They say that if you ignore your detractors, you also have to ignore the praise. But I'm proud that my boss told me I'm a good courier. "I am a good courier", I think, ramming a remote control corvette destined for a local child's chimney into a pedestrian's shins, knocking them skyward, zipping away before the sound of soft bones on hard concrete catches up with me. "The best courier," I nod, reversing my truck into a beach-front bar on the way to fumigate a truckful of rotting melons. "The best damn courier in town!", I exclaim, honking my newly-installed cursehorn, shattering nearby windows and streetlights into glinting injury confetti.
Sometimes, confidence is more valuable than a measured perspective on things, and if you need to focus on the praise to block out the little voice telling you the way you're driving to these sun-kissed surf guitars is less Dennis Wilson, more Charlie Manson, so be it. Deliver At All Costs has me thinking a lot about confidence, in fact. It invokes GTA with a linked series of open maps, constantly devil-whispering your attention away from main and side missions with the promise of the hallowed fuckaboutsesh - smashable suburbia detailed down to the individual fence picket taking the place of rocket launchers and car pile-ups. But tragically, it's also cursed with a lack of confidence that this is enough. It wants to be something more.