Borderlands 3 and I don’t seem particularly compatible; not on paper, anyway. We don’t have a whole lot in common. The eleventy gazillion gun options in its predecessor? That overwhelmed me more than it intrigued. The in-your-face hyper-meta edgelord humour? Nah, I’m good, ta.
I’d ventured to Pandora before, but they were little more than fleeting visits, really. Though a fervent FPS fan, Pandora’s beige world of anarchy and excess just didn’t click for me. So, as I stepped back into Pandora for Borderlands 3 I was open-minded if a tad hesitant. It’s always daunting, stepping into a well-heeled universe, especially one this loved. Would I understand the plot? Will there be too many in-jokes?
It turns out my fears were unfounded, and it’s to Gearbox’s credit that while I’m waiting for the novelty of this sequel’s balls-to-the-wall mayhem to wear off, it still hasn’t.