Apocalypse How?
Chronic exposure? Cancer, simply put. Cancer is a very real danger to the human race, and something not even science-fiction writers can come up with a cure for (see the recent cinematic adaptation of I Am Legend for an idea of how wrong it’ll go). What if the mission resulted in better RadAway (the anti-radiation med of choice in Fallout 3), but resulted in your character developing a terrible disease? What if the final blast of radiation in the chamber caused your character not to die, but instead simply knocked them out and removed the tumour, the blast of exploding machinery a hardcore dose of radiation therapy?
//It’s not all mutants and Geiger counters
However, outside the strict checklist of features in titles whose formative influence are nuclear, nuclear and nuclear, lies a more expansive, freely expressive artistic medium: post-apocalypse. Post-apocalypse can be representative of anything, from buried alien ruins (Borderlands) to working your way through Ilos in Mass Effect. Dan Brown’s recent work, Lost Symbol, alerts us to the fact that the word “apocalypse” may not necessarily mean doom, destruction and oblivion, but instead a revelation that could change the course of an entire species. So, either a nuclear bomb or Jedward finally being kicked out of The X Factor.
When choosing the apocalypse’s chronological placement in terms of when the player will begin to interact with the work in question, do we set it prior to, during or after the player’s involvement? Of course, it seems ridiculous to assume a studio would opt to introduce, for example, Shepard to the Protheans before having the Reapers wipe out the entire galaxy. This is either because that would involve a black screen with the words “50 millennia later…” or simply that the designer has filled the role of the unattainable; flirting information with the player, but ultimately withholding in favour of something nowhere near as satisfying.
Most commonly, designers will allow the player to interact, if not even begin to view events after the major apocalyptic event itself. This allows them to set up a brief back-story, allowing for history, deserted ruins, even time-travel – whilst simultaneously wiping the slate almost completely clean and allowing them to, bluntly put, do whatever the hell they like without contradicting any of the fluff that came before. Which is why little balls of lightning are currently floating around Ukraine, if S.T.A.L.K.E.R. becomes the given example.
And by starting again, it becomes common for the designer to force the player to start again with the protagonist, through the use of memory loss. But the history that is slowly unearthed is often a combination of personal and historical; lost parents and lost past combining into an experience that becomes a journey of emotional and mental self-discovery. Finding out more about Jack’s past in BioShock’s famous “Would you kindly?” room suddenly lends the desolate city so much more purpose. Flashbacks to a time before this land was so cruelly destroyed are the first few tantalising breadcrumbs on the trail, and can sometimes compensate for the less-than-motivational geography.
But what do we take with us when we journey into this new, darker world after The Big Event? The culture will, in some form, carry over whether intentional or otherwise. Racism still exists in Fallout 3, and the New Year’s Eve party never really finished in BioShock’s city beneath the sea. Rules are one thing to be discarded, if not the first – there are no laws with no one to enforce them. But the concept good and evil becomes relative to the person in question, this new subjective outlook reinforced by the isolation that the player slowly settles into. Ethics are relegated to the dustbin of history, for what are ethics with no population to uphold these widely-held moral belief systems?
In the wasteland, whether flat and desolate or spiky with buildings and hostile entities, the survival instinct kicks in fairly rapidly, morals giving way to the need for health and weaponry in a display of the basest instincts of organic life. The best defence is a good offense, it would seem, and it raises the question of why designers haven’t yet centred the narrative on the fact that those damn humans never learn. Pre- or post-apocalyptic, greed, violence and a selfish attitude are stains it seems will never wash out. But are these traits more dangerous – scarier, even – than enemy fire?
//Insane in the membrane
So, if we were to create a post-apocalyptic game that conforms to these self-suggested new ideals, forming in turn the “ideal” wasteland experience, what would this experience consist of? First, let’s do away with any sign of stability in this chaotic, dangerous environment. Player housing? Cowardice. Enemies that don’t scale with level? Monotonous. Stability is a fantastic platform to preach messages of understanding and future cooperation if you’re a politician. However, if you’re playing a videogame, stability is simply the endgame save file of a Sims family.
Second, are we not missing the opportunities afforded to us by history in terms of basing designed player environments on real places filled with history? Fallout 3 does a wonderful job of incorporating famous architecture and history into its fictional journey through the nuclear holocaust, but it strikes me that, for all its strengths, S.T.A.L.K.E.R fails at this miserably. To base a game in Chernobyl is an incredible idea, a brave step for the developers and a braver one for history-savvy players who have seen the real-life devastation wrought by the initial catastrophe.
[Continues...]
