The Game Boy: Dear Videogames, Shut Up

I'm referring, of course, to the Weighted Companion Cube. GLaDOS -- mostly in an attempt to mess with your head -- briefly imbues the Companion Cube with vaguely human qualities by saying things like “It would rather die in a fire than become a burden to you.” The player's brain, however, does the rest. For me, slam-dunking my cuboid companion into certain fiery doom was utterly heartbreaking. Much moreso than, say, the death of what's-his-stubbly-face in Modern Warfare.
The very notion, of course, is silly. I mean, it's a freakin' cube. It can't speak -- let alone posses a well-developed personality. And yet -- during that five-minute-long segment -- Portal subtly pushed me into bonding with it. Not once did it outright say, “Your character wishes to share a long, passionate make-out session with this geometrical object just before the credits roll.” It didn't need to.
And let's not forget the likes of Ico and Shadow of the Colossus -- both of which are held up as de-facto examples of Games As Art because of the overwhelming emotions they evoke with nary a peep from their characters. Also, while we're in console territory, I may as well bring up The Darkness, which I can't seem to go a week without praising like a lovestruck teenager. There's a good reason for that, though: Snuggling up with main character Jackie Estacado's girlfriend on a couch and watching the entirety of “To Kill a Mockingbird” is one of the most convincing moments I've ever experienced in a game. It's one thing for a game to say, “These two characters are in love because of course they are.” It's another thing entirely, however, to stick around until after the danger's passed and there's nothing good on TV.
Hell, I only chose to slap a big “Berate Me” sign on Skyrim's back first because it's so completely brilliant when chatterbox citizens are nowhere to be found. The game's world is so meticulously constructed that -- when I'm off adventuring all by my lonesome -- I can't help but imagine motivations and stories for characters and environments I encounter. Bethesda's sprinkled each area with just enough information -- skeletons, books, half-eaten food, notes, etc -- that my brain practically leaps at the chance to connect the dots.
Ultimately, though, the game tells me I'm a Big Damn Hero with a Big Damn Destiny. So, somewhat ironically, I'm the same as everybody else. But -- through my adventures -- I've molded my character into a Nord who's equal parts just, prideful, and ruthless. He'll never even consider joining the Dark Brotherhood, but if he deems you a drain on society, he'll slice you until you resemble the Black Knight from Monty Python, watch as you hobble away in fear, and bathe you in flames until you don't even look human anymore. Because in his eyes, you never were.
It's interesting: People love to rationalize events and create stories. Meanwhile, they hate being bossed around and forced into teeny-tiny boxes. So why are videogames so gleefully in love with getting it backwards?