Time Kufc

[Flash game: Play here]

The puzzles in Time Fkcu is built around concepts that bend the spacetime continuum, such as time travel, multiple dimensions, freezing time, and cloning. Not only are these elements used very well in the gameplay and storyline, but the dialogue all throughout the game embodies some fascinating theories on the topic.

The intro shows the “you” from the future, pulling the current character into a box, saying that you will learn so much, yet experience so little. The entire game takes place in this ‘box,’ and it all starts very abruptly and spontaneously. The player is hooked by the absurdity of it all, but it is something you must experience for yourself.

Let’s start with the title. This game is called Time Kcuf. It is also Time Fkuc, Time Ufck, and Time Kfuc. All of these are correct, because, as the developer explains, just because the letters are there, people will see the title as something it isn’t. This game is not called Time Fuck. It is everything except that, yet the human mind is trained to see only that title. Simply because of the way the mind works, we will see things only as associations to other things. It is rare that we see something precisely for what it is, instead of what it looks like.

This is just the beginning of the philosophies presented in the game, and we haven’t even reached the main menu yet. As soon as we do, the oddity is impossible to ignore. The music is very off, in a strangely pleasing way. The visuals are so off-the-wall and full of static that every area of the game feels like something’s wrong. But this is just as it should be. The entire game feels surreal. In one of the levels, you are told that time only exists in the same dimension as you. This would mean that time is a construct of the mind, and upon embracing this realization, reality seems to feel off.

If time is only a construct of the mind, what do our everyday actions really mean? What allows us to move from one moment to the next? If the answer is ‘nothing,’ then how is anything possible? The idea that time is an illusion shakes the very foundations of everything we know. The only solid explanation if such a scenario is real is that we aren’t really doing anything. If time is a falsehood, then so is our reality. Everything is taking place in our heads. Or, I suppose, my head, since I am the only thing I can be certain exists. The nonexistence of time leads to a very solipsistic view on life. So it is only natural that a game that tears down our concept of reality will feel unusual.

Throughout the game, as you progress through the puzzles, solving them by jumping around different dimensions, playing with the flow of time in some, while using objects from one to destroy the boundaries of another, The future “you” from the next room is telling you how you will die, how life is meaningless, and a large variety of nihilistic theories. As the future “you” progresses, he forgets why he’s in the box, who he is, and says that he only entered the box because you told him to. This should be unusual, because it was the future that told you, and you are his past. This only puts emphasis on the idea that time is not what we think it is.

Then there’s the entire confusion with “Stephen.” When he first makes an appearance, there’s no idea as to where he came from, or why he’s there. He represents an opposing viewpoint. When we are initially presented with a view that is different from our own, we want to destroy it; remove it. It is a tumor, and so is Stephen. As the viewpoint gains support, it begins to eat away at your own. Eventually, Stephen will disappear, and you are left with a strange confusion, as illustrated by the future character. “Hey, it’s me. You… Or Stephen. It doesn’t matter either way…” At this point, you are unsure as to which viewpoint is correct: You or Stephen. You are still convinced that only one of them is correct, though.

Upon completion of the game, the player merges with the future. Or perhaps it’s Stephen. In either case, it represents the merging of two opposing viewpoints. It isn’t that one is right and one is wrong, but that both of them share a piece of an ultimate truth. Once this is seen, it is no longer an argument, but a collaboration of thought. A pursuit of truth.

I have spent far too much time on the philosophies presented within this game, but that’s part of what makes it so intriguing. Every step you take, there are new concepts, new things to think about, both implicitly and explicitly stated. This game appeals, very strongly, to intellectuals, and this plethora of multiple lines of thinking is an incredible psychological hook to thinkers.

To those who are not so inclined to think, the pure oddity of the entire game creates a unique “What is going on” feel. It isn’t repulsive, as the case would be if the unusual nature was completely random, but this game is constructed using structured oddities. Every spontaneous event, every “why did that happen” moment is created from a strict formula that leads the player deeper in. It is this formula that makes the absurdity understandable, and allows players to follow it. It creates the feeling of self-discovery, as if they are figuring out the intricacies of the game on their own, and it produces a very fulfilling feel.

I will admit, though, that the puzzles get radically difficult for many people, and require a more determined mind to get past them. Yet, as is the case with all difficulties, the more challenging a situation is, the greater the emotional payoff will be at the conclusion of it all. For those who know this, it can be just the driving force they need to finish the game.

And, as great as the game is, the ending is neat, but not quite impressive enough to be ‘the big payoff.’ The final scene is open to as much interpretation as the rest of the game, so there are still loose ends, at least in the philosophical context. It requires some thinking to come to your own conclusion, similar to Limbo, except it starts you with a storyline, so you are not allowed to think as openly. Something feels unknown about the ending, but if you consider it, it is simply just another cyclical game. It replays the intro, except now, the roles are reversed. This cycle repeats endlessly, because there are infinite ‘you’s going through this loop. Time is not real, and so, the events of the game can repeat forever.

The final “you” is left to leave the box, and as he runs, he sheds off all the parts of him that he does not want to be. He becomes who he is, who he desires, simply because the events of the box taught him how to. But this is only one conclusion. Perhaps the “clones” that run off in all directions are more timelines, and each one goes off to create more and more boxes, perpetuating the storyline even more so. Despite everything this game did right, despite the incredible collaboration of thought that went into this, the ending is still a flaw. The game is great, and the ending is perfect for those who enjoy thinking. Intellectuals. But for everyone else, it is a cliffhanger that will not be resolved.

I suppose that this is simply proof that not all games are meant for everyone, and as true as Time Kucf makes that, I still believe that a truly exceptional game is one that will blow the minds of everyone. Something that literally every person can get an incredible, although not necessarily identical, experience out of. You shouldn’t have to be in a certain division of intellect to enjoy a specific game more or less than another division.

Don't Look Back

[Flash game: Play here]

There is something I’d like to note before starting, here. If you have any desire to play any of the games I analyze, it would be in your best interest to do so before reading my views. Doing so will give you the same viewpoint I had while writing this, and it will put you in a position to agree, disagree, argue, or defend my points. Also, reading the analysis before playing the game will ruin many moments that I discuss, as a large part of psychological gaming stems from surprise. So please, keep the gaming experience untainted by the information I disclose, and play the game before you spoil anything for yourself. This applies to all of my analyses.

This is a neat, cyclical game, based on the story of Orpheus. It the story, he goes down into Hades to retrieve his wife from the king of the underworld. The king allows her to leave with Orpheus, but only under the condition that he does not look back until he returns to the land of the living. Just before they get back out into the sunlight, he forgets himself and turns to look at his beautiful wife. She fades away, back to where she came from, and Orpheus dies alone.

This game barely follows that. Early in the game, the player finds a gun, and will proceed to slay everything in their path. After killing the king of the underworld, the player works their way back out of Hades. This game is drastically more violent than the myth, yet I suppose such a change is necessary for the enjoyment of the general populace. I am not criticizing this change; the game is still pleasant. I just wish the developer did not feel it necessary to stray from the original story to please the players.

The psychology of the game is not perfect, but is still quite decent. A common trademark of psychologically strong games is simplicity, and this game certainly has that. The controls are alright, but they aren’t the best. Jumping, in vital moments, feels delayed, and can easily lead to frustration, and the game gives you no support with nothing to combat it. What is handy, though, is that fact that dying respawns you at the beginning of the screen. There are virtually no setbacks in death, other than needing to kill the creatures again. This may help a bit, but in the more difficult areas, simply leads to repetition of frustration.

But perhaps there is a point to be made here. A journey into hell to retrieve a lost love would certainly be a nerve-wracking trip, and there is no doubt that Orpheus made the trip with a heavy heart. It is clear that the intent was not to recreate the character’s emotion in the player, because if it was, then the frustration would be accompanied by a sense of compassion and empathy. The frustration wouldn’t be so much an emotion felt by the player, but an emotion that the player feels for the character. This is not the case.

Yet, even still, the lack of explicit storyline provides sufficient driving force for the player to battle through the challenging, frustrating areas, and they can rest easy, knowing that there is nothing that can happen to send them back to fight through it again.

Upon defeating the king, the player must then climb out of the underworld, followed closely by a female spirit. Every time the player turns back, though, the spirit fades away and the screen is restarted. It will take a differing amount of time for different players to figure out what they are doing wrong, but when they do, it creates an incredible ‘aha!’ moment. All players will realize the meaning behind the title of the game, some will realize the sorrow that comes with not being able to see the person you yearn to be with, and the mythologically educated players will realize the storyline, where you came from, what you just did, and where you are going now. They will also realize that the loss of the spirit will be inevitable. This wonderful moment of realization is one thing that the game succeeded in doing. It gives the player a great burst of joy, and perhaps self-confidence and pride, and allows them to happily finish the game.

The ending is just as brilliant as the stimulation of the moment of realization. When the player arrives back at the tombstone, they will see themselves still standing in front of it, just like at the beginning of the game. After the player does a double-take, both the spirit and the other “you” vanish, leaving only the character in front of the tombstone. The implication is that it was all wishful thinking on the character’s part. He envies Orpheus for having the chance of retrieving his loved one, and only desires the same opportunity. The entire game is really an “If I had the chance…” scenario, played out in the wishful thinking of the character. With this concept, perhaps the original Orpheus myth was not butchered, but only referenced in modern day thinking of a depressed individual. It would explain the gun, as well as the desire to shoot everything that comes at the player. The violence is born of hate, which, as unusual as it feels commonly accompanies sorrow. To quote an anonymous person, “Hate is only depression directed at someone.” In the context of the game, the person responsible for the death would be Hades himself, so he sets out to destroy him.

Overall, it’s a decent game. The controls could be smoothed out, the lack of knowledge could be constructed better (see Limbo), yet the principle psychological element, that moment of realization, was done very well. If the game had not been so hastily made, as it certainly feels at times, that element could really shine. Don’t Look Back was definitely built around that idea, yet because all of the focus was on how to present that single moment of realization, the other parts were neglected.

Limbo

Sorry, this is not a flash game, so I cannot give you a link to play it at. It is, however, a very artistic, unique, indie game, and you are welcome to buy and enjoy it.

This game has bothered me for a while. It isn’t that the graphics are bad. They are actually brilliant, all black and white and extra-grainy. The edges of the screen blur out of focus, and the visual feel of it all is that of an old-timey horror movie. It isn’t that the ambience is poor or sketchy. The sounds are sinister, startling, mystical, foreshadowing. Every sound in the game is placed in just the right place to trigger that “jump” from the player. In a secret area of the game, you have to avoid obstacles in pitch black darkness, relying purely on sound. And it’s doable, because the sounds are placed appropriately.

What bothers me so much about this game is that, I cannot, for the life of me, identify what it is that draws the player in. The art and sounds are both great, but the sound’s effectiveness isn’t noticeable until later in the game, and the art isn’t enough to pull a player in alone. There needed to be something, somewhere, which my conscious mind was missing but my subconscious mind couldn’t let go of.

I begin pondering the definition of ‘limbo,’ and have decided on the umbrella definition as ‘in between two opposing states.’ In the context of Inception, it is the state between awake and dreaming. In the context of this game, it is the state between life and death. In the popular game of Limbo (How low can you go?), it is the state between standing and lying down. So whatever it was that I was missing was between two states. That would go along nicely with the theme of the game, and it would also explain why I couldn’t find it.

Wait, why am I running through Limbo? Where am I going, what am I looking for? Who are these people trying to set traps for me? Why is this spider so adamant on killing me that the only way to stop him is to pull off all his limbs and push his head into a pit of spikes? None of these questions are ever answered. The end of the game loosely implies a reason, and the game developer states that a boy goes into limbo to look for his sister, but purely in the context of the game alone, there are no answers. There isn’t even a notification that the character is in limbo. Once the game starts, he just wakes up in a field. There isn’t even a main menu. The first time I saw one was after I beat the game.

It seems that Limbo has no storyline, and that the ending scene ties up loose ends that we didn’t even know were there. The end, being as vague as it is (There isn’t even dialogue), allows players to come to their own conclusions about why the boy’s sister ended up in limbo in the first place, and how the boy got there. There is an end to a story that doesn’t exist until the conclusion of it. The storyline itself is in a state of limbo, between life and death, in a sense. Between existence and non-existence. Between ‘constructed in the game’ and ‘constructed in the player’s mind.’ The unexpected lack of storyline causes the player to naturally come up with their own theories. The game itself does nothing.

For a game to do nothing, psychologically speaking, would seem to be the trademark of a boring, poorly-made game. Except, these games that do not actively incorporate psychology into their mechanics, or they do not have elements that do, they don’t create a void of psychological grip, as in Limbo. They create psychological repulsion. The mechanics cooperate together in a way that is borderline offensive to the instincts of the player, and effectively pushes the player away. To create a void of psychological grip requires mastery over all the mechanics, aligned in such a way that they cover up the lack of other components that would otherwise actively draw, or repulse, the player.

The problem with actively drawing players in is that it is easy to identify, and as soon as it is identified, the player says “Woah. That’s pretty neat,” and, having concluded the addicting mysteries, walks away with a pleasant taste in their mouth. With a void, such as that in Limbo, it prevents the player from identify the addictive properties, and with an unresolved mystery, they don’t walk away. They keep looking, and are drawn in by the fact that nothing is drawing them in. In this regard, psychological gaming is a magic act. Reveal the secret, and you lose the audience. Keep it well hidden, and they will always be asking for more.

Regarding this unusual ‘nothingness,’ the excellent control is possibly the most well-crafted mechanic that aids in covering the lack of captivation. The boy moves as a human would, never coming to a complete stop, but not sliding enough to jeopardize situations. In addition, he can jump what seems like an extraordinary distance in situations that call for it, or very small hops in situations that don’t. Swinging on vines and chains is done in a lifelike way, gaining momentum in a slow, yet steadily increasing manner. The boy behaves like a boy, and it makes it very easy and entertaining to continue playing.

The artistic and highly creative scenarios may be equal to the beauty of the controls. The puzzles span tasks such as using a dead body to set off a trap, rolling a spider carcass into a pit to be able to safely cross it, to using one machine gun to destroy another, and flipping gravity to give you access to otherwise inaccessible areas. The puzzles are incredibly diverse, from simple, clichéd, methods, to completely radical solutions that require you to think outside the box and act as you would in real life (Which is always very different from in games, if you think about it).

These techniques of covering an incredibly captivating void of captivation work out very well for the designers, as well as the players. The lack of storyline, the lack of explanation, the lack of everything you expect in a game, leaves players not only asking “why,” but forming their own reasons as well.

Note: If the art and sound and controls and movements weren’t enough, then hey: There’s 3D, too (Press Shift + 3 + D, to enable, Shift + 2 + D to disable).

Depict1

[Flash game: Play here]

Ever since I discovered games like this existed, I’ve wanted to see one that completely destroyed all the rules. Something that took what the player thought they knew, something that seemed cliché, yet ended up flipping the entire clichéd notion of a game on its head. Depict1 is that game. It takes all the basic rules that gaming has taught us, such as ‘spikes are bad’, ‘shiny things are good’, ‘falling off the map kills you,’ and inverts them. Now spikes help you, the gems kill you, and falling off the map is the only way to proceed on in some cases. This is a game that lies to you every time text is displayed on-screen.

It doesn’t only lie to you about basic game mechanics, either. From the very beginning, even the controls it gives you are wrong. “To move, press the arrow keys.” Seems reasonable enough. But it’s wrong. There are actually two ways to move: One is given to you on the first screen of the game, the other is very common to FPS gamers. Throughout the rest of the ‘learning the controls’ phase, everything you are told will likely get you killed.

It becomes apparent very quickly that you can never trust what you are told. On top of that, since what you are told coincides with what you expect to be told, you can no longer trust what you know. Had the commands not been lies, it would all be very logical, yes, but that’s the interesting part: Logic is flawed. The ‘logical’ thing to do is to repeat something, because that’s the way it has always been. Jumping up will always result in coming back down. Holding your breath will always result in feeling light-headed. The ‘logical’ assumption is that the things that have happened a specific way a series of times will always happen that way. When logic is spelled out that way, it just feels wrong, doesn’t it? It sounds stubborn. Unwilling to change. And it is. When something extraordinary happens, we usually dismiss it as “impossible.” It isn’t ‘logical’ for something like that to happen. The Earth isn’t flat, but round. Nonsense; blasphemy; illogical. The Earth isn’t the center of the universe. Impossible; delusional; illogical. ‘Logic’ is simply humanity’s way of coping with the concept that we aren’t as important as we wish we were. “You’re crazy. Out of your mind. Illogical.” The “logical” thing to do would be to prevent ourselves from ending up trapped by patterns and assumptions, such as ‘logic.’

The game essentially points out everything that is wrong in the human mind, all rolled up under the umbrella definition of ‘logic.’ The player won’t instantly feel that logic is wrong, of course. They will feel cheated, as if something else is wrong outside of the game. Or, like me, they’ll be completely astonished by the fact that someone was brave enough to tear apart common logic. More emotional players may argue with the game, saying that things shouldn’t work this way. Well, why not? Because they haven’t in the past? Change is a commonly rejected thing.

As the game progresses, amidst the lies and falsehoods and deception, there is a sense of discovery every time the player figures out how to advance. To directly contradict what you are told to achieve what you want gives a guilty pleasure of disobedience. Every action in the game, after the player gets sick of the lies, becomes a way to spite the ominous voice. Winning the game becomes an action of personal vendetta against the misleading of the mechanics. To complete the game is to put an end to the “illogical” mechanics and irritating lies.

I do not like giving gameplay advice, but I will here: There are two endings. One is cyclical, with the underlying meaning that lies lead us in circles. The contradiction of lies (the player’s actions) leads us in circles. At the end of everything, all that is left to do is start over. The only safe decision is to do nothing. Towards the beginning of the game, you come across a “caged” creature. The voice talks about him, later. What is he doing? He’s probably still in his cage. While he is safe, he is unmoving. No progress. Yet, where we have to start over, he is still in his cage. The only safe action is inaction, but where is the fun in that? Take a risk.

The second ending is the confrontation of the alter-ego. Confrontation of everything we don’t like about ourselves, confrontation of the things we want to destroy. In place of truth: lies. In place of trust: suspicion. Once these attributes of us are destroyed, once we overcome them, we are free of the loop that is our lives. This could mean that we only live as long as we are misguiding ourselves, or that the very definition of ‘life’ is ‘to be led astray.’ We live our lives until we realize that we can escape, and then we die.

Also, an interesting note: “Depict one” is an anagram for “deception” and “poetic end.” Both of these relate to the game, and to life. We live lives of deception, living on because we are still deceived. The end of life, the end of such repetition and lies, would indeed be a poetic one, because, in the context of this philosophy, there is only peace in death.

This game is cryptic, foreign, ominous, and very disorienting. Any game that can flip common principles on their head like this is a well-made game. I applaud this game, and its blatant disregard for what we humans call “logic.”

The Company of Myself

[Flash game: Play here]

This may be my personal favorite out of all the games that fall into the ‘artistic’ category. In fact, it was this game that got me started on the entire ‘psychological games’ kick, and it was this that changed my view of gaming. It’s easy to understand the beauty of the storyline, the music, the melancholy yet innocent tone with which it is all delivered, but it’s a bit harder to understand where the beauty comes from.

For starters, it’s told from a very unique viewpoint, which I will not explain just yet, since it is not revealed until the end of the game. Before the game begins, it runs the player through a brief prologue, explaining that he is now alone, and that where he once had the company of others, now he only has the company of himself. The simplistic, matter-of-factly way in which the narrator tells his story leads the player into the character’s mind, and, if played from an emotionally open viewpoint, allows the player to see through the character’s eyes.

The tutorial levels, where you learn the controls and rules of the game, are presented in an amusing fashion, where the character becomes completely infatuated with the goal object. Through the character’s eyes, every object is a person. A chance at companionship; a chance at escaping loneliness. With this emotional perspective, completing each level becomes a desperate struggle to escape isolation. Maybe not as dramatically as it sounds, but players will find themselves wanting to complete each level for a new reason, other than ‘to beat the game.

The gameplay revolves around a unique, yet not overly-challenging concept: The ability to clone yourself.

If you were to run to the left, stop, jump, and then clone yourself, it would mimic those actions while you are free to act differently. Throughout the game, players must rely on their clones to succeed.

This presents a clichéd philosophical idea: If you could go back and start again, what would you do differently? With your past “clones” aiding you, with that analogous ‘prior knowledge,’ you can reach where you couldn’t before, and without having to go through the same actions as your past “clone.” Knowledge of future occurrences would allow us to skip over them, jumping past things that we were already aware of. Theoretically, with enough “clones,” enough “prior experience,” we can achieve anything we wanted in a fraction of the time. Viewing the future would essentially be identical to time travel.

The game progresses to the point where he is explaining what happened to his second passion, Kathryn. This sub-story paints a picture of flawless love and cooperation, not only with words, but in how the two must rely on each other to get past obstacles. It is the very definition of a solid relationship, and, combined with the elegant storytelling, the image becomes very vivid, embedded in the player’s mind. Two key words are repeated, time and time again: ‘Perfect’ and ‘mutual.’ The very symbol of joined happiness. Kathryn is now a part of everything.

And then, she’s gone. Plain and simple. Through necessity, the player must erase her from the story, and the guilt and pain that the character feels is shared by the player, because it had to happen. And the player is the one who did it. In the explanations afterwards, where he is detailing how scarred he is because of the incident, the sense of empathy is overwhelming. The player shared in the experience, giving them the same mindset and perspective as the character, and we can all imagine, if not understand, how painful it is to lose someone so dear to them. The fact it happens so abruptly causes a double-take. One move. Now she’s gone.

What if we could start over from a different perspective? Undo everything we’ve done, start from a fresh slate, in a different place, as someone else. The guilt of what happened will cause any ordinary person to wish they didn’t exist, that things didn’t happen. Directly after it does happen, you gain the ability to start from a different perspective. A different place. As the character retells his sorrowful story, the player is able to share in it through their actions and necessary sacrifices. The player feels everything the character does, and it is beautiful.

The epilogue after the game sends empathy through the roof. You learn of who he is, what he’s been through, and how he has lost, literally, everything. I will not explain it, because the ending caps a brilliant game with a perfect ending, and everyone should experience this ending themselves. After the credits, there is a single message that will make things even more emotional, as it expresses that things stated in the epilogue are not true, and that he simply wanted, needed, someone to listen. That’s all he needed, and it is the last thing he loses.

What really puts the icing on the cake is the music. It is repetitive, yes, but the minor chord progressions, the mystical triad of higher notes in the second part, the ominous base octaves, the staggered, loosely-defined rhythms, all contribute to form a musical score that just feels sad. This goes beyond hearing, and all of the parts combine to make a bittersweet whole. While letting the game run in the background as I am writing this, I feel almost lonely and disheartened, from the music alone.

The game is crafted beautifully, and is a dramatic success due to its ability to integrate the player into the character’s shoes. By telling the story, endearing everything in a lovable way, and then forcing the player to live through the story as it takes a turn for the worst, it forces people to become emotionally linked to the game. It forces them to share in the character’s pain as he loses everything.

This is what a beautiful game feels like.

Loved

[Flash game: Play here]

Loved is not merely a game. It is a psychological torture chamber. From the very beginning, even before a title page, it demeans you in a very simple, yet strangely effective way. “Are you a man or a woman?” Man. “No. You are a girl.” Good girl.

There is no storyline. There is no plot to follow, no defined character, not even graphics at first. You are a black silhouette thing, and you are told what to do, every single step you take.  Jump over that pit of barbs. Good girl. Obey the commands, and you will be rewarded by improved graphics (although colorless), easier obstacles, and a sense that you are pleasing someone. Disobey, and watch your world lose definition, yet gain color and uniqueness.

In this game, if you are emotionally invested in it, you are broken down and recreated. Not on a grand scheme, of course, but you feel belittled, insignificant, and as you progress, more defined in who you are and who you want to be. From the very beginning, you start from nothing. You are not a well-defined man, or an emotionally-sound woman. You are a girl or a boy, the inverse of the gender you chose. The title implies lack of knowledge; naivety. The switch in gender adds a flavorful touch of insult, and you start the game with no idea of what’s going on. All you have to go off of is the voice.

In the beginning, it will be only natural to obey. Jump over that pit of barbs. Well, that sounds reasonable. The voice is advising you in self-preservation. You’ll go along with the voice. Touch the statue. It’s a checkpoint you will be sent back to if you die. Then, things get strange. Travel the lower path. But it’s much more difficult than the upper one. Throw yourself into the barbs. Wait, what?

It all comes down to trust. If the player sees the voice as a ‘lover,’ as implied in the title (and explicated at the end), it will seem that the voice is speaking with good intentions, regardless of how little actually makes sense. If the player sees the voice as a malicious, controlling fiend, then from that point on, it will be impossible to trust its advice. You will start contradicting the commands just out of spite.

This switch in trust brings up an interesting concept: What is trust? Absolute trust in the guidance of another being is ultimately blinding. You will only do what you are told, fearing the unknown consequences if you don’t, embracing the fact that you are pleasing an individual person. The world around you becomes well-defined, rigid edges, simplicity at its finest. Everything becomes black and white (literally), and there is no concept, or even curiosity, over what exists outside of the commands jurisdictions. Your world is black and white. Good and bad. Acceptable and unspeakable. Colorless. The only choices you will make are the ones you are told to make.

Now, consider the other side. Disobey the voice, discard trust, and do what you want. Act for yourself, make decisions when and how you want to, regardless of who is accepting of these actions and who isn’t. True friends and significant others might not agree with all your actions, but they will respect them and your confidence in self-identity. Take the path of yourself, and things will no longer be black and white. Nothing will be nearly as defined; you will get lost from time to time. But there is no right and wrong, no black and white. Only the color that your actions have produced. You are free to live life as you will, and with no concrete destination in mind, you cannot get lost. You will be wherever you want to be in life.

Loved puts these concepts into artistic forms, as were partially described, and the player is free to gather any and all meaning from the shift in color and definition.

The ending provides a strange twist in delusion: Obey the voice, and you are confronted with a single message: “I loved you, always.” Do we love someone simply because they do what we ask? Do we love the person, or the control we have over the person? Too many people need to consider this question, because, in at least one sense, we all love having control over people. This game should cause you to reconsider your definition of love.

Disobey, and you are met with “Why do you hate me?” It is easy to let our emotions get the best of us, and simply because someone does not act as we want them to, we jump to the radical conclusion of ‘hate.’ It is completely irrational, of course. It isn’t a matter of hating someone, but of valuing their own beliefs over your desires. Real people are this way, and from an irrational perspective, every real person will “hate” you.

Loved not only emulates emotional growth within the player, but also brings up the interesting contradictions between love and control. Between what we want and what we want others to want. This game can make people think.

One Step Back

[Flash game: Play here]

Yes, it’s another flash game. Until I get a better grasp of the psychology of gaming, these will be my… “Practices,” so to speak. I am not being too critical of games yet, because I am not yet knowledgeable enough to know what is and isn’t good. Right now, I only know what is good. Once I have a solid definition of this, I will begin pointing out what isn’t good. Until then, it will appear as if I love every game, which is true enough. If I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t write about it. Anyway, it’s playable here, if it interests you.

This game is built around a lifestyle that all of us have experienced. In everyone’s life, people go through a phase of ‘attempted perfection.’ We all have at least one point in our lives where we will avoid making mistakes, doing everything we can to be loved, fearing things that could put this acceptance in jeopardy. We fear mistakes, shy away from past errors, and run from things that have harmed us in prior times.

This phase lasts different amounts of time for different people, but sooner or later, we will all realize that running is not the answer, that imperfection is natural, and trying to attain perfection isn’t. We will learn that mistakes make us who we are, teach us how to live life, and, if we wish to proceed into the future, we must first come to terms with our past.

For me, I’m somewhere in-between. I strive for perfection, but not by avoiding mistakes. I have recently learned, and attempted to mend my past. Some of it was a success; other parts will forever be lost. I need to learn to accept that I am no longer in control of the things we have already done. Every action has a consequence, and, good or bad, and we need to be prepared to live with it. I believe that everyone passes through this middle-ground on the path to self-discovery.

One Step Back puts these life lessons into such a vivid illustration that it is hard to ignore the message. The between-level dialogue states the typical, ignorant perceptions of a person living a life of attempted perfection, and perfectly so. It expresses delusions such as “there isn’t enough time”, “fame and money are everything”, “the past is a thing to be feared,” and so on. All of it is agreeable, in the sense that we have all passed through this point in life, or are at this point in life, or acknowledge that this point in life exists.

The levels start out simply, and the goal is kept simple: Get from point A to point B without running into your past selves. “Avoid your past.” Contact with a past self results in restarting the level, so it becomes very clear that the past is bad. The first few stages are easy, as they are practically straight lines, and you never even have to turn to face your past. Some events in life are like this. Do something fairly simple, ignore the consequences, and never look back. After you pass the halfway point, the goal switches from the ‘attempted perfection’ phase of life to the realization that follows, and the goal changes to collecting your past, not letting any of them escape you. In these simple levels, or simple scenarios in life, there is no problem. Just walk backwards, from point B to point A, and you’ve succeeded quite easily. These actions in life don’t require any consequential negativity, no guilt, no sorrow or anger. There are simple actions that were meaningless in this context.

But the levels get harder. In the later ones, it becomes quite difficult to get from point A to point B, and doing so without confronting your past becomes so difficult that it results in radical, often playability-reducing actions during the second half. In life, when dealing with more delicate or life-changing actions, we will do anything to avoid a past mistake, and it becomes very easy to make new ones, worse ones, that we will never be able to live down. By trying to live a more perfect life, we make things worse. Looking back on the situation, we recognize the irreversible damage we have caused, and it requires immense willpower and mental endurance to move past it. Our biggest mistake in life is avoiding mistakes.

As the player progresses backwards through the levels, confronting all the past errors of life, they get easier and easier, as the more difficult mistakes are repented. As we come to terms with what we’ve done, the mistakes we’ve made, we come to realize that the past is something not to be feared, but cherished. It makes us who we are, and who we were becomes irrelevant. Once we realize this, we gain an open mind about our past, acknowledge it as what it is/was, and can easily move on into the future.

This game’s beauty comes from its simple, but necessary message, made more powerful by the simple, yet friendly music, the simple gameplay, the simple mechanics of the interface. In this way, it delivers a second, more obscure message, which I believe everyone needs to know: Life is simple. What makes it seem so complicated and menacing is the fact that we are all trying to avoid confrontation with our pasts, and, like in the game, make radical, complicated, and downright stupid actions just to avoid. If we let what has happened, just happen, then we will see that the path from point A to point B is really quite linear. The final line of the game wraps it all up very nicely: “I beg to differ when people say you can’t escape your past. You can… I just won’t.”