Question time: How long have you been playing MMOs?

One prevailing bit of industry wisdom about MMOs is the idea that they're a little grey in the beard—and so are their players, too. We can see a little of that in design philosophies for the modern MMORPG, which have leant more towards seasonal structures over long-term grinds, alongside more stuff to do for "midcore" players, who might be decently competent, but lack the time for organised play.

There's also the point that most popular MMOs themselves are old—World of Warcraft's past its 20th year, FF14 is past its 10th. Newer games, like Amazon's New World, don't last long. Even Guild Wars 2, which I could've sworn was spritely, came out in 2012. Where the hell does the time even go?

But I'm curious as to how that translates to you, dear reader. I myself have been playing MMOs since middle school—and while I did indeed beg my parents for a World of Warcraft subscription back in vanilla, I was playing RuneScape and bragging about my Granite Maul long before that.

Which does put me in the category of "I've got a 9/5 now and bills to pay". No longer shall I stay up until three in the morning, questing in the barrens—my CPAP calls to me and my eyes grow heavy if I stay up past midnight. Truly tragic scenes.

Thus it's incumbent upon me to discover if I am indeed preaching to the choir when I talk about the good old days, or whether I need to try and fit in with the youth of today a little more. Perhaps I shall purloin a skateboard and a backwards cap to become 'cool' and 'relatable'.

Or perhaps you're all decade+ veterans like me. Either way, go and have a gander at the poll below, and if you feel like sharing some war stories from your MMO heyday (or just want to call the rest of us… chopped? Is that the word for old? I can't keep up), feel free to drop a comment below, as well.

The country I lead is in uproar. My approval ratings have to be measured on entirely new axes to capture popular upset. The streets throng with rebels and malcontents. The only reason I have not been assassinated is that the sheer number of people who want to murder me cannot fit through the door at the same time.

The election takes place tomorrow. The situation is excellent.

The United Kingdom is in a parlous state (I'm talking about real life now). The current Labour prime minister—who I will not name because that's simply not information any of us will ever need again—has resigned and a new one, former Manchester mayor Andy Burnham, is imminent. Based largely on vibes and the fact Burnham has a northern accent, the British elite is girding itself for hyper-Bolshevism. How will the nation fare under our imminent war communist regime?

I can answer that. Using cutting edge models (a copy of political sim Democracy 4), I have exhaustively plotted out the trajectory of a radical premiership in an exacting replica of the UK in 2026. Friends, I've cracked it. My advanced technologies have revealed exactly what course Britain's prime minister should take. Join me as I walk you through it.

What is to be done?

Of course, to accurately foresee the possible political trajectories of the UK, my simulation needs to reflect the country as it is. The British Isles are a peculiar beast, and capturing them in simulation means I need to be able to make a variety of fine-tuned adjustments.

Fortunately, Democracy 4:

1. Lets you simply choose the UK as a country to run from a list of options.
2. Lets you tweak it a little bit before you hit the road.

Per YouGov polling, the British public considers itself +15% liberal-leaning and +3% socialist-leaning, which I duly reflected in Democracy's settings. The national debt—a made-up number the Treasury invents to give the chancellor something to talk about in meetings—is around £3 trillion. Into the simulator it goes.

But it wasn't quite enough. This might be my home country numerically, but the spirit wasn't there—I had detail without soul. The sine qua non of British politics was missing. Some subtle, herbal ingredient was absent.

It came to me. I named all three main parties The Fascists and gave them different-coloured rosettes.

Nationalised sausages

My UK simulacrum—simUKlacrum—was mostly perfect. The skies were grey, the people dour, the spending high, the income low, the bourgeois revolution frustratingly incomplete. The only thing that seemed off was that my party—the Burnham crew—inexplicably had 10 million members and climbing. If I woke up tomorrow and heard that 10 million people had joined any UK political party I would immediately flee the country.

Apart from that? All verisimilitudinous: a true-to-life canvas on which to etch the social revolution. I decided my first move would be to try to bring that debt down—bringing expenditure below spending by waging a merciless Red Terror on the City of London and military-industrial complex.

We started as we meant to go on: boldly. Democracy 4 tasks you with balancing ministers' loyalty and their capability when selecting your cabinet. You might have troops who would go to war for you, but who would be useless at implementing your policies, or vice versa. Both are important.

I completely disregarded this and filled every post with the most obedient stooges I had to hand. Then we got to work.

The UK nuclear arsenal? Abolished. The military? Reduced to five of England's reddest dads. Corporation tax went up, capital gains had their pockets turned out; the nation's wealthy were a tube of delicious tomato paste and I was the chef de partie.

Shark-infested waters

International capital was not happy with this turn of events. The UK credit rating tumbled down a cliff face and smashed its head into every rock along the way: AAA became AA became BB became CCC became C—the ruling class was mashing the keyboard to register its displeasure, as meanwhile rivals took advantage of our newly hamstrung defences.

Argentina planted a flag on the Falklands, Russian ships drifted alarmingly close to the coast. At one point pirates manifested. I had implemented socialism in one country with such forceful enthusiasm I had somehow returned us to the Age of Sail.

None of this particularly bothered me. Let credit agencies toss entire cans of alphabetti spaghetti at me, let Argentina call them Las Malvinas. If Russia wants to paddle menacingly in our waters I'll just add it to the yearly tourism stats. Pirates are fun!

What did bother me was that the British public wasn't too psyched about how things were going either. I had come into office with unenviable approval polling and my moves to reshape the national finances along more egalitarian lines had only made things worse. Though, hilariously, I never polled as badly as the actual, real-life Labour Party, things were nonetheless on a downward trend. Even more galling: expenditure still outpaced income to the tune of £15 billion or so.

I consulted my advisers—a YouTube clip of Limmy saying don't back down, double down—and decided the answer was to become even more radically communist than I had been previously.

The five-turn plan

We needed new policies, not just tweaks to the old one. I began by implementing city farms: new kolkhozes to feed a hungry people as their fortress weathers capitalist assault.

I went further. We banned cryptocurrency, subsidised healthy food, handed out university grants to anyone who showed interest in buying a book, and taxed employers who used AI. Inflation spiralled and expenditure climbed, but my polling stabilised. Britain did not love me, but its hatred stopped growing.

Then two things happened which turned things around. First, I legislated the right to die. Britain loved this. They went absolutely nuts for it, as though they had been waiting around for someone to tell them they could die for decades. My polling shot through the roof. By which I mean it entered the general vicinity of 43% or so.

Shortly after, the whole credit rating and inflation scenario got so bad that parliament declared a state of emergency. Paradoxically, this meant I—the guy who had very much caused all this—now had way more power and political capital than I did before. I went hogwild with it. I created a state postal service and dragged its slider all the way to the right: maximum postal service. State airlines got the same treatment, as did the NHS, which now had sufficient annual income to cure death.

I also embarked on a bold policy of 'giving everyone free money,' which was popular. All of this was well-timed: the election was now imminent.

All power to the soviets

Here we come full circle, right back to where I started this piece. Britain was a nation cut in two. Socialists, trade unionists, and the poor (all of which are actual, modelled voter groups in Democracy 4) loved me. Meanwhile, in the blue corner, religious conservatives and capitalists had become so outraged at my leadership they had begun to create armed paramilitaries with names like "The Angels of Heavenly Justice."

The question was: who could better mobilise at the ballot box? Also, could I make it to the election without some modern-day Fanny Kaplan taking my head off with a light machine gun?

I hit the campaign trail with the aim of infuriating my enemies even further. There would be no rapprochement, no outreach, no olive branch to my foes. I had no interest in winning over floating voters or in persuading anyone who was not firmly in the tank already. Every speech I gave had the goal of inciting my followers to a spittle-flecked fever pitch. Meanwhile, I focused my campaign on slandering my opponents.

Somehow, it worked. 70% of my base turned out to put an X next to my name, while my nearest competitors barely managed 46%. The result was that, on a nationwide turnout of 72%, I came away with 30 million votes (or 44.7% overall), completely blowing my reactionary foes out of the water.

Britain's credit was in the tank, Russia was on the verge of seizing Kent, and buying a loaf of bread required one of those duffel bags full of cash they have in Heat, but the people were with me. I had been re-elected. The red dawn brings a bright new day.

Feel the burn

What can we take from this? In real life, Britain will soon get its new prime minister, and the compromises have already begun. Many of the faces and ideas that surrounded the outgoing, now-despised PM are already reappearing.

Clearly, this is doomed. As my rigorous testing has proved, what 21st century Britain needs is a sweeping cavalcade of courageous policies. We need collective farms, punitive taxes, the immediate execution of anyone with a business studies qualification. Bold, radical action—this is what science says this green and pleasant land requires.

That is, if you want to win the next election. I guess if not then, hey, just keep doing whatever.

Mr Burnham, I'm just a phone call away.