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YOUR RELICS AWAIT

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  Resident Evil 4 – Chainsaw Controller (PS2, 2005)

  €85

  This was never meant to be held. It was meant to be feared. Modeled after the Executioner’s weapon in Resident Evil 4, this controller is less an accessory and more a blood-soaked artifact. Its jagged shape rests awkwardly in the hands — a brutal mismatch for human ergonomics, but a perfect fit for obsession. The plastic sheen is dulled by time and dust, but the chain-like teeth still gleam under harsh light. Shake it, and something deep inside growls. It's functional, but using it feels like performing a forbidden rite. No box. No warranty. No turning back.

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  Shadowgate (NES, 1989)

  €34

  This isn’t a game. It’s a locked tomb, a labyrinth sealed with text prompts and cruel riddles. Shadowgate was never meant for children — it punishes curiosity and buries the impatient. The cartridge shows its age: a faded label, a slight rattle when shaken, as if something loose hides inside. Yet when slotted in, the game boots with an almost ceremonial dread. The music alone is enough to conjure a chill. Every death, every wrong step, feels like an offering. You don’t beat Shadowgate. You survive it.

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  PSM Magazine Issue #1 – “Before the Flood” (1997)

  €29

  Before the hype, before the demos filled shelves and discs came standard — there was this. The genesis. A raw, unfiltered transmission from the early days of PlayStation mythology. PSM Issue #1 arrived like a signal from a parallel world where games were dark, experimental, and whispered about, not advertised. The cover is torn at the edges, the paper slightly yellowed, and there's a faint ring from where a soda can once rested — but it only adds to the authenticity. Inside, the writing is fevered, almost conspiratorial. Previews read like manifestos. The demo disc, still present, still spinning, holds echoes of games that would one day become legends. This isn't just an issue. It's scripture.

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  Parasite Eve (PlayStation, 1998)

  €44

  This disc sweats. Even sealed in its case, there’s a tension in the air, like holding something still warm from a failed experiment. Parasite Eve wasn’t just a horror RPG — it was biological guilt rendered in pixels and strings. You step into mitochondria dreams, opera house infernos, and back alley surgeries, and the game never really lets go. The jewel case is intact but fogged, the manual warped slightly at the spine, like it absorbed something. Boot it up, and the intro still feels like a warning. Not everyone who starts Parasite Eve finishes it. Not because they can't. Because they won't.

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  Warhammer Quest: Catacombs of Terror (Board Game, 1995)

  €72

  From an era when board games came with actual weight — this one feels like a coffin. Catacombs of Terror is Warhammer at its most baroque: gothic fonts, necromancer miniatures, event cards that read like scripture. The box lid is worn and soft at the edges, one of the corner seams held by old tape. Inside, the map tiles smell faintly of damp wood, and the figurines are still painted in the trembling hand of some 90s teen. A few dice have gone missing — replaced with older ones from another game, as if the Catacombs pulled them in.

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  Vagrant Story (PlayStation, 2000)

  €55

  This game is a dark jewel, hidden in the dusty vaults of forgotten RPGs. The case is minimalistic, the disc almost pristine — as if it was never fully played, only handled reverently. Vagrant Story’s world is a labyrinth of shattered memories and twisted shadows, where every spell feels like a secret ritual. The story is dense, thick with political intrigue and ancient curses, demanding patience and attention. It’s not a game you rush through. It’s a game you live inside, slowly unraveling its mysteries piece by piece.

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  Resident Evil Director’s Cut (PlayStation, 1997)

  €89

  There’s dust behind the plastic of this jewel case. A soft, almost imperceptible rattle inside — the sound of a disc that’s seen too much. This isn’t just a re-release. It’s a revision, a reimagining, a deeper descent into the bowels of Spencer Mansion. The voices are different. The camera angles wrong-foot you more often. And the fear — it settles in slower, heavier. You step through the same doors, but everything feels... off. As if someone else is walking just behind you. This copy survived the years unscathed, but you won't. Not after playing.

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  Dino Crisis (PlayStation, 1999)

  €19

  Velociraptors in sterile hallways, flickering lights, and the hum of failing power grids. This is Capcom’s other survival horror gem, and it's still soaked in anxiety. It’s not nostalgia — it’s adrenaline. This copy has seen fear, and it wants to share.

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  The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask (Nintendo 64, 2000)

  €79

  There’s something wrong with the moon. This cartridge bears the mask, cold and unreadable. Time loops, forgotten timelines, and creeping existential dread make this one of the strangest entries in a beloved series. This is Zelda at its most cursed.

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  Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain (PlayStation, 1996)

  €42

  You hold it and feel weight — not physical, but narrative. A thickness of lore and vengeance that clings to the manual pages like dried blood. This isn’t a tale told through mechanics — it’s prophecy carved into ancient stone. Kain’s fall is no accident, and every step you take through Nosgoth feels preordained, cursed. The dialogue is theatrical, the tone unrelenting. Morality doesn't live here. This disc has passed through many hands, and each owner left a fragment of themselves behind — in the memory card saves, in the faded spine, in the way the plastic smells faintly of woodsmoke.

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  MadCatz PS2 Controller (Wired)

  €36

  There’s something faintly untrustworthy about its design. The plastic is too slick, the cord too light. And yet, it works. Almost too well. The buttons click with a strange rhythm, as if the controller anticipates your movements. It hums faintly when left alone, and no one can remember where it came from — not exactly. It’s not original hardware. It’s not branded. But it's been there, in bedrooms with CRTs still warm from midnight sessions, in tournaments no one filmed, during fights that ended friendships. This relic is part of a different canon — not the official history, but the one whispered among those who stayed up just a little too late.

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  Edge Magazine Issue #1 (1993, UK)

  €155

  Before the noise. Before the internet. Before marketing departments learned how to lie in hi-res — there was this. A first issue printed with the solemn tone of prophecy, not hype. The cover is stark, minimal, but loaded with intent. Inside: a new language for talking about games, as if they were architecture, cinema, weaponry. The paper is thick, yellowed at the edges, still smelling faintly of varnish and ink. There’s an interview with Peter Molyneux when he still spoke like a monk, a preview of the 3DO that reads like alien scripture, and the earliest outlines of a future we now live inside. Reading it is like brushing dust off cave paintings — crude, idealistic, electric. There are no gimmicks here. No gifts glued to the cover. Just ideas, raw and burning.

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  Nintendo GameCube Console (Indigo Purple, PAL, Used)

  €104

  It looks like a toy — until you power it on. Then it hums with a tone too ancient to be digital. This one’s seen battle: small scratches along the handle, ports slightly loose, the faint smell of old plastic and dust baked in. The startup sound is intact, but somehow deeper. We’ve tested it. It works. It shouldn’t — not after what it’s been through. But that’s GameCube for you: cheerful on the outside, apocalyptic inside.

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  Diablo II (PC Big Box, 2000)

  €29

  It arrives in a box too large for what’s inside — a manual the size of scripture, a CD-ROM case with minimalist red sigils, a whiff of mildew and cardboard entropy. This isn’t just an action RPG. It’s the end of an age. The town music still haunts dreams. The Horadric Cube still sits in your mind like a riddle never solved. It doesn’t need updates. It doesn’t need internet. It just is, in all its dread and ritual and number-churning ecstasy.

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  Doom 3 (PC CD-ROM, 2004)

  €25

  It doesn’t boot the first time. It never does. But once you’re in — once the base seals shut behind you — you remember why this game felt wrong. Not scary. Not intense. Wrong. It’s not just the demons or the whispering corridors. It’s the way the PDA flickers. The way the air feels too thin. This is Doom slowed down, suffocated, drowned in its own shadows. Our copy comes in a cracked jewel case, one hinge missing. It fits the mood.

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  Talisman: The Magical Quest Game (1983, UK)

  €264

  A world forged in cardboard and imagination, where heroes embark on quests through shadowed forests and cursed mountains. The box is worn, corners softened by countless journeys. Inside, the cards whisper forgotten spells and the dice echo ancient fates. No flashy miniatures, just raw, tactile magic — a portal to adventure before the age of digital distractions. Each move is a ritual, every roll a prayer to the gods of chance.

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  Settlers of Catan (1995, Germany)

  €21

  Before the age of digital conquest, there was Catan — a land of forests, hills, and wheat fields waiting to be claimed. The hex tiles are worn smooth by countless trades and rivalries, the wooden settlements tiny monuments to strategy and luck. The simplicity hides a deep dance of diplomacy and resourcefulness, where every decision shapes the fate of a fledgling colony.

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  Sony PlayStation DualShock Controller (1997, Japan)

  €54

  Before ergonomics became marketing jargon, this controller was a revelation — a perfect balance of weight, texture, and feedback. Its iconic shape fit like a second skin, the twin analog sticks offering a new dimension of control, trembling softly with every explosion and impact. The buttons wore the fingerprints of millions of players, each press a silent promise of immersion. It’s more than plastic and circuits — it’s the bridge between hand and game, a tactile memory of countless battles fought in pixelated realms.

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  System Shock 2 (1999, USA)

  €40

  Before sci-fi horror became cinematic, this game was a cold, electric jolt to the senses. The ship’s corridors echo with the hiss of malfunction and the cold logic of a rogue AI. Your survival depends on wits, weapons, and hacking skills — every choice carving your path through darkness and madness. It’s a tense, immersive experience, where technology and terror collide in a symphony of fear.

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  Deus Ex (2000, USA)

  €25

  A dystopian prophecy wrapped in pixels, where conspiracy and cybernetic augmentation blur the line between man and machine. The story twists like a blade in the dark, choices heavy with consequence, and every shadow hides a secret. Its world is gritty and vast, a playground for hackers and rebels alike. A masterpiece of emergent storytelling and immersive gameplay, still echoing in the halls of gaming history.

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  Silent Hill (1999, Japan)

  €32

  A descent into fog and forgotten memories, where every shadow hides a whisper and the air tastes of dread. This game doesn’t just scare — it seeps into your bones, twisting reality with unsettling silence and fractured minds. The soundtrack hums with unease, and the world feels like a nightmare you can’t wake from. A psychological labyrinth, raw and haunting, that changed horror forever.

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