A little indie release took the gaming world by storm a few years ago. It was everywhere…dominating Twitch, YouTube, comments sections, and year-end “Best of” lists. It was this weird little thing that just managed to capture our attention at the right time. That game, of course, was Undertale.
My friend recommended I pick up a copy of the game. “Don’t read anything about it,” he cautioned. I just had to play it. So, following directions, I purchased the game from Steam without reading the description, checking the reviews, or watching the trailer. I went in blind. It was a short and succinct, only taking me a weekend to finish…kind of. I played the game twice; the first time on one weekend and then again a month later. It’s rare that I play a game a second time that close to my initial playthrough. But then, Undertale is a rare breed.
The game starts off simple enough: you’ve fallen into the underworld! A little flower, named Flowey, greets you. He seems kind at first, only to then take the opportunity to attack you. “It’s kill or be killed,” he warns. There are monsters abound, and you better be ready! It’s then that you’re greeted by Toriel, a kindly old cow who takes you by the hand. She tells you that it’s not all bad down here, and that you don’t need to kill to survive. Flowey is just exaggerating. He’s a mean little guy. It was a funny moment that sets up the humor that will come to be one of the most enjoyable traits of Undertale. But, much like the game itself, there is a lot more going on here than just an excellent joke.
The real game then begins in the ruins near Toriel’s house, where the overall structure is revealed. You’re playing a top-down RPG. You explore the map, a monster pops up, and combat begins. You only have one attack, to swing your little plastic knife. You can use dialogue, too, if you so choose, as well as items. The real fun comes, however, when the monster attacks you. You enter a little bullet-hell situation wherein you must dodge their assault for a few seconds until their turn has finished. Rinse, repeat, until you’ve finished fighting the monster and you gain some EXP.
Eventually you try to leave the ruins, but Toriel doesn’t want you to go. She blocks your path and speaks of her strong desire to raise you as a son. You vanquish her, but you’re not happy about it, necessarily. She just wanted to love you, but you don’t want to be forced to live with her for the rest of your life. You want to go home.
You continue on your quest and you meet two brothers, Sans and Papyrus. Papyrus is a loyal member of the king’s guard, though he isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Sans is, uh, just kind of there? He likes to crack wise and offer up pieces of advice on occasion. As you attempt to move forward in your journey, it’s clear that, pitiful as he may be, Papyrus will stand in your way. You defeat him, Sans doesn’t seem too saddened by this, and you move on.
You learn a little more about the underworld as you attempt to reach the surface. The monsters have been locked down here by the humans above and the only way to break the seal is to use a soul as a key. Humans, on the other hand, can pass through the gate with ease. It’s not meant to lock them out of the world above. Living near the gate is King Asgore, a kindly old leader who just wants the best for his people. He wishes the monsters of the underworld to have a good life.
There are few more levels in the game that progress the same way as before. Enter a new area, meet a character with a lot of personality, fight some low-level monsters, then ultimately defeat that character in combat. They act as the boss for their section of the game, and it feels more personal than if you were fighting a generic horror monster. These are fleshed out characters that you get to truly get to know on your journey.
You finally make it King Asgore’s palace. You’re finally ready to go home. You’re walking through the halls when things…change. Sans, the character from earlier, meets you outside the door. You read through the dialogue and the game is now put into a different light. The EXP you’ve been gaining from killing monsters does not stand for “Experience Points” but rather “Execution Points.” They’re a measure of how many people you’ve murdered in your quest. You’re reminded of what Toriel said. You don’t have to kill.
Your EXP measures the pain you’ve inflicted on others. And as your EXP increases, the easier combat is because the more you kill, the easier it is to distance yourself. And the more you distance yourself, the more you can protect yourself from hurt, and that makes it easier to hurt others. This whole game, this whole experience, was an exercise in empathy. And you failed.
“But wait,” you think to yourself, looking for a way to justify things. “Those people attacked me! They started it!” Right as this thought pops into your head, Sans stops you in your tracks. “Now, I understand acting in self-defense. You were thrown into those situations against your will. But,” he starts, “isn’t it your responsibility to do the right thing?”
The weight of your actions is crushing you. You’re given a choice to answer “Yes” or “No” and of course you say “Yes” because you’re sorry and you didn’t realize what you were doing and you want to make it right! “Yes! I have a responsibility to do the right thing!”
“Then why did you kill my brother?”
Sans steps aside. He’s not going to get in your way. You have to go face the king by yourself, and you know he isn’t going to let you just walk home. No, Asgore regrets what he must do, but it has to happen all the same. Your soul is going to be used to free his people. You now explore the dialogue options in the combat menu for the first time, but dialogue does nothing. You’ve made your bed, now sleep in it.
When you finally defeat Asgore, your victory is a hollow one. You don’t feel satisfied, you feel empty. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You continue through the gate and a few more events take place. There’s a lot of extra lore to explain, so I’ll boil it down to this: Flowey, from the introduction, challenges you to replay the entire game without killing anyone. Yes, it’ll be hard, but then, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? Being empathetic is challenging, but you have a responsibility to be it all the same.
It took me a few weeks to muster the courage, but I eventually did it. And when you beat the game on a “Pacifist” run, the ending is so much more rewarding. It’s the true ending. It’s how it’s supposed to be.
Undertale stuck with me far longer than any game I’d played that year. It was an honest reflection on video games, violence, and empathy. It utilized player choice in an incredibly unique way, making for the type of storytelling than you can only find in an interactive medium. This was a perfect game. I thought about for weeks afterwards, recommending it to friends, watching videos online, you name it. It changed the way I think.
But it also ruined video games.
Early in 2019, I bought a PS4. It was the first PlayStation I ever owned, so I was venturing into another branch of brand IP. Sure, I bought it for Spider-Man and Bloodborne, but I knew there was a long history of great Sony games that I could finally try out. As such, I eventually found myself playing the recent remake of a PS2 classic: Shadow of the Colossus.
This game started mysteriously; I arrive at a great temple on horseback, with a young woman in my arms. The temple held the cure, evidently, to save the young woman. All I had to do was follow the directions of the disembodied voice that was booming from the ceiling. My first task: to travel across the map and slay a giant beast.
I did as I was told, all while marveling at the mechanics. Often times the giant beasts you fight in combat are puzzles; find a way to stun the monster, he’ll fall down, reveal a weak point, and you go ham on it. This game, however, encouraged me to jump on him, climb the fur on his body, and stab him on his glowing insignia. It was a unique mechanic and I was blown away at how well it worked. I had never climbed onto an enemy before! Once the beast was slain, I returned to the temple seeking further instructions.
The voice told me now to travel to a lake where another horrifying beast was awaiting me. I trekked to the lake, only this time, things were different. This was no horrifying beast. It was just a…very large animal. He didn’t seem to wish me harm. He was just doing his thing. I fought him in much the same manner; I came, I climbed, I conquered. But as the novelty of the controls started to wear off, a thought started to worm its way out of the inner recesses of my brain.
“Why am I killing these things?”
My third set of instructions were the same as the first two. Travel, then kill. When I arrived at this third location, I texted my friend. “Did I miss something? What is the reason I’m killing these things? Was it ever said they were evil?” Obviously I knew that the point of the game was to take down these Colossi, but things weren’t sitting quite right with me. I was having doubts about what I was doing. Undertale was getting to me.
I did finish the game. I took down a few giants a day, eventually finishing the requests that had been asked of me. Then came the reveal: the voice was that of a great evil, one that had been sealed away! As I destroyed the Colossi, I was breaking the chains that bound him and, with the last Colossus destroyed, the evil was now free! What have I done?
Problem is: I didn’t feel shocked. This wasn’t a plot twist for me anymore. I felt like I was doing the wrong thing from the start. I wasn’t fighting for any just reason, not even out of self-defense. I sought these battles and I killed in cold blood. I felt like the bad guy, and this ending cinematic confirmed what I already knew. I was evil.
Obviously Shadow of the Colossus wasn’t fundamentally broken by Undertale. I still understand that the appeal of the game is the large, open world populated by giant beasts that force you think about your moves, plan a route across their mammoth bodies, and execute your strategy under duress. The appeal is, as it should be, in the gameplay.
But story is framework for gameplay, and the story was sullied by Undertale. I was asking questions that I wasn’t supposed to be asking, I was feeling what I wasn’t supposed to be feeling, and I was thinking what I wasn’t supposed to be thinking. I was directing my empathy towards a target the developers weren’t expecting. I saw through the ruse.
Some games are Undertale-proof. Bloodborne took my empathy and successfully turned it to pity. Super Mario Odyssey is so cartoonish that bonking a Koopa on the head doesn’t even register as violence, since he’ll respawn a few minutes later and also it’s Mario we’re talking about. But in other games, I’m now more cautious. Does I have to kill that Lynel, or can I sneak around him? Do I need to kill those outlaws, or can I try to strike a deal?
Undertale hacked into my brain and forced it to look at things differently, and my brain hasn’t stopped asking questions ever since. Now there are times when I feel bad after defeaing an enemy, instead of victorious. And while most games know how to justify their built-in actions, it hasn’t stopped me from thinking about new approaches to old problems. To be clear, this ultimately is praise for Undertale. I’m not complaining that Toby Fox squashed my bloodlust.
Quite the opposite, actually. Toby Fox has raised the bar. I now have an expectation for options or explanations. I look to the world of the game to give me reasons to do what I do. I better have a real good justification for why I gotta take this guy on, otherwise I want a way out.
I’m the one that has to do it, after all.
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