Saints Row reboots the series with a rage-fueled take on the gig economy

polygon.com:

Saints Row is a series predicated on one existential question: What if you just didn’t give a fuck anymore?

Your job sucks? Fire an RPG into your old office and become a crime lord. Jerkwad ex won’t leave your friend alone? Wingsuit onto his patio by leaping off a nearby building to tackle him from 60 feet up. Suburban nouveau-riche snob using a piece of valuable modern art as a drying rack? Pull up in a golf cart made of lava, slap a tow cable on that bad boy, and drive it home through rush hour traffic.

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There are probably reasonable human solutions to these problems, but the reboot of Saints Row is a game about telling reasonable to go fuck itself. The Boss of the newly formed Saints solves every problem that comes their way in a straight-line fashion: There’s you, there’s the goal, and in most cases, all that’s left of anything in between those two points is a trail of smoking, bleeding, or radioactively green glowing debris.

In terms of scale, this new incarnation of the series isn’t quite as bonkers as its immediate predecessors — after all, in the first couple hours of Saints Row 4, they blow up the Earth. Rather, it exists at the midpoint between the slightly more straight-laced Saints Row 2 and the left-field slapstick turn of Saints Row: The Third. Thus, while there’s nothing as wild as a gun that fires weaponized dubstep, you can still skin your grenade