When I was 15, I discovered something that would blow my creative obsession wide open: Quake. It wasn’t just a game; it was a canvas for chaos, and I had a paintbrush made of code.I started messing around with the game, diving into its files and hacking it to bits. Before long, I’d customised everything—the characters, the levels, even the dialogue. My friends and I turned death matches into full-blown comedy routines, battling against avatars we’d created to represent ourselves, complete with all our ridiculous trademark sayings.Imagine a grim, post-apocalyptic battlefield echoing with smack talk like, “Oi, pass me the ketchup!” or “You’re going down faster than last night’s curry!” It was absolutely hilarious. Every frag was met with roaring laughter, not just because someone lost but because the game would scream out some absurd catchphrase we’d forgotten we’d even programmed.The best part wasn’t just playing—it was creating. I was obsessed with tweaking the game, bending it to my w...
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