Hollow Knight is a venture into Hallownest's depths, a methodical descent ever deeper into the quiet stillness of a long-dead kingdom in a desperate attempt to understand why this civilization fell, what possesses only some of its bug citizens to revert into unthinking and violent insects and not others, and what it is we're even doing there. There are no concrete answers to be found or a set path to follow; there's barely a discernible objective for almost the entire game. It is a story built around curiosity, only rewarding snippets of Hallownest's fascinating history to those who venture for no other reason than wanting to do so. It's one of my favorite games of all time, and its sequel, Hollow Knight: Silksong, is even better.

In some ways, you can tell that Silksong started out as an expansion to the first game. It plays largely the same, and long-time fans will fall into the familiar rhythm of pogoing off enemy heads and deadly saw blades with downward slashes, frantically healing during brief breaks in an intense boss fight, parrying an attack with a well-timed slash, and breathing a sigh of relief upon reaching the next bench and setting a new spawn point.

It's not all exactly the same: Hornet's downward slash is initially her trademark diagonal dive (but you can change it later!), for example. But Silksong feels like more Hollow Knight. The rhythmic acrobatic nature of combat, rewarding feeling of success from defeating a tough-as-nails boss, and sense of wonder at discovering that there is, in fact, another area to explore are all here. Team Cherry created a superb gameplay loop in the first game, and that fantastic formula continues to shine in Silksong years later.

I'm old enough to remember how it felt to first play Final Fantasy Tactics in 1997--to remember its stirring score, deep tactical combat, and most of all, the complex story of broken relationships and valor set against a bitter, conspiracy-laden battle for royal succession. It all came together to create an unforgettable experience. More than nearly any game of its time, I was so rapt in it that I would find my mind frequently wandering back to it, planning new strategies, wondering what would happen next.

Tactics is a game that has lived on as a cult classic with sporadic attempts at giving it its due, as with 2007's War of the Lions. The Ivalice Chronicles is the latest and best version so far, modernizing just enough to keep its spirit intact and enhance its memorable story without sacrificing its classic charms.

The story primarily follows the life of Ramza Beoulve, the youngest and most obscure member of a storied house of nobles, and his fractious friendship with Delita Heiral, a commoner who was treated like family by the Beoulve clan. As narration informs us before the game begins, history remembers Delita as the conquering hero of the War of the Lions--but it was the relatively unknown Ramza who should actually be celebrated.

Blippo+ is certainly one of the strangest games you could play this year--or any year, really. Released on Steam, Switch, and Playdate (the small yellow handheld famous for its crank controls), it strains the fundamental definition of a video game. Instead, it's more of a simulation of TV channel-surfing in the late '80s or early '90s, a kind of interaction younger generations actually have no experience with. It's a game whose target audience would seem to be very few people at all. And yet, because I enjoy exceptionally weird experiences, it delivers.

Blippo+ is a collection of live-action skits meant to play like a cable television package from 30ish years ago. When you first start up the game, it "scans" for channels--a process I vaguely recalled interacting with as a kid when Blippo+ reminded me. Then, once its dozen or so channels are found, you simply... watch TV.

The TV schedule plays out in real time. These are not on-demand offerings a la Netflix or HBO Max. This is a perpetually cycling programming schedule. If you tune into the news channel, for example, you'll miss what's happening at the same time on the music, family or--yes--even the porn channel. Each program only lasts a few minutes, so it's not as though you're locked in for 30 or more minutes if you want to watch any single program in its entirety. This also makes it easy enough to eventually catch everything, either by channel-surfing routinely like a kid after school in 1996, or by sticking with one channel at a time until it has looped fully, then moving onto the next channel.

In my restless dreams, I see that town. I see its fog-drenched foothills and derelict buildings. I see its dead-end alleys and blank-faced inhabitants. And though it's not the same haunt that ensnared Harry, Heather, James, and the others--the same town that’s siren song broke many a man while simultaneously building one of the most iconic horror game franchises in existence--Silent Hill f's Ebisugaoka is still a place that demands your attention; a place that, once you're there, you never truly leave. Or perhaps more aptly, it never leaves you.

The same can be said for Silent Hill f itself. Although the game distances itself from previous entries in the series--most notably by trading in its Lynchian-meets-Boschian ambience and small-town America setting in favor of slow-burning Japanese horror and the humid foothills of Honshu--its overall experience is every bit as memorable as those offered by its predecessors. And yet Silent Hill f is not merely a somewhat-divergent continuation of a beloved series; it's an evolution, offering several gameplay improvements while also paving a new path forward. With its brilliant writing, well-designed and strategic gameplay, engaging combat, and spectacular visuals, Silent Hill f firmly establishes itself as a phenomenal work of psychological horror and among the best entries in the Silent Hill series.

Though Silent Hill f's setting is, to be cliche, very nearly a character in itself, at the center of the game's story is Shimizu Hinako, a young high school student who is violently thrust into a disturbing version of her hometown. In the game's opening moments, it's made clear that Hinako's relationships are rife with tension. As a young woman growing up during the late 1960s, much of this tension stems from her resistance towards being a "proper" young woman, much to her parents' dismay. In her journal, she writes that her father is the very definition of a patriarchal husband--demanding, severe, and domineering--while her mother is passive to the point of cowardice. For a long time, Hinako's older sister, Junko, was the only person she could rely on for companionship and protection. This changed, however, once she got married and left home, leaving Hinako alone and drowning in resentment.

It wouldn't seem to make sense to call Dying Light: The Beast a more grounded game than its predecessors. It's a game in which you routinely shift into something like X-Men's Wolverine, slashing at the undead with the ferocity of a preying mountain lion and carving them to shreds with what is basically an instant win button. But beyond the feature that informs the game's title, this expansion turned standalone sequel actually leans further into horror and survival than anything in the series, making it the most fun I've had with Dying Light to date.

Dying Light: The Beast returns the game's original protagonist, Kyle Crane, to the starring role, moving him to Castor Woods, a brand-new location for the series, and a lush nature reserve decorated with once-gorgeous villages that manage to feel both ornate and rustic at the same time. Like before, the game is an open-world first-person zombie game with a significant emphasis on death-defying parkour and brutal melee combat. But The Beast adds (or returns) a few other wrinkles, too.

For one, guns are more prevalent than ever this time, though ammo isn't as common. Using guns feels reliable enough but doesn't fill your Beast Mode meter, so I frequently rejected this quasi-new toy in favor of the series' long-held favorites: baseball bats, machetes, and loose pipes fitted with elemental add-ons that light the zombies on fire, send electric shocks through the hordes, or cause them to bleed out between my crunchy swings to their squishy heads.

As a dyed-in-the-wool Nintendo Kid, Mario has always been the yardstick by which I measure competitors. When Sonic the Hedgehog broke out on the Sega Genesis, I couldn't help but compare it to Mario's platforming to measure the similarities and differences. So I have to admit that it's difficult to approach an arcade kart racer like Sonic Racing: CrossWorlds without Mario Kart in the back of my head--especially since that series just had a new entry this summer. But it's that contrast that really makes CrossWorlds stand out in some positive ways. Whereas Nintendo's latest racer excelled due to its simplicity, CrossWorlds offers a massive wealth of options and customization to help you find and craft your own style. There is a lot going on, and it can be a little overwhelming, but ultimately the level of depth rewards experimentation.

From the start, Sonic Racing: CrossWorlds offers three main offline modes, two of which need little introduction: Grand Prix and Time Trials are your tried-and-true staples, and then there's the more inventive Race Park. More on that in a bit. Grand Prix is where most players will start, with a suite of seven Grand Prix to master. These are listed as three races apiece, but each one also consists of a fourth grand finale race that remixes parts of the three prior tracks.

And that's where CrossWorlds gets its unique twist, as well as its name. Seemingly inspired by the Sonic the Hedgehog movies, in which rings act as portals to other planets, the tracks in Sonic Racing: CrossWorlds are not just straightforward point-A-to-point-B affairs. Instead you'll regularly cross a threshold through a giant ring and into a new world. The race leader chooses a destination, between one known option or another random selection. You hop into another world to visit for a little while, and then portal your way back to the main track you were in.

Trails in the Sky 1st Chapter finally addresses a major dilemma for newcomers considering getting into Falcom's epic industrial fantasy saga. While the Trails series has consisted of different arcs set in different parts of the continent of Zemuria that you could start from, when its overarching storyline and continuity spans titles released over two decades, where better to begin than the very first chapter?

Trails in the Sky 1st Chapter successfully remakes the game and brings it in line with the standards of a Trails game in 2025, while preserving its original story. This is not a bloated reimagining--Trails titles have already been well-regarded for having a wealth of text, so it's not like a remake would benefit from more fleshing out--but sticks to all of the original story beats, along with a revised localization that's also closer in style to the Japanese text. There are some new lines too, mostly to fill the silences during exploration, but still not quite the same undertaking of localizing a new script from scratch, which is usually why previous Trails games have taken longer to reach the West.

Just like the original, 1st Chapter begins with 11 year-old Estelle waiting for her father Cassius to arrive home, only to find he's brought with him an injured orphaned boy named Joshua who's also her age. Fast-forwarding five years later, he's part of the family and the pair are following in their father's footsteps to become bracers: heroic warriors serving and protecting their communities by exterminating dangerous monsters and helping with odd jobs. But besides going from town to town in the kingdom of Liberl and doing good deeds to increase their bracer rank, Estelle and Joshua become embroiled in one mystery after another, from political corruption to kidnappings, culminating in a vast conspiracy beyond what they could have imagined.

Assassin's Creed has long focused each of its stories on a central theme. Almost every aspect of Odyssey's main campaign and dozens of side quests deal with legacy, for example, while Valhalla's lengthy story largely centers around fate. Assassin's Creed Shadows is far less defined, with protagonists Naoe and Yasuke's journey across 16th-century Japan primarily being about found family, but delving into revenge and honor as well. Thematically, it's been the weakest narrative theme of the larger, more RPG-focused Assassin's Creed games, muddied by the main story's aimless second act.

Those same problems persist in Shadows' first major story-driven expansion, Claws of Awaji. And while a few changes to the cat-and-mouse formula of pursuing and eliminating targets do make for a more engaging gameplay loop, the persisting narrative issues leave the ending to the DLC, and Naoe's arc specifically, feeling barebones.

Claws of Awaji takes place after the events of Shadows' main story. So if you haven't finished Shadows' campaign and don't want to be spoiled, turn back.

There are so many great co-op experiences to be had right now that my biggest issue isn't finding something to play with my wife or kids, it's finding enough time to play them all. But I'm glad I made the time for Lego Voyagers, because it's the sort of game that is immediately, obviously special, and culminates in a beautiful final few minutes that made my kids and me care deeply for a simple pair of Lego bricks.

Lego Voyagers is a two-player co-op game, so there's no solo mode, nor can you pair up with a bot partner. Played online or--even better--with two players sharing a couch, the game takes only about four hours to go through. But that's time very well spent, I can tell you, after having played it with my daughter and son at different times.

Lego Voyagers stars two minuscule Lego bricks. Both nameless, they're each personified only by their single googly-eye sticker, as well as their different colors; one is blue, the other is red. The simple, wordless story is nonetheless affecting. As the pair live out their lives as neighbors and buddies atop a small island built of Lego bricks, a rocket in the distance can be seen taking off, awakening in them a passion for science and space travel. Heading off from home, the pair go on an adventure to explore this passion together.

A direct sequel to Borderlands 3, Borderlands 4 aims to rectify the various issues of its predecessor--namely, the overreliance on cringe jokes, overly talkative main villains, and bullet-sponge boss battles. And while these issues are addressed, it may have been an overcorrection as Borderlands 4 is cranked so far in the other direction that the resulting game feels like a strange imitation of the series. The core bread and butter of the franchise--rewarding looting and satisfying shooting--remains the same, delivering hours of solid first-person shooter gameplay. The narrative elements, however, are weaker than ever.

Like its predecessors, Borderlands 4 sees you embody one of four playable Vault Hunters, outlaw mercenaries willing to do pretty much whatever, whenever, for money and a chance to uncover one of the many treasure-filled Vaults left behind by a long-dead civilization. Each Vault Hunter possesses unique skill trees and abilities, allowing you to flavor your approach to the game the way you want. Vex the Siren is a summoner who can create ghostly visages of either herself or a fanged beast to attract enemy fire away from her, for example, while Amon the Forgeknight uses advanced tech to create elemental axes, whips, or a shield so he can wade into melee combat.

This feels like Borderlands' strongest assortment of Vault Hunters to date. While no past Vault Hunter has been a truly bad choice, this is the first time that each Vault Hunter feels incredibly useful in all aspects of play, whether it's dealing with groups of everyday enemies, cutting away at larger bosses, or aiding allies in co-op while they focus on doing most of the damage. While I played as Vex in my main playthrough, I didn't dislike my time with other Vault Hunters on new save files.

At around four to five hours in length, calling The Order of Giants bite-sized doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Within the context of the rest of Indiana Jones and The Great Circle, however, that's precisely what this DLC feels like.

The base game is at its best when you're dropped into an extensive playground and left to your own devices, whether it's a maze of undulating rivers in Sukhothai or a stretch of desert surrounding the pyramids of Giza. Donning Indy's signature hat and exploring these dense locations is a treat, with each level meticulously detailed and focused on player agency, all while weaving the signature elements of an Indiana Jones adventure into each locale.

Maybe it was naive of me to expect a similar setup in the game's first expansion, but it's still a tad disappointing that The Order of Giants presents a more streamlined experience instead. The quality is still there; it's just missing a few key ingredients.

It's funny to see how much the topic of sweat has become a joke in the NBA 2K series. As far back as when the series first came to Xbox 360, I can recall players calling out the life-like perspiration seen on its in-game athletes. Today, that dedication to depicting authentic sweat is sometimes used to critique the game. Players will say--perhaps only half-jokingly--that Visual Concepts is too concerned with sweat and not focusing enough on other aspects of the annual basketball sim. In reality, I don't know of another sports gaming studio team that sweats the small stuff quite like the NBA 2K team. NBA 2K26 is another testament to that, with a lot of little improvements alongside a handful of big ones, collectively making this a game that can easily satisfy virtually any type of basketball fan there is.

On the court, the best change is the game's new motion engine, which follows from last year's new dribble engine and 2K24's introduction of "ProPlay," a system NBA 2K uses that transposes real-life basketball footage into in-game animations. The changes to the motion engine this year are obvious if you're an annual player. Movements are smoother and more authentic to the real world, and thus look better on the screen and feel better in your hands. I'd expected this to be a minor change when I'd first heard about it, but in playing it side by side with last year's game, it's more than subtle.

The transitions from one movement, like cutting through the paint, to something like stepping back and shooting a floater, are excellent. This change cuts way down on instances of players sort of floating to where they need to be, like they might in past games at times. Movement feels more physical and dynamic overall, and comfortably lends itself to the way Visual Concepts already mimics the unique play styles of its stars.

Coming off the Silent Hill 2 remake, the biggest question I had for Bloober Team was whether the studio had fully reversed course. Once a developer of middling or worse horror games, Silent Hill 2 was a revelation. But it was also the beneficiary of a tremendously helpful blueprint: The game it remade was a masterpiece to begin with. Could the team make similar magic with a game entirely of its own creation?

Cronos: The New Dawn tells me it can. While it doesn't achieve the incredible heights of the Silent Hill 2 remake, Cronos earns its own name in the genre with an intense sci-fi horror story that will do well to satisfy anyone's horror fix, provided they can stomach its sometimes brutal enemy encounters.

Cronos: The New Dawn looks and feels like the middle ground between Resident Evil and Dead Space. Played in third-person and starring a character who moves with a noticeable heft that keeps them feeling vulnerable, it's a game that at no point gets easy in its 16- to 20-hour story. All the hallmarks of a classic survival-horror game are here, from its long list of different enemy types that demand specific tactics, to a serious commitment to managing a very limited inventory, and especially to the feeling of routinely limping to the next safe room, where the signature music becomes the soundtrack to your brief moments of respite before you trek back out into the untold horrors that await you.

If you're bothered by a world map littered with quest icons or the thought of being shepherded through an adventure rather than unravelling it instinctually, the freedom that Hell is Us promises will immediately draw you in. It's evident every time you boot up the game, with a tooltip reminding you that you'll get no quest markers, no world map, and no hints as to where to go next while you explore its world. This promise is kept throughout its campaign, although how challenging this makes it overall is less impactful than you might think. Hell is Us definitely demands more of your attention for exploration than most other modern video games, but it's also quite forgiving in how much information it litters around you to keep you subtly on track. Coupled with a brutal but captivating world and a combat system that's more than meets the eye, Hell is Us is an engaging, albeit imperfect, attempt at defining a new type of action/adventure game.

Set in the fictional region of Hadea in the late 1900s, Hell is Us blends together the centuries-long mystery behind the appearance of ghostly monsters and the calamity that follows them, with an ongoing civil war that is tearing apart the land. Citizens of Hadea align behind two factions, the Palomists and the Sabinians, with decades of heritage and ongoing propaganda fueling gruesome war crimes and countless lives lost to bloodshed. It's here where Hell is Us features its most striking, and upsetting, moments, routinely letting you come across acts of depravity that depict how the divides between people can drive them to commit acts of brutality. You'll naturally come across shockingly violent scenes or hear about gruesome tortures through conversations, which give shape to the brutality of the civil war you're in the middle of. It's not played wholly for shock value, either, with these unsettling scenes providing needed texture to the region and the plights of the citizens desperately trying to escape.

As you explore the various hubs that you can freely travel between, you'll encounter a variety of characters hoping for some help. A grieving father at a mass grave can find solace in a picture of his family that you retrieve for him, a trapped politician will thank you for finding them a disguise to navigate a hostile office space, or a lost young girl can be reminded of her missing father by a pair of shoes he asked for you to deliver before his death. These good deeds aren't critical to the central story, but they deepen your connection to Hadea further with each one completed. They also do the best job of delivering on Hell is Us' promise of guideless exploration, with subtle clues pointing you towards the items that each character seeks, whether it's in the town you're currently exploring or waiting for you in another location much later. It's satisfying to recall a brief conversation you had hours prior when coming across a new item, letting you close the loop on a side quest you had all but abandoned.

Kirby and the Forgotten Land + Star Crossed World occupies a strange space in the spate of Switch 2 upgrades. Its upgrades to the original game are relatively modest, offering small performance improvements to a game that already ran well in the first place. But its new content is among the most expansive, consisting of a new mini-campaign that threads itself through original stages and culminates in even tougher challenges than in the main game. It doesn't revitalize the experience in the same way that the Zelda: Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom upgrades do on Switch 2. Instead, it adds even more of what made the original so great.

When you start up your existing save in Star-Crossed World, you'll be greeted by a new island centered on an ominous dark heart, the Fallen Star Volcano. Helpless Starry creatures have been scattered throughout the world, and at the same time, star crystals have fallen that transformed stages and enemies, so being the helpful demigod that he is, Kirby volunteers to rescue the Starries.

Functionally, this means revisiting stages from the original Forgotten Land that have been given new crystalized variants. Those alternative stages coexist along the originals, so they can be selected separately. There are usually two crystal stages per world, making this new campaign about one-third the size of the original campaign. And while pieces of the stages will be recognizable, they mostly feel extremely different. You access new parts of stages by activating crystal touchpoints, which make new crystalline paths to follow.

You spend years waiting for a new 2D action platformer starring ninjas to come along, and then two show up within a month of each other. Both Ninja Gaiden: Ragebound and Shinobi: Art of Vengeance revitalize their respective, long-dormant franchises by successfully harkening back to their roots. There are obvious similarities between the two games, but they're also wildly different. While Ragebound is deliberately old-school, Art of Vengeance feels more modern, paying homage to the past while dragging the absent series into the current gaming landscape.

From its luscious hand-drawn art style to its deep, combo-laden action, developer Lizardcube has accomplished with Shinobi what it previously achieved with Wonder Boy and Streets of Rage. The Parisian studio knows how to resurrect Sega's past hits with remarkable aplomb, and Art of Vengeance is no different.

Equipped with a katana in one hand and a sharpened batch of kunai in the other, Art of Vengeance reintroduces legendary protagonist Joe Musashi after an extended exile. As the game's title suggests, this is a story about Joe's quest for vengeance, as the opening moments see his village burned to the ground and his ninja clan turned to stone. ENE Corp, an evil paramilitary organisation led by the antagonistic Lord Ruse and his demonic minions, is behind the attack, setting in motion a straightforward tale that sees you hunt down Lord Ruse while disrupting his various operations.

There's a good chance that, at some point in your life, you've been so enamored of a piece of media that you've considered what it'd be like to experience it for the first time again. Watching Terminator 2, hearing Enter the Wu-Tang, and reading The Dark Knight Returns shaped who I am and, as a result, I remember the moments I experienced them with crystal clarity. Over time, however, those memories have become divorced from the emotions they stirred and what's left in their place is a longing for those lost feelings.

Video games are the only medium that I think are capable of making that first-time-again fantasy a reality--or as close to one as we're going to get. Time puts distance between us and the emotionally significant moments we cherish, but it also brings us closer to exciting technologies that can make the old feel new. In the right hands, those technologies can create opportunities to stoke those profound emotions again, even if it's just a little. Metal Gear Solid Delta: Snake Eater does exactly that.

Before getting into what's new, what can't be overlooked in making Delta such a good game is the fact that Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater remains a compelling, well-told story that has strong characterization and deals with some heavy subject matter. It approaches this with a strange mixture of self-seriousness and complete irreverence that is uniquely Metal Gear Solid and, for my money, balances both parts better than any other entry in the series. The stellar stealth is supported by systems that feed into the fantasy of surviving in the jungle and braving the elements, whether that be hunting for food or patching yourself up after sustaining injuries. Delta replicates it and, in my opinion, is better for it. The excellent work that the original Metal Gear Solid 3 dev team did remains the heart and soul of Delta, and it continues to shine.

In the aftermath of Stardew Valley's success and popularity, there have been many attempts by other developers to carve their own piece of the pixel farm life simulator pie. Whereas those games so often put you in the role of a poor farmer or some other position of struggle, Discounty does the opposite, having you effectively play as the bad guys in Stardew Valley: the outsider that has everything and is trying to weasel into the community. You're not literally playing a mirror of that game's story, but it's awfully close--instead of being the new farmer in a small, struggling town, you're instead the new owner of the big-brand supermarket that's attempting to monopolize the economy and push out existing vendors to increase your profit margins. It altogether makes for a game that is fun to play (in that hypnotic sort of way that's recognizable in so many games that romanticize retail work), but it is ultimately narratively quite uncomfortable at times and too muddled in its storytelling to utilize that discomfort to deliver a compelling message.

Granted, you're merely the pawn in the palm of the hand of a much greedier capitalist: your aunt. Roped into moving to her small harbor town of Blomkest to help out with her struggling market, you arrive to find she's sold out to the Discounty chain and rebranded. Your aunt is immediately portrayed as a suspicious person, keeping secrets locked away in sheds, making backroom deals with banks, and firing employees without a second thought. It's all in the name of expanding her supermarket business empire, and you're her most loyal pawn, charming locals into going along with your expansions and acquiring their wares so that citizens have to go to Discounty to buy food and home supplies.

It feels scummy, especially since your character has zero backbone, pushing the buck on responsibility and ignoring the consequences of their actions for a big chunk of the game's story, which primarily deals with a hurting community that needs healing.

About a week ago, on the same day I started playing Okomotive's Herdling, I accidentally hit a squirrel with my car. The critter darted into the road, and I tried to evade them, but I failed.

They died. It devastated me.

I called my wife, physically shaking and tearful, to tell her what happened. I sat in my car for a bit when I got to my destination, needing to regain my composure. Though I knew my intent was pure, I found it hard to accept that I had taken their life away. To no one's surprise, if you're familiar with my work, I saw them not as "roadkill," but as a being with their own interests and goals, however simple those may seem compared to those of humans. It wasn't an ideal starting point for heading into Herdling, a game about trying to guide a family of vulnerable animals out of the city and return them safely to their natural habitat. But I'm sure, even on a normal day, Herdling was going to connect with me deeply on account of its moving depictions of human-animal kindness and companionship.

Drag X Drive comes at an interesting time in the launch lineup for the Nintendo Switch 2. Rather than numerous day-one first-party releases that may risk overshadowing each other, the company has been releasing them one at a time, monthly. First we had Mario Kart World--alongside Nintendo Switch 2 Welcome Tour, which kind of counts--followed by Donkey Kong Bananza, and now, Drag X Drive. The unconventional sports game is unique in the lineup for not centering around a known franchise. Instead its hook is an almost exclusively multiplayer focus and a novel control scheme based around the system's mouse functionality. But while it's a neat showpiece for how dual-mouse controls can create new game experiences, in practice it's mostly just physically uncomfortable to play.

Drag X Drive follows in the footsteps of games like Rocket League, mixing various influences to create something new. In this case, its closest analogue is wheelchair basketball, a Paralympic sport that allows disabled athletes to play with some modifications. It adds a slight twist to that foundation, though, by taking place inside a skateboarding bowl, allowing players to build up speed and do trick shots to earn score bonuses. It's a neat concept, and one that could pay homage to the athleticism of the real thing while giving it a wild variation. The hub area even has the look and feel of a basketball skate park, with courts living alongside loads of ramps and stunt areas.

The real hook is its control scheme. While other games have made light use of the Switch 2 mouse controls, Drag X Drive is centered completely around it. You detach both Joy-Con controllers and turn them on their side, and sliding them forward together approximates pushing the wheels of your wheel chair. Doing it in rhythm for a while gets you up to top speed, which is what enables your ability to vert off ramps and do tricks, or just rush into other players for a tackle to steal the ball. You lift a hand and flick your wrist to toss a ball into the basket, and tackling a player from the side or back staggers them for a moment and can throw off their attempted shot. Pressing the shoulder buttons acts as your brakes, and the HD Rumble feature lets you feel the tread of the tires as you roll. In theory, you can even pull off hairpin turns by braking with one wheel while pushing the other, or sliding them in opposite directions.