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Doctor M(andril), A Villainous Demonstration of Crafting the Perfect Sequel
I’ll cut right to the chase, there is no baddie in the Sly franchise (to me) that has before and will ever again top the writing of this monke right here. That’s not to put down Clockwerk in any capacity. In fact, the majority of what makes M so amazing is not what he is in a vacuum, but what he serves to build upon the events that preceded him. Clockwerk is the giant who’s shoulders he stands on, the two games before him the backdrop that makes him shine so brightly. I’ve always been a strong believer that stories are in large part only as good as their antagonists, and this is what Dr.M has contributed to make Honor Among Thieves the narrative peak of the Sly Cooper franchise.
For minor starters, everything about this freak is downright unsettling.
A mandrill monkey was a great pick for a scary looking, vicious little mastermind. Even with a fresh coat of purple and his short stature, he looks about as repulsive and menacing as he is on the inside. He’s completely obsessed to the point of being consumed metaphorically by his envy and resentment of Connor. He gave us a lot of interesting insight into the life and relationships of Sly’s father while leaving us with even more mystery and questions to ponder. He’s meticulous and intellectually gifted in his ways, but it doesn’t do anything to overshadow the fact that he’s also an utterly deranged madman.
Clockwerk’s hatred for the cooper line, as genuine and strong as it was, had this almost detached element to it, being more like a means to an end and fueled by superiority and rivalry competition. It was kinda hard to get your head around it, and the second game keeps him in your thoughts more like a slumbering eldritch horror waiting to rise again or a pure, immortal force of evil itself, rather than a person. He isn’t even really “anthro” in his design. Clockwerk is a monster, a robotic husk of a former individual.
Dr.M’s hatred for the Coopers on the other hand is… uncomfortably humanized. He’s narcissistic, yet he’s also paranoid and motivated by a rage that’s responding to his sense of inferiority and victimhood. He’ll use his warped justifications to stoop to the most heinous acts- not just because he wants to prove himself better- but because he wants to destroy/take everything Conner loves and accomplished. Clockwerk’s hate was cold and mechanic. M’s hatred is personal and boiling over with venom. Both of them were defined by little more than their loathing of Coopers, but while Clockwerk kept himself alive with his vendetta, M’s was the very thing that led to his demise.
Clockwork was “the enemy of all Coopers”, but he left the final member of the bloodline to wither and then bloom more vibrantly than ever to return and defeat him. He underestimated Sly, and was content to live on and continue his own work with the overconfidence that he had already won. I wonder in my head sometimes if maybe his power was actually starting to fade in the light of seeing that vendetta finally resolved. Or if that time-worn weariness and frustration was part of why Sly, barely an adult, was able to accomplish what generations of his most skilled family had failed to. He never knew Clockwerk during his prime, the great monstrous owl that his clan used to live in constant terror of.
Doctor M feels like he was really Sly’s own Clockwerk. A fresh and unfamiliar threat to truly test every skill he had spent a whole career of thieving to master, and someone who’s own history was far more entangled with Sly’s blood than he could have imagined. Clockwerk condemned him to death (or destitution) for no other reason than being a Cooper, but Dr.M actually wanted to watch the life leave his eyes because he was Sly Cooper, son of Connor.
And he’s not just fitting to compare to the old bird, but he’s more overtly a direct foil to Bentley’s character too. He’s a dark prophecy of the worst possible result of what would happen if the Cooper gang fell out with each other in a similar manner, or if some of Bentley’s foreshadowed insecurities (that started presenting after he became wheelchair bound) were allowed to fester instead of him finding support from others. That turtle is also the only character that Dr.M is able to speak to like an equal, because he sees himself in Bentley despite being on opposite sides.
He’s a really, really well-written main antagonist that does not try to take a whole new direction like Neyla; instead, he’s like a revamped version of Clockwerk’s “idea” done without milking out any more references or revivals of the bird and his role, which by this point was well-concluded and moved on from… The past of Sly’s family coming back to haunt him, the weight of honoring the legacy of his ancestors, and the struggle of exploring who he is both as a Cooper and the leader of his own found family, and Honor Among Thieves checked those boxes without ruining the closure he got back in Paris. Band of Theives will always be my personal favorite to return to, but all of what M represents, along with many other reasons, is why I consider the third to narratively be the best game out of the series.
Exclusion Zone Makes My Eyes Sweat
KHS, it seems, possesses such an uncanny talent for writing the most underrated and downright raw narratives in general, but there's just something so specifically emotionally wrenching about what you could probably call the "climax" of Exclusion Zone- aka, my second favorite of the twisted tales within Haunted Cities, vol 4.
And therein Exclusion Zone lies an event that makes it stand out so far from the rest. There is a moment very, very far from the scariest experience I had in Haunted Cities, and yet this is still the one that haunts me most of all, and maybe that was the way it was meant. You simply enter the ruins of a long abandoned tower, and you recover a note written by a deceased researcher.
It's not a moment that puts the player inside the jaws of a hungry house. It's not a scene where dark angels are coming to gnaw off your skin, you aren't swallowed by any ravenous gardens, and if anything, the music in that tower makes it almost a calming moment. The atmosphere is serene and comforting, like a temple, or any sacred ground should be. You are, true enough, being bombarded with lethal amounts of radiation, seemingly to no immediate consequence, though.
And like that, it happens, and then you leave the site once you finish your exploration. You show up, do your job, and head back. Yet here I am still trying to put together what exactly about this game's conclusion makes me so deeply... sad and disturbed, in a way games have rarely managed to do, and I have my best guess:
“She was wronged."
As extreme and surreal as the story unfolded is, the feelings it immerses you in are something so grounded and relatable, to me- The sympathy and sheer powerlessness of being an observer in the aftermath of a great tragedy.
To stand there in the epicenter of so much death and sorrow, which happened all and only because everyone was trying the best that they ever could, and it just… wasn't enough. And no matter how much you can mourn for their fate, or wish you could even just say how sorry you are, maybe for them, or maybe for how cruel of a world it is at all, but there's nothing you can do yourself but just.. feel that empathy for them. So you do.
And the revelation itself is a jarring, shocking thing, especially if you save the tower for the last to visit on your run. These gentle, final words pouring with so much humanity in a setting that’s so lifeless and cold. I already had an idea of what was coming, I got the games purely because of the Jacob Geller review, and I don’t think my enjoyment was any bit lessened by the spoilers.
There’s no villain to blame for the tragedy of the fallen goddess and those people who built the tower, save those nameless sisters some unfathomable, untouchable worlds away. There’s no implication to some fruitful lesson or honoring of the disaster’s victims. If anything, your closure is only in the assumption that the pitiful girl will be demonized and remembered in infamy for her suffering. What became of her, whether a final peace or an eternity left to her pain, no one can even know. Your discovery of the truth? As ultimately meaningless as that of the corpse left behind in that cursed ruin. What could you be left to do?
You silently grieve, probably just because no one else will. Probably because of a strongly felt connection for the wrongs you've faced yourself, whatever times you wished someone had been there with the same message, as little as it would have changed. It's a very unique and specific thing to invoke in an audience and I guess I'm appreciative and impressed such a game did so in such a short and potent fashion. It's part of what makes Exclusion Zone one of my favorites of the collection. It vaguely reminds me of Looming, too, which is another indie game built around a similar theme of retelling a story through archeology. I just really found that neatly powerful, and powerfully neat, and I hope I'm not the only one that did.
“I'm sorry, sister. You deserved better. This was not your fault."