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Ed reflects on a wonderful, sorely missed series
Whenever Assassin's Creed drags its collectable-packed frame over to the bedroom mirror, and mournfully contemplates the sagging, sweaty blob of game types, trivia, plot twists and digital initiatives it has become, I like to think a portrait on the wall behind catches its eye. The portrait of a younger, leaner man with an Aquiline nose, lips that bear the hint of an aristocratic sneer, and eyes that are all roguish twinkle and boyish charm. I like to think Assassin's Creed sighs deeply at this point, assesses its monstrous gut in profile, glances back at the portrait and says to itself: "Look at you. Look at who you used to be."...
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