When I jumped back into GTA: Vice City, it felt less like playing a game and more like stepping straight into the 80s. The pastel suits, neon skyline, and synth soundtrack weren’t just decoration—they pulled me into a city that was equal parts glamorous and corrupt. What hooked me wasn’t just Tommy Vercetti’s rise to power, but how the game made his ambition feel personal, almost like I was living it with him.
What impressed me most was how alive the city felt. Cruising through Ocean Drive, tuning into the radio, then suddenly getting dragged into a shady deal—it gave the world a rhythm that blurred the line between scripted story and player freedom. Even today, few open-world crime games capture that same balance of atmosphere and narrative drive.
Looking back, I see Vice City as more than just a crime story. Beneath the fast cars and wild parties, it’s a critique of ambition and excess. Every step to the top comes with a price, and that tension is what still makes the game feel relevant. For me, that’s why GTA: Vice City isn’t just a nostalgic classic—it’s a reminder of how style, story, and commentary can collide in a way that defines a whole genre.