Ever since the dawn of time we've had the likes of heroic protagonists and sidekick shadow-dwellers buddying up to take down a greater evil with a combined effort.When it comes to video games, it's all about pulling out the right card and hoping you aren't left with the moron who can't tell their arse from their elbow. That's half the fun when booting up a brand new adventure for the first time; preying that you don't get left with the village idiot, who ends up being more of a burden than an assistant. Not mentioning any character in specific—*cough* Ashley *cough* Resident Evil 4*cough cough*.
Have you ever had one of those awkward moments during a film where you kind of just slouch into your seat and cringe as you wish a certain scene would just pass? Because times like that happen every single day, and what makes them even worse is when we decide that it'd be a fun idea to invite the parents over for a takeaway and movie extravaganza, only to discover that the chosen film is essentially a sex-crazed blockbuster hit filled with all the nasty bits we'd rather not share with our relatives.
We, as a species, are pretty strange. We're strange because we like being scared for the sake of being scared when experiencing a thriller flick or survival horror story. Being scared gives us that strange burning sensation in our chests, and adrenaline rush that we can't acquire from an extreme sport or cheap drug. Whether it's from watching a horror movie alone at night or playing through a survival campaign on the most intense difficulty available; fear always manages to channel its way in through the media cord and rattle our bodies to the very core.
When I was fifteen I was offered my first job. It wasn't necessarily a job I had been seeking or studying towards, but it was an opportunity to earn some extra cash, and help me get off my arse each morning after I finished school. Exactly what every teenage kid needs when they're offered six weeks of immortality; a reason to wake up each morning.
We've all had it, haven't we? That clench of the collar and twitch of the neck as we feel the sudden urge to launch a controller against the drywall in resentment? That gruelling desperation to just call it quits and send our consoles through several layers of blood and bruised knuckles?