Before we get to the meat of this article, I need to establish something important: I love violent videogames. Ever since Nintendo enabled my very specific childhood fantasy of being a mustachioed Italian plumber happy slapping random reptiles, I’ve been hooked. I was one of the original pixel-addled kids The Mail warned you about. When Mortal Kombat came out, with its hyper-realistic gore and enticing BBFC age rating, I went to extreme measures to secure a copy (asking my mum really nicely). Videogame writers may be stereotyped as a bunch of soft, hippy peaceniks, but not me. I was raised on the mean streets of Peterborough and I’m hard. Like, Ross Kemp hard.
So please keep that in mind when I say that I really want videogame developers to stop making me kill guard dogs. I absolutely abhor it. They come bounding up to you, like they just want to give you a big, sloppy kiss, and they always make a sad little yelp when they die. Always. What kind of monster thinks that’s a good time?