I recently went through a traumatic event; I lost my Commander Shepard. Not to the hordes of Sarenís Geth; not to legions of Collector drones; not even to that bastard, Harbinger. No, I lost my Shepard to Microsoft.
Last night was the first time I played Mass Effect
since the tragedy of that fateful day. I tried for an hour to rebuild the face that now haunted my dreams, but even after getting 99% of him right I still feel odd when I look at him. It feels wrong, and I know heís not the same person who deliberately killed off Jacob Taylor because he wouldnít stop saluting me. No, this is Shepard 2.0; the failed clone of a brilliant and sadistic man.
I guess the point of this is to highlight the attachment a gamer forms with their avatar. It is a strange, yet wonderful, bond, and one that we cherish in a way similar to the way we value our own personal traits. Iím not saying Iíd kill you if you salute me, but I am saying that Iíd happily let the British Government die if they failed to acknowledge the Reaper threat.
LOOK WHO CAME: