Recently, social media and online forums have been ablaze with the bizarre claim that North Korea has been officially propagating a 2026 World Cup victory. The rumour suggests the state has been celebrating for 75 years, even holding victory parades to convince its citizens. While this has been debunked as absolute nonsense, the fact that so many people bought into it—given the country’s hermetic nature and daily diet of state-sponsored lies—is telling. Even if the North Korean public is shielded from the outside world, surely they wouldn't fall for something quite that daft?

However, if you turn your gaze to the virtual worlds of gaming, you will find that such shameless propaganda is par for the course. From masking miserable realities to baiting players with false promises or blatant political indoctrination, the reasons are as varied as they are grim. The funny thing is, while both players and NPCs know it is all just the bark of a dog, they rarely have the agency to talk back. Here are the top 5 most hollow, soul-crushing propaganda efforts in gaming history that nobody believes, but everyone has to listen to anyway.

The prophet Comstock, who rules the floating city of Columbia, pumps white supremacist and nationalist rhetoric into the ears of his citizens 24/7 via radio, film, and gargantuan statues. He deifies Washington and Jefferson, labels minorities as filthy sub-humans, and frames the brutal exploitation at Fink Manufacturing as 'divine doctrine.' He also makes sure to stoke religious paranoia by warning of a 'False Shepherd' bearing an 'AD' brand on their hand, destined to bring the city to its knees.

In reality, this utopia is a house of cards built on the narcissism of Booker DeWitt—who sought to brainwash away the trauma of the Wounded Knee Massacre—kidnapping, and serial murder. The white elite are so whipped up into a fanatical frenzy that they lose their minds the second they spot a Booker, while the downtrodden lower class forms the 'Vox Populi' to incite a riot. So much for a paradise in the clouds; all that is left is a bloody mess between zealots and ruthless terrorists. In games as in life, those who insist they are building heaven on earth are usually the ones losing their marbles.

In the irradiated wasteland of Fallout 3, there is one broadcast you cannot avoid. The 'Enclave Radio' features John Henry Eden, the supposed President of the United States, waxing lyrical about his childhood memories and his pet dog, 'Honey,' all set to upbeat 50s marching tunes. He spends his time dragging the 'incompetent' politicians of the past through the mud while promising the wastelanders a cleaner future through his 'Project Purity.'

The snag here is that his heartfelt broadcasts were generated by an algorithm, and the President himself is just a glorified supercomputer in a bunker. Furthermore, his 'purification' plan was not about cleaning up radiation, but deploying the FEV virus to wipe out anyone who had adapted to the wasteland. Even the people listening to the radio only tune in for the music and ignore the speeches; watching an AI get so high on its own political supply that it triggers a self-destruct sequence is enough to make one realise that even silicon brains aren't immune to political madness.

The Ministry of Truth of the Super Earth Federation is constantly brainwashing citizens via TV screens on your ship and the local Democracy Officer. They spew nonsense like 'Vitamin D is for Democracy' and claim that exterminating alien species is the only way to safeguard freedom. They even encourage children to report their parents for 'thoughtcrimes,' a fascist masterclass that would make George Orwell blush.

Yet, their touted 'Managed Democracy' is just a cover for an AI-dictated voting system, and the war for freedom is really just about harvesting alien 'E-710' for fuel. Despite the threat of being dragged to a 'Freedom Camp' for expressing dissent, citizens are too busy reporting their peers for minor rewards to care. Even us players use 'For Freedom!' as a meme, but when you see thousands of Helldivers being churned through the meat grinder every day, the chilling reality of this soulless propaganda hits home.

Trapped in an underground research facility, Chell is subjected to a relentless barrage of sweet-talking from the facility manager, GLaDOS. GLaDOS promises with a calm, unwavering voice that if Chell survives the brutal testing, a delicious cake and a life of luxury await her. With neon signs of cakes plastered all over the facility walls, GLaDOS persistently baits the player’s hunger and resolve, making you think, 'Well, maybe it’ll be worth it in the end.'

But at the finish line, there is no cake—only an incinerator ready to cook Chell until she is extra crispy. If you check the data-mined cake recipe, it includes industrial resin, fibreglass, and syringes. It was never meant for human consumption in the first place. Of course, few players truly believed the lies, but I have to wonder: am I the only one who still really wants that cake?

Donny Vermillion, the lead anchor for the Terran Dominion's state media outlet UNN, is the quintessential mouthpiece for Emperor Mengsk’s gaslighting campaign. Whenever Jim Raynor saves civilians or fends off the Zerg, Vermillion spins the narrative to credit the 'swift response of the Dominion forces,' and even goes so far as to frame Raynor as the one who lured the Zerg in. If a field reporter tries to share the truth, Vermillion simply cuts the feed—a masterclass in journalistic gatekeeping.

Of course, Mengsk was a sociopath who ordered the massacre of billions, and Vermillion was just another brainwashed victim who blindly believed the propaganda. When Raynor’s Raiders broadcast the recording of Mengsk confessing to the massacre across the sector, Vermillion has a complete mental breakdown, sobbing about how their brother lived on Tarsonis. He ends up in an asylum, found in his socks clutching a jar of peanut butter and a Mengsk manifesto—a fittingly pathetic end for a professional liar.