Because there is no more pertinent preface here than Tifa’s wonder-chest. That’s axiomatic.
Final Fantasy VII, exalted RPG regarded in the same hushed, reverent tones as Ocarina of Time, Metal Gear Solid et al, has been released anew on PC. There is the caveat that this is not the balls-out remake that an extensive sector of the gaming population would eat their elderly mother’s arms for, but a rudimentary re-release. As you can see/purchase for ten of your ACTUAL DOLLARS here, questionable online functionality is the much-ballyhooed raison d’etre for another appearance from this deathless Hydra of a gaming classic.
This crop of Achievements is on offer, bolstered by the other additions found at the virtual casa of Square Enix above.
The game has its detractors, certainly. Universal acclaim is a futile notion in a medium as contentious as this (“SHIT ON MY BALLS! A sentiment has been expressed that deviates from one I previously proffered! Where’s my rifle and ass-caning cane?"), where Captain Anonymous on the internet will propel his formidable fist of contrariwise opinion through your computer screen to smite you mightily. Then pause to revel in the gratification of such bastardry from his comfortable seat in Buenos Aires. Presumably, in the archaic pre-net days, we favored more personal avenues; posting dogshit in transgressor’s mailboxes and similar shenanigans. Contemporary connectivity on a global scale has mitigated the need for animal excrement. What a time to be alive.
Lest we digress any further, Final Fantasy VII’s seminal achievements cannot be denied. It has cleft opinion in twain as any ‘popular’ entity will. Some may sleep with a copy of the game ensconced beneath their pillows, and carry another in their heroic man-bag to caress tenderly at intermittent intervals throughout the day. Others, conversely, bear such inherent hostility toward it that they travel the country, befriend fans, visit their homes and stealthily shit in the game’s case once their host leaves the room to procure them a hot beverage. (If the first guy ever encounters the second, I vehemently hope Guy #1 isn’t employed as a chef. Or at least that he deigns to wash his hands on arriving in the kitchen.) Whatever your persuasion, hit the gallery for our homage to the title’s latest guise.