It's 2026, and I'm still cruising the galaxy in Star Wars Outlaws, a game that captured my heart like no other open-world adventure in recent memory. I adore being a simple scoundrel, no Force powers required, just my wits, a blaster, and a healthy disrespect for authority. There's nothing quite like swindling a syndicate boss or bluffing my way through a high-stakes Sabacc game. And at the center of this beautiful chaos is Kay Vess's trusty speeder—the mechanical glue that holds my entire outlaw fantasy together. For better and, as I've painfully learned, for much, much worse.

star-wars-outlaws-my-love-hate-relationship-with-kay-vess-s-speeder-image-0

My journey began on the sun-scorched plains of Toshara. Ah, Toshara! Wide open spaces, crimson sands stretching to the horizon, and a speeder that felt like an extension of my own body. Once I unlocked the boost and jump upgrades, navigating those beautiful red wastes was an absolute joy. 🚀 It was pure, unadulterated freedom. I'd zip across the landscape, Kay's iconic mullet flapping in the wind, discovering hidden caches and outposts without a care in the world. The speeder and Toshara were a match made in heaven—or, well, a galaxy far, far away. It felt right. It was the perfect tool for the job.

Then, I made the jump to Akiva.

All that goodwill? Vaporized in an instant. Don't get me wrong—I'm a jungle guy! I cut my teeth on Uncharted, and I'm always ready to grab a machete and dive into some humid, overgrown terrain. But Akiva... Akiva feels like it was designed by someone who actively hates speeders. This swampy backwater planet accidentally holds up a magnifying glass to every single flaw in Kay's preferred method of getting from point A to point B.

Instead of feeling like an untamed wilderness, Akiva feels like a poorly planned series of narrow highways with dense green walls on either side. After the glorious expanse of Toshara, arriving here gave me cultural whiplash. This was especially true early on, before any upgrades, where hitting a puddle felt like playing a lethal game of interstellar Frogger. The transition was brutal.

The core issue here isn't the greenery; it's the claustrophobic design. Akiva's paths are so narrow, and they are littered with an insane variety of crash-inducing objects. My personal hit list includes:

  • Trees (expected)

  • Rocks (also expected)

  • Lakes and Ponds (annoying)

  • Other Speeders (rude!)

  • Buildings (embarrassing)

  • Random Barriers (why?)

  • And the absolute worst offender... Those @#$%ing Poles!

star-wars-outlaws-my-love-hate-relationship-with-kay-vess-s-speeder-image-1

Let me rant about these poles for a second. They are the bane of my existence. They're often the same muddy color as the ground, they're skinny enough to be nearly invisible at speed, and they seem to serve no purpose other than to ruin my day. I'll be having a lovely drive, and then—BAM!—my speeder grinds to a halt because I kissed a pole I never even saw. I half expect the game to pop up with a message saying, "Are you my dad? Are you gonna take my keys away?" No? Then flark off! (Yeah, that's a Guardians swear, but it fits the cosmic scale of my frustration).

It's a bizarre design choice. In a game about fluid traversal and exploration, these instant-stop hazards feel punitive. A little bump, a slight speed reduction? Fine. But coming to a dead stop because I grazed a slender post is immersion-breaking and, frankly, a bit silly.

Now, I haven't hopped around the galaxy like it's a box of chocolates; I like to savor each planet. So, I can't yet compare Kijimi's spice mines or Tatooine's dunes to my experiences on Toshara and Akiva. But the contrast between those first two worlds is stark enough. One celebrates the speeder, the other feels like it's constantly fighting against it.

Look, in the grand scheme of things, this is a minor gripe. I still adore Star Wars Outlaws. The core gameplay loop of heists, syndicate manipulation, and galactic mischief is incredibly satisfying. But, Ubisoft, I'm begging you—have some mercy! I'm spending half my hard-earned credits on Bacta tanks just to heal the wounds I get from constantly wrecking my ride. A little forgiveness in the collision physics, or maybe a sensor that beeps when I'm about to hug a tree, would go a long way. My speeder is my best friend and my greatest nemesis, and that's a relationship more complicated than any I have with the Hutts.