It is only when words on the walls start appearing, admonishing the player or offering backhanded encouragement after yet another violent explosion into giblets at the hands of a laser-equipped turret or murderous robot, that you realise the bastard is the game.
The untutored bastard son of a French-Haitian merchant, he saw first-hand that the nascent United States, deficient in so many ways, was rich in wilderness, hosting creatures that even the most erudite mind could never conjure.