From the archives: This feature was originally published in PC Gamer #302 (UK, March 2017). You can still subscribe to PC Gamer to get new issues of the magazine (in print!) every month.
My initial foray into the world of Dishonored was less a graceful dance through the shadows and more a chaotic romp through the streets of Dunwall. In those early stages, I failed to recognize that my penchant for violence would lead me straight to the High Chaos ending, a fate from which there seemed no escape.
As I navigated the increasingly rat-infested alleys, I clung to the hope that I could amend my reckless ways. Perhaps, I mused, I could embrace the art of stealth, silencing my enemies without taking their lives. However, Arkane’s Chaos system proved to be a formidable adversary. The rats continued their feasting on the remnants of the city, leaving poor Emily to reign over a kingdom of vermin, her subjects long since consumed.
Corvo, too, felt the weight of this decay, his powers diminished by the very creatures he sought to control. Fortunately, by the time I stepped into the shoes of Corvo once more in Dishonored 2, it appeared that Arkane had managed to restore some semblance of order to the chaos.
Paper case
In a moment of sheer determination, I resolved to undertake a flawless run—no kills, no detections—a daunting challenge for someone whose last attempt at stealth had ended in a rather violent altercation in Deus Ex: Mankind Divided. After 40 hours of meticulous planning and execution, I emerged victorious, albeit not without moments of intense frustration. The Clockwork Mansion mission tested my resolve, pushing me to the brink of abandoning my principles.
After numerous quick-saves and restarts—five to be exact—I found myself face-to-face with Kirin Jindosh. The temptation to unleash my wrath upon him was palpable, yet the prospect of exacting a more creative form of revenge was too enticing to resist. Strapping him to his own electric chair and watching him unravel felt like a fitting end for the architect of my previous misfortunes.
However, Jindosh had one final trick up his sleeve: the infamous Jindosh Lock. This riddle-locked door presented a challenge that could only be solved through intellect rather than brute force. While I could have sought assistance from the local gang lords, I was determined to crack the code on my own. Time slipped away as I stared at the lock, my monitor eventually succumbing to boredom and drifting into sleep mode long before I deciphered the combination.
Frustrated yet resolute, I set aside my keyboard and reached for a pen and my long-neglected gaming notebook. With a flurry of creativity, I crafted cards for each variable, rearranging them until clarity emerged. The satisfaction of solving Jindosh’s final puzzle was immense, yet it left me pondering whether my earlier mercy had been misplaced. While I won’t divulge the solution, I can confidently say that starting with a drink—both literally and figuratively—can be quite beneficial in such endeavors.
