I have played a lot of Destiny with friends and with randomly assigned partners, but it's sort of like being on a car ride together. Halo 5, on the other hand, is full of tense moments of planning and frustration and awe. The same multiplayer mode played in the same environment will never feel the same twice. Which begs the question: If a Halo Moment occurs and a friend isn't there to tell about it, did it happen?
Today, of course, Destiny is a mess, but I sympathize with it. It contains multitudes, and I see the multitudes in it. Like Destiny, we all struggle with what came before us. We struggle to measure up to it, to change it, to learn from its mistakes. We want to be bigger than our parents, and in some ways, we always are. But ultimately we, too, are human. Like Luke, we can't live up to others' expectations; no one can be everything to everyone. What else could we call such failure but destiny?
Bad puzzles are easy to design; good puzzles (whether easy or hard) require logic, care, even a touch of the narrative Hohokum pointedly rejects. Good puzzles tell a story in their physical parts. Over time, Hohokum demands story, even as it tells you it doesn't have one, and it demands progress, even as it works so hard to act like it doesn't.
For all Watch Dogs' wonderful forward-thinking largesse—its very serious aesthetic concern with memory and surveillance and violence—it still thinks small. The plot confuses memes with jokes, confuses hoops with plot points, confuses Deadmau5 with cool. We move from person of interest to person of interest, as in a Raymond Chandler story, but unlike in a Chandler story no larger structure takes shape. We uncover only more hacking, more people of interest; jabs are taken at corruption but the corruption is only a type of information, a thing to hack. We hop up and down the ladder, from club to ghetto to skyscraper, but each setting is just a new set of boxes and cameras and targets. It is assumed that the setting will tell the story, but the city will not speak.