I've now played enough of Metroid Prime 3 to know that they've washed the filth of Red Steel completely from the system.
Hurling the gamepad into a knitting basket, I dug deep into the faultlines of the couch, producing a wiimote/nunchuk pair. Without pause, I slapped the input stud on the video switcher before the final cinema faded to black. There is a whiff of accomplishment, semisweet - but the pie is gone. I put Bioshock to bed last night, and theoretically this should be cause for joy, but I suppose it's like finishing a pie. My recovery from this weekend's rigors would be quite accelerated if I were not up until two or more every night, which is to say morning, hacking and slashing my way through the new releases like some malarial jungle guide.
Until then, you'll simply have to endure more strips regarding interactive storytelling's electronic opus.
One day, science will pierce these mysteries. We never sit down with the firm intention of making another Bioshock comic - indeed, we intend the opposite - but somehow Bioshock comics continue to be written.
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