Of all the ambitious, high-concept pitches that have emerged from the world of AAA game development, few are as audacious as the one at the heart of Watch Dogs: Legion: “Play as Anyone.” Announced as the cornerstone of the third installment in Ubisoft’s hacker franchise, this mechanic promised to revolutionize the open-world action-adventure genre. It wasn't just a new feature; it was the entire identity of the game. Upon its release in October 2020, the critical and player reception to this bold vision was a fascinating study in ambitious design meeting technical and narrative execution. The score for Watch Dogs: Legion, both literally from critics and figuratively from its community, is a complex tapestry of awe and disappointment, a testament to a groundbreaking idea that soared incredibly high but couldn't always stick the landing.
From a technical and systemic standpoint, “Play as Anyone” was met with widespread admiration and genuine wonder. Reviewers and players alike spent their first hours in a near-future, dystopian London utterly captivated by the freedom. The game’s core promise held true: you could literally scan any NPC on the street, be it a brash construction worker, a stoic MI6 agent, a quick-footed football hooligan, or a retired grandmother, and recruit them into the hacker resistance group, DedSec. The seamless nature of this system was its greatest triumph. Each character was procedurally generated with a unique set of skills, perks, and, most importantly, drawbacks. Recruiting a deadly professional hitman might grant you lethal expertise but come with a “notoriety” penalty, making Albion guards more aggressive. A drone expert might be physically weak but could turn London’s aerial surveillance network into their personal playground.
This systemic storytelling became the heart of the player’s unique narrative. Critics praised these emergent tales—the desperate extraction of a recruit’s kidnapped relative, the tragic death of a beloved operative that felt personal because you had chosen them, and the triumphant moment a lowly street artist’s unique ability to summon a protest drone swarm perfectly solved a high-stakes infiltration. Websites like IGN and GamesRadar highlighted this as a monumental achievement in player-driven narrative, where the story was not about a predefined character like Aiden Pearce or Marcus Holloway, but about the collective, the Legion itself. The city of London was also lavished with praise, its neon-soaked streets, iconic landmarks, and distinct boroughs crafted with a palpable sense of atmosphere, perfectly selling the “tech dystopia” vibe.
However, the very system that inspired such acclaim was also the source of the game’s most significant criticisms. The narrative reception was notably divided. While the emergent stories were praised, the overarching main plot was often described as shallow and impersonal. Without a central, well-written protagonist to anchor the emotional stakes, the narrative weight of London’s liberation fell flat for many. Characters, while mechanically diverse, were largely devoid of deep personality. Their randomly generated backstories and voice lines quickly became repetitive, breaking immersion and preventing the formation of a genuine emotional connection that a traditional narrative provides. The dialogue, having to service thousands of potential characters, often felt generic and failed to deliver the punch of a tightly scripted story.
Furthermore, the “Play as Anyone” mechanic, ironically, led to a sense of homogenization. Once the initial wow-factor faded, many players realized that most operatives were, in practice, tools rather than characters. A hacker, a infiltrator, and a combat specialist all played differently, but within those archetypes, individuals felt interchangeable. The lack of unique story arcs for recruits meant that beyond their randomly assigned skills, there was little reason to care about one construction worker over another. This led to a common critique: the game was a mile wide in its ambition but only an inch deep in its execution of that ambition. The revolutionary recruitment system sometimes felt like a gimmick that prioritized quantity over narrative quality.
The critical scores reflected this dichotomy. Watch Dogs: Legion settled at a respectable but not stellar Metacritic score ranging from the low to mid-70s across platforms. These scores encapsulated the critical consensus: a technically impressive and wildly innovative game that was simultaneously hampered by its own scope. It was applauded for its breathtaking ambition and the sheer fun of its sandbox systems but marked down for its repetitive missions, weak main narrative, and the emotional vacuum left by its lack of a central hero.
In the years since its release, the reception to Watch Dogs: Legion has evolved into a more nuanced appreciation. It is remembered not as a flawless masterpiece nor as a failure, but as a bold and necessary experiment. It dared to ask a question no other big-budget game had: “What if everyone is the hero?” The answer it provided was messy, flawed, and often brilliant. It demonstrated the incredible potential of procedural storytelling in open-world games, proving that players can and will create their own meaningful stories when given the tools. Yet, it also served as a crucial lesson in the irreplaceable value of strong, authored narrative and character development.
The final score for Watch Dogs: Legion is not a single number, but a range. It is an 8/10 for its groundbreaking technology and liberating gameplay freedom. It is a 6/10 for its narrative impact and emotional depth. Ultimately, its legacy is secure as a game that prioritized a revolutionary idea above all else, inspiring both awe for what it achieved and a roadmap of pitfalls for future games that will undoubtedly attempt to follow in its ambitious footsteps. It is a fascinating, flawed, and unforgettable experience that truly allowed you to play as anyone, for better and for worse.
