Ahhh, the lap of the ocean is calming isn't it? And it's really warm here, too. What's interesting is that the sounds of the sea are occasionally masked by the sounds of multiple segways. Weird.
Steam sales aren't the drop-everything-and-grab-yer-wallet events they used to be, according to you lot. The Winter sale that began yesterday is almost identical to the Autumn sale that ended just two weeks ago, for example. But you can still find one or two gifts if you bore deep enough into the ice. Me? I'm only interested in one thing. How many of these games are snowy and chilly enough to induce wonderful hypothermia? I'm on a frostbitten quest to find out. Here are the most winter-iest games you can pick up for cheap.
Huh, it's a little hard to breathe today, don't you think? Like the air's a bit thin. Anyway, I have a job I need to get to and there's this guy who's going to mentor me on my first day. A guy called Mo, who seems nice but isn't particularly talkative. Prefers paper and pencil.
They say hope is the first step on the road to disappointment, and reader, I’ve made a pretty damn big step. Previously, on my mission to survive S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2: Heart of Chornobyl with only wild mutants as my weapons, I’d discovered clues that someone else was attempting to tame the Zone’s beastly inhabitants. With one of their electronic tracking collars in hand and absolutely no preexisting knowledge of their location, I set out to find this kindred spirit, only for the Zone to once again slam a door in my face.
A cold, steel, very literal door to boot. It turns out that the scientist’s laboratory is locked up tight, and will remain so until I delve about twenty hours deeper into the faction war that’s bubbled up while I’ve been running around throwing irradiated rats at people in tracksuits. Fine. Fine! But I’m keeping the collar.
Today's Advent Calendar might take you quite some time to polish off. It's ridiculously dense, darkly majestic, and popular among masochists. Come then, touch the withered arm and be transported behind door number 18...
Uh, it's probably not a problem - probably - but I'm seeing a small discrepancy in today's advent calendar and... no, never mind... it's well within acceptable bounds. Go ahead, open the door.
At 9 years old, in the plastic seats of a Sega Rally arcade machine, I quickly learned that "automatic" is better than "manual" without understanding why. And now I know: changing gears is a fucking chore. This year, in my mid-thirties, I finally learned to drive. And weirdly, a racing game about destroying clapped-out old bangers helped me along. Thank you Wreckfest, for all the bottled road rage you allowed me to unleash.
Today’s door has a big DO NOT ENTER sign, suggesting your immediate opening of it was in fact prohibited. Banned. Taboo, even. Yet it’s hard to see why, as it swings open to reveal a spectacular sunset view, interrupted only by the roar of a mechanical woolly mammoth.
Can one sleep on a bookshelf? I'm going to find out. See you in the new year. Or, probably next Sunday with another minimum effort column entry. Book for now!
Today’s advent calendar window is a window upon Xmas past. It returns us to the days of LAN parties and dial-up, of demo discs and Fileplanet – a more innocent era, before multiplayer shooters fell under the spell of progression. Not that innocent, maybe. There were plenty of arseholes back then. Some of them now run very large software companies. But at least there was no grinding to ruin your bunnyhopping.