Time has often been an overlooked way of inducing a sense of tension in video games. Back in the golden age, the likes of Mario would be running against the clock as it slowly ticked in the corner of the screen. It barely ever registered until that familiar chime rang, notifying the player they had been screwing around for too long, and there was now a minute left to finish the stage.
The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask is an example of using time in a unique fashion to create fear and tension; an everlasting countdown to extinction, as a clock continuously ticks down to the moment the moon makes impact with the town of Termina.
The usage of time as a mechanic has evolved dramatically since the early days of video games, and designers are using time as much more than just a mechanic; they are finding ways to use it as a primary antagonist.
Both Hero Generations: ReGen and Road Not Taken have stuck with me since they made their initial impressions. Personally, the concept of time terrifies me; I constantly think about what I was doing on any given day ten years ago, or ponder where I will be in ten years. Hero Generations in particular really sticks with me, because of the idea around what legacy you leave behind. Being in my late 20s and still having no idea what I am doing with my life – alongside a consistent nagging from my grandparents to sort my life out – means I have voice in the back of my head, constantly screaming at me that I am failure and will ever amount to anything.
(This article is not an existential crisis, by the way)
The legacy you leave behind in Hero Generations i.e. your child, is presented in a limited fashion; hair, facial features, skin tone, and occasionally a skill asset. But the very notion that “time and tide wait for no man” is presented here, reminds you that all we are ever trying to do is survive. The emphasis on this is presented with every movement you make, as each step calculates one year within the game, meaning every choice you make is absolutely crucial. The reminder is particularly strong during the sequence as you change from one generation to the next. Depending on how old the avatar is when they decide to settle down and have a child means one of two scenarios will occur: either you and your partner will have aged around 15 years or so, with that physical change being shown on screen, or if you left it too late, a tombstone takes the spot of where you would be standing. It is a particularly powerful moment the first time you see your offspring walk away from the house, salute your tombstone, and then make their way into the open world where you take control of them.
I have yet to suffer loss in my family or even among my close friends, and I feel fortunate being able to say that. But this simple sequence has been resonating with me for several weeks now and has had me wondering how that will feel when older relatives pass away, or even when I am older and looking down at my children, nephews, nieces, cousins, etc (and yes I know The Sims was doing the same thing ten years earlier).
(Again, not an existential crisis)
Now this is not to say all of the above was possible because of a simple design choice implemented, but making every step you take count, plus the visual emphasis placed on both your character and certain environmental changes - such as buildings collapsing over time – adds weight to the idea that the years are passing in the blink of an eye.
With Road Not Taken, each year you are set with the task of rescuing the children of the village, who, without fail, manage to get themselves lost in the forest (seriously, a gate would probably be easier). The bleak scenario is equally matched by the bleakness of the characters that inhabit the game. Every year you are reminded of the task ahead, and one character cheerfully says, “it doesn’t get any better, does it?” Another character yearns for a life with her child, partner, and house. On top of that, if you are unsuccessful in saving a child, the child’s parents for the rest of the __game constantly lambast you. Time, it seems, does not always heal old wounds.
Time does not change with your movements and efforts in Road Not Taken, that change can be considered moving from one level to the next. Instead, your efforts and movement drain energy; run out of energy while in the forest and you die. The enemy here – besides foxes, spiders, and ghosts – is the consequences of your actions, like Hero Generations there is a legacy you will leave behind, except here, you have a townsfolk of people to spread your name – for better or worse.
I am big fan of the roguelike genre, and how they treat death as a permanent fixture of the main character. It adds weight to the situation in a way that many other genres are unable to do. By sprinkling elements of RTS into both of these games, slowing the pace down and making every movement count. Throw in some weighty themes and stories that will expand over your in-game lifetime, and I am left with two games that by no means are perfect, but have been lingering around in my head ever since.
And that is where games become the most interesting: when they attempt to explore themes or mechanics that have not been touched before, or are being approached in a unique way. Klei Entertainment’s excellent roguelike, Don’t Starve, racks up the tension with its day and night cycle, causing you to be as proactive as you can while the sun is shining, but moving as tentatively as possible at night. Inkle’s 80 Days, an adaptation of Around the World in 80 Days, sets the clock from the intro causing you to make sudden decisions to be as time effective as possible throughout the duration of play.
But then again, a simple timer in Super Hexagon is pretty effective as well.
As mentioned, neither Hero Generations nor Road Not Taken would be described as perfect: the former is too restrictive and the latter too obtuse – but they are interesting. Partly because of a degree in __game design and partly because of my favourite game of all time, the aforementioned Majora’s Mask - a game which I still consider to be flawed in some aspects - I can appreciate when a game attempts to do something different, even if the game has its flaws, because of the nuances and difficulty that go into creating them.
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