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When we dig deeper. Analysis, investigations and retrospectives on video games and their culture.
It took ten years, thousands of patches, a rebrand and a massive update for Siege to finally become the game Ubisoft promised in 2015. That's a long time. It's also, somehow, a little beautiful.
Launched in 2013 to near-universal indifference, Warframe is still running. Not because it made noise. Because it built something solid without ever needing you to talk about it.
A few years ago, you launched a game to have fun. Today, you launch a game to check boxes, fill a bar, keep your streak alive, collect your daily login reward, and finish the battle pass before it expires. When was the last time you played a game just for the fun of it?
AAA games keep getting bigger, more expensive, more technically impressive. But less and less interesting. Meanwhile, independent games are taking a different direction riskier, more personal, and more often genuinely memorable.
There are the Star Wars games we played. And then there are the ones we'll never play. Sometimes it's precisely those games that leave the deepest mark. Because they promised something different.
When a new Grand Theft Auto is announced, it isn't just another release on the calendar. It's a cultural event, a tipping point where video games stop being merely entertainment and become a social phenomenon once again.
At launch, many saw it as an unfinished game. A promising open world, undermined by flaws that prevented you from enjoying it fully. Coming back to Outlaws today means rediscovering a transformed game.