Mega Mall Story 2 Turned Me Into a Raging Capitalist–And I Loved It

At the end of every year Paste’s games contributors write about their favorite game of the year that didn’t make our best-of-the-year list. Today Dia Lacina writes about a game that turns players into predatory capitalists—and why that still felt so great to play.

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At the end of 2019, I wanted to try a Kairosoft simulation game. Colin Spacetwinks had written about them for me at CapsuleCrit, and when Mega Mall Story 2 ended up on their Top Ten for Giant Bomb, I figured why not? $5 can feel like a lot when it might be deleted in minutes, but this had become a nagging itch.

Good lord is scratching it good.

The first thing I built was not the Gift Shop (as the tutorial instructed), but obviously, a capsule machine. Right next to the entrance’s vending machine. A nod to my game of the year, Shenmue 3. I watched my mall manager flit purposefully between floors waiting for our first customer.

I built a candy shop. Then the gift store. I watched as customers filtered in to explore my offerings. I named my mall Junes after Persona 4. Because every day’s great there. And I wanted every day to be great here too.

Going to the mall was a treat for me as a child. I loved the odd planning of the structures, the stimulus overload from a conglomeration of mismatched brand experiences. But building out Junes, part of me became despondent over the idea of truly growing my mall. At three asymmetrical stories, I was thrilled. I had achieved a balance of my personal sensibilities. It was charming and fun and absurd. There was even a creepy one-sided gay romance budding between a regular and one of my stores’ clerks, and my payphones kept selling out—of what? Who knows? Interpersonal connection, I guess.

My customers kept asking for more, though. And I loved them. I wanted them to love my mall. Even if I wanted them to think about their consumption habits, to just enjoy the space as a communal environment filled with the delightful. They wanted to fucking shop. I wanted them to be happy.

But, really, I wanted their love and fealty.

I fixed myself in purpose. I would build them a monstrosity of capitalistic impulse. A five-star wonder of conspicuous consumption. I would build and court and cater to their appetites like a helicopter parent until I owned their love and respect and maxed out credit cards. I maximized my floor combos, placing stores not for my aesthetic sense, but to maximize my extractive, addictive potential. My conversion rates soared. I had sales and induced frenzy. As my mall became more grotesque, so did I.

It was breathtaking.