Somewhere, in a distant land, perhaps a world far removed from our own, the forces of good fight against the onrushing tide of bad games. Striding forward like mindless clones, these evil incarnations rape and pillage ideas from other, better titles, stripping them of their flesh and wearing them as if it was their own skin, becoming a pale, lifeless mockery of what they seek to imitate. All about them the innocent flee, screaming in terror as Diablo clones lurch towards them, turning to flee but finding their path blocked by an ugly first person shooter trying to wear the skin of Wolfenstein. I don't know, maybe they turn round and see Mortyr leering at them. The fact is, in this distant land of fantasy, games journalists would be heroes saving the weak from the scourge that is crap, criminally derivative software and I'd be a knight in shining armour forever liberating squealing young damsels. And I'd be much more sexy.