>Jonathan Frakes walks slowly into frame, a game controller in one hand, pausing thoughtfully before speaking.

"Have you ever signed up for a gaming subscription service? For just a few dollars a month, you can access hundreds of titles — from nostalgic favorites to brand-new releases — all from the comfort of your home. No discs, no waiting, just instant gratification."

>He places the controller on a sleek console, then folds his hands.

"For many, it's the perfect deal: a never-ending library of entertainment — constantly updated, endlessly curated. But what if the service demanded more than just a monthly fee? What if, buried in the fine print, something else was hiding... something darker?"

>Cue lightning flash and dissonant piano sting. Frakes turns, walking slowly past the glowing console. His voice lowers into a storytelling rhythm.

"For tonight’s entertainment, we bring you the story of twenty-two-year-old Jason — a college dropout with mounting bills, a dying laptop, and a deep love of gaming. When he stumbles across a mysterious subscription service that promises unlimited access to every title he's ever dreamed of... he thinks he's found the deal of a lifetime."

>He pauses at the edge of the set, one hand resting on the console.

"But Jason is about to learn that in this world — and maybe the next — nothing is ever truly free."

>The PS5 having games?
>Pure fiction

>>713089635 (OP)
>Frakes stands next to a shattered television set, its screen spider-webbed with cracks. The remains of a game console lie beside it — scuffed, slightly smoking.

"Jason thought he’d found the perfect deal. Endless games. One low monthly fee. But when he looked into the television... and saw something staring back — something hollow, something wrong — the fun stopped."

>He crouches to pick up a mangled controller. One thumbstick dangles uselessly.

"Was it really his reflection? Had he been trading away pieces of himself — hour by hour, game by game — until there was nothing left but a shell?"

>He pauses, almost smirking.

"Or was it just the product of a sleep-deprived mind... after one too many rounds of Call of Duty: Zombies?"

>Frakes rises, gently places the controller on the shattered console, then faces the camera squarely.

"Or maybe... it’s just another story made up by our writers."

"Fact? Or fiction?"

>>713089709
>choices that matter?
>not this time

>Horizon selling millions of copies?
>We made it up

>Jonathan Frakes enters frame slowly, holding a red-and-white Switch Joy-Con. He spins it once in his hand like a coin, then holds it up.

"For years, Nintendo games launched at the same price: sixty dollars. It didn’t matter if it was a sprawling open-world epic or a re-release of a GameCube classic — the price tag stayed the same. Stable. Predictable. Familiar."

>He places the Joy-Con down beside a stack of old game cases. Then, picking up a new one marked $79.99, he raises an eyebrow.

"But something changed. A new generation, a new console... a new price. Eighty dollars. Twenty extra — no explanation, no warning. And the most unsettling part? Nobody questioned it."

>He steps toward the camera, voice low and deliberate.

"But what if it wasn’t just inflation... or corporate greed? What if the willingness to pay more was something else entirely? What if this wasn’t a choice... but a spell?"

>Pause. Frakes leans slightly forward, expression unreadable.

"Is this the story of a harmless price increase... or a tale of consumer devotion turned dark?"

The games were all a dream he had after drinking eggnog