It's pitch black, and your teeth are chattering so loudly that you barely even notice the three simultaneous heart attacks you're having as you creep through the tall grasses of an open field. Suddenly, the bushes behind you rustle. You jerk your head so quickly that your body nearly doesn't get the chance to follow, as the hulking, foreboding figure of a baby bunny hops out from the bush. Phew. Heart attack number four averted. For now. You wipe the sweat from your brow – which, at this particular moment, is the world's most accurate model of what would happen if the polar ice caps actually melted – and continue onwards.

For about two feet. That's when you see it. Yep, there it is – right in front of you. Oh sweet mother of mercy. No, no – not the sprinting, groaning gray guy who's licking his unhinged chops and eying your neck. I'm talking about the thing behind him. That's right: a thermos full of coffee! Finally! Awesome! Sorry Mr. terrifying zombie man; just a second. You see, I need that coffee for an achievement.      

The game in question? Alan Wake, a game quite capable of keeping you on the edge of your seat right up until the moment it spills hot coffee all over your lap. And it's certainly not alone. For the longest time, triple-A games polished their graphics and tweaked their ambient bunny-in-a-bush sounds in pursuit of a holy grail known simply as “immersion.” Gamers wanted it; game developers wanted it – for everything around the player to just melt away. To be utterly, hopelessly, and completely lost in the game world, without even the thinnest bread crumb trail back to reality. These days, though, immersion is about as prized as an airplane seat surrounded by screaming babies with no nearby emergency exit to fling yourself from. Or at least, it certainly seems that way.  

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There’s a song that goes “I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that.” For the sake of being on topic, let’s say a videogame character is the modern-day Shakespeare behind those heart-rending, tear-jerking lyrics. As a videogame character, he can do quite a lot. Grapple up mountains, drive cars off said mountains, steal planes and then leap out of them to steal better planes, etc. “Anything,” one might say. However, he still won’t – or really, can’t – do “that.” What is “that,” you ask? Well, anything that actually matters, to be honest. 

Sure, when playing games like Grand Theft Auto, Just Cause 2, or Red Faction: Guerrilla, I can mow down crowds of people like they’re an unruly, weed-ridden lawn, but – like actual plants and unlike actual people – they grow back. And if I die, I grow back too. I can cause traffic pile-ups so large they’d fill three nights-worth of evening news programs or send entire buildings crashing to the ground, but when I turn around, everyone’s come back to life and moved on with said lives. The only time I can ever do anything that “matters” is during scripted, generally linear missions. But those run so contrary to the message of “freedom” open-world games proudly trumpet that they may as well be from separate games entirely.

The end result? The game world feels false – less like an actual living, breathing place and more like a theme park where half the rides are out of order. It’s not convincing and – in some cases where story and non-story gameplay clash, ala Grand Theft Auto IV – serves to yank the player right out of the experience.

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Videogames have come a long way over the past decade. Nowadays, they can evoke all kinds of subtle, nuanced emotions and convey powerful experiences that have the potential to change the ways we think and feel. They can reveal shocking truths about the world around us, and maybe – just maybe – teach us a little something about ourselves along the way. 

Or they can shoot a bunch of burly dudes in slow-mo before coming to the aid of a nearby, nearly dead ally and screaming, “You nearly scared the dick off me!” right in his face. They can definitely do that too.  

Yes, Bulletstorm is loud, rude, and proud of it. Everything’s best in moderation, you say? Try telling that to Bulletstorm. It’ll yank you 20 feet into the air and then proceed to juggle you with a series of shotgun blasts, kicks, and unnecessary profanities before letting its good ol’ pal gravity impale you on a nearby cactus. It’s over-the-top. It’s gruesome. It’s ridiculous. It’s far and away one of the best things we saw at E3. 

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Order, order! Order in the court!

Let the case of old-school X-Com fans versus 2K’s XCOM revival now commence. The prosecution immediately presents its evidence: a simple copy of the original X-Com. “The evidence,” those gamers say, “will speak for itself.” And it does. Strategy, tactics, base management, research. Tiny gray men! If looks could kill, the entire jury would be in the defendant’s seat at this point. And 2K, of course, would be in a body bag.

2K, however – unfazed by an army of gamers and, in all likelihood, a small stack of death threats – presents its evidence. “We, too, believe our evidence will speak for itself.” It’s XCOM’s E3 demo. And it’s… still a first-person shooter. Things aren’t looking good for 2K. The jury grows restless and a chorus of dissatisfied grumbles echoes through the courtroom. But wait. Suddenly, an “OBJECTION!” so powerful it’d put Phoenix Wright out of a job. 

“Just watch,” 2K insists, still shockingly composed, given the situation. And so we did.

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