Auto-follow. It is efficient. It is fast. It is productive. This type of design makes a certain kind of sense in an open world Ubithon in which icons must be hoovered up and heads must be ticked off a very lengthy to-kill list in blood red ink. But I want players to ask themselves: what are you doing once you hand over the reins, literally and figuratively, to this video game? Once the task of being in control of an animal—of using your mind and hands to steer down dirt roads of your own choosing—once that is handed off to machinery and code, what are you actually playing?¹

What is my time worth? Between Adam Smith, Karl Marx, and the extended study of economics and labor, I think that is settled. I am playing a game for leisure, which is outside of time. It is another time, away from labor and worth; purposefully, leisure is worthless. When I play a game, what I am producing? Charitably, my own happiness. Is my happiness worth something? I do not want it to be. What makes me happy in a game or in play? How do I measure the challenge against non-productivity? Is finishing a game productive? I think I want friction. I want to be frustrated. I also want an instruction manual, a tutorial, or something but at least something that trusts me. I don't need the game to tell me everything; I often don't listen anyway. If a game is a tool, I enjoy being a bad user of that tool. When I fail at a game, die at a boss—a profound waste of time—I am elated in frustration. Was it worth my time? Sometimes not, and I turn off the video game. Perhaps even uninstall it. I undo my own productivity and prevent further production. Was it worth my time? Sometimes so, and I turn off the video game. Perhaps even uninstall it. I rarely replay games.