My god, I've just had a horrible premonition of impending doom.

In the future... the near future... I forsee a subculture... a subculture so vile that they may very well bring about the end of times.

I speak of the indie gamer.

Just imagine. You go to your local coffee shop for a refreshing caffeinated beverage, and sitting down outside you notice a teenager perched across from you, reading the latest Game Informer.

"Gamer?" you inquire, eager to see if this individual shares your tastes in electronic entertainment.

"Yeah," he begins, derisively, dropping the magazine like it'd been soaking in someone's vomit. "I mean, I'm embarrassed to be one with all the shit coming out these days."

You laugh, expecting this young man to just be disappointed with the lastest Molyneux flop or failed sequel. "I know how you feel," you begin with a reassuring smile, "But hey, MGS4's coming out soon, we've got that too look forward to, right?"

"Psh," he snorts, rolling his eyes and pulling out a single cigarette from his box of Lucky Strikes. "Kojima's a whore and a sellout." You gape. "Yeah," he continues, "He hasn't done shit for the industry since the MSX."

You pause, taken aback. "I mean, he did start the stealth genre as we know it..."

"Hah! And what's that gotten us, some overpatriotic circle-jerk Splinter Cell titles?"

"You don't like stealth games?"

"I liked Tenchu. The first one. In the original Japanese."

There's silence for a moment as the terrible realization of what you're facing comes out. You continue, paralyzed, unable to run away.

"So... I'm guessing you're not a big fan of the FPS genre, either?"

"Oh christ, don't get me started. I liked Half-Life. One. And then Valve decided making movies was more fun than making video games, and now we have the episodic bullshit. Everyone's all, 'Ooh, the Source Engine this, Bloom and HDR that, bunch of fucking sell-outs."

"I won't even ask you about the Madden series, I guess."

He shoots you a look like he's angry you even mentioned it.

"You like... Nintendo?"

At this he becomes visibly agitated. He speaks after redajusting his beret, emblazoned with a single alien from Galaga. "God fucking shitchrist no. Have you seen what they've done to Jumpman?"

"Jumpm... Mario?"

"No, Jumpman. His original name? Ugh. I managed to put up with the first few on the NES but once they got to SMW I just had to call it quits."

"Wait, wait," you interrupt. "How old are you?"

"15. Why?"

You're not sure what to say anymore, so you simply sit back and sip quietly on your latte, which turns to liquid sorrow as it touches your lips. He engages you now, staring pointedly through his square hipster glasses.

"Man, yeah. There's nothing good under the sun these days. That's why the real talent is taking it underground."

You manage not to spit up your drink. "Underground?!"

"Yeah. Totally. We're like, organizing. Making real games. Going back to the basics. Dude, Flash is the new Atari."

You have to stand up at this, nod politely and head towards your car, hoping he doesn't follow you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you turn to see a small group approaching where you once were. You freeze as they greet each other in an equally passe manner, before opening a laptop decorated with stickers from Hot Topic or its ilk, no doubt to show of their latest find from the depths of the internet, some Mario Bros. hack or article on how mainstream gaming is for the dead and dying.

You realize they exist.

They are congregating.

They are growing.

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