The Outer Worlds 2 Gave Me What I Wanted – And I Hated It
▼ Summary
– The author discovered that *The Outer Worlds 2* has no inventory carry capacity limit, which was initially a desired feature.
– Despite the initial relief, the author ultimately came to hate the unlimited inventory, as it led to hoarding and disengagement from game systems.
– The article explains that while some designers justify inventory limits for realism, the author finds such limits immersion-breaking for their preferred gameplay style.
– A key realization was that without limits, the author avoided engaging with crafting, vendors, and unique items, leading to a less rewarding experience.
– The author reflects that a game mechanic treating excessive carrying as a “flaw” might have encouraged better inventory management and more meaningful interaction with the game’s content.
Exploring the vast, corporate-controlled star systems of The Outer Worlds 2 initially felt like a liberating dream. For the first dozen hours, I reveled in a freedom I’d long craved: the complete absence of an inventory carry limit. I could loot every crate, pocket every severed arm, and hoard every piece of armor without a single thought for weight management. This was the unshackled experience I’d always wanted from a Western action RPG. Yet, by the time the final credits rolled, that very freedom had become a curse, transforming my adventure into a hollow collection quest that undermined the game’s deepest strengths.
My journey through Paradise Island and into Golden Ridge was marked by unchecked avarice. Without the genre-typical need to shuttle loot back to a ship’s storage or a vendor, I simply took everything. The initial euphoria of unlimited pockets soon gave way to a mechanical numbness. I stopped evaluating items, stopped considering their utility, and stopped engaging with the game’s robust crafting and modification systems. Why bother when my trusty heavy machine gun worked well enough and my inventory was a bottomless pit? The game’s designers had removed a classic friction point, but in doing so, they inadvertently removed a key driver of player engagement.
This design choice stands in stark contrast to much of the genre. Many developers retain encumbrance systems to foster realism or force meaningful decisions. As one director noted, limits can make a character and world feel more believable. Others point to practical interface concerns, arguing that unlimited inventory creates its own organizational nightmares. The original The Outer Worlds used a common compromise, limited personal carry weight with unlimited ship storage, but even that felt like tedious busywork. The sequel’s bold removal of limits was hailed by many as a breath of fresh air, a sentiment I shared right up until the moment it began to spoil my fun.
The game’s brilliant flaw system was what finally illuminated my self-made problem. After relying on that single machine gun for too long, the game offered me a deal: a permanent armor penetration boost in exchange for losing my second weapon slot. It was a clever, personalized nudge, correctly identifying my lazy playstyle. Spitefully, I rejected it and forced myself to experiment, pulling a whimsical, high-damage baton from my overflowing stash. To my surprise, it was incredibly fun. This led me to finally delve into crafting and mods, realizing how much I had been passively floating past the game’s rich mechanics.
My final inventory was a monument to disengagement: 142 weapons, 110 armor pieces, and 98 helmets, including seven identical uniforms I never wore. I had collected unique tossball cards to unlock a special vendor, but never browsed their wares. I missed out on bizarre, delightful weapons and even a helmet that transformed the game’s graphics into pixel art. I had chosen the path of least resistance, and it provided no satisfaction. The very freedom I championed had insulated me from the experiences that make role-playing games memorable, experimentation, consequence, and discovery.
In the end, I was left wondering if unlimited carry capacity should have been offered as a flaw itself. Imagine a game telling you you’re a pack-rat, reducing vendor prices but increasing the chance of finding pre-modded gear. I likely would have refused it, but that refusal might have finally pushed me to sell my hoard and thoughtfully re-engage with the world. True player freedom isn’t found in the removal of all limits, but in the interesting choices those limits create. The Outer Worlds 2 gave me exactly what I asked for, and in doing so, taught me that what I wanted was ultimately working against my own enjoyment.
(Source: Kotaku)
