I bought Cyberpunk twice.
Sixty euros at launch on PS4. Eight days later Sony pulled it from its own store.
Thirty five, five years on, patched and with the expansion in the box.
I asked for the refund and got my sixty euros back.
I still felt robbed.
What I had lost wasn't the money. It was two nights hunting for the game from the trailers.
A female octopus lays eggs once in her life.
Then she stops eating, guards them for months, sometimes years, and when they hatch she lets herself die.
Your backlog does not work like that. Neither do you.
Tell me the game you quit halfway and don't miss.
Mine: Alan Wake 2. Good game. It stopped being fun, I put it down and never looked back.
The credits don't validate your nights.
I spent days pushing through a game I had stopped enjoying, purely because I had to finish it.
I was the one who paid. And it was shaking me down on top of that.
The creator of Vampire Survivors used to code the screens on slot machines. He says that isn't where he learned to hook you, and I believe him: out of all those years he took exactly one thing. A jingle from a treasure chest.
I installed Vampire Survivors one night to try it for ten minutes. Two hours later I was still there. I couldn't tell you what happened in between, and I was there for all of it. What's your slot machine?
One guy. One jingle. One chest animation. And it ate half of Steam's evenings. Now imagine what forty people do when their only job is to drown your brain in the good stuff.
A dad asked a room full of dads whether any of them still managed to game.
A thousand and sixteen replies. A thousand and sixteen people with a controller in their hands and their eyes closing, each one sure they were the only one.
The plan: kids asleep by 9:30, controller in hand by 10.
Nobody asked me for that schedule. I set it myself.
And when it slipped, I got angry at the only two people in the house who never signed up for it.
What schedule have you set yourself that nobody asked for?