03-03-2018, 08:48 PM
Fair enough, man, but I'm taking that response as a green light. Off we go... oh, and I should probably add this for posterity (and maybe figure out how to edit my post title): since the long-term plan is to play *AND WIN* this Ironman edition, you'll essentially be reading a game walk-thru. Albeit one done over weeks, and mostly examples of what not to do. And possibly some crying. Whatever, my point is *SPOILER ALERT* details of the game XCOM2 will be revealed in this post. There, I said it. Moving on!
Now that I've made the decision to get the heck out of Dodge, I just need to hammer out some details. Using the very robust "choose your own evac location" feature, I've calculated (like actually figured out to the map square) that I can get three of my five soldiers out of this running bad decision during my next turn, with two of these soldiers being able to squeeze off one last shot before they go (from Hell's Heart I stab at thee!)... that just leaves my panic-y medic and my unconscious rookie.
Depending on how much luck I get from those two parting shots, Scaredy McMedkit - IF she survives the aliens turn (not likely) - could make a mad dash for to the dust-off point, or try to fireman-carry the hapless rook back to the boat. I've decided on the latter, because it makes for better drama (can the medic redeem herself and save the new guy? She'll either succeed or die tryin'). My main concern is with the damn Heavy Lancer positioned between her and my chosen bug-out site (he's this little alien bastard armed with a damaging/stunning cattle-prod, running around the map and ruining days. I will refer you to the wounded-but-blissfully-unaware-of-his-immediate-demise rookie)... so he'll be the focus of my last offensive volley. If my retreating troops can take him out, Nurse Poopypants and Mr Van Winkle might just have a chance of buying the Skyranger pilot a beer in the ships' bar. If not, up go their portraits to the wall of the fallen. Have I mentioned lately how much I love this game?
If only I had put this much thought into each individual turn prior to this cluster-expletive, my five virtual soldiers wouldn't be in this mess.
I guess I should ponder that for a minute (the "personal growth" portion of this project). Was my (former?) gaming style a result of my lifestyle, or a reflection of current society? Go, go, go! Rush through this and get to the next thing! Get that dopamine reward by essentially cheating and inflating your own self image as a brilliant and infallible battlefield commander, even though your victories are hollow and unearned! (And I don't mean to get political, but wasn't that what President Bonespur essentially did when saying he'd rush in without fear during that last disaster in Florida? Oof, tangential thinking, Groo, tangential thinking...).
Is this evenings' lesson "slow down and enjoy your leisure time/life"? Because I work in a fast-paced, high-pressure job, and mentally I do take that garbage home with me. Maybe. Heck, when I got home today I made a point of NOT booting up the Beast and firing through the above plan (spent WAY too much timing thinking about this during the workday), and instead actually playing with my awesome daughter... we got to bed pretty early, and I'm only online now after she woke up at 4AM and needed a change.
But for now, let's see how my plan works out.
Now that I've made the decision to get the heck out of Dodge, I just need to hammer out some details. Using the very robust "choose your own evac location" feature, I've calculated (like actually figured out to the map square) that I can get three of my five soldiers out of this running bad decision during my next turn, with two of these soldiers being able to squeeze off one last shot before they go (from Hell's Heart I stab at thee!)... that just leaves my panic-y medic and my unconscious rookie.
Depending on how much luck I get from those two parting shots, Scaredy McMedkit - IF she survives the aliens turn (not likely) - could make a mad dash for to the dust-off point, or try to fireman-carry the hapless rook back to the boat. I've decided on the latter, because it makes for better drama (can the medic redeem herself and save the new guy? She'll either succeed or die tryin'). My main concern is with the damn Heavy Lancer positioned between her and my chosen bug-out site (he's this little alien bastard armed with a damaging/stunning cattle-prod, running around the map and ruining days. I will refer you to the wounded-but-blissfully-unaware-of-his-immediate-demise rookie)... so he'll be the focus of my last offensive volley. If my retreating troops can take him out, Nurse Poopypants and Mr Van Winkle might just have a chance of buying the Skyranger pilot a beer in the ships' bar. If not, up go their portraits to the wall of the fallen. Have I mentioned lately how much I love this game?
If only I had put this much thought into each individual turn prior to this cluster-expletive, my five virtual soldiers wouldn't be in this mess.
I guess I should ponder that for a minute (the "personal growth" portion of this project). Was my (former?) gaming style a result of my lifestyle, or a reflection of current society? Go, go, go! Rush through this and get to the next thing! Get that dopamine reward by essentially cheating and inflating your own self image as a brilliant and infallible battlefield commander, even though your victories are hollow and unearned! (And I don't mean to get political, but wasn't that what President Bonespur essentially did when saying he'd rush in without fear during that last disaster in Florida? Oof, tangential thinking, Groo, tangential thinking...).
Is this evenings' lesson "slow down and enjoy your leisure time/life"? Because I work in a fast-paced, high-pressure job, and mentally I do take that garbage home with me. Maybe. Heck, when I got home today I made a point of NOT booting up the Beast and firing through the above plan (spent WAY too much timing thinking about this during the workday), and instead actually playing with my awesome daughter... we got to bed pretty early, and I'm only online now after she woke up at 4AM and needed a change.
But for now, let's see how my plan works out.
They say Hitler loved dogs; that doesn't mean I want to travel back in time and discuss the merits of the Border Collie with the guy. He's still an a-hole.