A mucky, ignoble quandary, to be sure, but also rawer, tougher, more "real" than any choice I've wrestled with in last year's Fallout 4. On the other, that water is swimming with ions who would just love to get acquainted with my red blood cells, and I'm all out of RadAway. On the one hand, that toilet water looks delicious and I'm a few points down on Endurance and Perception thanks to dehydration. As far as I can recall, when I last quit out a couple of years ago I left her staring into a dishevelled toilet in a collapsed shack somewhere near Boulder City - this being one of the quintessential dilemmas of a New Vegas playthrough on Hardcore Mode, with its additional hunger, thirst and fatigue modifiers.
One of the restless souls I feel guiltiest about is the Courier from Fallout: New Vegas. Cerberus hid the controller charger under the sofa. Cerberus put that complete Dawn of War collection in my hands. No, Shepard, no! I never meant to abandon you on the Moon. Like ghosts in need of exorcism, they haunt the dreams of their owners. Instead, these characters are left to languish on a save file for months and years as feckless players drift to other releases, their skill trees mere sprouts in the dirt, unfinished plot arcs jutting over a wilderness of backstory. For every conquering protagonist there's a handful of leads who never made it to the credits roll, never weighed a civilisation's fate in the scales. Video game heroes and heroines don't die - they're forgotten.
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