What a wicked game to play.
There was a time before I knew about killing games. Before Hunger Games, before Danganronpa, before Squid Game. And then, I played 999.
On the face of it, killing games seem sociopathic: We tend to follow a single “player” who is unwittingly enrolled in a game where only the strongest, cleverest, or most underhanded person can survive, and win the prize. Everyone else will die, or be killed, in traumatic and gory ways designed to entertain the fictional audience. The problem is that the fictional audience is also a real audience — an audience of one. The player. You. The premise of the killing game is that you have to be pretty sick to enjoy this spectacle of horror, but the fact that killing games persist in media means that they are enjoyable. Does that make us sick?
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