As the next generation of home consoles slowly emerge into the limelight and enter the minds of the mass consumer, it's great to see some current gen games continue to show their potential. Take Gears of War, a series that practically signaled the start of this current gen back in late 2006. At the time, developer Epic Games delivered a memorable and new third-person shooter IP that certainly looked impressive, but also ushered in fun gameplay mechanics through an impromptu cover-based system -- one that urged players to use cover as respite from the hail of enemy bullets. But who knew the idea of campaign coop over the Internet could possibly impact the experience the way it did? And post GoW, the entire shooter genre followed suit.

In hindsight, those three pillars of visual bombast, fun combat loops, and cooperative play over the net defined lots of shooters during this console cycle, but after a trilogy of GoW games -- delivered relatively closely over a five-year span -- how can the series possibly stay fresh and fun? Surprisingly the latest game, Gears of War: Judgment, makes a strong argument that the series isn't only surprisingly relevant, but that the developers also figured out some neat tricks other video game makers should crib.

You wake up at sea. The quiet water around you melds into the peaceful tones of a horn-based melody. You spot an island in the distance, and decide to swim towards it. Once you step foot on the warm sands of the beach, the music changes into something less ephemeral and more tangible. You spot a group of crabs just down the way, and when you approach them, the sound of bongo drums enters your ears. As they scurry away, so does the percussion. You distance yourself from the water and head towards a grove of cherry blossoms in the midst of a snowfall of petals. Immersing yourself in the floating colors brings entirely new instruments into the mix of sounds. This is Proteus.

Over the past few weeks, there have been many debates over whether Proteus is a game or not. Our buddy Dan Stapleton over at GameSpy argues that the PC title's inherent lack of any a defined objective stops it from being a game. Others have stated that the lack of interaction that the player has with the world is what causes Proteus to lose its moniker.

Earlier this week, Bungie invited the press corps up to their new studio in Bellevue with the intention of taking the wraps off Destiny, their long-rumored follow-up to Halo. As everyone sat down, the anticipation over what Bungie had to show was palpable. Several hours later, the excitement was still there, but there were plenty of questions as well.

Earlier this week, Bungie invited the press corps up to their new studio in Bellevue with the intention of taking the wraps off Destiny, their long-rumored follow-up to Halo. As everyone sat down, the anticipation over what Bungie had to show was palpable. Several hours later, the excitement was still there, but there were plenty of questions as well.

My favorite works of horror are all built upon the foundation of three solid principles: a strong sense of place, clearly defined consequences, and an ability to create expectations while simultaneously defying them. It doesn't matter if it's Halloween, The Colour Out of Space, or Silent Hill -- the medium makes no difference. These three elements are at the core of every work I consider to be truly horrifying, so it's with that in mind that the upcoming PC title Routine has piqued my interest.

Unveiled at last year's Gamescom, Routine is the first work from the UK-based Lunar Software. It's a survival horror game set in an abandoned lunar base. Yep, that's a pretty strong sense of place. And there are no extra lives in the game -- permadeath means that one wrong move, and you're starting over. Well, those are some clearly defined consequences. And just take one look at the trailer, and you'll see that Routine is filled with the unexpected. It's this last element that left me searching for answers, and who better to turn to than Lead Artist and Designer Aaron Foster.

In terms of creativity, particularly world-building, I find that the game developers that nail those the best are the Japanese and the French. So it comes as little surprise to see big Japanese publisher Capcom sign small French developer Dontnod and their debut action-adventure game, Remember Me. What is surprising is how instantly risky the game looks, though not necessarily because of creative ambition. Rather, does Remember Me even fit the label of "Capcom game?"

In terms of creativity, particularly world-building, I find that the game developers that nail those the best are the Japanese and the French. So it comes as little surprise to see big Japanese publisher Capcom sign small French developer Dontnod and their debut action-adventure game, Remember Me. What is surprising is how instantly risky the game looks, though not necessarily because of creative ambition. Rather, does Remember Me even fit the label of "Capcom game?"

In terms of creativity, particularly world-building, I find that the game developers that nail those the best are the Japanese and the French. So it comes as little surprise to see big Japanese publisher Capcom sign small French developer Dontnod and their debut action-adventure game, Remember Me. What is surprising is how instantly risky the game looks, though not necessarily because of creative ambition. Rather, does Remember Me even fit the label of "Capcom game?"

The nature of the "exclusive" has been an increasingly hot topic among game fans since at least the 2000s. One game can be seen as the savior of the platform; the one that will boost it to new heights, because watching big companies make money is fun, right? But in this generation, more and more exclusive games end up becoming multiplatform titles available to anyone, where it doesn't matter which system you bought. Eventually, the scorned fanboys move on to their next point of contention, and everybody expects it to happen to big-budget third-party console games. But what happens when an exclusive handheld game goes straight to consoles in just over a year?

The nature of the "exclusive" has been an increasingly hot topic among game fans since at least the 2000s. One game can be seen as the savior of the platform; the one that will boost it to new heights, because watching big companies make money is fun, right? But in this generation, more and more exclusive games end up becoming multiplatform titles available to anyone, where it doesn't matter which system you bought. Eventually, the scorned fanboys move on to their next point of contention, and everybody expects it to happen to big-budget third-party console games. But what happens when an exclusive handheld game goes straight to consoles in just over a year?