In the immortal tradition of haunted roommate dynamics, Resident Evil Requiem’s big follower still has a way of turning a quiet room into a haunted audition. The stalker glides through hallways with the patience of a cashier who knows you forgot your loyalty card, and the suspense lingers longer than a loading screen with a timer. Players report their pulse racing not from jump scares but from the knowledge that the thing could appear behind any door, real or virtual, as if fear were a subscription you cannot cancel.

Developers insist the mechanic is a cinematic flourish and not a menace, as if dread can be packaged in glossy press kits and shipped with optional jump scare firmware. But gamers remain convinced the big follower is less a character and more a tax on the comfort of ordinary life, a reminder that you are never truly alone even when you lock the door and silence your notifications.

Critics compare it to a haunted version of a houseguest who never signed an RSVP yet somehow managed to bring along existential dread, a feature that feels more prescient than any plot twist. The formula sticks around like a stubborn scent one never asked for but somehow still shows up on your favorite hoodie.

Even everyday tasks become trials: picking up a package, taking out the trash, or simply turning a corner without a sneer of apprehension on the other side. The follow me foe arrives with the courtesy of a late arriving delivery driver and the stealth of a cat that learned to Houdini from the vacuum.

Players report that the real terror isn’t the monster, but the knowledge that something will always be there lurking in the periphery, just off the frame, like a reminder that your free time belongs to someone else.

Publishers, ever mindful of the monetizable mood, insist the scare is a targeted emotional experience while quietly preparing the DLC that will promise to make the thing follow you even into your dreams.

Streamers have built entire persona brands around shrugging when the stalker makes its entrance, then screaming into the microphone when they realize it might be closer than their headphones can mask.

Some players are fighting dread with comfort tech, the kind of gear that promises stamina and serenity, like a plush throne for late night runs, a state-of-the-art ‘ergonomic gaming chair’.

Fans joke the stalker would be less intimidating if it presented a cup of tea and declared a peace treaty, but the fear remains simmering in the background while you clutch a controller.

To cope, some players upgrade their displays to smooth high contrast panels that render the world in more forgiving tones or at least teach the eyes to miss the thing until the last possible second.

Merchandise booms around fear alone as the follow me setup becomes a cultural meme, because nothing sells dread like a branded flashlight that glows when the stalker is near.

Meanwhile the independent press offers pragmatic guidance, like telling readers to invest in a pair of ‘noise-cancelling headphones’ so they can pretend the thing is not there while the room echoes with unseen footsteps.

Developers argue that fear thrives on anticipation and anticipation thrives on routine, so they keep tweaking the timing to maximize soul crushing pauses during hallway stretches.

Some players pretend the problem is a glitch in their own brains, while others embrace it as a masterclass in pacing, a tutorial on how to survive when your own shadow refuses to go away.

Analysts note the game’s premise could be applied to real world anxieties like deadlines or group chats where the thing that follows you around morphs from terrifying to mildly irritating depending on your mood.

Critics who once argued its just a game now concede that the formula is a durable albatross circling the industry as other studios chase bigger explosions and cheaper frights.

Even the soundtrack seems designed to remind you that someone is behind the curtain breathing in the same rhythm you are, a percussion section that does not exist but somehow amplifies the dread.

Some players report a sense of triumph when they finally corral the follower into a cul de sac, only to realize the door behind it leads to another round of tension.

Marketing teams tease a patch that could finally teach the stalker to knock, a dream even the most hardened horror fan knows is as likely as a vacation with no baggage.

With Halloween creeping closer, the big thing that follows you around has become less a character and more a poorly wrapped umbrella: always present, occasionally useful, and almost certainly pretending to be your friend.

Whether you adore the chain of dread or simply tolerate it, the fact remains that the follow me formula has become a cultural watermark—proof that suspense can be a serviceable, and utterly exhausting product.

Until the next update arrives, players will keep sprinting into corners and whispering, please go away, while the world pretends the chase is just part of a larger conversation about fear design and the limits of our collective heart rate.