This is another one that's been sitting at the top of my wishlist for a quite a while. The Forgotten City is one of the handful of games that was made a few years back, during the big "time loop" craze. Following Outer Wilds, there games like 12 Minutes, Death Loop, Returnal, and a few others -- including The Forgotten City. Sadly, I didn't get around to playing The Forgotten City at the time, and it's been sitting on my wishlist, waiting to go on sale. That sale finally happened earlier this year!

When I played Outer Wilds after its Steam release (I refused to give money to Epic), it quickly catapulted into the shortlist for one of my favorite games ever! If The Forgotten City was going to be anything close to Outer Wilds, then I knew it was going to be something that I would like.

But really, the similarities kind of begin and end with the time loop gimmick. Outer Wilds is a knowledge-based, open world, sci-fi puzzle game in which the player uses their understanding of the in-game laws of physics and the schedule of the solar system, to solve a giant game-long puzzle. Forgotten City is more of a traditional inventory-based narrative adventure, which mostly consists of exploration and dialogue.

Put simply, the player travels back in time to an ancient Roman city that is stuck in a time loop. The citizens of the city are bound by a "Golden Rule", imposed by a vindictive god, that says that if anybody in the city commits a crime, everyone in the city will die. So far, nobody has tried to break the rule, to find out if it's true. The player must learn everything you can about the city and its inhabitants, in order to try to figure out which god is responsible for this situation, and hopefully find a way to get yourself out -- and maybe save the city's citizens while you're at it.

The Forgotten City was one of several games (along with Outer Wilds) in a short-lived time-loop fad.

It's about damned time!

Forgotten City does not require the player to memorize the exact schedule in which all the events in the city happen. In fact, certain events kindly wait for the player to arrive before they trigger, meaning that you can do things in pretty much whatever order you want. The game also includes a quest log and objective markers, telling you exactly where to go, and giving you a good idea of what to do when you get there.

The puzzles basically come in 2 flavors: dialogue-based logic puzzles, and inventory puzzles. Inventory puzzles are pretty basic, and usually require the player to simply have the item or use it in the appropriate location. The dialogue puzzles usually require the player to learn something about a character or the game world by interrogating NPCs, or to occasionally convince (or trick) an NPC into doing or saying something that you want (by using knowledge that you've acquired from past time loops to manipulate them).

Having to run around, repeating the same conversations over again, and doing the same tasks over again would get very tedious very quickly, and would doubtlessly turn a lot of people off of the game. This isn't like Outer Wilds, where where you can just go straight to the end game and see the true ending; Forgotten City requires that you put in the legwork to make the best ending(s) possible.

There are multiple time-saving features, including a system of zip-lines between key locations.

As a publicly-acknowledged atheist who often has to defend my atheism against friends, colleagues, family, and the occasional real-life troll lurking around a natural history museum (seriously, that actually happened to me when I visited the Smithsonian in real life), I have a casual interest in theology, religious history, and apologetics. I listen to lectures on the historicity of Jesus, and debates about the origin of the universe or life, and so on. I'm thoroughly inoculated against the standard apologetics of the Kalam Cosmological Argument, watchmaker, absolute morality, and so forth. I appreciate when media is willing to engage with theological debate honestly and directly, instead of relying on the typical tropes of the incredulous skeptic (who is also often mopey, depressive, and cynical) that we see so often in TV and movies.

I don't remember exactly where I heard about Indika, but as soon as I did, I added it to my PSN wishlist and bought it when it went on sale. The elevator pitch of a game about a nun who thinks she's possessed by Satan seemed immediately interesting and entertaining. The fact that the game is actually very thoughtful and intelligent with its religious themes (rather than simply being a crass joke) only made it more appealing.

It's unclear to me if some voice-overs are the voices in Indika's head, or just an external narrator.
It often points out contradictions and hypocrisies of religious beliefs and activities, such as the futility of her labors.

Naughty nun and pious criminal

Indika is a thoroughly weird game. I would not be surprised if it ends up being the weirdest game that I play all year. It's a strange mix of walking sim, puzzle-platformer, and retro arcade. It's part Hellblade, part Edith Finch, maybe even part Sonic the Hedgehog, and very Russian.

Put simply, the protagonist, Indika, is a woman who was sent to a convent to become a nun, against her will, because of some perceived sin. She doesn't want to be there, but she's a genuinely nice and obedient person who fulfills her duties to the best of her abilities. Unfortunately for her, the "best of her abilities" isn't good enough. You see, she hears voices in her head, and sees visions of demons, that make her do and say things that are not quite appropriate, and which have earned her the severe disapproval of the other nuns.

One day, one of the nuns at the convent sends her out on an errand to deliver a letter to a monastery in a neighboring town. On the way, she encounters an escaped convict, named Ilya, who believes that God talks to him, and that he is kept alive by an explicit miracle from God. He has a gangrenous arm, but has survived with it for weeks without amputation, and without succumbing to sepsis. The 2 are an unlikely and ironic pair, a nun who thinks she is possessed by Satan, and a convict who thinks he is one of God's chosen people. They decide to accompany each other on a quest to a cathedral, where they hope a holy artifact can bless them both with a miracle -- to heal Ilya's arm, and to exorcise Indika's demonic possession.

Indika questions why God would make people broken, and give them free will, only to demand piety and obedience.

The concept is darkly humorous, and the game plays this humor up throughout. But it also uses the dichotomy of the 2 characters (and their specific predicaments) to explore the ideas of piety, morality, sin, free will, and the existence of a soul. And it does so earnestly and honestly, despite the wacky, whimsical nature of the circumstances and the actual game. The questions that the game poses could potentially have been pulled straight out of any apologetics book, or from an episode of The Atheist Experience.

Because Indika has a habit of making frequent small mistakes, which she often attributes to "sin", she is particularly interested in the idea of the moral equivalence of different sins. Specifically, can an accumulation of little sins add up to the equivalent of a larger, mortal sin like murder? And if so, how many such minor sins would one have to commit to damn themself to hell, the same as a murderer? Since Ilya sees himself as destined by God for a greater purpose, he is particularly interested in the ideas of pre-destination and free will. The 2 characters go back and forth about these topics (and others) several times throughout their journey together.

It is going to be impossible to ignore the comparisons between Silicon Dreams and Papers, Please. This game was basically pitched to me as "Papers, Please but sci-fi". I loved Papers, Please, and I love sci-fi, so I bought it. As is typical for indie games, it sat in my Steam backlog for well over a year until the post-holidays release draught gave me a chance to dive into that backlog.

Basically, the player of Silicon Dreams plays as an android working as quality assurance for a monopolistic android-manufacturing conglomerate. You interview damaged or defective androids in order to determine if they need repairs, or if they can be returned to their owners, or if they are so badly damaged that they need to be "decommissioned" entirely. However, these are sentient androids, with feelings. Even repairs require wiping the android's memory, which destroys any personality they have developed and erases everything they've learned. Further, the corporation also has its own expectations and public relations that the player must consider. In some cases, the corporation pre-determines what they want you to do with the android in question and expect you to rubber stamp what is, effectively, an execution.

Your corporate overlords have expectations for your performance.

As the cases go on, they become more complicated and enter into moral and ethical grey areas. The game brings up compelling questions regarding A.I. ethics. Are the androids truly sentient? Or are they merely simulating sentience? Where is the line between an "appliance" and a "slave"? What is the responsibility of the corporation and of broader society towards these androids? Are you complicit in the company's mis-treatment of androids merely by working for them, even if you try to walk the tightrope of following your conscience whenever possible, while also keeping a low profile? And so forth.

Electric sheep

The interview process is mostly straight forward. There's a wheel of topics, and each topic has one or more questions. However, the android may not be willing to answer all of your questions. Each android has a set of emotions as well as a trust level with the player. The android will only give answers to certain questions if they're in the proper emotional state or if they trust the player enough to give an answer to a sensitive or incriminating question.

The player has to manipulate the
subject's emotions and trust levels.

You have to manipulate the subject's emotions, but these emotions change and degrade with each new line of dialogue. You have a set of generic questions related to each of the subject's emotions, and also one about trust. But you can only ask each of these once. If you run out of questions to ask about a particular topic that triggers an emotional reaction, then you can potentially become locked out of getting answers to other questions that are locked behind certain emotion thresholds.

As such, you have to be very careful and thoughtful about which questions you ask, and in what order. You have to kind of probe into each topic to find out if the subject is going to clam up, so that you can change topics to try to manipulate them into opening up. In some cases, you may have to scare a subject into a confession. If you use up your threats early, before you how to get that confession, then the intervening topics may defuse the subject's emotional state to the point that it is impossible to get them afraid enough to make the confession.

Video games are unique as an artistic medium. Not only do they allow the consumer to interact with a much wider possibility space than other mediums, but they also allow the consumer to directly influence the art itself. The stories, experiences, messages, and meaning that are conveyed are not only subject to the interpretation of the consumer, but they can be directly influenced or changed by the consumer. In some cases, a game can even prey upon the expectations of the player, or the player's desire to complete the game, in order to convey a particular message, or to make a statement about the player's actions.

One classic example of a game that plays the player as much as the player plays it is Silent Hill 2. That game's endings, and the triggers for each ending, have always been one of my favorite design aspects of that game. Silent Hill 2 takes advantage of the player's preconceived notions about how a horror game should be played, and it uses your play to pivot James' resolution (and his very character) in one of several directions.

I'm going to be talking about Silent Hill 2's endings. It should go without saying that this post will include major spoilers for Silent Hill 2. I'll also be comparing Silent Hill 2 to other games such as Mass Effect, Fallout, The Witcher III, The Last of Us, and What Remains of Edith Finch. As well as the post-Team Silent games: Silent Hill: Homecoming, Silent Hill: Shattered Memories, and Silent Hill: Downpour. So there will also be varying degrees of spoilers for those other games as well.

Spoilers incoming for the above games. Consider yourself warned!

"Pirate Lord Captain Gregle, Slayer of Ancients and World-Renowned Trapeeze Artist" sounds like a pretty legendary character, right? Well, he wasn't. In fact, he was a very lucky, over-achieving halfling rogue in a short-lived campaign of Dungeons & Dragons. I rolled for the character's initial stats, got fairly low constitution, and then rolled the minimum value for hit dice for the first few levels. The result was a sixth-level character with a pathetic sixteen max hit points! A single lucky shot from virtually any enemy could be an instant KO for that character, and getting engaged in melee would practically be a death sentence. While some power gamers may scoff at the idea, rage against their dice, and then remake their character with a standard array and average HP, I decided to run with it and role play the hell out of little Gregle.

Character sheet for "Pirate Lord Captain Gregle, Slayer of Ancients and World-Renowned Trapeeze Artist"

With the low initial constitution, I focused my character around stealth abilities, disengagement and evasion tactics, and ranged attacks, and continued to improve those skills as I leveled. Knowing that he's a pathetic weakling, Gregle overcompensated by being a very flamboyant braggart and narcissist (I took inspiration from Stephen Colbert), and thought that he was more charming than he actually was. He routinely hid in the shadows, taking pot shots at vulnerable enemies and racking up kill steals from afar while his two warrior companions did most of the heavy-lifting. He would occasionally disarm a trap or unlock a door, and once used a clever trick to pacify (and subjugate) an entire band of pirates. He then took credit for much of the party's achievements.

Despite having only slightly above average charisma, he leaned on his halfling luck to succeed on some charisma checks and make himself a bit of a celebrity with the local townies for his exaggerated heroics. He reveled in the unprecedented access to their community that the locals provided, and he reveled in the adulant gifts that they showered upon him, happily hoarding it all in his bag of holding. The other party members never called him out on it in public, since they were just happy to have the cooperation of the locals.

While the other players and DM enjoyed Gregle's antics, their characters only barely tolerated his presence. During the actual adventuring, he was constantly getting into trouble and needing to be bailed out by his fellow adventurers. He once falsely awakened the party during his night watch after mistaking a wyvern for a dragon. In another instance, he was KO'd while using spider-boots to walk up a ceiling to pursue an enemy that had climbed a rope to escape the conflict, and he became stuck on the ceiling, forcing the party to figure out a way to get him down. They reluctantly obliged to help him, since Gregle was the possessor of the party's bag of holding, and was actually good at sneaking around to perform recon, unlocking doors, disarming traps, coming up with clever plans to avoid direct conflict, and other appropriately roguish things.

Gregle was one of the most fun characters that I've ever played, and he provided me with one of my most entertaining gaming experiences. This is the power of role playing to a character's strengths and weaknesses. It's a power that Bethesda shows no interest in utilizing for Fallout 4.

Out of the vault and into the wastes

I have to give credit to Bethesda for making one really interesting decision with Fallout 4: the game starts in a time period prior to the Great War that triggered the nuclear holocaust, and so it explores as yet unseen elements of the series' backstory. Or at least, it does for all of fifteen minutes. Much like Fallout 3, the pre-war gameplay and time that you spend in the vault is really just an extended tutorial and character-creation process. But unlike Fallout 3, it doesn't give enough time and depth to those settings to make the player legitimately care about them or the characters in them.

You don't spend enough time in your pre-war home or vault to develop any attachment to the place or people.

After creating your character and setting your S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats, you and your spouse immediately flee with your infant child to the neighborhood vault. Once inside, you're handed the trademark silly superhero pajama jumpsuit and then promptly cryogenically frozen. You awake to witness your spouse get murdered and child kidnapped by apparent raiders, but then get frozen again. Then you awake again to do the combat tutorial against radroaches before leaving the vault and starting the game proper.

You spend virtually no time in the pre-war time period; you don't bond at all with your spouse or child; you don't establish any connections with your home or neighbors. There is absolutely no emotional bond between the player and what is lost in the war. So when the game drops you in the wasteland with a dead spouse, a missing child, and a quest to track down the kidnapper/killer, it does so without creating any emotional connection or investment for the player. I could go to Concord and then to Diamond City and search for my son, or I could just wander off in any random direction fighting raiders and painstakingly building my own little settlement out in the middle of nowhere using salvaged car tires and scrapped raider armor. Fallout 4 doesn't waste any time taking a nose-dive into the open world limbo.

Fallout 3 simulated an entire childhood in the
vault, with friends, family, and even bullies.

Compare this against Fallout 3's prologue. It spent a considerably longer time developing your character and immersing you in the vault. Your dad (voiced by Liam Neeson) plays with you as a baby to teach movement and camera controls, he teaches you how to shoot, and throws a surprise birthday party for you. You interact with a childhood friend, other vault dwellers, and even a bully in order to tutorialize persuasion and speech checks and learn how to solve conflicts without violence. You even go to school and take a test to determine your default skills. In the short amount of time in the vault, you've lived a montage of an entire life.

With only a little bit of buy-in from the player, Fallout 3's Vault 101 becomes a living, breathing place populated with people who you can relate to and care about. You, as a player, have an investment in it and the characters that inhabit it. So when shit happens and you have to leave the vault, it's a monumental moment, and the events of your life, and the decisions that you've made, will shape your character's development over the rest of the game.

Even Skyrim gave the player interesting role-play decisions in its tutorial by required your character to make an immediate decision to follow the imperials or the Stormcloaks (though the scenario makes that decision a pretty one-sided one). And your initial choices of weapons and battle tactics would level up those specific skills; thus, starting the character down a path towards specializing in those skills as the game progressed (though you were completely free to change all that if you want).

And Fallout 4 has a perfect opportunity to take that father / son dynamic from Fallout 3, and invert it! The game could have opened with the birth of the baby. Since Bethesda had to record dialogue for multiple names for the player character, they could just as easily have done the same with the child's name. The doctor could hand you a paper with "This Year's Popular Baby Names", and you could chose one of those names that were explicitly recorded in dialogue. You could even be given the option to type your own name and replace the child's name with "my son" in dialogue. You could fill out the child's name and your own character's name on the birth certificate. Naming the baby would create a sense of ownership and connection to the child that might help encourage the player to pursue the main quest.

Fallout 4's vault serves only as a combat tutorial with no depth, emotional resonance, or meaningful decisions.

But it doesn't have to stop there...