
(Strokes cat) Good eeeeeevening, Mr Bond. You thought you could escape 2025 without your game, 007: First Light, catching a delay? For shame, Mr Bond. It has, and will now Bondily emerge in May 2026.
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(Strokes cat) Good eeeeeevening, Mr Bond. You thought you could escape 2025 without your game, 007: First Light, catching a delay? For shame, Mr Bond. It has, and will now Bondily emerge in May 2026.
We eight scribes from RPS are,
Bearing jokes, we wrote in the past,
Christmas crackers, god we’re knackered,
After twelve months of graft.
O, reader of wonder, loved the most,
Why not subscribe to Supporters posts?
January leading, still proceeding,
See you once we’ve munched our roasts.
But first, time to enjoy your lovely joke!

This year, generative AI seeped into mainstream gaming. Though it didn’t so much shimmer, as smear. It mispronounced lines in Arc Raiders, “drew” a smudgy loading screen in Anno 117, voiced a sweary Darth Vader in Fortnite – perhaps its least subtle appearance was in Where Winds Meet, the wuxia-themed open-world RPG that plugged some of its minor NPCs into AI chatbots. The results were predictably beige and sometimes absurd.

We reach the penultimate door, and good cripes has it been a long time coming. When was the last door? Like 2017? Ah well, surely everyone’s been completely normal about it.
It’s Hollow Knight: Silksong!

Vince Zampella, the co-creator of Call of Duty, founder of Respawn Entertainment, and head of EA’s Battlefield franchise died in a car crash on December 22nd. He was 55 years old.
“We’re heartbroken by the passing of our founder and dear friend Vince Zampella,” Respawn Entertainment said in a statement on Twitter. “Our hearts are with his family, friends, and all who love him.”

Greetings traveller, and welcome to Burning Springs! You may know it as the latest location in the newly updated Fallout 76, but to me, a recently defrosted Ohioan historian from the ancient past of 2025, it’s home.
The tour will start shortly. I just need a moment to get my bearings. I swear Fort Steuben was 120 miles over that way…? It seems in the years between my big freeze and today, in 2105, the geography got moved around a little. Let’s return to that wrinkle later.
We eight scribes from RPS are,
Bearing jokes, we wrote in the past,
Christmas crackers, god we’re knackered,
After twelve months of graft.
O, reader of wonder, loved the most,
Why not subscribe to Supporters posts?
January leading, still proceeding,
See you once we’ve munched our roasts.
But first, time to enjoy your lovely joke!

Here is a list of waste items I can see from my desk, at the time of writing: one piece of mud tracked in from a nearby forest, with a curl of oak leaf poking out of it; two condensed, possibly sentient balls of spiderweb; two fingernails (I know, it’s a terrible habit, I promise I’m not this gross in proper office environments); three screws that really should be part of my bed; one discarded bottle of antivac; ten unidentified somethings.
What do all these objects have in common? Obviously, they would make amazing roguelite protagonists. I know this because I have been playing… Morsels!
We eight scribes from RPS are,
Bearing jokes, we wrote in the past,
Christmas crackers, god we’re knackered,
After twelve months of graft.
O, reader of wonder, loved the most,
Why not subscribe to Supporters posts?
January leading, still proceeding,
See you once we’ve munched our roasts.
But first, time to enjoy your lovely joke!

He’s making a list, he’s checking it twice, he’s checking it thrice, he’s checking it four times, he’s checking it five times, he’s checking it Six times, he’s checking it Six times, he’s checking it Six times… Hello reader who is also a reader. We don’t have a game developer contact for the final Bookshelf of 2025. Instead, I’ve called upon my occult connections to secure a last-minute interview with the very Father of Christmas himself.
How jolly his manner! How red his attire! How curiously squelchy the bag thrown over one shoulder! How unidentifiable the appendage he slowly extends from the fissured green immensities of your Christmas tree! Cheers, Santa! Mind if we have a nose at your bookshelf?