This Isn't a Game

So I believe when I first started this blog I mentioned the idea that I would play around with science fiction within video games. That idea will likely never be a huge part of this blog, seeing as how I've decided to go down the road of exploring actual science and how it can be incorporated into creative writing; however, video games are still a huge part of my life and affect how I look at a lot of different things. So don't be surprised when you get a post focused on that every now and again (for those of you who don't *play* video games, I apologize, and you can use this as an excuse to learn more about the gaming community).

I was contemplating the other day what makes a video game more intense for the player. I prefer FPS (First Person Shooter) games not only because the controls are classic, but also because that type of game-play really integrates you into the story. It is easier to feel like I'm actually *in* the game if I'm not controlling the character from above or over his left shoulder. So what do game developers do to take control of the experience and make it more vivid for their players?

Well, for anyone who has played a scary game, the answer is easy. You take away one or more of the classic gamer safety blankets.

Any game maker who has played a game or knows gamers is bound to hear about the things gamers do to make themselves more comfortable when playing video games, especially if it's a particularly 'exciting' game. If they then exploit these habits, they can either make the game more fun or more terrifying (these can be one and the same thing, based on your audience).

So what are these safety blankets? In order of importance:

Number One: The F5 Button

Or, more specifically, manual quicksave. Or any way to save at all. The first thing I find myself doing when I know something bad is going to happen in a video game is reach for F5, which is the traditional quicksave button. If I can't hit that, I'll manually make a larger save file, but F5 is fast, easy, and very satisfying. It gives the player a sense of invincibility, because you can go into the most terrible fight and play it over and over again, knowing that death is not permanent because you'll just get loaded at your last quicksave. Which, if you're *smart*, will have been two seconds before.

So here are a couple examples of the way taking away save points affects your players. The first is a small independent game called Amnesia: the Dark Descent, which most gamers know as the scariest game to be created so far.



Now the content of the game is pretty scary, but really it's not nearly as disturbing as some of the content in games like the F.E.A.R. series, which tries to disgust its players just as much as scare them.

Gore galore

The big difference that separates Amnesia from the rest is based on several factors, some of which I'll discuss later in the post. But the one thing I really struggled with, besides the perfectly timed pee-your-pants moments, the epic scary music, and the monster concepts, was the fact that the game HAS NO SAVEPOINTS. That's right. The intro scene clearly states that the game will 'take care of the saving for you.' No quick save. No save. No control at all. That's right, let's put our virtual lives in the hands of a video game. Video games never troll us, right?

Right?

Is that a monster over there? So sorry...

The second example is the very popular and severely under-appreciated Minecraft, which is also an independent game. It doesn't look scary at all when you first start playing it, but once you actually get some items and night falls, you'll realize that it's not at all the picnic it seems. There are no save points, first of all. And when you die, you lose everything. Soon, you start understanding what it's like to be this girl:

Minecraft Massacre

Number Two: Big Weapons

Save or no save, a gamer will always feel more comfortable with a sure way to defend himself. And the gaming world has come up with some pretty darn cool ways to do that.

I'd feel safe too.

Now, a video game developer can easily ruin their gameplay by giving the gamer *too much* ammo. We like a little excitement, of course -- and if there's a never ending supply of ammunition for our nuclear-bomb-firing B.F.G. then we literally have nothing to worry about. We can run into a room (quicksaving first, of course) full of Strogg Tank forces that are way more powerful than ourselves and feel no fear if we have the right weapons. At that point, we just don't care.

Let's go back to Amnesia. Let's talk about the fact that we have no defense or offense. That's right. No weapons. No traps. No NOTHING. We can't even use our creativity to find ways to kill the monsters with items that are just lying around! Not to mention that the monsters in Amnesia can kill you in a couple hits every time and will also eventually cause you to go insane and curl up on the floor if you are not careful.

He just gives me the warm fuzzies. Of death.

Only one player has managed to figure out how to kill these things, and it's so specific you can only do it in one room of the game. So, really, it's not so much a useful technique as it is a temporarily satisfying mode of revenge.

Killing Monsters in Amnesia

Number Three: Pause

The pause button is one escape all gamers have that can never be taken away from us. It gives us the chance to change our pants if we hear a scary noise, take a breather, and go back to a game feeling more prepared. But game developers never bother messing with this one probably because, one, the relief doesn't last that long anyway, and two, they don't want a lawsuit on their hands if someone actually dies of fright.



Number Four: Lighting

Gamers love well lit games. We can see everything in it, and if there are no shadows that means there is no reason to hide. Unfortunately, if we love scary games too, that means we have to give up the safety of light.

If you have the urge to put torches on practically every surface in minecraft, you are proving the theory right. They're called Safety Torches.

And what is one of the chief offenders of this rule? Amnesia, of course -- it's not called the scariest game for no reason. You actually have a light adjuster presented to you at the beginning of the game. You can either make the game really light like a pansy (like me) or you can play it the way it was *meant* to be played and virtually blind yourself in the shadows.

Mommy, I'm scared.

Another reason dark games are evil? You have to turn all your lights off to be able to see anything. Leaving you sitting there, alone, in the dark, scared out of your mind.

Did you leave that closet door open before?

Number Five: Corners and Small Rooms

These make gamers feel secure for several reasons. Let's start with corners. It's obvious: a corner gives you something to put your back against and there are only a few directions that a monster can come after you from. Not only that, but you can see them all from that corner.

One way game developers can exploit this comfort is by making their game path a series of halls. Like, oh crap, here it is again, Amensia. Walking down a hall can scare anyone -- it's disorienting and you can't look forward and back at the same time easily. Or even efficiently. Likely, if anything scary is going to happen, it will happen then.

What's around that corner?

Gamers also prefer small rooms to big ones because, in olden days, if you entered a large, open room, it was a classic Boss time. Or if there was something shiny in the middle of the room, bad things were likely to happen. You could pretty much always predict where the big battles would be based on how large the room was. Big rooms also have no place to hide, unlike small rooms.

I've got a bad feeling about this...




So next time you're playing a game you can rate your experience based on these five gamer safety blankets. If it's violating even one of them, chances are you'll jump at least a couple times during the game. And it will be awesome.

Feed the Grumbies.

-L

What do you get when you combine an English major with complex physics?

You get an entire creative thesis based on time travel.

Perhaps the end of a semester and heading into the Christmas holidays is a bad time to decide that ye olde blog needs some attention. But my New Year's resolutions are all starting early: sticking to my diet, finally losing weight, and writing more.

Back to said thesis statement.

I'm heading into my second semester as a Junior in college and I've already started the research process for an extensive project that, I plan, will be the main attraction to my creative writing portfolio (which you can peruse as you please here). It will consist of several short stories exploring the problems, theories, and possible results of time travel. Which means lots of essays on Temporal Metaphysics that are entirely out of my depth, but hey, I try to be a well rounded person.

So here's an interesting theory: temporal loops. Or, at least, what I understand of temporal loops. Imagine a time-line, just your average black line with little labels of dates and events.



Now imagine that you draw a semicircle sitting right on top of it. This is the path of a time traveler. He breaks away from the main time-line at point A and rejoins it at point -A (it can't be point B. B comes after A, and he's gone back in time. See?)



Just the very fact that he has broken away from the time line causes many problems, such as:

1.) By going back in time he has temporarily erased himself from the immediate future (let's call that point B, since it looks so lonely). Not only is his once possible future (point B) forever changed and possibly forever abandoned, but he has also linked his past (point -A) with with a new future, creating a conflict between future and past. In effect, past and future become the same and the words now mean nothing to the time traveler.



2.) He has now inserted two 'copies' of himself into one point in time. The implications of this are, as of this blog post, unknown.



3.) And finally, there is the loop itself. You can pretend it acts like temporal erosion: once created, it isn't certain whether it will cease to be immediately. Will it vanish as if it never was traveled? Will it gradually cease to be over time? Or is it a permanent track that, once beaten down, will stay there for all eternity?



This last question, of course, could be answered if one knew what sort of matter the time traveler is traveling *through*. It could be imagined that, since there is a version of the time traveler that will always go back in time at point A, the time loop will never have a chance to close. But that observation also brings up a series of *other* problems.

1.) Assuming the time loop never closes, will the time traveler be caught up in it again when he returns to point A, forcing him to forever move between point A and -A indefinitely?



2.) If so, does this mean that all his 'past selves' will be caught up with his once 'future self,' causing him to multiply infinitely until he reaches the number where the death of his older selves is equaled by the addition of his younger selves?



3.) If not, then how does the universe handle the fact that his life will continue to play out to its end over and over again separated only by the length he traveled like a broken record?



Though he will not experience it directly, the time traveler has, in effect, gained a sort of immortality and placed the entire universe on repeat.

And this is all the things I thought of based on *one* paragraph of *one* essay I read on Temporal Metaphysics and Causal Time Loops.

Get ready. There will be more!

And feed the Grumbies.

-L