Sequels are very difficult things. Whenever we hear the word, all of us can conjure images of those watered down elaborations, of those franchises that have seen some modicum of success only to be redrafted, reheated and reserved to us like last night’s casserole. We sceptically poke it about the plate, looking for some of the original’s flavour and novelty, before daring to take a mouthful only to get burnt.
And why should BioShock 2 be any different? 2K has fewer cards in their hand now. The mystery must surely be diminished: We know the failed social experiment that is Rapture – some of us now know it better than we know Christchurch – we know what a splicer is, we know what Little Sister does.
And the problem will be exacerbated by how fondly we recall the original. BioShock was rightly acclaimed. It is one of the definitive titles of this console generation – a much-loved copy still lingers on our office’s coffee table, partly obscured by a raft of new releases, but still calling to us like the deep and mournful drones of a Big Daddy somewhere down a long and dark passageway.