![]() I’m not saying this to strong arm a layer of existential thought into things. That’s as complicated as the politics ever run in Saints Row. And if they shoot at me, I shoot at them. Every vehicle in the road is my free ticket to ride. ![]() ![]() Every person strolling on the sidewalk is fodder for my fender. Every enemy is nothing more than a red blip on a minimap, every innocent bystander is likewise nothing more than a hood ornament in a race, or a body shield in a firefight. And in case you were wondering about the exchange rate in Stilwater: Life is cheap. Every bullet, every shotgun shell, and every rocket-propelled grenade is the currency traded freely among the violence-is-a-way-of-life citizens. ![]() I’ve grown desensitized with every pull of the trigger. And with as many senseless in-game murders as I’ve committed, every face, every uniform, and every gang color (even theStilwater Police Department boys in blue) has begun to take on the airy resonance and papery weight of a firing range target. And even though this is my first serious-minded foray into the Saints Row series (Cyril Lachel nailed the first Saints Row review, while I’m flying in with a second opinion on this one), the pimp limps, icy wrists, and prison tats are nothing more than vehicles for turning the fictional city of Stilwater into a virtual shooting range. It’s simple enough to see from the outset that Saints Row 2 was never going to tackle the trials and tribulations of gangland America with any amount of gravity. ![]()
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