This week we're joined by special guest Danielle Riendeau to wander the abandoned hallways of Mars, where we create a Hell of our own, one where there's no one to bother us and all the time in the world to relax and take it in. Meanwhile, Chris takes a risky assignment in Marrakesh and is killed on the toilet, but makes it home to regale Jake with accounts of how good Overwatch is.

This week we're throwing away our traditional hyper-competitive leaderboard and focusing on hand-selected stats that show us what we've accomplished. Chris plays Overwatch and discovers that, after years away there's still a Blizzard for him. Nick goes to Disneyland, comes home and finds a new release of Planet Coaster. "This means something," he says, burying his theme park under mountains of dirt. Alone, late at night, Jake builds the Nublar.

In the middle of an awkward conversation you accidentally press down the left and right sticks at the same time. It turns out to be for the best: Your buddies look completely ridiculous frozen mid-sentence and you decide this is a perfect moment to preserve as a photo. You try to clear up the shot by setting any enemies to hidden... and find yourself suddenly alone in the room. Realizing you have no friends, you go load up Steam and play Doom for eight hours without interruption.

Before Chris disappears deep into Russia on assignment, we check all our dead drops for incoming correspondence with readers abroad, and find some gems, long forgotten and wedged way in the back. Enjoy tales of babywalling your identical twin, of vile things left in jars, of theme parks gone wrong, and of the time Nick Breckon played Dark Souls 3 alone with nothing but a bottle of rum.

Join us as we wander the world without a map, pecking away with tiny pointed attacks at anything perceived as adversarial, navigating with only the barest remembered scraps of where things were, what they were like, how they should be.

Our descent into Dark Souls 3 continues, but we started over with a brand new guy. This new guy is less lucky than the old one, but otherwise actually equipped to fight the charge guys, tree guys, ice guys, bendy guys, etc, that he encounters. He's still working on remembering their names. Meanwhile, in an Italian villa, Agent 47 visits a Spirit Halloween Store, tries on some cellophane-wrapped "Charge Guy," "Tree Guy," "Ice Guy," and "Bendy Guy" costumes, and is unimpressed.

You roll the sausage along the ground. In the far distance, lumbering beasts wage ancient battles, and a naked multicultural society roams the prehistoric plains. You roll the sausage on to a grill, and it acquires a satisfying char. Beyond the horizon, teams of highly-armed warriors fight lightning-quick pitched battles and acquire ever more advantanced technology. You drop the sausage into the ocean. Crap. Isn't something supposed to, like, happen?

It's game time. You're confident. You know this. You load up Dark Souls 3. You have some trouble with the menus, but it's alright, you figure it out. Forty minutes later, something on the screen almost resembles a human face. Enter the game—it's brutal, not what you remembered. As your grotesquely-faced wizard is wrecked beyond belief time and again, you reflect on how one can feel so old and yet like such a baby. You load Super Hypercube and watch a small cube slowly and satisfyingly descend into an appropriate receptacle. You make a drink on the rocks.

Outer space is burning, ravaged by the never-ending military-corporate conflict factory that is EVE Online. While reports are still coming in from deep space, we can confirm that just like real wars, Spacemonkey's Alliance is involved, as is Killah Bee, 1ronBank, and the Moneybadgers. If this is all too much for you, know that IKEA has released a piece of VR software that lets you chill out in a perfectly clean, virtual kitchen forever.

It is 2017. The stench of scorched mozzarella stings your nostrils. Brand warfare has emerged as the dominant vector of economic and military conflict. A delivery bot rolls your way, and you frantically dig a receipt out of your pocket, showing a recent order for a medium half-sausage, half-pepperoni. Too late, you realize your mistake: this is a Taco Bell bot. "Okay, I will destroy humans," it offers cheerfully, then everything goes black.