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The post John Messes with the Spyro the Dragon RetroAchievements Revision w/ Rose & Lily appeared first on Gamesline.

Violence is a dominant means in fiction, where conflict is a fundamental need. Force is certainly not the only resolution, but frequently, if there is an evil king, in an evil castle, in the evil lands where everyone is conveniently just so evil, there’s probably going to be a sword to swing, and a throat to cut. Violence in video games is a common means to an end—one could say the default, by most standards. Unless the game is specifically designed around it, no, you cannot talk to these creatures; you must super shotgun, chain dash, ice grenade, meat hook, chainsaw, rocket launcher, rocket launcher, rocket launcher, etc. There are many theories as to why this is, but certainly a contributing factor is immediate visual and mechanical appeal. Violence is flashy, fast, visceral, and many other ten-dollar game review words.

Nowhere is more apparently indulgent in the power fantasy of violence than the AAA gaming space. Space marines were especially popular for a time; proud soldiers who exist in omnipotent armor tear through disgusting foreign “xenos” and this is the way things are, spoken uncritically with lesser or greater levels of self-awareness. This was replaced in time with the morally grey dad: a choleric older gentleman who can only seem to resolve his problems with a .44 magnum and a drinking problem—trying to justifiably deal with the loss of his daughter/wife/dog/car. This also came to a point of saturation in which people could see it for the trope it is, and grow tired of it.

In all these stories, violence is expected, justified. It fulfills a reactionary belief in the healing power of destroying your enemies before they can deliver the same unto you. In the revenge fantasy, they have already wronged you once, making you a perfectly justified force of violent righteousness. Such violence in turn comes to reinforce the already violent cultural norm which walks hand in hand with performative, reactionary masculinity. 

“Protect what is yours; destroy what threatens your way of life.”

The unsophisticated and one-dimensional violence of such works breeds the counterpoint video game. Stories where the entire thesis is about the unproductive destruction that is murder. What began as deconstruction, has in turn become just as common and as stale a trope as violence in the first place. A game where the character all but stares into the camera, realizing that the people they deliver violence unto are just like them, heavily saturate the same space as the righteous violence.

It’s easy to hate this kind of thing. Making a game where it is fun to shoot someone in the head with a sniper rifle while an impact font “you are a bad person” burns in on the screen, only gets so far as an examination of violent behavior. A game where violence is fun yet discouraged is annoying when anyone with problem-solving capacity can understand that violence is the only method of resolving problems when programmed that way. My irritation at games like Off calling me a bad person for committing violence—the only solution the game affords you—would not be quite so pointed if there were any other way.

Violence is meaningful when presented as a choice; one you’re making with intention. As much as Kojima receives—for good reason—a massive amount of criticism, I’ve always been impressed by the degree with which violence is a negotiated action in his works. Shooting someone in the head is always an option, frequently a convenient one, but it’s almost always just that—an option. Death Stranding shows us how easily choices can be reweighted. Violent options are given in spades yet I used virtually none of them. The inconvenience of dealing with my bloody aftermath was just not worth it. Rather than being as easy as I was used to death being, with pacifism being something of a challenge run, it was interesting to see the script flipped; killing someone being such a harrowing act that I screeched in terror if someone jumped out in front of my truck.

We’ve seen the opposite side of this coin articulated with much more bluntness, one frequently more evident in indie and lower budget titles. The disempowerment simulator, manifesting typically as horror games and other pointed-message games. Games like Pathologic come to mind, where an attempt to be an action hero is met by seven people beating you to death while you clutch a six-round firearm. The flipping of the script feels contemplative by comparison; suddenly, you are the victim of circumstance, and the forces of righteous indignation are no longer on your side. You scavenge, you survive, and you watch as the forces which would victimize you only seem to grow in strength. Yet, in just as much an extreme, it too can become tedious.

My feelings on this matter are complicated. I am often repulsed by the indulgence in the simplistic conservative violence which many games present as uncritically as any other hegemony-approved ideological framework. I’ve reached a point where the heroic action man genre of military shooter only disgusts me. In a world where I can see all too real images of genocide and death, I fail to find the heroism–the catharis–in any of this. At a certain point, such games are yet another recruiting arm for the military industrial complex and fuel for its resultant self-justification.

Just the same, I frequently utter my annoyance with games which seek to make you small and disempower you. I am already disempowered, doing my best in a world which wants me to feel small, unconnected, and constantly under pursuit by shadow people in my mysteriously red-lit apartment. A game can receive critical acclaim for its removal of the power fantasy, for its commentary on the nature of strength, and I am left feeling nothing. My eyes roll at stories with moralistic blanket statements about the perverting nature of violence, especially when the people who applaud such stories tend to feel substantially less of inequity’s boots than I do. 

Sometimes, I think this is a me problem: I’m some kind of indoctrinated violence pervert. Clearly, something wrong has happened in my brain to make me desire violent resolutions to life’s problems. Catharsis, in this way, evades me. Just as often, however, I felt anger, a resentment for people who endorse a status quo that may not be physically violent, yet still reeks of blood. 

Such thoughts stuck with me. I struggled with the feeling of cognitive dissonance that comes from enjoying violent entertainments, while immediately cringing at what such entertainments endorsed. Does enjoying the mechanical act of putting a bullet in someone need to carry your soul as a price tag? Does espousing non-violence need to come with an inherent acceptance for the way things are?

Metal-Jacketed Body Farmer

Armored Core 6 is not a game where you get to be a pacifist (okay, except like maybe the one time, but who is going to spare Swinburne, are you fucking kidding me?) You are an AC pilot and, as such, a murderer. You are a war opportunist, killing for credits. The most heinous act you can imagine is ultimately just part of the job.

All of Armored Core 6 is couched in what one could loosely call a power fantasy. As the pilot of a monolithic steel icon of death, rare is the occurrence which meaningfully threatens you. Most casualties tend to be MTs—the AC’s less glamourous, less armored, and less deadly cousin. You destroy these by the dozens in salvos of missile fire on the way to more “mechanically interesting” targets. Yet, even as I repeated the missions through the game’s three routes, I was fascinated by how differently these engagements felt.

Your first playthrough is–even if you attempt for better–the most corporate-controlled route, with minimal options to deviate from the script. On subsequent new game plus routes, previously hidden options present themselves. In the third, and typically final, route, the status quo of the original story shakes itself further and further apart. You are given the option to shirk the corporate factions altogether, betraying and breaking ties where necessary, before finally going MIA. Your protagonists forge an alliance with a predominantly metatextual AI. Through its procedure, it comes up with what it imagines to be the best possible ending, one which kills most named characters, and leads to a new state of being for humanity. Even it, in the end, is an authority you must shirk. 

Killing for a corporation feels fundamentally different than killing for an underdog, or even for yourself. The Rubicon Liberation Front, when acting as your opposition, frequently makes calls to your humanity, demanding justification for why you kill them for nothing but money. For an empathetic player, these certainly sting; but given the elevator pitch of the game, you take them on the chin and keep going. Engaging in corp-on-corp warfare often has them making yips of audacity: how dare you bite the hand that feeds? Killing for an AI feels like an optimization game; ones must become zeroes; it’s the only way to avoid a worse death in the future. 

One path feels like fighting a hopeless battle against insurmountable odds, in the faintest, dimmest hope of making a better future; the other like being another firearm for a jackbooted authority. It impresses upon me what I’ve come to see as a truth to the nature of conflict: all violence is not born equally. When the Rubicon Liberation Front fights, their violence is born out of desperate necessity, to protect the only home they’ve ever known. When the corporations fight, they battle to strip-mine a planet of a living and thinking resource to continue fueling a needless capitalistic forever war. When the Planetary Closure Administration fights, they fight as authoritarian thugs, even the worldbuilding of how their firearms work reinforces a belief that they will always be firing from upon high, and come crashing down the moment something stands at eye level.

Armored Core 6 does not advocate an idealistic platitude that all violence is unilaterally bad. I think its story simply understands that systems which inflict violence—and this includes the bloodless political violence of authorities—are devoid of humanity. When survival is on the line, violence becomes a necessity, especially when the political position of your opponent requires your death. Someone feeding on mealworms while being shelled from orbit need not tolerate a lecture on how their violence is unattractive or incapable of changing minds—clearly, the minds have already been made. The violence of an authority which can mark you a persona non grata, bloodless depersoning and disenfranchising, yet it is just as murderous as a gun barrel to the head, and it is an aggression which often comes first. The unattractiveness of retaliatory violence should then be understood as a product of necessity; they simply cannot build towers as high as their opposition—it was never allowed.

There is additional textual commentary on this when you realize that options to work for the underdog were obfuscated from you, only made available in those new game plus playthroughs. By the achievement percentages on Steam, we can see a substantial portion of players did not complete this journey; they followed orders, and let Rubicon burn. Frequently, people do what the natural curvatures of inertia prime them to do–taking the easiest path. People do the work of monsters because better options did not come intuitively, or were made inapparent. In this, the game seems to believe, “I was just following orders” is a phrase uttered by cowards, unwilling to find a way. The simplest path is walking forward when you are told to, unwilling or unable to make choices for yourself. Even if the most individualistic path kills the most, it is a choice, not death born of passivity.

This is the element I find most compelling about AC6: the violence is never optional. You must kill; but it is the why which makes you. Every route features the death of named characters, some of whom you might be quite fond of. Conflict and the differences of ideology will cause bodies to crash against one another time and time again. Some labor against you for simple greed or pride; while others fight you because they do not believe your dream is possible. To many, whatever heaven you attempt to construct will only be their hell.

You are denied a clean answer, one which perfectly saves everyone you wish to save. It is your answer. The blood on your hands is yours to decide, but there will be blood nonetheless. Choosing to stand perfectly still only makes you an ideal tool for the one who wishes to wield you.

Morality’s Firing Solution

The power fantasy of being a moral arbiter is not new to video games. RPGs have long lost their monopoly on deciding if people live or die. The amount of leash a game gives you to be a monster has an immense amount of flexibility depending on what game we’re talking about. I’ve complained before about the binarism of morality and the seemingly unslakable need to paint options morally black or white. Evil red-flavoured morality for boys and good blue-flavoured morality for girls, etc. Yet, here, I speak specifically on the tendency for morally grey stories to paint all sides as equally monstrous in their magnitudes.

A morally grey story frequently has an obligation to make sure you understand that the people fighting for freedom might be “fucked up” to make their retaliatory violence appear more morally nuanced. A grievance I have with efforts to peddle an “emotionally mature” story is that they frequently need to paint the downtrodden as just as deserving of retaliation as the people they fight back against. Worse, when war is depicted with no victims, and the world simply becomes a conflict of factions devoid of people. 

I appreciate then that Armored Core 6 allows for people victimized by the way things are to fight back without having a morality fairy in your head wondering “ah… aren’t we just as bad as the people we’re fighting?” I say now what might be a contentious opinion, but I’m tired of stories which feel the need to undercut their own morality in the name of alleged equality. It might seem morally nuanced, but you’re only making excuses for why the oppression was valid. An angry person might be frightening, but you don’t get a license to kill just because you’re scared. While fighting alongside the Rubicon Liberation Front, it’s hard to feel mercy for the people who gleefully shoot civilians defending their homes from the safety of their $75,000,000,000 death machine. Even then, the status quo destroyed Rubicon before it was lit aflame.

What value does it add to a story, to scold people driven to endure the unendurable? Sometimes, the fairest thing you can do is simply comment that the scale was never balanced to begin with. I understand, of course, that such decisions come from higher up, from people uncomfortable with games having any beliefs at all, but it’s the only way I can be comfortable with such stories.

Armored Core 6 understands that violence is not glamorous. Death is ugly and it comes in screams and gunfire; war is filled with people who don’t get a moment to have a catchy one-liner before dying. But, depending on the route, that same violence can be cathartic. I’ve said it before: the aesthetics of death and violence are loud. Blood is bright. Some emotions are too loud to whisper. A story where a violent regime is overthrown by the downtrodden is not the same power fantasy where you uncritically protect the status quo. Both stories are violent, yet that violence is not equal.

I am a pacifist. I love violent media. This is a contradiction which exists within many people. I adore the sensation of cathartic violence. Being able to see the highest possible authority and having the fictional catharsis of saying no, to have the power to refuse, is liberating.

In times of great moral turbidity, it’s understandable to hunger for stories where good and bad are easily demarcated, but I think for many, that is a privilege. As someone who is frequently victimized by the status quo, my expressions of directed frustration are not compatible with a desire for life to get simpler. Life, unfortunately, is complex. Morality is always a consideration when interfacing with other people, and this should carry over to our interactions with stories. We must ultimately ask if this morality is simply easy and convenient, or if it represents what we actually believe about the world. Violence can be fun, but understand too if that desire causes you to encode odious beliefs in the name of your pleasure.

I would not want violence to depart from the media I engage with. Games which allow for non-violent problem resolution are welcome, but violence too has its place. I simply ask for a more nuanced portrayal of the nature of violence, of its necessities, and the way this reflects the tumultuous world we live in. I would ask that we understand that violence does not manifest exclusively in glory kills and quick-time-event dismemberment; it manifests too in policy, in culture, and in norms. I would ask that we do not equivocate the violence of the oppressed with the violence of the oppressor.

For the audience, all I can ask is this: if you must live life as a bullet, be one that always knows its trajectory.

The post Deathmachine: Living as a Bullet appeared first on Gamesline.

It’s time for another episode of the Gamesline Podcast. This week John and Lorelai sit down to talk about the Nintendo Direct before discussing the return of so many classic games they grew up with coming back in both new and old packages. They also spend some time talking about the games based on games that are sometimes also in games. John also wanted to talk about Granblue Fantasy Relink and Mario+Rabbids while Lorelai played Fire Emblem and the Wo Long 2 demo and they have thoughts to share.

You can support us on our Patreon, and follow us on social media @gamesline.net, John, and Lorelai

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Our theme song is “Crush” by Melt Channel, from the album Magic is Real.

Edited by Lorelai

The post The Gamesline Podcast Episode 107: Old School Gaming appeared first on Gamesline.

Crystal, Lily, and Rose discuss Bungie West’s Oni, a 2001 third-person brawler-shooter with intense difficulty, intricate controls, and anime-inspired artwork. Please note that this is a full-spoilers episode.

Next month’s Game Club will be about Castlevania: Lament of Innocence!

If you like this Game Club format, let us know! You can voice your feedback and suggestions at our our Discord channel gamesline.chat or our email podcast@gamesline.net!

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Our theme song is “Crush” by Melt Channel, from the album Magic is Real.

Edited by Crystal

The post The Gamesline Podcast Episode 106: Oni Game Club appeared first on Gamesline.

There’s also something buried underneath it all.

Esoteric Ebb presents an agreeable and progressive view of the world: Feminism is good! Genocide is bad! But for all its words, it has no bite. 

One of the thematic banners Esoteric Ebb flies most proudly is gender. The main character must come to grips with what it means to be a man in a man’s world. After an early game dispute between some nationalist young men and the youth of the game’s socialist party (the “Azgalists”) you have a chance to mull over feminism versus ethnocentric men’s rights activism. Mechanically this comes down to choosing between Strength (your toughness and masculinity skill) and Wisdom (your smart and kind skill that’s also feminist), a dichotomy that immediately put a sour taste in my mouth.

I went with my Wisdom stat, which allowed me a diceroll to figure out gender. As your Wisdom stat explains to you why feminism is good, the voice in your mind tells you women and men are the same… except they aren’t.

The thesis of this feminist pondering is that statistics will reinforce what a cruel, patriarchal society already thinks. For my character, this was the climax of feminism. Nothing ever challenged this conclusion he came to, not even the dialogue written specifically for hitting on every woman you see. 

It’s no surprise why nothing changes: this thesis stinks. It admires women but doesn’t take them seriously. It comes to the brink of basic feminist thinking then falls back on just enough bioessentialism to keep things safe and comfortable. It has nothing challenging to say, and frankly, if the dumbass main character doesn’t really have anything to say I think that is fine, however the game around him feels thoroughly in this camp.

It leads multiple conversations involving women into awkward innuendo for cheap laughs, focuses heavily on keeping white men important and logical, and even makes a pretty homophobic joke about sodomy at one point. 

This is a recurring theme: Esoteric Ebb goes to great lengths to make the status quo seem like a heartwarming triumph. In the game’s final hour, its ability to take the world at face value and repackage it is equally impressive and horrific.

In Esoteric Ebb you’re in pursuit of a murderer who is planning to kill twenty-seven innocent civilians to resurrect his god who pursued human superiority through mass genocide. When you, a human cleric, meet said genocidal god, he’s quite nice and level-headed. 

He feels so bad about creating a system that encourages bigotry and violence. He is the face of warmth, the god of your character’s religion. And honestly? Despite the tonal-dissonance, this material is interesting. This is a great launch point for conflict and intense emotion. It’s overly charitable to fascism, but it could go somewhere.

Unfortunately where it goes is the credits.

It made sense for Urth, the human god, to show up as part of the pretty big infodump at the end of the game. I thought it was strange though, how polite it all was. But it makes perfect sense when you realize all he represents: another guy that killed a lot of goblins.

He gets to be reasonable because fantasy dictates there are dark races that must be slain, and that’s something our fantasy-loving culture views as problematic… but reasonable. 

“I told myself every Goblin on those red hills needed to die for the safety of man… that without clearing these lands entirely of these hostile natives, there would be nothing but… perpetual war.” (He eventually changes his mind after making a goblin friend.)

That’s it. Wrap it up and put a bow on it.

It was only once I sat there, bow-wrapped story in hand, that I started to really ask questions, hoping maybe I could find a deeper meaning.

It drove me mad.

When I speak to the genocidal god of fascism in the final confrontation of this game, I’m seeing a man who represents tangible crime and injustice done in the real world. But who is really standing here? Is he Adolf Hitler? A literal embodiment of the genocide textually done by his character, eroded into the visage of a kind old man by time and the endurance of white hegemony? Or is he Gary Gygax? An avatar for D&D itself, reputation laundered through comfort and placidity? 

Why is he standing here, polite and fatherly at the end, ready to relieve us of our inner discomfort towards the gross, white fascism of fantasy? And why the hell is everyone so damn polite?

The first ever election is happening in the city of Norvik. Nationalists, liberals, and proletariat are butting heads. With everything at risk, you’d expect mass civil unrest, volatile smear campaigns, or even violent clashes out in the open. But outside of the culprit’s awry machinations, the biggest open conflict is teenagers stealing leftist newspapers. 

Your party member for the vast majority of the game is Snell, and he’s a goblin. He’s also a well written character in a game where most characters are two halves of a bad character. He gets pretty quickly fed up with your character, but he’s not emotionally shut off the whole game. When it’s time for him to confront the god that slaughtered his people, he has a few choice words. He shouts, he swears… and that’s about it.

For most of the conversation he’s just sort of waiting for his chance to speak, and when he’s done raising his voice he fits back nicely into decorum, even entertaining Urth’s offer to answer his questions. Snell is quickly disarmed by this old man, and despite his outburst, the conversation is civil. Urth gets the last word on this one.

The god Urth, who in death has had lots of time to reflect, gets to talk a bit about Nationalism and Fascism. 

“One is a fairly new idea of a united nation-state, whether by culture or folktype or anything else. …Fascism is…It does feel rather abstract doesn’t it? …I never particularly identified with it. They seemed to hate liberal ideas, while I was always quite fond of egalitarian pursuits.” 

This sounds like it’s leading into an exploration of the relationship between liberal nationalism and fascism, but there’s no follow-up argument. We just get to see how recent political developments are affecting him. Your inner monologue at times points out the hypocrisy, but the lens of sympathy is rather thoroughly on Urth. This is a game where foreigners and women are wrung out for jokes at every turn, but the god of your hegemony has the final say, even when you know better.

There is some wisdom in Esoteric Ebb, but the game is so focused on finding the logic of cruelty, the lessons received by white guilt, that it fails everywhere else, all in service of feeling less guilty in the end. Urth’s genocide was incomplete because he in his greatness simply chose not to finish it, which is pretty insulting to the reality of genocide. In real life, genocide fails to reach totality for reasons aside from the generosity of the perpetrator. But the reality of this need not be confronted when we’re talking about goblins and orcs.

Esoteric Ebb’s greatest shortcoming is that it presents a lot of very flammable topics and chances for riveting introspection, but ends up pushing you to feel nothing. It’s not a source of introspection. Despite all the time it spends in your character’s head, it seems overly willing to take the conclusion out of your hands. The stats aren’t just informants of your character, they are a Greek choir. They say things like “woah, cool!”, “that’s not nice!”, and “gender is hard!” as if they are here to make sure I don’t come away with a complex opinion.

What is the purpose of a fantasy game where you meet the kindly face of genocide? Is this supposed to absolve my character of guilt for being a human male? Am I supposed to feel good about having a cordial conversation and then voting about it? Is it a big payoff when the genocidal god sides with whatever party I already plan to vote for, going so far as to encourage me to fix nationalism from within? Am I supposed to feel bad? Am I supposed to feel anything?

Or could it be that this is just another fantasy game with a modern sense of humor wrapped up by a feel good message? Where the only brown people are bugbears and orcs. Where I can go to imagine how much good is done by loving Dungeons & Dragons (but not those bad parts). A fantasy story where genre convention can be wiped clean without being challenged. Where evil is always tucked away out of sight, slowly looking older and kinder.

Ava is a writer and illustrator that draws colorful robots and writes gross, visceral literature.

The post Esoteric Ebb Soothes Where it Should Incite — by Ava Ayers appeared first on Gamesline.

A new week and another episode of the Gamesline Podcast. This week John, Lily, and Lorelai sit down to talk about single player offline remakes of pay to win gatchaslop, gaming myths and rumors you believed, and what really makes a meaningful choice in games. In the news we talk about the Sony State of Play as Lorelai keeps getting it confused with Gamescom.

You can support us on our Patreon, and follow us on social media @gamesline.net, John, Lorelai, and Lilith.

Also, don’t forget to rate and review us on Apple Podcasts, and tell a friend about the show!

If you want to send in questions, send them to our email podcast@gamesline.net!

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Our theme song is “Crush” by Melt Channel, from the album Magic is Real.

Edited by Lorelai

The post The Gamesline Podcast Episode 105: Choosing Offline Rumors appeared first on Gamesline.

Maverick went to Anime NYC, and he had a nice time all-around! However, he did have some thoughts about the overall evolution of conventions in a more corporate age. Is it possible to still find real connections while being so heavily advertised to? Plus, we all love the Major and Ghost in the Shell, Rose needs an intervention on isekai, and John’s sinking deeper into Digimon.

Our theme song is by Kirsten Carey, who can be found at @kircarey.bsky.social!

Send questions to podcast@gamesline.net, with a subject denoting it’s for URW!

The post Unlimited Rail Works Episode 141: Da Anime of New Yawk Baybee!! appeared first on Gamesline.

Another week another Gamesline Podcast. This week, John and Lorelai are joined by streamer, game designer, and comic book artist Roxy Polk to talk about the stagnation in the farming sim genre, the glory of quality remasters and the lost art of making an incredible demo. We also get into your questions about game systems and what can really make them stand out.

You can support us on our Patreon, and follow us on social media @gamesline.net, John, Lorelai, and Red Mage Roxy. You can also find Roxy on her Website, Etsy, and Twitch.

Also, don’t forget to rate and review us on Apple Podcasts, and tell a friend about the show!

If you want to send in questions, send them to our email podcast@gamesline.net!

You can also join our Discord channel at http://gamesline.chat!

Our theme song is “Crush” by Melt Channel, from the album Magic is Real.

Editing and Video Production by Lorelai

The post The Gamesline Podcast Episode 104: Farming Demo Remasters with Roxy Polk appeared first on Gamesline.

Scott played The Duskbloods network test, and Crystal’s here to ask him about it! Learn about some of the unique multiplayer experiments FromSoftware is up to with the multiplayer-focused Duskbloods, such as an urgently ticking clock, incentives to maintain fragile alliances, and a massive reward for finding true love!

Click here to listen to the Sinclair Lore podcast Scott references!

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Our theme song is “Crush” by Melt Channel, from the album Magic is Real.

Edited by Crystal

The post The Gamesline Podcast Episode 103: The Duskbloods Network Test appeared first on Gamesline.

It’s a new week and a new format for the podcast. This week, Crystal wanted to talk all about the lost art of DVD menus while Lorelai pondered why it is that the third game in a series sometimes loses it’s magic. In the news, we talk about Double Fine and Compulsion Games getting their freedom from Microsoft and being the sole publisher of their games. We also go over some of those mentioned format changes we’re going to see with the podcast moving forward like the games club.

You can support us on our Patreon, and follow us on social media @gamesline.net, Crystal, and Lorelai

Also, don’t forget to rate and review us on Apple Podcasts, and tell a friend about the show!

If you want to send in questions, send them to our email podcast@gamesline.net!

You can also join our Discord channel at gamesline.chat!

Our theme song is “Crush” by Melt Channel, from the album Magic is Real.

Edited by Lorelai

The post The Gamesline Podcast Episode 102: DVD’s Come In Threes. appeared first on Gamesline.