Basically, it happened something like this. Vivendi and Monolith once had this thing going, and together they released the FPS scareathon FEAR in 2005. While things might have been peachy keen in the short term, it wasn't to last, and whether it was due to someone not putting the cat out or one telling the other they did look fat in that dress, they've stopped cohabitating, dashed to Splitsville and have returned each other's personal belongings.

Well, kind of, because here's where it gets tricky: Vivendi owns the rights to the FEAR name, but Monolith owns the rights to the FEAR universe. Vivendi is able to go ahead and make a game called FEAR 2, but it won't have anything to do with the events we saw and played in the 2005 game. On the flip side, Monolith can create a game that directly involves further antics of Alma and company, but they can't put it in a box with the word "FEAR" on the cover. That name doesn't belong to Monolith, and that universe doesn't belong to Vivendi. Isn't fine print fun?

Now, because I left my lawyer pants at the laundromat, I'm going to have to wing this one on opinion alone. And you know what my opinion is? That this whole thing is utterly ridiculous.

The specifics behind the split might be a little hazy, but the resulting outcome is anything but. It's an embarrassment. Squabbling over a name, over a setting. You can have one but not both. It's just so ... childish. Look at the image that presents. Look at how confusing that makes the subsequent games for customer Joe Average. Look at the dangerous precedent that sets for current and future partnerships.

Is it really that naïve of me to expect two modern-day companies to come to a resolution that has the consumer's best interests in mind? Perhaps. Yet other industries have demonstrated a remarkable, if not noble, attitude in similar situations. Hollywood has one such tale, but I must warn you, telling it requires the unleashing of my inner film nerd.

In 1980, the film rights were secured for a little project called Who Framed Roger Rabbit (note the absence of a question mark in the title, due to a superstitious Hollywood belief that movies titled in such a way do poorly at the box office). The project remained stuck in limbo for a number of years, due in no small part to the sheer logistical nightmare needed to make it happen. Special effects issues aside, just imagine the headaches of trying to convince competing animation studios, including Disney, MGM, Paramount, Universal and Warner Bros., to sign over the rights for their characters to appear with the opposition. Madness. Absolute madness. Yet somehow the stars aligned, and one by one the studios started signing on the dotted line. It was happening.

Make no mistake – lawyers from all sides were well and truly involved. Each studio had their own conditions they wanted met, especially when it came to their respective "A-List" characters. Warner Bros. and Disney, arguably the two biggest animation houses, played things cagey with the rights to Bugs Bunny and Mickey Mouse, but eventually an agreement was reached: each character would receive the same amount of screen time and would say the same number of lines. Cut to opening night in 1988, and audiences witnessed an historic moment as Bugs and Mickey shared the screen together for the first time, exchanging toonish banter between them.

It's enough to bring a tear to this film geek's eye, let me tell you. Rival studios looking at each other not as enemies, but as contemporaries, with each one pitching in to make a project the best it could possibly be. And it's not the only instance — it's happened before and it's happened since. Eddie McGuire, Rove McManus and Andrew O'Keefe hosting the Logies. Stephen King and Peter Straub writing The Talisman. Elton John and Eminem performing at the Grammys. The list goes on. But when it comes to the games industry, what do we have? Two companies that not only shaft consumers over a name, but shaft a brand that had more than enough fuel to become a successful franchise. Viv, Monnie, why did things have to come to this? I mean, sure, it's perhaps wise that you signed that prenup for the sake of your wallets, but where does that leave the kids?

Let's address the rebuttals. The above examples were one-off partnerships as opposed to the split of an existing pairing, and with regards to Roger Rabbit specifically, the studios may well have had their hip-pockets in mind rather than any altruistic intent towards viewers. Fair points. But however you look at it, it's all about overcoming the grudges, the differences, and the barriers that separate opposing parties. It's about coming to an agreement that benefits everyone. But with the case of FEAR vs Not FEAR, the best result that could be reached was splintering an asset down the middle. And I thought Seinfeld's Newman was the only guy who did that.

Chalk this one up in favour of independent developers, I guess. None of this will ever concern the lads at Introversion or the Steam-flavoured games of Valve — since they're in charge of both the development and distribution of their titles, they retain tighter (heck, total) control over what they make and how it is marketed. However, when two separate entities come to the contract table armed with their own stipulations and conditions, things can work, or things can change in an instant.

But hey, at least Monolith is turning their side of the ruckus into a game. Armed with the universe but lacking a name, they've opened the floor to the gaming community in the form of a competition: come up with the title of their next blood-soaked FPS. Submissions get narrowed down to a final three, with an online vote thereafter determining which name gets the game. Certainly something to keep your eye on — just don't expect anything with a question mark to win.