We examine some of the most famous and accomplished examples of amorous interplay in games…

Every time a game receives commercial success and critical praise, a civil war erupts from beneath the tense status quo of videogame forums. As the perfect scores start rolling in and the celebrity endorsements are YouTubed and Tweeted, roughly half of the online population will declare itself immune to such hyperbole, and immediately begin a bitter offensive against the game in question. Grand Theft Auto IV did not avoid this phenomenon.

Do games and romance really mix?

Although a brilliant piece of interactive entertainment – a stellar example of game design and game writing – it was slow and a little ponderous, something to which us gamers aren’t exactly accustomed. The relative cutback on explosions was mooted, hands were wrung over Roman’s incessant phone calls, and Niko’s inability to get ripped at the local gym was duly noted. But the most undeserving target of all this vitriol was a girl many gamers had already forgotten: Kate McReary.

Also known as ‘The One Who Wouldn’t Put Out’, Kate is described on various forums as “just a bit too plain”, an “ugly bitch”, a “waste of time”, and “disappointing”. She, along with the other McRearys, becomes an integral part of Niko’s revenge odyssey as GTA IV enters its second half. During a mission, Niko is given the opportunity to date her, and so commences a long, tentative romance. Potentially.

When Kate is gunned down by a vengeful Jimmy Pegorino in one of the game’s two possible endings, Niko is emotionally annihilated. But for players who hadn’t taken to Packie’s plain but sharp-witted sister, his grief seemed unfounded. Some even went so far as to decry GTA IV’s ending as anticlimactic. This is a shame as not only is Kate one of the most realistic and well-written female characters in the medium’s history, but also the romance she develops with everyone’s favourite Serbian sociopath is utterly revolutionary.

Did you approve of Niko and Kate's relationship?

Romance, relationships and love present an interesting challenge for game designers. Where the industry has reached exospheric heights with regard to simulating the act of pulverising a gentleman’s forehead with a lead pipe – if not, perhaps, the gesture’s emotional gravity – going on a date with the cute Tesco checkout girl is a feat billions of dollars of graphics, physics, and AI technology have yet to accomplish. Most non-violent interactions in games usually involve trading short snippets of pre-written, pre-dubbed text. Romance follows along these lines, and typically tasks the player with choosing the ‘right’ dialogue option to ensure progress of the virtual tryst; a linear process more akin to a puzzle than a relationship.

Take, for example, the romance options BioWare presented to the player in Mass Effect. Whether you picked the Sexy Xenophobe, the Whiny Bisexual Alien, or The One Guy, it was more or less a process of choosing the most affectionate dialogue branch whenever it was made available – usually after completing a major plot node – and revelling in how much of a Lothario you were. The payoff for all this hard work was the much-discussed sex scene.

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Puppy Love

Lionhead boss Peter Molyneux is more preoccupied with love than most designers. His recent experiments with Microsoft’s Natal technology should be evidence enough of that, but prior to those, he came up with a clever solution: if he didn’t have the technology at his disposal to make you care about your virtual wife, he would set his sights instead on making you love a virtual dog. And in Fable II, many did exactly that. As the ever-faithful hound evolved seamlessly as the player progressed through the game – and with no repetitive dialogue to break suspension of disbelief – it wasn’t too long before you felt pangs of genuine emotion towards what appeared to be Albion’s only living canine specimen.