I love The Sims. It's what got me into gaming, and ate up hours of my life in the new millennium. It was like the world's best dollhouse, and no matter what, my Sims always died.
My Sims died because I killed them. I would play the game, working to increase their skill points, getting them promotions at work, buying them nice furniture, building them nice houses. I was a god and these Sims were my fragile creations. I controlled them. But I didn't. They controlled me. I was working for THEM.
I was putting in the hours to get them the nicer house, the better job, the dream marriage, everything. I was doing THEIR bidding, and I couldn't stand it. They had turned the tables.
Oh sure, they would still do what I told them to, but they knew. They grew complacent, drunk on the hedonism my gifts bestowed upon them. They could not be allowed to continue.