In Banjo-Kazooie: Nuts & Bolts, you are thrown in the middle of a bustling, dystopian city where innocent people are jailed and the elite lives in a literal “uptown” rich district technologically separated from the rest of the town. The chief constable is literally an obese, disabled pig who can be bribed to have his forces leave you alone. This is important, as otherwise the police will assault you violently for even the smallest of crimes.

When exploring the city, you are faced with a multitude of ethical choices. Will you free the innocent from their prisons and risk getting negative attention from the police? Or will you ignore their cries for help and go on your usual duties? Or will you contribute to the corruption yourself by purchasing goods from the black market that has formed around the city? You can also attack bystanders for your personal enjoyment: If the police doesn’t see you doing this, you’re basically off the hook.

The moral decay of the city is best seen in the amount of hedonistic pastimes it offers the player and how they contrast with the general state of the location. While everyone is having fun at the beach, the arcade or the bingo palace, their homes are slowly crumbling around them. Actual workstations are hardly, if ever, attended. The monuments of the past, the great achievements of the previous generations, are left to rot.

Slowly but surely, the hero you are playing as will emerge. Despite his initial technological disadvantage as the main villain, a “witch” who has attained immortality through major artificial body enhancements, robbed him of the better options available, he manages to get himself little crumbs of this advanced tech. With its help, the player can fight back the corrupt police forces and eventually open the rich elite’s district up for all people to see and visit.

When the game comes to an end, the dystopian city is left behind and forgotten, never to be mentioned again. There will be no justice, or rewards and punishments of any kind. The player is left pondering if he truly did the right things. Were the people he freed really innocent? Was killing police officers really necessary? What about the people he *helped* to jail, what if they were innocent? Where did the black market goods he purchased come from? When he visited the arcade instead of working towards bettering the city, was he really being any better than the rest of the townspeople?

But no matter how much the player thinks, these questions will remain unanswered. It ultimately symbolizes how certain things can simply never be answered for certainty in real life. The player is left in a remarkable state that is a mix of confusion and realization. This is the mark of an excellent game, one that is sure to shape the Cyberpunk genre for decades to come.