But things in digital dreamspace aren’t as peaceful as one would hope. This entire operation is overseen by Seren.exe, a master program that keeps things running smoothly in the Cloud. Friends and loved ones can visit residents of the Soul Cloud, and leave them small mementos to discover as they wander through their personal, digital past. The Soul Cloud lets users upload themselves to a virtual universe post-mortem, where they can relive their memories for eternity. Master Reboot puts you in a near-future world dominated by a worldwide phenomenon called the Soul Cloud. What I’m getting at here is that the game isn’t good. I cry for this game like one cries not for a lost loved one, but for one who has gone from success and fame to smoking crack in an alley every night. Master Reboot marks itself as the first game to ever generate that sort of reaction out of me. That can generate its own kind of rage, to be sure, but I’m talking about the kind of game so maddeningly disappointing and confusing that it brings you to tears out of pure befuddlement and anguish. That’s all fine and dandy, but what about a game that brings forth a different kind of tears? What about tears of utter frustration? And I don’t mean frustration due to a clever, tricky puzzle over which you have slaved for hours without respite. We’ve all been there, with a game completely and utterly emotionally compromising us, leaving us deeply impacted by what we’ve seen, and been a part of. I certainly became affected to tears by a couple moments in last year’s Gone Home, and felt myself racked by hollow, tearless sobs as the credits rolled at the end of the first season of Telltale’s Walking Dead. I’m sure we’ve all had one or two video games that have made us cry. Deleting Me Softly – Master Reboot is occasionally pretty, never successfully scary, and consistently disappointing.
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