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I love video games that look up at me like a wheezing, bleeding animal with hate and pain in its eyes because I just won’t let them go. That beg me to walk away as if they didn’t invite me in, or leave some crack in the window too wide to keep me out. A meal that scorns me for my own hunger. A road that feels pain where I tread. You aren’t the monster for how you acted, or what you thought, or said. You are the monster for proceeding at all. Your victim is not characters, but a world entirely, one that doesn’t wish to exist for anything outside of itself.