The Games that Defined My 2010s
The 2010s saw sweeping changes occur in the gaming industry. What was once a fledgling market that was considered by many to be a subculture hobby upon entering the millennium has developed into a billion-dollar, culture-shaping industry. As the medium matured, games delved further into the realm of fantastic spectacle, subversive storytelling and gameplay, and metanarrative elements. From my perspective as a young Millenial/old Gen Z-er, this also happens to be the decade in which I developed into a critically thinking adult, and when my interest in games evolved into a deeper level of appreciation. I’d like to run through some of the games that shaped my decade, the ones that didn’t let me forget about them. Whether it was with their story, their gameplay, or their daring inventiveness, the following nine games stood above the rest for me.
A word of caution, as there will be general spoilers for some of the games I discuss — I won’t specify details, but I will discuss overarching plot structure and gameplay elements for a few of the games I discuss.
Mass Effect 2
Mass Effect 2, in many ways, narrowed the lens of storytelling that the original Mass Effect laid out. While the first game was a steady unraveling of a centuries-old alien race bent on eliminating sentient life in the galaxy, the sequel framed itself as the gradual assembly of a crack team to run what is considered a suicide mission in the game’s lore. As it turned out, for a game centered on interactions with characters, telling a story largely driven by smaller-scale character-driven vignettes was the correct decision. The highlights of ME2 are often the “loyalty missions,” which are squad member-specific missions that results in character development for the squadmate and an increased bond between them and your Shepard (the character the player assumes the role of in the original Mass Effect trilogy). The end result of running the suicide mission with your team is a cathartic sequence that makes every moment spent gathering allies and running missions with your team feel useful. Every success in the final mission can be attributed to one of your successes earlier in the game. As a game, it feels grand in scope, with all its successes earned, and acts as a perfect middle chapter of the main trilogy.
None of this would be nearly as effective if the character writing wasn’t spot on. With perhaps a single exception (sorry, Jacob) every single member of Shepard’s gathered forces is unique without feeling like a caricature, idiosyncratic yet nuanced. Returning favorites like the acerbic Garrus and enthusiastic Tali’Zorah are joined by some of the best-written characters I’ve experienced in games. Highlights include the eccentric, Gilbert and Sullivan-singing scientist Mordin Solus, the pious assassin Thane Krios, and the hotheaded biotic Jack. The writing behind these characters keeps the story and interactions on the Normandy remarkably human, despite the abundance of alien life aboard the ship.
The combat has been streamlined since the first game, as well. I found this to be a welcome change, as I preferred the moment-to-moment combat and decision making in conversations from the first Mass Effect as opposed to min-maxing stats and equipment. Shepard is whatever you want them to be in combat, from the jack-of-all-trades Soldier class to the up-close-and-personal Vanguard. The RPG elements and squad-based tactics continue to differentiate the traditional waist-high cover shooter gameplay from more traditional outings such as Gears of War or Uncharted.
Mass Effect 2 is the middle chapter in a story of humanity leaving its mark on a galaxy in peril, and, more than any of the other games in the series, sells the notion of a player-determined experience better than many games that attempt to do the same even today. Though the third game in the series left many fans unsatisfied with its ending, Mass Effect 2 does more than enough to stand on its own as not just a fantastic middle chapter, but a groundbreaking game unto itself.
Portal 2
The genius of the first Portal was making the player feel like a genius. The simple concept of bridging two points in space with a portal gun opened up large amounts of room for developer Valve to create varied puzzles involving maneuvering objects through portals and having the player manipulate their momentum as they played with the laws of physics. The cherry on top is the game’s brilliant dialogue, the vast majority of which is assigned to the bitingly witty and passive-aggressive artificial intelligence GLaDOS, who berates the player throughout the experience. The short length of the game (a few hours, tops) heightened the game’s status as a masterclass in game design — Portal was a beautiful flash in the pan, where every moment of gameplay had been dissected and every line of dialogue had been memed to the point of unfunniness. There was a beauty to its minimalism, with both the stark aesthetics of the Aperture Science test chambers and the lean and straightforward gameplay.
Portal 2 decided to eschew the minimalism of the first entry in several respects. Valve iterated on the boxy white corridors and industrial catwalks with fauna-ridden test chambers and long-abandoned subterranean laboratories. No longer is GLaDOS the lone voice speaking to the player, as gameplay is now punctuated with the voices of the airheaded AI Core Wheatley and the bombastic Cave Johnson (respectively voiced by Stephen Merchant and JK Simmons). The three-to-five hour playtime of the first Portal was lengthened at least twofold, and the game added myriad game mechanics to the foundation the first game laid out, including but not limited to hard-light bridges, gel that lets players bounce off surfaces, and zero-gravity funnels. If the execution was poor, the game would feel like a shoddy follow-up, a failed attempt to capitalize on the cult success of its predecessor.
Thankfully, Portal 2 delivered on all fronts. New mechanics are introduced to the player at a steady enough pace to keep the gameplay loop fresh, so the player never feels like they’re going through the same motions established in the first game. The mechanics build on each other as well, and by the time you enter the final stretch of the game, the patchwork design of the test chambers (courtesy of the new AI in charge of Aperture Science) gives the developers an excuse to throw all kinds of combinations of obstacles at you. In the same vein, the writers didn’t rely on worn-out jokes when penning this sequel — GLaDOS, Wheatley, and Johnson all have an individually distinct flair in their humor that serves to spice up the oft-bare corridors of Aperture Science. GLaDOS in particular feels like an evolved character — still possessing the same snark but no longer feeling like the big bad villain we dealt with in the first game. Portal 2 is simply joyous to play from start to end — a game where every mechanic feels tight and purposeful, where nothing feels extraneous and every corner of the world has a deliberateness to its design.
Final Fantasy XIV
As a fan of both MMOs and especially Final Fantasy, it’s no surprise that this game has dominated my decade, becoming my most played game ever by a massive margin. For the game to exist in its current state is a sheer miracle, having been reborn from the ashes (quite literally, in the lore of the game) from the teardown of the disastrous 1.0 version of the game. What was revived as a competent, if by-the-numbers MMO with the 2.0 version of the game blossomed into a force to be reckoned with amongst JRPGs in its own right by 3.0 (the much-lauded Heavensward expansion), and has maintained the high bar of quality since then, with producer Naoki “Yoshi-P” Yoshida and his team releasing two more expansions after Heavensward.
The game is a pure love letter to all things Final Fantasy, ranging from the cheeky inclusion of series standards (there is a Biggs and a Wedge in the game, Moogles deliver your mail, familiar music makes sporadic appearances, and, of course, you can ride Chocobos) to the pinnacle of fanservice (being able to carve your way through FFXII’s city of Rabanastre, defeat classic villains such as FFV’s Exdeath and FFVI’s Kefka, and even face off against FFVI’s infamous Phantom Train boss). Nevertheless, despite being a mishmash of FF elements from across the series, FFXIV’s Eorzea still feels wonderfully realized, something that is aided by what is now over half a decade of story and lore supporting the game’s world. Though oftentimes being a playground for Square Enix to throw different Final Fantasy references off one another, the game never goes overboard with the fanservice to the point where it feels shameless. For crying out loud, the latest patch at the time of me writing this has added a NieR raid that essentially lets the player live out a modified version of Automata’s first level, and it actually feels well-integrated into the world and lore!
FFXIV has reached the point where it no longer has a good story “for an MMO,” but a story that is elite amongst JRPGs and all narrative video games alike. FFXIV has used the fact that it’s a live service game to its advantage, using the years of storytelling to introduce us to characters, concepts, and settings, and develops them over long periods of time. With Shadowbringers, the most recent expansion, writer Natsuko Ishikawa elevates the storytelling to new levels, displaying some of the finest worldbuilding I’ve experienced in a game and introducing us to the best villain in a mainline Final Fantasy title in years, if not ever. For an MMO that started off as one of the biggest trainwrecks in gaming history, the catharsis of Shadowbringers’ story hits even harder. Thankfully for me, Square Enix isn’t done with this game just yet. The developers love the players and the players love the developers, and I look forward to spending my time with this game as it continues to evolve.
The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt
Witcher 3 is a game that succeeds in everything it set out to do. It’s a game where Novigrad, one of the most well-realized cities I’ve had the pleasure of spending virtual time in, is but a fraction of the world’s total size, where the most insignificant-seeming sidequest can lead to interesting and difficult decisions on the part of the player, and where most every inch of the world map has something to discover. The game somehow even manages to create an engaging overarching storyline while at the same time ensuring every individual subplot is a masterfully crafted story on its own. Despite adhering to several familiar high fantasy tropes and aesthetics, the game’s characters, writing, and lore feels fresh enough to distinguish it from its peers, with the world originally envisioned by author Andrzej Sapkowski existing largely as a subversion of familiar fairy tales and Polish lore. Witcher 3’s world is a grand homage to fantasy fiction with some delightfully devilish and subversive twists on familiar stories and settings.
My time with Witcher 3 was filled with too many memorable moments to count, as every moment spent in the world feels more immersive than any other open world game I’ve played. Taking on contracts to hunt monsters, exploring the plains, forests, mountains, and caves of the Continent, guiding monster hunter-for-hire Geralt in his quest to find his adopted daughter Ciri, and, yes, building a Gwent deck all serve as complementary pieces that build towards a finished product that has almost too much game to comprehend. Towns feel like more than just collections of buildings, but rather actual communities with thought-out lore behind them. Quests can have ramifications ranging from the deaths of nameless NPCs involved to the extermination of entire villages. Innocuous monster hunting contracts can lead to an entire different type of hunt than what Geralt was hired for — there are very few “straightforward” contracts Geralt can take.
Any good RPG needs memorable writing and characters, and Witcher 3 has these to spare. More than any other choice-based game at this scale does Witcher 3 nail the concept of gray morality, with player decisions rarely feeling like a binary decision between “paragon of good” and “psychopath mass-murderer.” The main questline in the game’s Velen region is a standout example of this, with the character of the Bloody Baron being an alcoholic, vicious warmonger who has a history of abusing his wife, and yet his story can be guided by the player to be one of atonement. While I could never describe the Baron as sympathetic, the writers at CD Projekt Red were able to grant the character a sense of pathos that makes him not just a destestable drunkard. This extends to the majority of the game’s main cast — nobody’s hands are spotless, but virtually every character has at least one redeeming quality to turn them into endearing characters. Likewise, Geralt isn’t just a blank slate for the player to project their personality onto, but rather has a mostly defined personality that the player can guide in one direction or the other. Characters feel decidedly real, despite Witcher 3’s fantastical setting.
Not content to rest upon their laurels, CD Projekt Red has continued to support the game post-launch. Updates to the game have served to improve what small nitpicks I had with the game’s movement systems and inventory UI. Even more significant are the game’s two DLCs, Hearts of Stone and Blood and Wine. The former has one of the more impressive RPG stories I’ve gotten to play, and introduces the player to Olgierd von Everec and Gaunter O’Dimm, both of whom are exemplars of how to write effective character introductions and arcs. Blood and Wine, on the other hand, may have a less memorable story, but does contain a stunningly beautiful extra open world for the player to explore with Toussaint. Both DLCs have enough value to be standalone titles on their own, and they act as the cherry on top of the masterpiece that is the original release.
CD Projekt Red took a leap when making Witcher 3 fully open-world, and their efforts paid off. Playing as a wandering monster hunter turned out to be the perfect narrative framing for a free-roam title, and the result is a game which ended up as my favorite of the decade.
Undertale
What surprised me the most about Undertale is just how happy it made me feel upon completing it. When I purchased the game, I started it up with the impression that I was playing a quirky little indie game with an internet-savvy sense of humor. In many ways, I did find that, but also found a game that made a lot of interesting design decisions with its core loop, cleverly incorporating bullet-hell elements into fairly light RPG fare. As the self-billed friendly RPG where you don’t have to kill anyone, the game’s random battles become puzzles where you have to learn your enemy’s personalty and interact with them accordingly as you dodge and endure their attacks. Characters like Toriel, Sans, Mettaton, and many more immediately made their mark with not only their absurd antics, but with the sincere writing behind them. Toby Fox’s distinctive writing style and deft spritework makes even conversations with minor NPCs memorable. That one individual could be responsible for everything I’ve listed, from art direction to writing to game design, and also being responsible for one of the best OSTs I’ve heard in a game, with an elite sense for the leitmotif, never ceases to amaze me.
My playthrough of the game concluded with a battle with an eldritch abomination, followed by an ending, but not necessarily a satisfying one. Then, the game spurred me to try again for a better ending, so I did. I did what the game ostensibly “wanted” me to do, and didn’t kill anyone. I learned every single enemy’s likes and dislikes, their tics, and spared every single soul. Oftentimes, this involved performing actions I would never have thought of in my first playthrough, or even thought were downright counter-intuitive. The ending you are rewarded with for doing so is one of the most joyous sequences I’ve experienced in a game, one which successfully manages to deconstruct and then reconstruct the fundamental ideas of video games. Undertale presents itself as a whimsical RPG with offbeat humor (which it is) but at its core is a game that wants us to think about how we approach and consume games — how we perform tasks because we want to check off boxes, how we kill enemies so that we see our numbers go up, and how we replay games in order to get ourselves the “happiest ending.” The game is meta done superbly right, never too pretentious or obtuse.
Of course, there’s one route I’ve never touched — the so-called Genocide Route, in which the player eradicates every soul in the game’s world. Have I seen the route played on Twitch? Yes. Did the game specifically call me out and call me a coward for doing so? Yes. But I’ll never play that route, because the happy ending I earned feels so good that I’ll never restart the game and take it away from the characters I earned it with.
Nier:Automata
The funny thing about Nier:Automata is that I didn’t enjoy the core hack-and-slash gameplay (I found that it didn’t give me incentive to vary up my approach in combat on the normal difficulty), nor did I have fun spending time in the graphically sparse open world that I found tedious to navigate. Likewise, having to replay the game after the first ending, albeit with a different playable character, was a bit of a hassle. And yet, despite my misgivings, the things that Automata does right are so captivating and audacious that I can’t not put it on this list.
First of all, the premise of this game is downright bonkers. Spawned from the mad genius mind of director Yoko Taro, it’s the sequel to Nier, a post-apocalyptic fantasy adventure game itself spun off from one of several endings of the first Drakengard game. Automata is also a fairly isolated story from the original Nier, with only a few holdover characters and a sprinkling of references scattering throughout, with the main holdover being the game’s world. The mere existence of this game is something to be appreciated, being the sequel to a niche game that was spun off from another niche game.
What starts as a game where the lone goal is exterminating legions of hostile robots spirals into an examination of memory and consciousness — what defines a living thing, how connections to others define us, and pushing past unimaginable tragedy in the pursuit of a better tomorrow. Using androids to examine the definition of a living thing is by no means an unexplored concept, far from it, but Automata executes its take with panache. It’s not all introspection and moping, however. It’s also a game with 26 different endings (one of which involves eating a piece of mackerel and dying) and the ability to remove 2B’s skirt by self-destructing. In many ways, the game has a similar flair to that of a Hideo Kojima game, in which absurdist video-gamey elements are juxtaposed to self-serious dialogue and plot elements. Nier:Automata is generally dour in tone, with the protagonists undergoing a veritable conga line of trauma, and yet manages to provide a satisfying and uplifting conclusion that still feels earned.
Though the core gameplay loop was not my cup of tea, even as someone who loves a good character action game, all the trimmings around it are downright intriguing. Making the main playable characters androids has provided the developers a creative avenue for reconciling gameplay elements with narrative explanations. Your initial options configuration is framed as 2B rebooting and diagnosing her system. HUD elements are actual hardware elements that can be uninstalled to free up memory space for additional modifications. Hacking enemy robots transports players to an isometric twin-stick shooter minigame. One boss fight pits the player against a newborn android that begins the fight at level 1, then slowly and steadily gains sentience and learns how to attack, as well as block and dodge your offenses, all the while its level creeps upward. This culminates in what many call the “true” ending of the game, a magnificent shoot-em-up sequence that allows players to sacrifice their very own save data in order to provide aid to future players that reach the same ending.
I can’t talk about this game without mentioning Keiichi Okabe’s extraordinary soundtrack. Swelling orchestras are punctuated by rousing vocals during climactic battles, while the overworld is complemented with serene atmospheric tunes. It’s not just the songs themselves that are impressive, it’s what the game does with them. Compositions seamlessly switch from orchestral to 8-bit arrangements and back as the player switches between melee combat and hacking minigames. Robots chant mantras of madness that weave their way into the tracks, becoming instruments unto themselves. Songs from the original Nier game are rearranged for Automata in completely different contexts. I’d call it a textbook example of merging music with gameplay with storytelling, but it’s more accurate to say that this game is the textbook.
Nier:Automata is a game that revels in being just that. Not content to solely rely on a thought-provoking story, Yoko Taro made a genre-bending work of art that has to be played to be believed.
The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Breath of the Wild was a game that, in many ways, I forced myself to start playing. I tend to prefer structure in games, and even in my open-world games I’ll always keep the quest indicator in my sights. Getting lost makes me uncomfortable, a real-life trait of mine which extends to video games. With that being said, BotW is in many respects a game about allowing yourself to get lost. The soul of the game can be encompassed with the single “Defeat Ganon” quest that this iteration of Link is given at the outset of the game — the win condition is defined, but the path to it is completely up to you. You can run straight to Hyrule Castle and attempt to beat the game, or you can take your time and prepare by pitting yourself against the vast reaches of Hyrule.
Despite my hesitancy, BotW sold me with its amazing core navigation loop. It’s not a game where you follow predetermined points of interest on a map, but rather one where the player uses their surroundings as a pathfinder in order to dictate their path forward. See a shrine in the distance? Make your way over there, or mark it on your map for later. How about that cool looking mountain in the distance — it probably has worthwhile spoils at the top, so plan a route and climb it. Other open worlds feel like theme parks in many ways — too often do buildings and trees feel like decorated walls and obstacles that exist for the sake of window dressing. BotW makes the player feel like Link has actual weight and presence in the world, as most everything can be meaningfully interacted with. Cliffs can be scaled, buildings can be entered, trees can be chopped, and boulders can be pushed. Likewise, while many modern open-world games provide a map that marks off every relevant point of interest, BotW forces the player to mark their own maps. It’s a design philosophy that harks back to the very first Legend of Zelda game on the NES, a game that was originally conceived by Shigeru Miyamoto wanting to explore the wilderness around his house. Despite shaking up so many of the staples the Zelda games has found themselves relying on, it still feels true to the spirit of the series as a whole.
More impressively is despite how many new mechanics that Nintendo added to BotW that differentiated the games from past titles in the Zelda series, all the mechanics work in concert with each other. As an example — a stamina controls how much the player can sprint and climb, and can be replenished or enhanced with food. Food is cooked from ingredients, which can be harvested from trees or hunted from animals, and can only be prepared at specific locations. Thus, your exploration naturally feeds into finding new items to cook with, which then loops back into improving your exploration abilities. Likewise, combat lies heavily on weapon switching and picking up the weapons of defeated enemies, which often makes combat in the early game a kinetic experience that requires frantic hot swapping of weapons and strategies as fights progress.
Of course, there’s room to iterate on BotW’s formula. Enemy variety feels sparse as the game dragged on. Shrine, dungeon, and boss design is homogenous when compared to even the Zelda titles on the N64, and later on in the game, having to balance your high-tier weapons with your limited number of inventory slots becomes grating. A sequel has been confirmed, and I’m hoping Nintendo can address these concerns in the new game. If they can replicate that feeling of wonderment and discovery with (I assume) a world map that will be very similar to the first game, Nintendo will have something even more exceptional in their hands.
Persona 5
A good portion of the reviews of Persona 5 used the exact phrasing of “oozing with style” to describe the game, and to be fair, they’re all absolutely right. One look at P5’s striking art direction will tell you all you need to know about the game’s appeal — bold fonts, bright colors, and dynamic transitions punctuate the game’s presentation and UI. Combine this with the funkadelic and fresh acid jazz soundtrack as you stalk the lovingly-rendered streets of Tokyo and skulk your way through dungeons and you have a resultant experience that’s a treat for the senses. The fact that people were cosplaying as the game’s menus is proof enough of the game’s stylistic appeal.
P5 conforms to the general structure of the Persona series: by day, you attend classes and build relationships with friends as a high school student, and in the evening you progress through dungeons and fight monsters. P5 presents itself as a heist game built around this formula, and has lots of fun with it. It’s a game about taking hearts and looking damn cool while doing so. The cast of playable characters, the Phantom Thieves, lean into heist tropes hard and rejoice in doing so, donning flashy masks and costumes, using codenames, and executing elaborate plans in order to steal metaphorical “hearts” from unsavory members of society in order to rehabilitate their evil ways. The game’s anime-style presentation goes well with the episodic story structure — the game even describes itself as “picaresque.” Having the bulk of the game take place over around two-thirds of a calendar year helps progressing through P5 feel like living another life, and I know I grew closer to the Phantom Thieves moreso than any other cast of characters in a game when the credits rolled.
This isn’t to say the game is all flash and no substance, far from it. Much like the silent player character has to balance his school and social lives with his Phantom Thief life, P5 gracefully balances its social sim half with its dungeon crawling half. During the day, you’ll go on outings with friends and colleagues which, in addition to progressing your friendship level, will provide the player with upgrades to aid them in traversing the game’s many dungeons (referred to as Palaces within the game’s lore). Though largely neither revolutionary nor subversive, the character writing is engaging and competent to the point where almost every confidant the player can bond with feels genuinely interesting and well-realized.
As for the combat portion of the game, it’s mostly linear dungeon crawling interspersed with standard turn-based combat, but polished to an extremely high degree of quality. Combat is snappy, and requires the player to discover the enemy’s weakness in order to momentarily knock them down. Knock an enemy down and that character gets another move, and knock all enemies down will grant you the chance to execute an über-flashy finishing move. Finding an enemy’s weakness will give you the ability to automatically target them with an attack they’re weak to, expediting the whole process. The result is a combat system that feels quick to jump in and out of, and it never felt exhausting to me like overworld battles feel in so many other JRPGs.
At the end of the day, Persona 5 is pure joy from start to finish, all 100-odd hours of it. Letting yourself get immersed into P5 feels like living a double life, since you’re just that involved in the player character’s day-to-day actions. It appeals to all my aesthetic sensibilities and almost every ingredient to its success is something I click with. It’s hugely Japanese in its sensibilities and design approaches, which is a massive plus in my book, and bonus points for letting me play with the Japanese audio and letting me replay individual lines of dialogue to better aid my learning of the language. It’s a long ride, but every step of the journey makes the length worth it.
Return of the Obra Dinn
More than anything else on my list, I can confidently say that there is no game on the market like Lucas Pope’s Return of the Obra Dinn in terms of everything it brings to the table. With its monochromatic art direction, jaunty sea shanty-esque soundtrack, unconventional setting, and titillatingly original mystery gameplay, Obra Dinn was a massive breath of fresh air when I first played it in 2018.
Taking the role of an insurance adjuster for a trading company, the player is tasked with uncovering the mystery of why the trading ship Obra Dinn returned to port with no living crew member left aboard. You are equipped with nothing but a detailed notebook and a magical pocket watch that allows you to step into the moment of an individual’s death when you encounter their corpse. Using the watch transports you into the moment of death frozen in time, along with a series of voice lines which detail the events preceding the “still frame.” You must use contextual visual hints, audio cues, and a whole lot of deductive reasoning to match the face of every dead or missing crew member with their name, current status, and method of death (if applicable). Just so you aren’t scrambling in the dark all game, the notebook will “lock in” your guesses once you get three correct matches of name-face-status. It’s an intoxicating mechanic, one which gives the player immense satisfaction when their reasoning pays off and provides an addictive sense of curiosity as you dive deeper down the rabbit hole.
The mechanics go hand-in-hand with the game’s excellent presentation of its narrative. Slowly but surely, the player will unravel what occurred on the Obra Dinn’s ostensibly cursed voyage. It’s difficult to talk about narrative details with this game, as it’s truly best when experienced blind, but the detail with which the game can paint a moment in time only using what are essentially “still frames” from the past is masterful. Coupled with the game’s ability to establish character personalities solely through audio and single frames in time and you have not only a captivating story, but also one that is told in a unique method that could only be experienced in an interactive medium. The end product is a mystery that keeps the player in suspense for the entire ride, despite us technically knowing how the whole thing ends.
My greatest issue with Obra Dinn is that I can never play it again, at least not with the same wide-eyed wonder I had when I initially played it. In fact, due to how unique it is, there’s really no way for me to recreate that experience with other games either — it’s a genre unto itself. You’re not playing this game for replay value, but I mean it when I say there’s no other game I’d want to wipe my memory of and replay more than this one.
So, there’s my list of the games that shaped my decade. These are the ones that I’ll carry memories of as we proceed into 2020 and beyond, the games that made the memorable design decisions that took root in my mind and ended up shifting or further reaffirming my preferences. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll resume my patient wait for Final Fantasy VII Remake and Cyberpunk 2077.
