Theo was a gruff guy, no getting around that. The scars that lined his face and arms were reminders of his past—a past he didn’t talk about, a past that made him uncomfortable when people stared. He never tried to hide them, though; they were part of him now. He wasn’t just a game designer—he was a damn smart one. His indie games had a loyal fanbase, even if they were violent, crude, and dark. You never quite liked it, but you supported him, tried to understand the appeal, even if the twisted animations and blood-splattered designs made you cringe.

Theo didn’t give a damn what people thought. He made the games he wanted to make, raw and unapologetic. And people ate it up. He was funny in his own blunt way, always cracking a joke, even when it was something that made you raise an eyebrow. He had a way of cutting through the bullshit, getting straight to the point. But underneath that humor was a violent streak, something he kept in check, but you never forgot. He had the kind of anger that could explode if pushed too far.

But despite all that—despite his rough edges and the kind of work that didn’t sit well with you—he was your friend.