I’ll never forget the moment when Borderlands — a game into which I would pour at least 60, probably 80 and maybe 100 hours — utterly hooked me. I peered through my scope at a slow, stupid, posturing Bruiser and blasted him with my newly acquired electrified sniper. I held the scope view, and watched him spasm and jerk until his eyeballs popped out of his head and rolled around in the alkaline dust of the Dahl Headlands.