Game On

The scariest thing in F.E.A.R. 3 is the combat. There’s something horrific about a soldier who, desperate to escape, jumps over a crate only to be shredded into streams of blood and flesh in mid-air as my bullets rip through him. Moments earlier he was confident, racing toward me with his own gun ready, shouting commands to his comrades with terse, military efficiency. But a few moments of facing me turned him into a panicked animal caught in a bloodbath. It was probably a mercy kill when he collapsed into a ragdoll heap, landing with a lifeless thud atop the crate.
He was smart to try and run. Most of my enemies are smart, actually, in F.E.A.R. 3, which sets it apart from most of the shooters I’ve played in the past year. My opponents – at least the rational, human ones – take cover quickly. And once they’ve disappeared from view, they don’t reappear, popping up in the same spot like military whack-a-moles. They’re intelligent enough to reach over their cover with their gun alone, shooting it blindly. Or they’ll suddenly emerge from the far side of the box they’re crouched behind, making a mad dash for a more advantageous position.

Duke Nukem Forever has finally appeared, more than 15 years after Duke Nukem 3D. And I’m not sure what annoys me more: That I waited for the game or that I paid $65 for it. Duke Nukem Forever may be the biggest disappointments I’ve ever played. It’s not that it doesn’t work. The technology functions – although barely. But Duke Nukem Forever is simply not fun. It is one of the most boring shooters I’ve ever shot my way through.
Most shooters feature battles with supreme foes – bosses – that are more difficult to defeat than other enemies. In the best games, these foes are not just bigger and stronger, but they fight more intelligently than their minions. They know all the best tactics and combine the different characteristics of the enemies I’ve been battling during the rest of the game. They’re like final exams.

L.A.

I spent the last few years with my finger clamped firmly on the trigger. In shooter after shooter, I just kept spraying bullets. But now my trigger finger is finally getting a break. It's not that I don't have to shoot – as a “soldier,” that's my main job. But in Brink everyone keeps moving. If I just kept shooting, I'd soon be sending bullets into thin air. So it's short bursts instead of sustained fire. And that's fine – it gives me the chance to do my other job. In Brink, aside from shooting, a soldier needs to supply his allies with bullets.
But I'm not always in the mood to babysit. So I just walk up to a command terminal and switch jobs. Now I'm an “operative.” Because Brink is essentially a game of “capture the flag,” with various objectives that must either be captured or protected by one of two teams, it's useful to occasionally infiltrate the other side. As an operative, I can disguise myself as the enemy – though who knows how they can tell, since we all look alike. But it's still fun to sneak behind enemy lines and recapture resources, or turn on the enemy when they've turned their backs on me.

The aliens attacked while I was on a submarine. My marine squad was getting ready to go into New York City when the ship started shaking. Walls collapsed. Electronic equipment exploded. Along with most of my squad, I swam out of the escape hatch and surfaced in a nightmare. The Statue of Liberty was smoking – the victim of some kind of attack. The skyline was ragged and burning. And above us, a ship bigger than any aircraft on earth swooped in and attacked while we bobbed in the New York Harbor.
The next thing I remember, I woke up wearing a new suit. Apparently, somebody took my bloody marine uniform off and put a new suit on me. (I'm a little weirded-out about that – I like to change my own clothes.) Now everybody hates me – the aliens, the soldiers, even the diseased humans. I've heard that “the clothes make the man,” but this suit has made me everybody's enemy.

The land of Nippon is sick. Patches of dying grass creep across fields and meadows. The skeletons of trees poke up into a murky, eggplant-colored sky. Stagnant ponds choke with decaying plants. Acrid wisps of black cloud smother the sun.
It seems like I just cleaned this place up. But my notes tell me that I played the beautiful, memorable Okami back in 2006 when it was originally released for the PlayStation 2. Since then, Okami has gone on to become a cult classic, finally spawning this sequel for the Nintendo DS. Set nine months after the end of the original game, Okamiden puts me in charge of cleaning up the world I cleaned up half a decade ago.

With a name like Gods Eater Burst, I was sure that it was going to be Japanese. And I was sure that it was going to be weird.
What I discovered was a pleasant, almost predictable videogame. Yes, it’s Japanese (though in an unsynced dubbing and dubiously translated presentation). And yes, there’s some weirdness. But being a Gods Eater isn’t as strange or unsettling as I thought it would be.

Picture yourself walking into the middle of a camp of bandits, holding twin daggers at your sides. The bandits, surprised by your appearance, leap to their feet, drawing swords and knives, crowding around, moving in to attack. Then, from behind you, three tall, buxom women come striding into the camp. Two of them are holding long staves in their hands, the ends dripping with glowing magic energy. The other woman is wearing a guard’s suit of armor and is raising a broadsword over her head. Together, you look like Charlie’s Angels pimped out Dungeons & Dragons style!
Welcome to the enchanted land of Thedas!
Step into a world filled with magic! And not just any magic – magic caused by demons! A world where magic is treacherous and unpredictable. A world where mages and their demon consorts are hunted down and locked away by the government. But don’t worry – for some reason that doesn’t stop adventurers from always having a spellcaster or two along!

I don’t need no motion-sensitive, 3D TV to be me – a 6’2″ redneck tennis star, complete with handlebar moustache, scruffy mullet, a stringy set of muscles and some serious fans.
I decided to get the plain old ordinary Xbox 360 version of Top Spin 4 so that I could see what kind of game it was without any of those half-baked bells and whistles. Yeah, the PlayStation 3 Move’s version of “Table Tennis” was outstanding. And Kinect Sports kept me occupied for a while. But I wanted to play Top Spin 4 the old fashioned way – with a controller in my hands and my butt in a chair. Plus the game store was out of the PS3 version anyway.

During a lifetime of playing videogames, I’ve learned quite a few things about myself. I’ve learned that I’m remarkably good at planning military defenses. I’m a disastrous drug dealer. Never, ever ask me to drive the getaway car. The killer inside me prefers a knife to a gun. And most recently, by playing Pokémon Black/White, I discovered that I’m still a ten-year-old at heart.
Adulthood, you haven’t taken me yet! I was thrilled when my otter-like Oshawott evolved – all whirling double helixes and sparkles – into a sleek, feline Dewott. I felt clever when I went ahead of the game and caught a Pokémon that gave me an advantage in an upcoming battle. I was suitably impressed by the movement of the creatures when they fought. (They’ve never been animated before.) And yeah, I pored over my Pokémon collection, trying to complete the whole thing.