a mysteriously enigmatic antagonist, only for Brody to escape and attempt to rescue the lot of them, slowly learning the ways of the land in the process. Hang on a minute though... One such plot-twister is Citra (owner of the nipples mentioned earlier), a tribal leader who you're supposed to think is going to form the basis for finally choosing the island over your friends - such is the "monster" you've become in slaughtering all sorts of nameless goons along the way. Nice try, Ubisoft, but as soon as those spectral tattoos started appearing on our arms as we levelled up, we weren't exactly taking it that seriously. It turns out she wanted you to kill your friends and impregnate her to become the "true warrior" both she and the jungle 'need' you to be - only if you somehow went through with the insanity of cutting down those who you've just spent an entire game saving, she stabs and kills you anyway, mentioning that it's the next in your bloodline who she really wanted. ... Right. So, after being presented with someone who's willingly killed all their closest friends purely so they could live on with you and rule as one, you decide to cut that short and wait another - ooh, say 20 years? - before the 'real' warrior can do the exact the same thing?Ubisoft's writers, ladies and gentlemen.
