Who doesn't love a few cheeky drinks after a long day? Getting the rounds in at your favourite public house is a time-honoured tradition that extends from the genteel British country Inn to the puke-stained cobbles outside of a small city Weatherspoons on a Tuesday night.
Even video games tip their collective hat to all the dive bars of the world. So here's to propping up the bar and doing shots at nine of PlayStation’s booziest resorts...
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The augmented patrons of The Hive certainly know Adam Jensen’s name. Although seeing as he spends most
of his time in the boozy club hacking into precious security terminals, they’re probably not that glad he came. Wannabe bar flies should also be wary of local crime lords posing as scarred publicans.
My couzeen, we go drinking now? Well, if you insist, Roman. Sure, you can get paralytic in a number of Liberty City watering holes, but none give you that quaint Cheers touch like Comrades. This Hove Beach hangout is frequented by Russian crooks who never bring
a designated driver.
There’s nothing like taking time out from touring Tokyo to pay some beautiful women to converse with you in a hostess bar. Not only do Yakuza’s establishments offer real-life brands of booze, but you can even bang out a few drunken songs at karaoke. Just remember to bring Chihiro something pretty.
Aspiring alcoholics are spoiled beyond their wildest incontinence in Dunwall. The Hound Pits pub always offers a friendly welcome (unless you’re a Skeletor-looking hitman). For the truly discerning drunk, though, the distillery is hard to top, even if it is more concerned with acting as mob headquarters than producing Scotch.
Columbia’s Graveyard Shift public house really will drive you to drink. The most depressing bar since the East End’s Queen Victoria briefly ran out of Pints Of Non Specific, but we’d rather down shots of lighter fluid with the Songbird than spend any night of the week in this dreary Shantytown establishment.
When we’re being pursued by a T-Virus Terminator, stopping to wet our whistle doesn’t feature too high on our priorities list. Still, if you absolutely must have a Raccoon City eye-opener, may we suggest you call at Bar Black Jack? All the staff have been eaten, so service is understandably terrible. On the plus side, it does have a pinball machine.
Rockstar’s depressed ex-detective gargles alcohol like Popeye scarfs spinach. Trouble is, rather than sprout Hulk Hogan-shaming guns, he merely suffers apocalyptic hangovers that see him drop his guard in Sao Paulo nightclubs and end with his employer’s missus getting kidnapped. Stupid Kong whiskey.
Ah, the old timey Western saloon. Purveyor of gut rot, birthplace of the humble barroom brawl and home of those delightful, irresistible swinging doors. Marston certainly isn’t adverse to the odd whiskey or eight, and Red Dead rewards trophy hunters for starting a fight in every hooch house.
Jason Brody’s adventure starts as it means to go on: by getting you blutered on the beach before a demented pirate shoves you into a trippy prison run. Whether it’s sipping spirits on Rook Islands or suffering a hallucination where you’re buying chasers in a club, Far Cry loves the sauce. Though getting nibbled on by a tiger mid-hangover is a drag.
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