![]() ![]() ![]() Then you slap on a load of missile launchers, energy beams, machine guns, radar arrays and ECM jamming systems. It's a balancing act, basically, between what you want and what you can actually do. Energy and heat control are also key, as the more sophisticated the equipment, the more cooling and distribution it needs to keep everything working smoothly. Weight is an issue, with the legs and chassis needing to support everything you plan on bolting on. In other words, it's a Make Your Own Mech sandbox, and if you're that way inclined (you geek) you'll probably spend an hour or so just mucking about with different designs. Unlike other games of this ilk, there's a huge amount of things to play with right from the start, and no need to pay for any of it. Classy chassis Don't forget to align your robot's biorhythms with his star chart for maximum effect.Ĭast as the boss of a new team in the Robot Jox-style futuristic spectator sport of Formula Front, you have five Armored Cores to tinker with, and a bewildering array of gadgets, gizmos and weapons to choose from. The mech controls are a horror on the PSP's stubby little joystick, and the emphasis is justifiably shunted to the creation side of the equation. ![]() "Too difficult to control!" it yelps, and it's right. Well, to be fair, you can also pilot your creations manually (an addition unique to the western release) but the game takes the bold step of openly telling you - during the tutorial missions, no less - that only a complete moron would play the game that way. ![]() This PSP edition is different though - just like Carnage Heart, the aim this time around is to build a better robot, and trust all the explosive stuff to the AI you create. Previous console incarnations never really grabbed me, as they mostly seemed to play like rather dreary shoot-'em-ups that used giant robot graphics to excuse a sluggish game engine. So you can hopefully imagine the conflicting emotions that raged as I fired up the first portable offering in the Armored Core franchise. Then you sat back and watched, as the CPU did all the exciting work of shooting and blowing stuff up. Like Zoids, this Japanese oddity required you to painstakingly build robot killing machines - including the AI software that would guide them in battle. And in 1997 my childhood trauma came thundering back, as I tried - mostly in vain - to spread the gospel of an obscure mech fighting game called Carnage Heart. I heart robots It just screams 'pick up and play', doesn't it?ĭespite this inauspicious start, I somehow grew up into an adult and got a job reviewing PlayStation games. Needless to say, most sane kids simply couldn't be arsed. And even then, you had to be tediously careful, lest their fragile plastic and clockwork frame got snapped during a pitched battle. Like Optimus Prime and gang, Zoids were giant robots but their key selling point was that you had to build the damn things before you could play with them. No, it was when all my friends were collecting Transformers, that seminal eighties toyline about giant robots in disguise, while I was the only person at my school to have nailed their toy allegiance to the mast of Tomy's Zoids. It wasn't even when I spent a weekend with a tape recorder pressed up to the TV, recording a compilation of my favourite ZX Spectrum themes. It wasn't when I tried to convince my family that, like Han Solo, I could understand what Chewbacca was saying. There's a distinct point in my childhood when I clearly recall being struck by the realisation that I was, to be blunt, a geek. ![]()
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