ME: Okay, this is going to be brilliant. I cannot describe how much I loved Dead Rising. It was basically like Day Of The Dead but with a crazy main character who hit zombies with guitars. Incredible. Wait, what is this? Motorbikes? I do not approve.
GF: Why is everyone being such an asshole to your character?
ME: I’m more curious as to why you’d make a gameshow involving zombies. That seems insanely dangerous.
GF: Wow these gameshow-sidekick women are horrible. Nobody walks like that, women’s hips do not move that way. Fucking game designers.
ME: Okay, now I’m killing zombies. This is more like it.
GF: There’s so much talking. Fuck! Those zombies take off a lot of health, huh?
ME: Well, it’s always like this in the early going. You level up by killing zombies and rescuing people and stuff, but in the early bits you’re always desperate for health. And you can’t save without making it to a toilet, so you really have to fight your way out of tough situations by throwing plates and records and stuff at the zombies, or lose all your progress. I think it’s a really clever system. Some people don’t like it, but those people are babies.
GF: Rescue that lady!
ME: Okay! Look, I’m giving her a pan, so she can hit zombies.
GF: Nice work! Ooh, she’s sassy, I like her.
ME: At least the AI’s better this time. If you gave them a pan in the first game they’d just run off into a crowd of zombies and die.
GF: What are you doing now?
ME: Changing clothes.
GF: What. The. Hell.
ME: Ooh, lovely. Knotted top and cutoffs. I look great, right?
GF: …I’m trying to imagine how the people you’re rescuing are going to react.
ME: I know, right? ‘Don’t mind my high heels and Blanka mask, folks. I know the way to safety!’
GF: Throw a plant at those zombies!
ME: Done! Haha!
ME: Fuck’s sake everybody! Keep it together!
GF: What’s happening?
ME: I’m fighting a mad chef. He throws cleavers at you and runs at you and he’s really hard. It’s making me sad. I’ve recruited a load of survivors and given them guns, but they’re wasting all their ammo and he’s fucking them up. This was probably a terrible idea.
GF: It seemed more relaxing when you were fighting the zombies.
ME: Oh god this is so hard. Wait, now he’s recharging his health? Fuck you Capcom, you’ve broken videogames.
GF: I don’t like this at all, I’m going out.
GF: What’s happening now?
ME: Oh it’s all fine. I played through the game and let my daughter die and got the D-ending, but I spent ages rescuing people and killing zombies and I levelled up so much that I’ve got about twelve health bars and I’m basically fucking invincible. Now I’m playing again from the start and I am wrecking shop. Look, I’m just fistfighting this guy with MMA mitts covered in nails.
GF: Oh God, I don’t like his chainsaw. What’s he doing?
ME: He’s supposed to be a loner nerd who’s gone mad and started marrying women at chainsaw-point? I don’t know, Dead Rising games are crazy, in the last one you got bonus points for taking Erotic photos of girls’ thongs. I think someone at Capcom has a problem.
GF: How did you work out that you got points for the thong thing?
ME: Read about it on the internet?
GF: What the hell are you doing?
ME: I’ve made a weapon out of some fireworks and a bit of lead pipe. It is the greatest thing ever.
GF: Yeah! Kill those zombie fuckers! This game is sort of amazing.
ME: I know. I actually wish there wasn’t a plot in it. I just want to wander around killing zombies and drinking litres of coffee creamer and dressing in snazzy outfits, I don’t want all this bullshit about uncovering a mystery and fighting the army.
GF: Make more weapons!
GF: Why are you carrying that massive stuffed elephant?
Me: It’s a present for my daughter. I’ve got her nearly all of them! I’ve even got her the tiger! It took me ages and ages. I love my virtual zombie daughter.
GF: You got her a tiger?
Me: It’s complicated.
GF: …are you getting broody?
Me: Absolutely not.
GF: You want a baby!
Me: I do not want a baby!
ME: Look, I’m fighting those women you hated. It’s making me a bit uncomfortable, I have to admit. They aren’t even dressed properly. I don’t like hitting women with a sword, even when they’re horrible to me.
GF: Why do you keep drinking bottles of vodka? God, this is just like watching you at a party.
ME: It gives you loads of energy, and there’s nothing else around.
GF: Oh look, now you’re being sick. Deja vu. STOP DRINKING THE VODKA.
ME: I have to! There isn’t any other food!
GF: Jesus Christ.
ME: Huh. So that was the real ending. Bit anti-climatic. I suppose I’m pleased.
GF: So what? Katie needs Zombrex forever now? It seems like getting Katie Zombrex every day for the rest of her life is going to be a massive pain in the ass.
ME: No time trial mode, I guess. I sort of hoped that there’d be a mode where you could go back in the Casino without any pressure, and just wander around bashing zombies. But no. I could always play it again, but if I let Katie die I’ll be sad, and if I keep her alive I’d have to do the story again and constantly feel anxious. I still love you, Dead Rising, but I am never going near you again.
Me: Okay, this is exciting. I love shooting things, and this game is nothing but shooting things. Therefore I am going to love it, whatever the actual reviews said.
GF: Wow. Loads of characters.
Me: Who shall I be?
GF: Click on that one. Okay, ‘Dragov is a mountainously…’’
Me: Which one? Moustache one? Dreadlocks one? Asian one who’s really fast? Just pick one.
GF: Wait, I’m reading it. ‘Dragov is a mountainously-built Siberian hunter and the most wanted criminal in Russian history.’ What, more than Stalin? Okay, click on the next one. ‘Renwick is a tough, no-nonsense NYPD detective of…’ Pass. Next one.
Me: Are you going to read all of them?
Me: Just pick one. Pick one. Nobody spends this long reading the character descriptions. They probably don’t spend this long writing the character descriptions.
GF: Pick Dragov.
Me: What about Renwick? He’s a hard-as-nails ex-cop!
GF: He looks like a dumbass. Look at his fucking toothpick.
Me: What about Finn? He’s a ‘high-stakes gambler.’
GF:I like Dragov.
Me: I’m not picking Dragov, look at his fucking speed stat. One star! You never pick the guy with one speed star.
GF: Oh, it’s like picking Bowser in Mario Kart.
Me: Exactly. Look, I’ve picked Finn. Try to accept him. Even though I hate his stupid hair.
GF: …What’s the plot of this, anyway?
Me: I don’t know. I think they’re in a Club where the backers bet on them killing people? But it seems to imply that all the characters get a go at killing a huge group of men across a large environment. And they get loads of goes at it to imrprove their score, or something? It makes you wonder where they get all the men.
GF: It doesn’t make sense, is what you’re saying.
[The game begins. Three minutes pass]
GF: So…is this all you do for the whole game? Shoot people?
GF: I have to say, Finn’s personality isn’t really coming across here.
Me: I’m never playing this again.
[WARNING: Fairly massive spoilers]
ME: Okay, this is supposed to be really good. Dramatic.
GF: Why are you brushing your teeth? And laying out plates really aggressively?
ME: I think it’s setting the mood, the whole game is like this. A series of tasks involving wobbling the joypad around and stuff. Atmospheric.
GF: I like this. It’s very sedate.
[Five minutes pass]
GF: The main character’s face is kind of freaking me out.
ME: It’s weird, right? There’s this whole thing called the uncanny valley where they think that the more a pretend character looks like a real person the more you…oh god my son’s disappeared!
GF: Ooh, the crowds are freaking me out. I like this effect though.
ME: If I was in Assassin’s Creed I’d just stab my way through here. It’s rubbish being normal.
GF: What the fuck, is this Minority Report now?
ME: No, this is how the cop character works, he’s got the same sort of swooshy headset, except it’s for CSI stuff.
GF: Look, the footprints go up there. Climb that muddy slope!
ME: I’m trying. It’s…slippery.
GF: You are awful at this.
ME: I’m better at climbing muddy slopes than this in real life. Games aren’t supposed to make you worse at things than you are in real life, that’s just wrong.
GF: Who are you playing as now?
ME: The lady character. She’s got short hair, she’s very feisty. Empowering!
GF: Why is she being attacked by men in balaclavas?
ME: For…dramatic tension? I honestly have no idea. Oh look, it was a dream. I suppose that makes sense.
GF: This is French, right?
ME: Look, now I’m a chubby, loveable PI! I’m investigating the crime! I’m talking to a prostitute! She seems sad. This is making me really sad.
GF: Who’s this guy?
ME: I don’t know, a pimp I guess…ooh, a fight scene!
GF: Wreck that fucker.
ME: Look, I’m smashing his head into a desk! This is brilliant!
GF: Doesn’t it seem really obvious that this guy’s going to be the bad guy? I mean, there aren’t many characters, and he’s going around [redacted], [redacted].
ME: They’d never make it that obvious, though.
GF: I guess not.
ME: I’m tired.
GF: Play a bit more.
ME: This is quite mentally draining, you know. I’m sure you’re enjoying just sitting there and…
GF: Play. A Bit. More.
ME: Look, I’m crawling through a tunnel full of broken glass on my hands and knees. I just found a dead guy. I hope you’re happy.
GF: I’m very happy.
GF: Oh of course. The villain is making the empowered heroine take her top off. Of course he is.
ME: To be fair, the main character just chopped his own fucking finger off. I know which I’d rather do.
GF: You love taking your top off, though. I’m surprised that you’re wearing a top now.
ME: I don’t suppose…
GF: What’s happening now?
ME: I got the cop killed, so apparently that’s a thing. And I…don’t get to see any more of his story? I feel quite bad about that. And now…I’m not sure. The dad’s gone to visit the lady. I’d have thought he’d have better things to do.
GF: Oh look, a sex scene.
ME: David Cage loves these, I think there’s one in every game he ever makes. This was probably inevitable.
GF: You’re not doing very well.
ME: You’re distracting me.
GF: How come you could steer that car the wrong way up the freeway with no problem at all, but you can’t unhook a bra properly?
ME: The sex is harder than it looks.
GF: No comment.
ME: Okay, look, the house is on fire. Jump out of the window or go through the fire? The fire looks really hot, but she says the window’s too high! Quick!
GF: Jump out of the window!
ME: But she just said…
GF: Out of the window!
ME: …she’s dead.
GF: Why did you listen to me? You’ve got more experience in these things than I have.
ME: Look, I found the killer. Kill him, or don’t kill him? Oh man, in films I’m always shouting at the main character to kill the bad guy when he’s pointing a gun at him. It seems like I should kill him.
GF: I definitely think you should kill him.
ME: …I’m not going to kill him. It seems like the game probably doesn’t want me t…oh no! Now I’m dead! How the fuck did that happen?
GF: Well, on the plus side, now the killer’s dead as well. So you killed, hang on a minute, everyone.
ME: Except for the kid.
GF: Except for the kid. So it could have been worse. You know what, this game was so good that I might actually play it myself and try to get a better ending than your rubbish one.
ME: You do that.
[Ed’s note: she did not]