stool pigeon 最近的评测

Planet Zoo is one of those games that quietly eats entire afternoons without you realizing it. You open it thinking, “I’ll just fix the habitat layout real quick,” and suddenly it’s three hours later, your zoo is making negative profit, half your animals are stressed, and you’re still having the time of your life. The management layer is where the game truly shines — deep, detailed, and just crunchy enough that every decision feels meaningful without becoming overwhelming.

There’s something incredibly satisfying about planning out a new exhibit: plotting terrain, tweaking humidity, arranging plants, fine-tuning enrichment items, and watching an animal finally trot into its new home like it approves of your life choices. That tiny moment is pure dopamine. And as someone who genuinely enjoys micromanaging systems, staff logistics, breeding programs, guest flow, and enclosure designs, Planet Zoo hits every button I want it to hit.

Performance issues aside, the game’s atmosphere is soothing. The animals look fantastic, the animations are expressive, and even the guests—despite their habit of complaining non-stop—make the zoo feel alive. It’s a rare builder where the fun isn’t just in creating something pretty, but making something functional. A well-run zoo feels like a machine that rewards effort, planning, and a little perfectionism.

And honestly, I see myself coming back often. Every now and then I think, “Maybe I should expand the zoo a bit…” and suddenly I’m sketching out a new tiger enclosure like an unpaid architect. I also fully intend to grab some DLC in the future (just playing the base game at the moment); the animal packs are tempting, and knowing myself, I’ll eventually cave because “just one more species” is a slippery slope.

Planet Zoo isn’t perfect, but it’s one of the most satisfying management builders I’ve played in years — equal parts creativity, strategy, and cozy animal-raising joy.

Scores

Gameplay / Management: 9/10 (deep and rewarding without being tedious)
Animals / Visuals: 9/10 (gorgeous models and animations)
Building Tools: 8/10 (powerful but occasionally finicky)
Performance: 7/10 (large zoos get laggy fast)
Content: 8/10 (lots to do, and DLC expands it nicely)
Addictiveness: 9/10 (“just one more habitat” becomes a lifestyle)

Overall: 8.3/10 (a rich, satisfying management sim perfect for anyone who loves designing, optimizing, and caring for virtual wildlife)

A survival horror(ish) game with beautiful artstyle.

This is the kind of game that pretends to be a quirky survival sandbox, but in reality, it’s a stress simulator wrapped in Tim Burton aesthetics and delivered with the subtle kindness of a brick. Every session begins with hope—“this time I’ll make a proper base”—and ends with me running in circles at night holding a torch at 2% durability, realizing I have learned absolutely nothing from all my previous deaths.

The magic of DST is how effortlessly it creates memorable micro-adventures. I’ll start by gathering grass and twigs like a responsible survivor, then immediately abandon all rational planning because I spotted a wormhole and “just want to see where it goes.” Before I know it, I’m freezing to death in winter, starving in the swamps, or getting chased by something that definitely wasn’t there five minutes ago.

And despite the chaos, I kind of like the story—or rather, the fragments of one. DST doesn’t shove a narrative in your face. Instead, it leaves breadcrumbs through character quirks, world oddities, and little environmental puzzles that hint at something bigger happening behind the scenes. It’s never fully explained, never fully resolved, but that mysterious, “lost history” feeling makes the world more intriguing. You’re not just surviving; you feel like you’ve stumbled into a strange, cursed stage play where everyone knows their lines except you.

And yet, despite the constant humiliation, the game stays endlessly replayable. Every world feels different, every day feels like progress, and every disaster feels like a story worth retelling. Even when the game mercilessly punishes me, I find myself laughing, rebuilding, and doing it all again because the cycle of discovery → danger → disaster is simply too good.

DST doesn’t care about fairness; it cares about giving you an experience—one where survival is never guaranteed, comfort is temporary, and you’re always one mistake away from watching your entire base go up in flames. And somehow, that makes it great.

Personal scores:

Story: 6/10 (because while not traditional, the scattered lore and eerie worldbuilding make it surprisingly interesting)
Gameplay: 9/10 (because the survival loop is brutally addictive once you understand the rhythm)
Visuals: 8/10 (because the art style is timeless even if technically simple)
Audio: 7/10 (because the sound cues are helpful but the soundtrack is subtle)
Performance: 8/10 (because it runs well, though co-op lag and odd stutters still happen)
Longevity: 9/10 (because every new world feels fresh and no two runs are ever the same)

Overall: 8.1/10 (because the game is chaotic, punishing, mysterious, and endlessly replayable once you accept the suffering)

This is one of those rare games that sticks with you long after the credits roll. It’s Rockstar at their most playful — a smaller, tighter world with all the personality of their bigger titles, but wrapped in a school setting that somehow feels both absurd and nostalgic. You step into the shoes of Jimmy Hopkins, a kid dropped into the chaotic ecosystem of Bullworth Academy, and from the moment you start causing trouble, defending yourself, or sprinting to class like a delinquent speedrunner, the game’s charm becomes undeniable.

Bullworth feels alive in a way few older open-world games do. Every clique has personality, every student and teacher feels like a wandering caricature, and the school grounds are packed with secrets, collectibles, and reasons to misbehave. The missions range from hilarious to surprisingly heartfelt, all delivered with that classic Rockstar wit. Whether you're shoving jocks into lockers, helping nerds survive the halls, or terrorizing prefects on Halloween, the game balances comedy and chaos perfectly.

Combat is simple but satisfying, the minigames (especially classes) add great variety, and the seasonal transitions make the world feel surprisingly immersive. Even now, there’s something cozy about wandering Bullworth at night with snow falling, watching the lights flicker in the dorm.

Of course, the game shows its age. Some controls feel stiff, the camera occasionally argues with you, and certain missions can be a little janky. But none of that overshadows what makes Bully so special — its humor, its characters, and its unique setting. It’s a game that deserves the love it gets, and honestly, it deserved a sequel years ago.

Bully isn’t just fun — it’s memorable. A mischievous, heart-filled classic that still stands strong today.

Personal scores:

Gameplay: 8/10 (simple but satisfying brawling and fun mission design)
World & Atmosphere: 9/10 (Bullworth is full of charm, personality, and life)
Story & Characters: 8.5/10 (funny, sharp, and full of memorable moments)
Variety & Activities: 8/10 (classes, minigames, collectibles, and seasonal changes)
Polish & Age: 7/10 (a bit dated and occasionally janky, but still solid)

Overall: 8.3/10 — A witty, charming troublemaker of a game that remains one of Rockstar’s most unique and memorable experiences.

Far Cry 5 is one of those games that grabs you almost instantly. Hope County is absurdly beautiful — from the forests and mountain ridges to quiet rivers and wide-open fields — all contrasted by the unsettling presence of a fanatical cult that turns this peaceful countryside into a powder keg. That contrast gives the world an energy few open-world shooters really capture.

Gameplay-wise, it’s peak Far Cry chaos. You can sneak through outposts, blow everything up, send your animal companions to do the heavy lifting, or get distracted for an entire play session by something totally unplanned. In fact, some days I don’t even touch the story — I just roam around looting prepper stashes like some kind of Montana treasure goblin. And honestly? Those stashes are some of the best content in the game: clever puzzles, hidden bunkers, and fun rewards that make every detour worth it.

Gunplay is solid, the world is packed with activities, and the freedom to approach missions however you want keeps things fresh. The story is darker and more serious than the previous entries, with Joseph Seed and the whole Seed family leaving a strong impression you won’t easily forget. The ending is divisive, but it’s bold and memorable — the kind that makes you sit back and think.

Co-op adds another layer of hilarious disaster, and the open world is consistently entertaining… even when the occasional Ubisoft-ism kicks in. Random interruptions can get repetitive, and AI allies (and enemies) sometimes act like they’re running on borrowed brain cells, but it rarely kills the fun.

Far Cry 5 delivers exactly what you want from the series: a beautiful world, explosive freedom, a compelling villain, and a sandbox full of unpredictable mayhem.

Personal scores:

Gameplay: 8.5/10 (flexible, chaotic, and reliably fun)
World & Atmosphere: 9/10 (gorgeous landscapes and immersive environments)
Story & Characters: 8/10 (strong antagonists and a bold narrative direction)
Content Variety: 8/10 (tons to do, especially prepper stashes)
AI & Polish: 7/10 (fun but occasionally a little too goofy)

Overall: 8.3/10 — A beautiful, chaotic open-world playground where exploring, liberating, and looting prepper stashes is just as fun as the main story itself.

Need for Speed: Heat is one of those racing games that immediately pulls you in with style. From the neon-soaked nights to the thundering engine roars, the whole experience feels fast, loud, and aggressively stylish in the best way possible. And the customization? Absolutely top-tier. This is the kind of game where you’ll spend 40 minutes tuning your car’s appearance and only 10 minutes actually racing it. Paint jobs, decals, body kits, exhaust notes — it’s all there, and it all feels personal.

The day-and-night system adds a fun rhythm to the gameplay. Daytime racing is cleaner, more structured, and good for making legal money. Nighttime, meanwhile, turns the whole game into an adrenaline rush where reputation climbs fast and cops become… very determined. It’s a great loop that sucks you in and makes progression feel rewarding.

The story is short — like, blink and you’ll miss it short — but surprisingly enjoyable. It’s not groundbreaking narrative art, but it’s tight, stylish, and just long enough not to overstay its welcome. A simple, punchy tale that fits the NFS vibe well.

The driving itself feels good once you adapt to the drifting-heavy handling, and the city is fun to tear through at high speed. The cops can be a headache at times, especially at night when they seem to spawn out of thin air just to ruin your day, but it adds to the tension.

It’s not the deepest racing game ever made, but it is one of the most fun and expressive NFS titles in years. Heat delivers a compact, flashy experience that knows exactly what it wants to be: fast, stylish, customizable, and loud.

Personal scores:

Gameplay: 8/10 (fast, fun, and responsive once you get used to the drifting)
Customization: 10/10 (one of the strongest aspects of the entire game)
World & Atmosphere: 8.5/10 (vibrant neon nights and energetic city design)
Story: 7.5/10 (short but surprisingly enjoyable and well-paced)
Police AI: 6.5/10 (intense but often too aggressive and inconsistent)

Overall: 8.1/10 — A stylish, high-energy racing game with incredible customization and a short but satisfying story, perfect for players who want speed with personality.

Skyrim Special Edition is one of those games that simply refuses to die. You uninstall it, swear you’re done, move on to newer open-world giants… and then at 2 AM on a random Tuesday, something inside you whispers, “What if… I played Skyrim again?”
Next thing you know, you're knee-deep in 200 mods, rebuilding the game into a hyper-realistic, anime-infused, ENB-drenched monster — only to actually play for an hour or two before vanishing for months. It’s a cycle as ancient as the Elder Scrolls themselves.

The world is still the crown jewel. Skyrim’s landscapes remain uniquely atmospheric: cold, quiet, haunting, and endlessly wanderable. It has that rare quality where every direction feels like it hides a secret — a cave with a forgotten story, a lonely shack with a dark past, or a quest you never meant to start but somehow finish two hours later. It’s pure immersion.

Combat is… Skyrim combat. Serviceable, sometimes fun, sometimes wet-noodle-y, but always familiar in a comforting way. The story is classic fantasy comfort food, and the side quests — especially the Daedric ones — remain highlights. And of course, modding is the true endgame and the reason Skyrim SE continues to thrive.

And then there’s the jank. The glorious, ancient, fossilized Bethesda jank.
Dragons flying backwards, NPCs walking into walls, physics sending cheese wheels into orbit — all part of the Bethesda shenanigan package, that special spice blend of bugs and unpredictability that somehow makes the world feel more alive, even when it absolutely shouldn’t.

Skyrim SE is imperfect, messy, occasionally broken… and yet endlessly lovable. It’s not just a game — it’s a place you return to whenever the nostalgia itch hits, even if you’ll spend more time modding than actually playing.

Scores

Gameplay: 8/10 (fun and flexible, still floaty but charming)
World & Exploration: 10/10 (one of the most atmospheric open worlds ever made)
Story & Quests: 8.5/10 (side quests and Daedric arcs remain standouts)
Performance & Stability: 7/10 (SE is smoother, but the classic Bethesda shenanigans persist)
Replayability: 10/10 (mods, builds, and infinite tinkering keep it immortal)

Overall: 8.8/10 — A legendary, endlessly moddable adventure carried by atmosphere, nostalgia, and the timeless beauty of Bethesda jank.

Fallout 4 is one of those games that sweeps you into its world almost immediately. The Commonwealth feels alive in that distinct Bethesda way — strange characters, abandoned towns hiding stories, factions with clashing ideals, and a sense of exploration that makes “I’ll just check this one building” turn into a two-hour detour. It’s big, messy, atmospheric, and incredibly easy to sink into.

Combat is snappier than its predecessors, the crafting system is a rabbit hole you can fall into for hours, and settlement building — love it or hate it — is addictive once it clicks. Companions are memorable, the story is engaging enough to keep you moving, and every corner of the map feels like it’s waiting to surprise you.

But then, in true Bethesda fashion, the jank hits. NPCs get stuck in doors, items launch into the sky, dialogue breaks, and quests occasionally behave like they missed their morning coffee. It’s the full Bethesda package: loveable, ambitious… and buggy. And somehow, that’s part of the charm.

Fallout 4 isn’t perfect, but it is endlessly enjoyable, and it has a world that keeps pulling you back — even if you know something will eventually glitch out and scare a Brahmin into orbit.

Personal scores:

Gameplay: 8/10 (fun gunplay and crafting, slightly stiff in places)
World & Exploration: 9/10 (dense, atmospheric, rewarding to roam)
Story & Characters: 8/10 (engaging plot and strong companions)
Performance & Stability: 6/10 (buggy in that classic Bethesda way)
Replayability: 9/10 (tons to do, tons to discover, tons to mod)
Overall: 8/10
A lovable, immersive wasteland held together by duct tape, charm, and the most Bethesda bugs imaginable. (P.S. don't buy the Anniversary Edition, its Bethesda being Bethesda)

Counter-Strike 2 continues the legacy of its predecessor with a slicker engine, sharper visuals, and a level of mechanical precision that only CS can deliver. It’s the same brutal, punishing loop of aim duels, crosshair discipline, and economy management — except now everything looks cleaner, runs smoother, and feels more responsive. The learning curve is still a cliff, smoothed only by years of muscle memory or thousands of deaths, but that harsh consistency is exactly what makes CS2 so addictive. Every round feels like a tiny competitive puzzle: position, utility, timing, and the eternal question of “why is my teammate buying AWP on eco?”

The matchmaking can be hit-or-miss, but the gunplay remains the strongest in the genre. It’s a game that rewards discipline, punishes ego, and occasionally reminds you that no matter how many hours you have, someone with 200 DPI and a suspiciously perfect crosshair placement will delete you instantly. Meanwhile, Valve’s weekly skin drops have turned the game into the weirdest form of passive income ever — you queue for a few matches, tilt slightly, maybe lose MMR, then get a digital sticker worth a dollar. Somehow the game pays you for suffering. It’s almost poetic.

Despite its flaws — the cheaters, the occasional netcode gremlins, the random teammates who think they’re playing Deathmatch — CS2 remains the purest expression of competitive FPS. When it clicks, it’s incredible. When it doesn’t, it ruins your evening. And yet, we all queue again tomorrow.
Personal scores:

Gameplay / Gunplay: 8.5/10 (classic CS feel, slightly inconsistent at times)

Movement & Mechanics: 7/10 (solid but noticeably different from GO)

Visuals & Atmosphere: 8/10 (clean, modern, and sometimes too shiny)

Maps & Utility Play: 8/10 (smokes are cool… when they behave)

Match Experience: 7.5/10 (fun, intense, occasionally cursed)

Passive Income Factor: 10/10 (skins = side hustle)

Overall: 8/10 — A flawed but addictive evolution of Counter-Strike that doubles as a surprisingly effective investment plan.

Dota 2 is one of those games that genuinely makes me question my life choices. Every time I open it, a small part of me whispers, “You don’t have to do this,” and yet my brain hits Play Dota anyway. Thousands of hours in, thousands of regrets later, here I am, willingly returning to the digital torture chamber.

From the moment a match starts, Dota 2 reminds you that you do not understand this game — and you probably never will. With 126 heroes, each packed with enough mechanics, interactions, and patch notes to require a PhD, the game expects you to absorb information at a rate normally reserved for quantum physicists. You might master a handful of heroes, sure, but the rest will continue to ruin your games in ways both creative and spiritually devastating.

And the matches themselves?
Pure chaos… in the most beautiful way possible.

One minute you pull off the perfect combo, outplay your opponents, and feel like a tactical genius. Five minutes later, your carry queues Midas at minute 35, your support jungles, someone buys four Divine Rapiers “for morale,” and suddenly you’re defending Ancient alone while questioning everything.

Dota 2 is brilliant, painful, exhilarating, exhausting.
A masterpiece that despises you.
And I hate it right back.

But beneath all that chaos and emotional trauma, Dota 2 remains one of the deepest, most rewarding competitive games ever made. For every crushing defeat, there’s a match that reminds you why this game has refused to die for over a decade. And so the cycle continues.

Personal scores:

Gameplay Depth: 10/10 (a bottomless pit of mechanics you’ll never fully understand)

Hero Variety: 10/10 (126 heroes = 126 ways to win and 126 ways to destroy your own team)

Community Experience: 3/10 (ranges from philosophical geniuses to war criminals)

Learning Curve: 2/10 (vertical, slippery, and actively hostile)

Match Quality: 7/10 (a mix of peak gaming and psychological suffering)

Tilt Factor: 11/10 (unofficial stat but 100% accurate)

Overall: 8.5/10 — A legendary, miserable, hilariously painful game I sarcastically hate… yet I keep coming back like it’s a lifestyle.

Stoneshard is one of those games that grabs you by the cloak and drags you straight into its grim, medieval misery—in the best way possible. The atmosphere is fantastic, the combat feels weighty, and every step into the wilderness has that “I really shouldn’t be out here but here I am” energy. The world is dangerous, enemies are rude, and the loot is… well, mostly onions and the like and broken to bits items, but somehow it’s still fun.

But despite all that charm, the game still feels like a beautifully constructed wagon missing a few wheels. Progression is thin, content runs out quicker than you expect, and we’re still waiting on things like proper character creation, which has been requested for so long it might as well qualify for veteran status. I'm bored of playing Mahir for the sixth time and I just want to design my own soon-to-be-mangled adventurer—is that too much to ask?

Saving is also an adventure of its own. Want to stop playing? Easy—just walk back to town, find a bed, and pray nothing eats you on the way (I know there's a bedroll or camps, this is a hyperbole). The RNG doesn’t help either; every fight feels like rolling dice with a trickster god. One moment you’re a tactical genius, the next your sword misses three times in a row and you get mauled by a small ghoul (jk I never got mauled by a small ghoul, but you get the gist of it). It keeps things interesting… in the same way that juggling chainsaws keeps things interesting.

Still, Stoneshard’s potential is undeniable. It’s fun, it’s atmospheric, and it feels so close to becoming something truly special. I’m really looking forward to the next update—hopefully soon—and hoping it brings enough new content that I can stop harvesting XP from woodland critters.

Personal scores:

Atmosphere: 9/10 (grim, immersive, and delightfully miserable)

Gameplay: 7/10 (fun but held hostage by RNG chaos)

Progression: 4/10 (needs expansion and polish)

Content: 5/10 (solid foundation, but the world still feels half-built)

QoL / Saving System: 3/10 (please… just let me save my game or make bedrolls smaller because why is it so big in my inventory)

Overall: 6.5/10 – A rough but lovable gem with serious potential. Looking forward to what’s next.