Jazz McCoull

It's 2004, deep within the twilight of the year, and my palms are sweat-slick around a Wavebird Gamecube wireless controller. There's a distinct feeling in the bottom of my stomach, which – aged 10 – I am unable to quite name, or describe. Funnily enough, the series I'm playing will eventually borrow the name of this sensation for one of its own titles. But we're a long way off from that. The feeling is called 'dread'. It is a palpable sensation dangled equidistant from anticipation and terror.

James McCoull is a little bi-furious. In the last couple of decades, as mass acceptance of LGBT+ identities and relationships has crawled forward (and, occasionally, backward) inch by painstaking inch, games have dipped a toe into the exploration of queer relationships within their stories. But, inevitably, games don’t always get it right: romance is a tricky issue in any writerly medium, and queer romance perhaps even moreso.

I’m introduced to Pedro when he urges me to wake up amidst a haze of amnesia. My conditions are less than ideal. My mind is foggy, I’m surrounded by butchered meat strung up on hooks, and I’m locked in a basement. On the bright side, the flying banana doling out free tips is on my side. My Friend Pedro starts as surreal as it means to go on, and wastes no time getting to the point.