The Sting of Abandonment

If ever there were a treasure trove of magnificent narrative and design, it is Journey. It creates a synergy of story and gameplay approached only by that of peanut butter and chocolate - and it does so without ever saying a word. 

I have a weakness in the knees for games that can make you feel their worlds. I’m not just talking about the scenery here - I mean the way the world operates, the way it breathes. In Journey, you come to understand your surrounding on an intimate level and those sandy dunes begin to feel like home. 

That’s a result of the storyteller knowing their world on a disgustingly detailed level. And the result of that attention is that you become immersed as a player - you become invested in the conflict and you want to complete the objectives laid out before you. And the sole objective of Journey is to get to that mountain. You don’t know why - but you know that if you could only reach that luminous summit, you could remedy what ails that world. 

This duo works together to complete their Journey. Must be nice.

The other requirement of creating immersion is not beating your players over the head with your world. Journey does that - but that’s I want to talk about. I want to talk about how I believed so much in my setting, that a bout of griefing, or general douchebaggery, made me feel something unexpected. 

In Journey, you travel with a real life companion - some other eager player elsewhere in the world, sharing your vision of a beautiful mountain holiday. You work together to get to that mountain. At least, that’s the idea. 

Toward the end of the game, I was paired with a person who, for whatever reason, decided that he/she didn’t need me to reach the top. In a moment when I desperately needed their assistance, they abandoned me to the elements and my own doomed fate. 

I’m no stranger to friendly fire in shooters, in betrayal in co-op games - and usually, my response is “What a jerk.” But not here. I was so involved in my quest for that light - I didn’t even realize I’d been the victim of a player who just didn’t care. I felt abandoned … I felt alone. 

The entire game, I’d traveled this world with another and now, in the last moments of the game, I had to do it by myself. I completed the game alone, no one with whom I could share the glory and revelations. 

This is what happens when you connect with your players. You give them the story of companionship, friendship, cooperation, and shared victory - and it becomes so abundant that when it is missing, it leaves a vacancy.