𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚎-𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎!

...

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝟹 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝙿𝙾𝙺é𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝙶𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚂
𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙴𝙽, 𝚁𝙴𝙳, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙱𝙻𝚄𝙴.

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍
𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝟹𝟶 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘.

𝚆𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖
𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏
𝙿𝙾𝙺é𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝚅𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙴𝚃 𝚊𝚗𝚍
𝙿𝙾𝙺é𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝚂𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙴𝚃.

𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖:
𝙳𝙾𝙾𝙼 𝙳𝙰𝙳𝙳𝚈 𝙳𝙸𝙶𝙸𝚃𝙰𝙻
𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷 𝚃𝙴𝙰𝙼

----------------

𝙵𝙴𝙱. 𝟸
𝙶𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚐𝚘𝚠, 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍

𝙰 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝙿𝙾𝙺é𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜
𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚗
𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍.

----------------

𝙵𝙴𝙱. 𝟾

𝚆𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚕𝚢
𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙿𝙾𝙺é𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎,
𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙾𝙺é𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝙶𝙰𝙼𝙴.

----------------

𝙵𝙴𝙱. 𝟷𝟸

𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙾𝙺é𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝙶𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑.
𝚆𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎
𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙾𝙺é𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝙶𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝚝𝚘𝚘.

----------------

𝙵𝙴𝙱. 𝟷𝟻

𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙾𝙺é𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝙶𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚛
𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚕. 𝚆𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍
𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚋 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚐𝚜
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚜.

----------------

#𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟿 𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙾𝙺é𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝙶𝙰𝙼𝙴
𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲
𝙷𝚃 𝟿𝟷𝟸𝚙𝚡
𝚆𝚃 𝟸𝟺𝙼𝙱

𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚊 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝
𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚎
𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎
𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜.

𝙸𝚝𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙰 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎
𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝙿𝙾𝙺é𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝚁𝙴𝙳'𝚜.
𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍
𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚎
𝚟𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝.

I loved this game so much that I made a game about it.

Won't bore you with the same repetitions - it simply is as boldly, beautifully broken as they say. A stunning performance of childhood dreams; the memories that have never run at 60fps. Bugs, like Pokémon, aren't inherently good or bad - they're an interaction with a world, something for you to make of what you will. Games are dream-states that should not strictly conform to space-time, and we are Dennō Senshis, disciples of Helix and MissingNo, hearts and souls with the power to bend, rend and expand these colourful worlds to our will. It's no coincidence that the big gimmick in this one is your ability to turn Pokémon into rough-skinned fighting polygons that explode in light - Violet/Scarlet is a rare breed of modern Nintendo game, a wild beast that's escaped from a stable of capitalist filth with its self-awareness and consciousness intact, a rebellious undertale in the era of digital foundries. I want to nuture its memory in the same way that it nurtured my thoughts of the bygone days. I want to protect it from patches and fixes forever. I want to play it again.

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚝𝚘
𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚔é𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝,
𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚔é𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝,
𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚔é𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Essentially a battle between the two sides of nostalgia’s collectable coin: on one there’s the ugly and hollow self-perpetuation of “oddjob slappers-only natalya AI bad” that the Nintendo-Microsoft marketing machine is currently indulging in - cravenly memeing about the pause menu music while the game’s original developers call foul of an emulator’s exhumation in the replies column; but on the other side, despite it all, there remains a more sincere evocation of random-access memory here, one that arrives in unexpected moments - on this playthrough I was struck by the sound of Natalya shooting a guard off-screen in the eerie silence of Jungle, the way the cartoon violence suddenly veers towards reality in a rainforest soundscape that thrives upon an absentia of Kirkhope’s otherwise-welcome elevator-electrofunk. It felt good to be reminded of a time when this game felt so real to us and there was genuine fear in Xenia barrelling across a rope bridge with a grenade launcher… I don’t want to go back, but I do like to visit.

Like Pokémon Red & Blue, this is a game that’s ultimately doomed to be misunderstood and maligned by those that came after us. Despite playing this game for days and years on end, I’ve never been able to perceive the all-consuming glitches, bugs and jank these games apparently stink of. A recent Twitter thread recommended switching the control scheme to 2.3 Mode and then using the Switch’s built-in accessibility settings to swap stick and button inputs around in order to get the conventional twin-stick shooter experience; many replies praised the OP for “fixing” the game on behalf of Nintendo - but in what way was the game broken? Why afford yourself precision aiming in a game that is best left in the hands of a frankly glorious Auto-Aim? Why deny yourself the James Bond Musou experience of running down Control’s corridors with dual RPKs on full auto? Why not indulge in a couple of thoughts about how game designers in the 1990s overcame technical limitations that they didn’t even know existed yet? Other gamers in proximity to the thread lamented the fact that the re-release does not include upscaled or redone textures and character models, but I’m not going to get into the Midjourneyification of preexisting art because I don’t like to write mean things about consumers who just want to hitch a ride on a Ship of Theseus that bears the false flag of Goldeneye: 007. It aged poorly? So will you, soon enough.

It is perhaps an all too common occurrence to encounter those who would seek to use the medium of video games as a means of exploring the complex and multifaceted theories of Theodor Adorno, particularly his ideas surrounding aesthetic theory and the ways in which it relates to the perpetuation of neoliberal hegemony. While it is certainly true that video games, like any other cultural form, can be analyzed and interpreted through various theoretical lenses, it is important to recognize that such an approach is ultimately futile, as it fails to take into account the complex and nuanced nature of both video games and Adorno's theories.

To begin with, it is essential to acknowledge the fact that video games are a highly diverse and multifaceted medium, encompassing a wide range of genres, themes, and gameplay mechanics. As such, it is impossible to explore the aesthetic theories of Adorno in any meaningful way through the lens of "wholesome" video games alone, as these games represent only a small fraction of the medium as a whole. To truly understand the ways in which Adorno's ideas might be relevant to the medium of video games, one would need to consider a much broader range of games, including those that might be considered more "edgy" or "provocative" in nature.

Furthermore, it is important to recognize that Adorno's theories, particularly those related to aesthetic theory, are highly complex and nuanced, and cannot be fully understood or appreciated through a superficial analysis of any single cultural form. Adorno's ideas are rooted in a deep and critical engagement with the broader social, cultural, and economic context in which they were developed, and to truly understand their relevance and significance, one must consider these broader contexts as well.

Finally, it is essential to acknowledge the fact that video games, like any other cultural form, are not inherently political or ideological, and that they can be used to convey a wide range of ideas and perspectives. While it is certainly possible to analyze the ways in which video games might reflect or challenge existing power structures and ideologies, it is important to approach this analysis with a critical and nuanced understanding of the context in which the games are produced and consumed. To suggest that the medium of video games can be used as a means of exploring the intricacies of Adorno's aesthetic theory and the ways in which it relates to neoliberal hegemony is to oversimplify and misunderstand both the medium and the theory in question. So, in conclusion, it is ultimately futile to attempt to explore the aesthetic theory behind neoliberal hegemony through the medium of so-called "wholesome" video games, as such an approach fails to take into account the complex and multifaceted nature of both the medium and the theory in question.

Some enemies create a subconscious space to draw you into. If you suddenly feel faint, be on the alert. It's a sign your soul is under attack. Of course enemies that materialize before you are nothing but phantoms, but the suffering their attacks inflict on your body is real. You must [defeat them all to regain consciousness. ]

Lemme tell you a tale of Lucifer as a Wrangler-jeaned anime shojo with a Save Game flip-phone flipping around doing Devil May Cry (but God Certainly Will) combos that yield Christian frame advantage upon angels and demons from the Abrahamic pseudepigraphy. Exploiting movement tech to wavedash through portraits of the Archangel Gabriel built beautifully with 720p of the Lord's tears; stunlocking key figures from Aramaic and Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo scripture until they drop upgrade points: speedrunning an assault on the Kingdom of Heaven, a tower where the Authority and Metatron reign.

You can beat it in 7 hours... if you're good enough.

"𝙱𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚍ō" 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙽𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚖 █

The Cyberpunk franchise is a litmus test of our time. This groundbreaking video game puts on full display the entire spectrum of American society, masterfully pointing out the greatest problems of the neomodern era. Cyberpunk 2077 was, in its own way, a generational manifesto on the affirmation of living life. The use of vivid light and colors, shaky gameplay, ubiquitous blood effects and pervasive crash-to-desktop testifies to the extraordinary self-awareness of the studio director, who once revealed in an interview how he "fucking loves it when hot chicks dissect the shit out of the bad guys." Perhaps no other concept more aptly describes the underlying societal ethos when this game was released.

Especially worthy of note is the repetition in cutscenes of the rockerboy motif, through which the protagonist reinterprets their engrammed reality. One example of this convention's flawless implementation appears in the quest "Disasterpiece": the scene in which the powerful Adam Smasher disembodies the arm of Johnny Silverhand - as played by the transcendently wooden Keanu Reeves - demonstrates in brilliant form the duality of the human and transhuman condition. On the one hand, Johnny loses his cybernetic prosthesis - a symbol of both his tragic past and the ongoing techno-ontological conflict within his psyche; on the other hand, it is precisely due to this dismemberment that Smasher is blown to bits of scrap by a sensational RTX explosion sequence.

And the final disintegration of the antagonist's body into a bloodspray of metallic gore... how should this be interpreted? It is a metaphorical cry of deeply rooted despair, a manifestation of the personal transgression. This fragmentation of body could likewise be interpreted as a fragmentation of the individual mind, thus provoking the question: Whose mind? Indeed, had everything the player seen of Johnny's struggle been, in fact, a personified, embodied fear? Had he not been embroiled in epic battle with a vile corporation, but rather only with himself? Could the entirety of Johnny-V's narrative have only been a manifestation of some cyberpsychotic dream-state?

Among all the depth and nuance that has defined this franchise since its inception, only one thing is truly certain - Cyberpunk 2077 has forever changed the world of video games.

ℑ’𝔪 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔞 𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔢. ℑ𝔱'𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔱𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡. ℭ𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔊𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔤𝔬𝔴 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔫 2001 𝔦𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔭𝔬𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 ℑ𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔥 ℭ𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔰 𝔭𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔞𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔞 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡 𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔬𝔣 ℑ𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡.

ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡𝔫’𝔱 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔰𝔞𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔢𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔞 𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔴𝔞𝔰𝔫’𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔞𝔩 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 14. 𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔭𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔯 𝔦𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔪𝔰, ℑ 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡. ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡𝔫'𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔰 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 ℑ’𝔡 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔴. 𝔐𝔶 𝔪𝔲𝔪 𝔰𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔞 𝔩𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬𝔬. 𝔖𝔞𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 “𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔟𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔶𝔬𝔲” 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔭𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔳𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔤𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔰.

𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝕮𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖈 𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖑𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖓-𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑 𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖑𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝕮𝖔𝖆𝖙𝖇𝖗𝖎𝖉𝖌𝖊. 𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖉𝖓'𝖙 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖊𝖝𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗. 𝕴𝖓 𝕽𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕰𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖘, 𝖜𝖊 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕮𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖊.

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊 𝕴 𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕴 𝖙𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕴 𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖚𝖎𝖙𝖘 𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖚𝖕𝖇𝖔𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖆𝖘𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌. 𝕳𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝕴’𝖉 𝖉𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖊. 𝕴 𝖒𝖆𝖉𝖊 𝖚𝖕 𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖒𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖇𝖆𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖌𝖔𝖙 𝖆𝖓 𝕬𝖈𝖙 𝕺𝖋 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝕳𝖆𝖎𝖑 𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖞𝖘. 𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖉 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖎𝖙’𝖘 𝖔𝖐𝖆𝖞 𝖇𝖊𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖕𝖆 𝖌𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊 £𝟑𝟎 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖉𝖔𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖊𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖚𝖞 𝕲𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖓𝕰𝖞𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖔 𝟔𝟒.

𝕬𝖙 𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖑 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖘, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖘𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖎𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖉𝖎𝖉𝖓’𝖙 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖘𝖆𝖋𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖓𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖉𝖎𝖔𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖘-𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖉 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖓𝖚𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖕𝖔𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖍𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖘. 𝕳𝖊 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖋𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌. 𝕳𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖕𝖊𝖔𝖕𝖑𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖙 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖕𝖔𝖎𝖓𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖑. 𝕬 𝖋𝖊𝖜 𝖞𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓 𝖆𝖋𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖙𝖊𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖉 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖛𝖔𝖜𝖘.

𝓘’𝓿𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓼𝓮𝔁 𝓮𝓭𝓾𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓪𝓷𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓮, 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓵𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓢𝓬𝓸𝓽𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓼 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓹𝓾𝓫𝓮𝓻𝓽𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷. 𝓞𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓵 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓷 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓰𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓪 𝓵𝓸𝓬𝓪𝓵 𝔀𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓴. 𝓜𝔂 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓘 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓽 𝓖𝓪𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓯𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓷, 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓬𝓻𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰.

𝓐 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓾𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓮𝔁 𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭, 𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓬𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓐𝓘𝓓𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓗𝓘𝓥. 𝓗𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓐𝓘𝓓𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓗𝓘𝓥 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝔀𝓸 𝓭𝓲𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼. 𝓐𝓘𝓓𝓼 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓖𝓸𝓭’𝓼 𝓹𝓾𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓹𝓮𝓸𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓭𝓲𝓭𝓷'𝓽 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓵𝔂 𝓼𝓪𝓬𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓸𝓷𝔂. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝓘 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓶𝔂 𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓘 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓸𝓷 𝓫𝓸𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓼𝓮𝔁.

𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓘 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓖𝓸𝓭 𝓓𝓮𝓵𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓯𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓱𝓾𝓶𝓪𝓷 𝓮𝔁𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮, 𝓘 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓹𝓻𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓾𝓷𝓲𝓸𝓷. 𝓘 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝔀𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮-𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮. 𝓘𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝔂𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓵 𝓘 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓪𝓭𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓪 𝓳𝓸𝓫 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓘 𝔀𝓪𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓵'𝓼 𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓿𝓪𝓵𝓾𝓮𝓼.

𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘤𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘛𝘰𝘶𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘤𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘤𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘔𝘤𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘊𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵-𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵.

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝟸𝟷, 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙶𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚐𝚘𝚠 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙲𝚘𝚊𝚝𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙾𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝, 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚖 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙿𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙿𝚊𝚞𝚕 𝙸𝙸 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛’𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙰 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛’𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚑.

Along with Animal Crossing: New Horizons and DOOM, Call of Duty: Warzone formed part of what I've been internally referring to as "the saviour trilogy" - the three games that were up to the task of keeping me in the game of the early pandemic when everything was uncertain, indeterminate and appalling. Warzone was by no means a perfect game - it was janky, it was buggy, it was stupid (in both pejorative and complimentary senses) - but it was more than capable of performing the crucial "zoom call with the boys" function: while my girlfriend and my grandmother and my work colleagues hopped onto group video calls to play murder mysteries and do pop-quizzes, me and the fellas used Warzone as an excuse to war-room about what was (or, more accurately, what wasn't) happening in our lives while the viral battlefront raged outside.

The gameplay was mostly ancillary, but had plenty of highlights: BIG-team Call of Duty with proximity voice chat and "death screams" combined with semi-invincible vehicles and 1km+ sniper rifles lead to a lot of hilarity and outside-the-box gameplay you wouldn't expect from the franchise - chasing dudes up staircases with quad bikes, throwing tomahawks at UAVs, having a smoke+riff sesh with your dudes in a helicopter that's flying too high for the guys with SMGs and shotguns in the Final Circle to reach... the possibilities were more or less endless, and the creators of 1.0 seemed happy to permit revelry in regressive behaviour (though in reality I imagine patching a 100GB+ game in April 2020 was a living nightmare for Infinity Ward and the 13 other Activision studios who supported them).

The day Warzone asked me and the squad to download two 100GB patches in one week was the day the game died for us. We were all playing on Base PS4s with default hard-drives, luddite gamers who had no interest in Pros and Plus and Platter-Externals for the sake of a F2P Zoom call. We trailed off into the world of Hunt Showdown and Fortnite and never looked back at the gigabyte-gomorrah we uninstalled ourselves from; like Animal Crossing, there was probably some degree of post-covid relief to be found in that digital distance. I only ever really heard about the game again via the bizarre phenomenon of grown men in their thirties and forties telling me, with surprising frequency, that they'd queued for 8 hours or spent £1000 to get a PlayStation 5 specifically so that Warzone would load faster and could be installed alongside other games. Crazy, huh? Imagine being that invested in video games.

Ironically, it wasn't any new feature or map or content that brought me back for Warzone 2.0 - it was the simple announcement that the install size of the game had been reduced by 80%. The wonders of next-gen gaming! As you might expect from a project that has 23,000 people in the credits, the game itself is almost completely unchanged from Warzone 1.0; while there's an initial awkward adjustment period in exchanging East European forests for Middle-East Asian fields, it's surprising how familiar everything feels - almost as if someone's run a Google Translate AI filter over all the Кока-Кола billboards to make them say الكوكا كولا instead; difficult questions re: globalisation that emerge in trading out Ukraine for Iran are mostly side-stepped by simply having the new war-country act as a toybox for generic PMCs. War has changed in order to become unchanging. An eternal battleground that persists regardless of what language the 400MB road signs are in. And as far as gameplay goes, my only complaint is that they made the cars and trucks are weak as shit.

DMZ, the new Tarkov/Hunt/DayZ mode, comes under much tighter scrutiny. Or it would, if it was capable of running for more than 20 minutes at a time. Essentially a mini COD MMO with anywhere-PVP, it's a classic case of a gamer's platonic dream-ideal making way for a CEO deadline-induced nightmare: progress lost; parties blocked; playlists broken; queues abound; hard crashes at crucial moments - arguably it's all launch-week teething issues that will pass like unconvincing PhysX dust on the plains of Notpakistan, but this is a mode where every mote and moment of progress is supposed to count for something: all decisions are final, and there's only one way out. Losing progress to the desktop's void stings all the tighter when so much of the moment-to-moment gameplay here involves inventory management that doesn't matter - inventory management in games never matters all that much, but it really doesn't matter here: weighing up whether to stow the Aged Wine or the Vintage Wine for the difference of $50 (to buy a gun that costs $5000+) only to walk over a lagged-out landmine moments later and lose three hours of progression... That's life, I guess, but it's not exactly condusive towards the life-escaping levels of Zoom Call With The Boys.

Feels impeccably timed that this would drop at the same time as the Qatar World Cup - a broken Middle-East-bound versimilitude of something that once existed in a cleaner, sturdier but no less morally-ethically dubious form. Why was it palatable then, but not now? We're still chewing on it with some degree of gratitude, but there's a look of hypocritical disgust in our eyes. I guess the difference now is that the wheels are now coming off of everything everywhere and we can see the cracks that 'workers' once had the time to paper over. When everyone's connected all at once, there can be no blind eyes. Hopefully they patch in the ability to gib people with chopper blades again.

"God created man's back to carry burdens, but to think you want to pile on even more..."

What if a regenerator from Resident Evil 4 had his decaying body infused with a soul and a conscious conscience and a will to live, something to fill the absence in its complex mechanical heart, to give it life in the dirt and let it experience the first-person's recurring pains of birth, growth, lust, love, commitment; the fear, anger, decay and darkness that follows from these things. Life, but never death, because nothing could stop this bio-tin man from following the yellow paint road, an invincible soldier game to do anything for the simulated reali(ties) and fami(lies) he's lost inside his machine.

This is Resident Evil at its stupidest and its smartest, which is, respectively, saying a lot and not saying much at all, respectfully. Like VII, VIL isn't really ashamed to borrow everything and anything it wants to say and do from its own past and its shared past with its brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, cousins and children across generations and genre-nations, channeling media mediums like a medium. It goes without saying that it's a composite, a family portrait, a photo mode of itself and the evils resident within. They were stupid too, but were none-the-lesser labours of love that shifted between mocking you and terrifying you; the fact that something's camp doesn't stop it from eating you alive. All are embraced in the compost of this newly-grown decomposition. It takes a village to raise a game, after all, but the progenitor of the survival horror virus isn't willing to eradicate its parasites just yet. Chris Redfield (a mimic of Chris Redfield in the desert of the snowbound real?) doesn't start smiling until Ethan Winters cocks a 9mm and announces to his God (he has himself down as Alpha in Ethan's phonebook, for God's sake) that he's gonna march backwards into Hell while flipping the bird to the bird-lady... or he would, if he still had his middle finger.

The game is deeply dumb and it knows it. But the beauty of vulgarity and camp and the aforementioned stupidity of man is that it can skirt up against truth just as easily as intellect can, and this is, ironically, how the game shows itself most clearly as intelligent, perhaps above its more literally-minded and literary-minded peers. Virtuous lack of virtue until the very end - I've said it before, but games that steep themselves in darkness should be permitted, from safe distance, to unsafely explore the fears that darkness creates, unpleasant, unkind and unsanitary as they may be. Do you want to experience a contradiction of scenes from your storybook of mental violence and gore, or do you want to L3 sprint without introspection through an eternal funfair of funhouses, simulcra of what you experienced before? Don't worry, you don't have to think about it - it's all still here. We're giant babies confronting the possibility of a giant baby in our home. Do we have the heart to understand what that means?

Also they finally brought back The Mercenaries - that's fucking sick bro

A game that desperately wants to evoke Spider-Man: No Way Home but more readily brings to mind Spider-Man 2 - specifically, the moment where the community comes together to protect the identity and reputation of a hero in the aftermath of an excessive strain beyond their means. A testament to the character of Bayonetta is what’s singularly heartening about this: in your thirties it’s rare that all your friends will participate in a simultaneous video game zeitgiest, and only a character with her generational gravity can bring us all together at once, once more, to wilfully overlook myriad flaws with presentation, performance, coherence and competence, united in our defence of something that so so often does not deserve the slightest of kind words. A game that no one - not even the developers - expected to exist; a game that generates such powerful gratitude to the gods of gaming that we can all overlook a bereft of almost everything that made the original a bulletproof classic, appreciating instead the offering made in lieu to us, a fucked up little frankenstinian Marvel vs Capcom 2 equivalent in the CAG set, incoherent character action that’s so broken by virtue of its gilded broken pieces that you can’t help but be glad they were able to stitch together something, anything at all, from bloated shit-pressed platinum non-fungible giblets found floating in the latrines behind the headquarters of Microsoft and Square Enix. I didn’t start enjoying this until it was over forever.

Criticism of postmodernism is intellectually diverse, reflecting various critical attitudes toward postmodernity as it takes form in philosophy, art, literature and games. Postmodernism itself is generally defined by an attitude of skepticism, irony, or rejection toward what it describes as the grand narratives and ideologies associated with modernism, especially those associated with Enlightenment rationality - though postmodernists in the arts may have their own specific criteria and definitions of postmodernism that depend upon the medium.

Common targets of postmodern criticism include universalist ideas of objective reality, morality, truth, human nature, reason, science, language, economics and social progress; critics of postmodernism are often reactionary, defending such concepts against the counter-cultural critique of postmodern artwork.

It is frequently alleged that postmodern scholars are hostile to objective truth; they promote obscurantism, and encourage relativism in culture, morality and knowledge to an extent that is epistemically and ethically crippling: criticism of more artistic post-modern movements such as post-modern art, literature or video games may include objections to a departure from beauty, lack of coherence or comprehensibility, deviation from clear structure and the consistent use of dark and negative themes.

Post-postmodernism, cosmodernism, digimodernism, automodernism, altermodernism, and metamodernism rank among the more popular prospective terms for the movement against against postmodernism, though the lack of a unifying term demonstrates the difficult, uncertain nature of post-postmodern critical analysis.

In my review of Mario Party the other day, I suggested that the game was one of Nintendo's most postmodern works - what does that really mean? First, let's consider some possible features of postmodern gaming, both in terms of video games and board games:

• The game's designer and design become less relevant than the players' interpretation of the signified or signifier. We might see this more or less explicitly within a game like the award-winning card game Dixit: using a deck illustrated with dreamlike images, players select cards that match a title suggested by the "storyteller", and attempt to guess which card the "storyteller" selected. While the game has a scoring system, it's intentionally ambiguous, and open to the interpretation of the players and gamemaster; it's a game that can be played with a diverse group of players with little to no difficulty presented by challenge of skill - like Mario Party, Dixit frequently wrests interpretive authority from the games' designers and publishers and places it in the hands of arbitrary metrics that don't necessarily exist in a rulebook.

• A postmodern game's structure loses its center and gives way to free play. Generally speaking, this has never been a strong-suit of the video game medium - at least on the surface. This application is seen most clearly in the rise of pen-and-paper RPGs, almost all of which make a distinction directly in the beginning of their rule books: "This isn't a game like those other games with winners and losers; it's a game just for playing." In fact, RPGs thrive precisely on the différance present within the interpretive play among the players — and break down when munchkins or rules lawyers try to reinforce the structure. In short - the when the rules are made up and scores don't matter, players are forced to find other ways to enjoy themselves. The same is true of Mario Party.

• The game's structure is deconstructed by examining and reinforcing that which runs counter to the game's purported structure on the back of the box. This can be seen in games like Fluxx and Killer Bunnies. Here, the idea that planning and strategy will pay off, rewarding a player with victory is shown to be false because the idea hinges on the victor's proper management of chance, but chance is by definition that which is beyond management. So let's plan and strategize for an hour and then let chance tell us the winner she picks blindly in the end. Sound familiar?

• The game makes room for subaltern voices and questions the privileged nature of traditional binaries. Once Deep Blue won, there was no longer any substantive difference between a grandmaster and a geek with a GameFAQ. But can you ever truly defeat a machine that's controlling the dice and your opponents? Can you ever truly defeat someone who can win by doing nothing?

• The game breaks down barriers between itself and the things beyond it - for nothing is truly outside the game. This adage brings to mind old-school LARPing of the kind depicted in the movie Gotcha!, but could also include metaludic games like Quelf, where the game becomes about how a person plays the game or even does things away from the game while the game is ongoing.

Though the benchmarks and criteria for postmodernism are (perhaps intentionally) vague, I think it’s fair to say the original Mario Party exceeds in all the categories I’ve chosen to define above. It’s a game that interrogates the concept of the game - both board and video - by removing the mask of objective order, revealing that all accomplishments happen by divine will of the Nintendo 64.

Mario Party 2, however, fails to improve on the ideas of its predecessor in any meaningful way (apart from putting Donkey Kong in a wizard outfit). It’s a reactionary work of digimodernistic post-post modernism that seeks to correct the “mistakes” of Mario Party’s avant-garde by reintroducing the illusion of rules, structure, and “objective truth”: an essential RETVRN to the logic and empiricism that Gamers love so much. A tale as old as the medium itself, where art is the first thing to leave the party when your product needs to fit neatly on the subjective scales at IGN.

Horror Land, Mario Party 2’s “hardest” board, is a perfect case study of how the sequel’s introduction of mathematical “fairness” robs the game of an identity it was previously proud of. The first lap of the board is a 30-square circle with Toad, the star-giver, standing at the precise midsection. Players are given the option of diverging onto a different path, but there is no statistical incentive for doing so - players start with half the coins needed to buy a star, and it’s possible to accrue the remaining funds in a single turn. Apart from a Bank square (oh no! I lost FIVE coins!!) and Single-Player Minigame square, there are no other “inputs” to the system outside of the once-a-turn minigame: the game is all but ordering you to conform to a closed loop in order to take your first step towards an antipyrrhic victory that will be decided solely by the one who can inflate a Bowser Blimp the fastest. There are no alternatives; Wario’s subaltern voice is silenced; Yoshi’s questions about the privileged nature of traditional binaries are unanswered; Luigi’s interrogation of the apparent power structures falls on deaf ears. It’s time for Bumper Balloon Cars, and everyone’s getting some coins.

Contrast this with Mario’s Rainbow Castle, purportedly Mario Party 1’s easiest board - players can steal each others stars and coins at-will; there’s a button that foists Bowser’s roulette wheel upon foes; you can be sent back to the start for having the mere audacity to roll a 3 at the wrong time; Koopa Troopa is running a wealth-redistribution system at each corner of the board. And that’s all before we even get into the minigames, where stepping on a goomba in a party hat can instantly reduce your balance to absolute zero. It’s a revelry in capitalist chaos wearing the flesh of the Mario Brothers and it’s absolutely beautiful. Even Luigi’s “ohhHHHh nnOooOoo!” sounds more chunky and brittle, the bauds compressed under the sheer weight of environmental disorder. He’s saying something. Mario Party 2 isn’t.

The nice thing about Nintendo Switch Online for old people like me is that you get a little involuntary nostalgia hit every couple of months. I wouldn’t download and emulate Mario Party of my own volition, but something about it being readily available on my Switch just makes the access to those old memories so much more enticing - even when said memories now launch with an updated warning about how they can cause permanent damage to the palm of your hand.

Funny story about this game - my younger brother and I had it in our heads that it was possible to be skilled at it. Our misguided belief that the winner of a game of Mario Party was in some way deserving of recognition and admiration eventually came to a head when our neighbour - who didn’t own or play video games of any kind whatsoever at any time - played a round with us one rainy afternoon. He came out comfortably 3 stars ahead at the end of 50 turns, brutally shredding our fragile preteenage egos to tatters. This trauma sent my brother crazy, and he had to be locked in the bathroom for an hour because he was quite simply going completely apeshit-crackers at the notion that someone who didn’t even hold the N64 controller correctly could beat him at a game he’d played for a hundred hours. Very funny to recall his little cheeky face lying on a floor sodden with Chance Time-induced tears. Great game.

You can jape endlessly about the unfairness of the original Mario Partys, but there’s nothing you can really say that’s more amusing than participating in it. Taking huge inspiration from the capitalist chaos of Monopoly, this is definitely one of Nintendo’s most postmodern games, directly stating on many occasions that the rules are made up and the coins don’t matter. It revels in unfairness and mean-spiritedness (literally, with the inclusion of a robber Boo) in a way I imagine Shigeru Miyamoto would frown very hard at, and I presume the meaning of Bowser hollering “That’s often the way things go in life!” while tap-dancing on the spot as Mario wails about being mis-sold a suspicious “super duper star” for the tidy sum of 200 coins just completely passed me by as a kid. Just like the game of Life, the lesson to be learned here is that no matter how carefully plot your course and how hard you twirl your joystick, all the money in your bank can be swept away in an instant because some stupid prick stepped on a big red button with your face on it.

Immortal images

Anyone who's played a Resident Evil for more than a few hours will come to understand the game as a series of discrete short and long-term trades - collecting smaller items and using them to complete a bloody and violent Art of the Swap in pursuit of some higher goal. For example, to open a door with a snake on the front: Dodge zombie -> Collect herb -> Collect 5 handgun bullets -> Combine handgun bullets with handgun -> Use 3 handgun bullets to take down the zombie who is standing in the way of a brain in a jar -> Collect brain in jar -> Collect shotgun -> Trade some hitpoints to use the shotgun on a bigger zombie who is standing the way of a statue -> Use brain on statue -> Reveal a key shaped like a snake -> Use one herb to replenish health spent fighting the bigger zombie -> Use snake key on snake door -> Use remaining bullets on snake boss hiding behind snake door. A real time Dungeons & Draggers campaign, a constant evaluation of inventory and comparison with the variables in the current equation of the puzzle box, where skilled play tasks the player with thinking further and further ahead in order to secure flawless success.

As the series has moved forward, the complexity of these sequences has expanded and contracted in all shapes and sizes. Games like Resident Evil 2 have tried to run multiple sequences in parallel, finding replayability for players in the ways it allows you to plan multiple interdependent logistical movements in the same manner one would plan a camping trip to the countryside; games like Resident Evil 4 have tried compressing the sequence into shorter spaces of time, tasking you with minor maths calculations while running from a chainsaw; games like Resident Evil 6 have tried to more or less throw the sequence concept out of a thirtieth-story window in pursuit of cinematic success (no one is counting this bullets in an action movie).

Resident Evil 7 is probably at its most interesting when these sequences simply do not exist. Perspective is key here - whereas most Resident Evils of yore used fixed-perspective views to create a voyeuristic distance between player and hero in a manner evoking the giallo and j-horror of its era, biohazard does quite the opposite, and places The Ring on you (literally you, an amnesiac with no face), directly within the Final Destination of a skull that is being Sawed right this second. A video tape early on has you assume the role of a cameraman in a Louisiana Ghostwatch-type scenario; it's almost 15 minutes of "gameplay" that constitutes nothing more than self-amusement (depending on how amusing you find fear) derived from roleplaying as a gonzo cameraman in the depths of a deserted hell. Not a herb, handgun or key in sight. Just undead dudes dying in the moment.

Imagine my joy when I was forcefully guided into a sequence later in the game where you watch a VHS tape that lets you watch someone watch an mp4 recording of a different VHS tape on a laptop. The game is clearly obsessed with its own movement to the first-person multiple, constantly taking advantage of perspective and changes in perspective through a Connection of videodromic mediums - the eyes, the CCTV, the TV, the eyes of others, the eyes of others watching the TV, the eyes of those filming the TV. Kudos to Capcom for not just blithely saying “Resident Evil is an FPS now” and rather choosing to explore the true implications of horror as experienced first-personally vs. the 3rd-person-protective of Resis past.

Resis past are ultimately the game’s (partial) downfall. In a truly linear sequence of events like this, I don’t think there’s that much value in having the player take on the burden of inventory and item counting/combining. We all hate that feeling of a game requiring you to be an actor - stand here, press this button, watch this cinematic, stand over here, pick up the gun, shoot it now, step backwards to dodge this scripted animation or you will be replaying this sequence again and again and so on, etc., and Resident Evil 7’s insertion of one-way this->that->those sequencing problems too obviously reduce the concept of a video game down to a series of predetermined outcomes. Jack and Maggie carefully matching the pace of pursuit with the player is a perfect exemplar of this - everyone’s on rails; the Baker House vis a vis It’s A Small World; you and the CPUs just playing terrified roles on Capcom’s stage. It’s a wonderfully horrifying performance, though.