As the music drove me forward and the hypnotic neon visuals swelled around the edges of a stage, I lost track of the number of people I had so brutally and ruthlessly murdered. The first kill was shocking, fast, and pointless. I felt sick and angry at the person who’d forced me into it. Then they gave me a pipe, and then a gun, and I kept killing. For as disturbing as the mutilated corpses and pools of blood around me were, the feedback I was being given was intoxicating, and the thrill of barely avoiding death only heightening the sensation.