Written for Escapist Magazine, recreated with permission. Although gaming is alive and well, the stereotype of a basement-dwelling Mountain Dew goblin-teenager who screams at his mother for “interrupting” his boob-modded Call of Duty match to give him his pizza rolls is image others have of gamers. It’s an image we need to resist. I think…
Overflowing, dense, humanistic, isolating, personable, alien, difficult to navigate, and is the closest thing to a siren that I’ll ever encounter in my life.
Mighty No. 9 does succeed at doing things, but makes them hardly worth doing.
The first turn is always the easiest.
The Wyoming wilderness is rich and enveloping. All around, everything feels… Something.
It is a very good version of a familiar game.
I want you to imagine and describe a brand new color.
A heavily polished experience, but one that feels just short of perfection.
In space, no one can hear you steam.
Adrift in a sea of purple, it changes you.
Dust travels with the wind, and death waits at the end of the road.
Precise, excellent, and unrelentingly difficult.