1. Your job is to try not to think of Dredd, but think of something more fragile and immersive.
2. We’re going deeper and wider, and the horror is closing in.
3. Running, jumping. But no fancy parkour. Stylised flames (you have no idea where they came from) just about lick an army of weaponised motorbikes. You notice the giant octopus from the edge of your vision.
4. This is what passes for romance in this world – or at least at this point in time. You recognise the threat and, hands trembling and sweat pouring in FFWD streaks, you try to formulate a plan.
5. Is it a plan of escape, or attack?
6. The moment of hesitation. Death or glory? Whatever the case, this is the point at which we – the sadistic, baying audience – get to revel in the beautiful, dark maw of what’s chasing you. The Gothic, blissful evil that’s more powerful than you could ever have imagined.
7. You have a power, a weapon – whatever. It could be an army of tanks or an armada or a hive of mind-controlled killer bats. Whatever – you’re channelling it, and you’re winning.
8. But for how long?
9. What happened? What’s the outcome? Somebody’s calling, which means somebody is alive. Will they live to fight another day?