
This morning I woke up, it seemed a day much like any other, yet it was not. Today would be the day I reviewed N+. Everyone knew it, they would stop me in the street when I was passing to ask; “When are you reviewing N+?”
“Silence peasant.” I would say, flatly, “For I am walking. Every second you impede my progress is a second in which my opinion shall be delayed.” A sharp rap to the knuckles with my umbrella, (For all real men should carry an umbrella or cane in these days) would send the urchin on his way.
N+ is a game set in a crisp, grey environment that is as cold and ruthless as the devil’s smile, two score and ten chapters of five levels apiece await those who would test their mettle against it. Surely, to succeed, your eye must not be dimmed by grief or the effects of laudanum, for this is an artifice of the most grave difficulty, a whirling contraption of perils and pitfalls not often seen by those who dabble seldom in works other than those released with the greatest furore and pomp. That hollow imitation of challenge and reward is not to be found here, N+ surely requires the skill of old, spoken of in hushed tones when men, deep in their cups, converse fearfully and gravely of the giants who once strode our land, laughing as they fearlessly challenged the might of Ninja Gaiden, or Ikaruga.
N+ is no simulator of pugilism, nor is it the ‘bullet hell’ of the oriental arcade. It’s hell is one borne of space and physics and survival, against foes made of automata who may not be defeated, merely avoided. This you may do with a range of agilities not often seen outside a Russian circus, and all the while, your life-force slowly ebbs away, only replaceable by the gathering of that perfect and rare metal, Gold.
N+ is also an enjoyable folly played with your Eaton-educated chums. In this wise it transcends the experience offered by its personal computer forbearer, allowing you to arrange an enjoyable evening’s entertainment including brandy and cigars for yourself and three others. Should your pals be not so close to you, this can still be enjoyed over the wires of British Telecom’s communications service, as can online leaderboards, which should inflame any young man’s passion for competition.
Finally, a brief word on construction. The N+ programme comes with a very satisfactory level editor. It’s operation is as simple as to make it usable by even women, after only brief instruction. For example, you may find it a pleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon, after enjoying a fine and uplifting sermon by your minister, and a delicious repast cooked by your dutiful wife, that you and she could while away the hours, composing ever more difficult levels to challenge one-another. What finer way could you spend your time?
All in all, I am firm in my conviction that N+ should be purchased by every God-fearing and loyal Englishman, and to hell with those cowards who shy from it’s challenge, for they are surely as low in moral fibre as any drunken Irish you may find begging on the streets.
God save the Queen.
9/10