Stray is a game where you assume the role of a cat. This is the entire promise of its outward appearance. You control a сute furball navigating in a world proportionally large for your light presence. You can press B to meow and Y to cuddle with other cats. You can take a nap in allotted by game designer places. The cat mannerisms are meticulously animated and instantly gifable for twitter. An instant crowd pleaser of a concept, as Twitch and Steam numbers immediately suggest.

One of the first big puzzles you solve involves power outlets. You have to scout a room to find 4 cube-shaped batteries. You have to grab them with a floating button prompt and bring them to a computer. You have to MANUALLY (with paws?) plug them in power sockets. Surely, you already see a problem.

Stray takes place in a society of robots mimicking the images and idiosyncrasies of humans. Robots wear clothes, robots eat food, robots live in a police state – not because they need to, that’s just what we tend to do. The greatest irony of Stray is how it’s no different from the robots it portrays. It’s caught up in appearances, stupefied by feline oddness – and completely misses the essence of dubious little being.

Do you want to be a small rascal bumbling the way through, guided only by the most primal of instincts? Wrong game! And it’s mind-boggling to me how attentively every unique keynote of the whole premise is impaired here to create the most nothing hodgepodge of a modern action-adventure. You are pulled through a cat-sized theme park with the main attractions made up of the lightest of puzzles, dullest stealth sections and unlosable chase sequences. Traversal, which must pop with cats’ preciseness and unlimited agility, suddenly turns into a chore, because you can’t have a cat failing a jump, right? Even the animal inaudibility which opens the door for interesting environmental storytelling and silent interactions is undercut by the introduction of a companion drone acting as a translation layer between the feline friend and basically everything else in the world.

There are absolutely glints of creativity and good vibes here, and I decently enjoyed exploring the little hub levels where the game matches its title the best by letting the cat go a little astray. These bright moments though are far and between in this hugely underwhelming affair. Rain World: Downpour can’t honestly come soon enough.

Bizarre how this game is trying to present wizarding world of 1890 as this secret island of progressiveness and liberalism with a few rotten apples here and there. Everyone is welcoming and friendly, there's no tension with teachers or rivalry between houses, your student buddy is a black girl from (soon to be a British colony) Uganda, a blind kid in Slytherin dorm complains about his father being a boomer blood racist, you can enter any bathroom in the school despite your assigned dormitory etc. It's truly a wholesome chungus version of Hogwarts, created as a smokescreen so you wouldn't think too hard about fantasy slavery and institutionalized stratification of wizarding society. The way to put distance between the game and woeful worldviews of the author. A scheme that doesn't pan out at all as the story uses goblin uprising as window dressing instead of the venicle to address inherent injustices of this fictional world.

But what if, for a moment, we try to disregard the elven slavery and goblin racism, Rowling's politics and hack writing. What will you find? Nothing short of another checklist open-world game. All the artistry, gigabytes of assets and hours of voice acting went into filling the wonderful recreation of Hogwarts with icons and one-button chores to raise your gear score. At one point the world map opens up with the massive grassland expanse full of goblin camps to clear. You'll find a Harry Potter game without characters to befriend or mysteries to ponder. There's no wish fulfillment, no secret life escapism — things that made HP the inescapable cultural phenomenon with millennials like myself in the first place.

I'm amazed it came down to this when Atlus figured out a socialite RPG framework 18 years ago. Like, a Hogwarts game with calendar system would still be junk food, but at least in somewhat inspired serving. I should be attending wizarding classes and looking for ways to break school rules with my scrunklo Slytherin buddies. Instead I'm mass murdering goblin population and checking with ancient magic hotspots so I can deal 3 more damage with "basic cast". The fleeting charm of opening hours evaporates as square socket structure of the game laids bare, and so is my desire to engage with such slop.

Tekken is a game about decades long family feud so here’s my story of Tekken-related patricide.

When I turned 6 my dad decided to gift me a Playstation 1. We weren’t rich so we bought it second hand. He found some guy willing to sell his console and we visited him together to make sure it works. I remember his room being cluttered and messy. I also remember the game he showed us first. It was Tekken 3. It blew our minds. Never have we seen 3D graphics that looked so detailed, so animated, so lively. Coming straight from shitty famicom clones it looked unbelievable. My excitement about graphics peaked right there and I’m still trying to catch that high. That dude sold us his stack of discs as well (I also remember a shitty Mission Impossible game), but really we only cared about the “game with brawls”. When we got back we played Tekken 3 all night long. That was maybe the most memorable day of my childhood.

Years passed and I “grew out” of PS1. I didn’t have a PS2 or PS3, I got into PC gaming instead, so the rest of the Tekken series passed near me. I played some T5 on friends’ PSPs (I even showed them how to do cool Law kickflips that still worked exactly how I remembered) but otherwise it wasn’t something I was particularly interested in anymore. I’m into “smart” games now, not those meathead fightings.

But my dad, it turns out, never stopped caring. Now living a pretty prosperous life he bought his new son a PS3 (we stopped living together by then) with, you guessed it, Tekken 6. And this time it was a deliberate ploy for him to REALLY get invested in fighting. He started maining Hwoarang, actually learning his moves, trying out online. I remember my lil bro’s excitement when T7 got announced for PS4 because he knew dad would WANT to play that one, so yet another birthday Playstation was imminent. In T7 he got addicted to ranked play so he got really good. The meme about 40yo old dudes playing Kazuyas perfectly wavedashing and putting you in nasty mixup is real, except it’s my dad, he’s 50 now and he’s Hwoarang.

And of course whenever I’d visit Dad's side of the family he’d invite me to play Tekken for old time’s sake. And since he got so good it’s gotten pretty miserable. I played a bit of T7 as well since it was on PC, but never on the level that invited understanding, just mashing here and there with friends. Of course it wasn’t enough against Dad’s Hwo. And whenever he’d perfect K.O my ass he’d laugh straight in my face. Look at the gamer son who can’t play fighting games! I very much gave up on reaching his level, I just accepted my beatings at occasional family gatherings.

That is until Tekken 8.

Something clicked with me in this game. Maybe it’s fantastic learning tools, maybe it’s yet again great graphics, maybe it’s Jun Kazama being an amazingly fun character, but it got its hooks deep in me. Now I know how to apply pressure, how to put an enemy in a mixup state. I understand the concept of taking turns, the difference between crush and evade, when to use my 13i and 10i punishes. I know my character’s moves and available tools. I’m actually learning.

My Dad of course also hopped on T8. He bought an entire new laptop for the game, justifying it as a working expense! And yesterday we finally got to play some sets.

These were my most nailbiting T8 matches so far. Turns out Dad doesn’t like it when I’m ducking his highs. He also can’t do much when it’s me who’s putting the pressure and forces the mixups. I put everything into this… and finally got him. We went 4-3. I defeated my Dad. I truly am the son of the Mishima family.

At the moment of writing there’s very little discourse about Laika online, mostly contained within Steam. And with Steam reviews being Steam reviews, people are defining this game through easily identifiable correlative qualifiers. It’s set in a motorized wasteland, kinda like Mad Max! You ride a bike, so it’s Trials with a gun! The combat involves air pirouettes, literally My Friend Pedro! It’s a cartoony castleroidvania, so basically Hollow Knight! It’s easy to dismiss Laika as a hodgepodge pastiche of all things indie, especially in the season motley of overmarketed 90 metacritic releases. The best thing the developers could do in this environment was to release the demo version. It takes 15 minutes hands-on to realize you’re dealing with something special here.

When broken down to bare essentials, the ingredients are pretty familiar. It’s a 2D-sidescroller and you’re on a bike. You balance the bike with the left stick and aim the gun with the right stick. Checkpoints are plentiful but it's always a one-hit kill for you or the enemies. Except, the bike is a large hitbox that shields you from bullets, and you have very little ammo in the clip before you have to reload the gun by doing an air backflip. These two are the brilliant integrals which allow Laika gain its own, completely unique moment-to-moment language. A bump on the road that sends you flying isn’t just an obstacle – it’s an opportunity: either a defensive one to shield yourself from fire or a chance to regain ammo with an iffy flip. It leads to encounters of positional enemy prioritization, risky acrobatics, resource management and split-second decisions. It allows for boss fights that serve as ultimate tests of these particular player skills in more patterned, elaborate bouts. It’s an unusual arrangement of mechanics you definitely need to try for yourself to see if it works for you. If it does though you’ll find such a sick, satisfying system that presses many familiar buttons but plays a totally different tune.

Another structural aspect that impressed me highly is the fundamental purity of Laika’s search action pace. I tend to go on the demo hunts every Steam Next Fest season, and it appears that the current trend in metroidvania design is maximalism – more skill trees, more abilities, more gameplay modifiers, more quote on quote things to mess with. There’s nothing wrong with this approach (in fact just recently I really enjoyed Astlibra, and I’m quite excited for Tevi too), but it makes me appreciate a game like Laika, where every upgrade feels like a radical option expanding power spike. In fact there are exactly two items that give you new traversal abilities – and they are such an exciting change of paradigm that make you rethink the way you approach every gameplay moment. It’s that game from the universe where System Shock 1 was the touchstone game design classic while more numbers driven System Shock 2 was relegated to a curious footnote in history.

The voice of Laika too is diametrically different from what you expect in the medium. Through the advent of prestige sad dad games we've been completely missing stories focused on motherhood and associated female growth – and Laika is that exact tale. The explosive growth of Soulslikes prescribed exposition, The Lore, as the main worldbuilding tool – Laika defines its world without a single written description of an event. The game goes against the established flow if it can benefit from it, but where it matters – Laika preaches to the choir. As in, the anti-imperialist narrative about war, the atrocities it brings and how it warps the combatants, is, to say the least, appreciated in our current world. So are the serene moments of tranquility in-between skirmishes, accentuated by a wonderful vocal soundtrack.

As you can see, I’m very passionately dazzled by Laika. It’s one of the best game I played and artistically it came at exactly the right time. Give it a chance, don’t let it slip through the constant whirlpool of game releases. It deserves to be recognized as a classic.

Virgin Spider-Man (2018):
– Mindless automated swinging where you don't have to think of anything other than having tall structures near you. No care for trajectory and momentum. Traversal is totally separated from combat.
– Mashy arkham combat that practically plays itself as you react to prompts on the screen. Doesn't even feel good since hits have zero punch.
– Ubisoft mush of checklists on the map with objectives as creative as "press A near the icon" or "defeat waves of generic enemies".
– Peter Parker fixes police surveillance network, larps as a cop and unquestionably trusts authority. Blatant copaganda that wants you be a part of status quo.

Chad Bionic Commando (2009):
– Detailed traversal where you have to consider trajectory and momentum of motion, not to mention the objects to swing on. Satisfying to get a grip on and use in combat encounters.
– Competent acrobatic TPS that requires mastery of movement mechanics to succeed. Pulling yourself to enemies to send them with a flying kick is peak instant gratification.
– Concise linear campaign encompassing a good variation of combat encounters and traversal challenges, alternating between action set pieces and moments of quiet exploration.
– Nathan Spencer despises every order from the government that marginalizes him despite making him a monstrous weapon in the first place. Proven to be right when it's revealed that his direct authority is behind the attacks.

Bionic Commando solos.

If Rain World was Tarkovky's Stalker, then Downpour is a collection of AO3's best rated fanfics of Tarkovsky's Stalker. The bloat here is stupefying, most times at odds with the sanctity of original vision, and unfathomably cursed when one of the campaigns ends on a combat gauntlet with a final boss in the end. You cannot deny care and attention that went into Downpour construction tho, and there's still that same brilliant core that makes any progress journeying through the world an undertaking of extraordinary reward. Slugcats with neat gimmicks present a rather good time but I'd recommend meeting them with managed expectations.