Notable for stunningly destructive weapons (who among us can rekindle memories of Doom’s BFG 9000 without getting all weepy), displaced body parts, creepy music, creepier sound effects, and visually alarming yet severely dim-witted enemies that relied on brute force and/or sheer numbers rather than intelligence, the FPS of fifteen years ago was certainly a sight to behold. Soon, any publisher wanting to turn a profit (that would be every publisher) seemed to have its own take on the basic formula.
But too much of a good thing can sometimes wear people out, and eventually the criticisms began rolling in. Where was the originality? The realism? What about a shooter that taxed our brains as much as it taxed our trigger fingers? By the turn of the millennium, the truly wanton FPS was on its death bed and the rise of the thinking man’s FPS was nigh.