Games With Grey

Amnesia: The Bunker’s central narrative is unintrusive, developed in a mostly unconventional fashion – discoverable documents dispersed throughout the game world, though environmental storytelling also has a prominent presence; formal cutscenes and protracted exposition sequences are absent, with roughly one in five of the documents featuring voice acting, which is mostly executed excellently, while the writing generally is of a fine, engrossing quality. Unintrusiveness does not instantly equate to boredom or narrative failings; far from it: the narrative ambitions are lofty in The Bunker, the narrative being highly interpretable owing to the pervasive vagueness, the fragmented nature of the discoverable documents, which does result periodically in erraticness, and accordingly player contemplation; the player is invited to interrogate the narrative and engage with it, to piece together a larger picture from small, disparate parts. The narrative, then, is highly steeped in mystery, though a few certainties exist, namely places and persons. The narrative unfolds in an elaborate bunker complex, the violent Great War raging overhead, the new machines of destruction wreaking havoc on the surface; the bunker, supposedly, is safe, a sanctuary for the various French soldiers situated on the Front, the protagonist Henri among them. And so the conflict continues, seemingly reaching its breaking point. Questions necessarily arise as the narrative progresses, Henri placed into an obviously conflicted situation. The bunker was formerly a place of safety, offering its inhabitants a reprieve from the violence; the bunker is comforting. Simultaneously, however, in recent memory the bunker has fallen into decay and disrepair, many of Henri’s brothers in arms meeting with a barbaric end, slaughtered by the Beast lurking throughout the bunker’s corridors; to escape the bunker and this Beast, or return aboveground and become reacquainted with the violence of the front: that is Henri’s decision. Ultimately, the struggles raging aboveground are deemed preferable to the terrible fate the Beast would inevitably inflict upon Henri. The major narrative thread accordingly revolves around escape, the primary objecting being removal. Massive are the narrative successes here, though the narrative is absolutely a slow burn.

Even with its plodding pacing, player engagement persists, and the narrative generally adopts a more investigative tone, as more and more attention is lavished upon The Beast, many documents developing its backstory, though reflecting willed developer vagueness, even if all documents are gathered, knowledge of that backstory remains partial, many gaps persisting, bolstering the mysterious air which thrives throughout. But some certainties also exist here, namely that the Beast’s construction and ferociousness are directly connected to a series of sprawling tunnels connected to the bunker complex where the narrative unfolds. These tunnels – clearly ancient though still abounding in a strange sort of beauty, evocative both of strangeness and a past era – were seemingly employed for sordid ends – rituals, orgies, sacrifices and the like. The repercussions stemming from this sordidness are immense, those actions and experimentations directly resulting in the Beast’s conception, explaining also the swelling madness which eventually seizes upon Henri partially and his comrades totally, some of them apparently dying from their madness; insanity becomes just as much of a villain as that ferocious, indefatigable Beast. Gazing on at Henri’s comrades’ corpses is a distressing affair, especially when considering the sorry state those corpses exist in, many lying in a pool of dried blood, other corpses being literally festered upon by rat swarms, themselves altered by the Roman tunnels, being larger and more deadly, having developed a taste for human flesh. The narrative, then, is abounding in darkness and mature themes, and is mostly unflinching in its displays of maturity and bleakness. The excellent writing, meanwhile, is tonally consistent, in that gaiety is totally absent. Even one discoverable letter, which mentions a stuffed rabbit one of Henri’s companions bought for his child, a purchase suggesting hopefulness, is steeped in darkness, in that the rabbit will never be delivered, its affectionate purchaser meeting with death and devastation. Crucially, too, the pretentiousness which characterized Frictional Games’s earlier titles – especially cryptic Soma – is absent here, the narrative instead adopting a more earnest, grounded writing style, one brimming with direct emotion.    

The Bunker’s atmosphere is palpable and immersive, greatly acting upon the player, typically inspiring dread and uneasiness – navigating the bunker can be exhausting, and given that general exploration constitutes much of the gameplay, it follows that the entire experience is exhausting, even more so when considering the lumbering, hulking Beast, oft on patrol, navigating the bunker. While exploring, it is fairly commonplace to hear the boom of an artillery cannon from the surface, its firing unsettling dust and dirt which promptly fall from the bunker’s ceiling and on to the player, this firing being a constant reminder of the warfare being waged above. Lighting, meanwhile, is a masterful achievement, with a clever interplay of light and dark, though in this warfare darkness most frequently wins; the lights which are present often cast a pale, halfhearted gloom, feebly illuminating their immediate surroundings. Still, light represents safety and reassurance – not only is the lighting beautiful, but it also serves a gameplay function. For all the technical and creative excellency, the engrossing sense of immersion, a few presentation flaws exist, though they are comparatively meagre and easily explainable. The greatest offender, perhaps, is related to a dearth of environmental diversity – the tunnels the player explores in the opening sequence are foundationally similar to those explored at the conclusion, with some exceptions. This lack is understandable – in a bunker such as this, crafted of limited building materials and little thought of artistry, environmental sameness is logical. This repetition is not to state that all variety is absent – some differentiation exists, with many dedicated structures distributed throughout the bunker – consider a prison complex, living corridors, a sprawling arsenal, and so on. Here, the developers clung to realism, though a realism which still receives some injections of creativity – presentation, too, is a masterwork, the developers having a singleness of vision which results in one neat and cohesive whole. Early on, though, navigating the bunker is a sometimes frustrating affair, initially seeming a confused mess of corridors. As the narrative progresses, however, familiarity necessarily emerges, and it is immensely satisfying to master the bunker’s layout, whereupon navigation is easier, seamless; here is a remarkable example of player growth, a testament to the world design’s greatness.  

The Bunker’s gameplay, while simplistic in many fashions, marks a substantial improvement over its series predecessors, the greatest departure related to the overhauled inventory system, the general push towards more traditional survival horror gameplay mechanics and experiences. In those earlier titles – see especially The Dark Descent – inventory space was infinite, this infiniteness cutting down on player decision-making processes. Now, however, the player must carefully and constantly consider inventory spaces, which, while expandable throughout the course of the campaign, often seem rather small in capacity, reinforcing the emphasis on decision-making. Now, the player must choose between restorative objects, offensive weaponry, environmental tools, and the like, rather than simply carrying all of these objects simultaneously. A fair bit of time is spent in a safe zone of sorts, where the player can save their progress. Crucially, though, this area features a chest where unused resources can be stored, and this object will thus be interacted with frequently; having a vast stock of valuable resources in this chest is rewarding indeed, these items being a tangible reminder of the player’s successes in exploration and discovery; the system of inventory management is perfectly implemented, imprinting more cerebral elements into the otherwise basic gameplay. Unforgiving design decisions are also of immense consequence, in that even the most essential items – the revolver, the flashlight, the lighter, the two objects which enable environmental interaction – take up inventory space. In many other survival horror titles, such essential objects would occupy no inventory space; not so here, the space these objects occupy only heightening the emphasis upon decision-making. A rudimentary crafting system is in place, too, the player able to combine discovered objects in the inventory, whereupon new items are constructed – combine together two cloths, for instance, and a bandage cannister is crafted. Combine together a cloth and a stick and a torch is created, though that object must be lit with a lighter hidden within the bunker. This crafting system is far from revolutionary or even original – it is basic, though some richness persists, especially when highly useful and versatile objects are crafted, like an incendiary bomb or the mentioned torch, which can be swung wildly to dissipate various rat infestations and enable safe progress. Other objects are, expectantly, uncraftable – see grenades and gas grenades. That former object is potentially devastating, and given that it cannot be constructed from discovered materials, its acquisition greatly inspires excitement within the player. The general sense of discovery is exciting, too, the game world brimming with detail, clearly cleverly designed. In an area known as Mission Storage, for instance, manifold lockers are present, each correspondent to one of Henri’s former comrades. Each of these lockers is inaccessible, requiring a code before being openable. The resources these lockers house are often highly valuable, while one locker must be opened for narrative progression. The codes to these individual lockers are found etched upon the deceased soldiers’ dog tags, typically adjacent to their corpses. Seeing their dead bodies is distressing, though simultaneously knowledge of the locker codes results in exultation; here are conflicting sensations, and narrative and gameplay are absolutely linked.         

Another departure made is connected to offensive weaponries’ inclusion, the player having access to the mentioned grenades and revolver, though a devastating shotgun is also acquirable, albeit very late in the narrative proper, limiting its opportunities for usage. Here, the survival horror inclinations are easily observable, in that ammunition for the two weapons is very slight, meaning each individual bullet is brimming with value, again forcing decision-making upon the player. As perfect illustration of ammunition scarcity, meanwhile, only two shotgun shells were acquired in the entire narrative, both shells eventually being fired upon a pursuing or agitated Beast. Revolver ammunition is somewhat more easily obtained, many of the openable lockers housing bullets, but this greater abundance does not mean the player can act carelessly in the weapon’s discharging. Still, having even four bullets in the revolver cylinder is immensely satisfying and empowering, though this is a very uncommon occurrence – typically the player will only have access to a bullet or two at any given moment. These two objects fundamentally alter the gameplay experience; in earlier Amnesia games, the player character was essentially helpless, forced to rely upon stealth and evasion, having no means of directly combatting the central antagonists or roving enemies – detection often meant death in these games, though escape was not a total impossibility. Now, the player can fight back, but reflecting the Beast’s swelling strength, the effectiveness of bullets is slight – they can stagger the enemy, but ultimately do little else; the player cannot vanquish the Beast with bullet or grenade alone. Still, the guns result in greater gameplay flexibility, while strangely inspiring a sense of player confidence – they serve a reassuring function. Grenades – equally scarce – are principally used for purposes of environmental interaction, the game world featuring basic destructibility, in that various wooden doors can shatter when subjected to sufficient force, be it from a grenade or one of the explosive barrels found in the environment. As a survival horror game, then, The Bunker excels, though the relative lack of progression systems is certainly divisive, perhaps alienating to some players; the inventory can be expanded multiple times, while absolutely crucial objects like a wrench and wire cutters are discoverable, but otherwise progression is completely lacking.

Henri’s relationship with the Beast is quite profound, especially from a gameplay perspective. In earlier Amnesia titles, multiple differing opponents roved around the game worlds, each featuring the same character model, greatly lowering immersion, while the general frightlessness of those selfsame models lessened their menacing attributes. The Beast, though, exists as sole antagonist, and where those former models were laughable in their unthreatening strangeness, the Beast is horrifying aesthetically, being a hulking creature whose overall speed is not compromised by its largeness – indeed, it can be lighting fast, closing the distance on Henri in a flash: imbalances exist here, the Beast empowered, Henri vulnerable, even with loaded revolver, loaded shotgun. Aesthetically, meanwhile, the Beast is decidedly nonhuman, suggesting the supernatural occurrences executed in the vast Roman tunnels, distorting the Beast, corrupting it, raising questions – from where did this creature spring? Was he once human, not unlike Henri? Was the Beast formerly Henri’s brother in arms? Few answers are provided, but as in so many other instances in The Bunker, the Beast is perfectly implemented, menacing, its presence a constancy, this constancy marking another break. In earlier series titles, the antagonists largely roamed predetermined locations at predetermined times, meaning many environments could be navigated unmolested – the player could enter into a relaxed state, or at least as relaxed as possible owing to the eeriness of those earlier environment. Here, though, the Beast can spawn at any moment, constantly asserting his presence, that assertion resulting in unpredictability – and constant player fear. The Beast’s perpetual presence greatly determines any given player’s gameplay approach, principally by necessitating quietness, a slower navigation speed, for the Beast’s spawning is directly connected to sounds produced – sprint about wildly, and the Beast is fiercely agitated, crawling forth from its various burrows to harass the player; slowness is essential here, the player forced to constantly measure their speed; sprinting is very useful, though ultimately it will be employed sparingly, an interesting and novel take on locomotion.

Another compelling change is made, one which also influences gameplay direction – the primary light source emits noise, being a flashlight affixed with a chord, which must be pulled several times before greater, lasting light can usher forth. This cranking motion, meanwhile, is seemingly booming with sound output, also agitating the Beast, meaning the player cannot fully rely upon the object, also meaning that periodically the bunker will be explored in near total darkness. The player’s light source – manifest primarily in the flashlight – is indeed theoretically inexhaustible, meaning the constant gathering of lantern fuel and tinder boxes as seen in earlier titles is absent here, but the alerting nature of the flashlight prompts the player to consider light sources in a very different fashion. Consider also an operable generator situated nearby the sole safe zone. As object, it requires fuel to run, this necessity making fuel amongst the most coveted, necessary objects, being even more valuable than revolver bullets or shotgun shells, in that the generator, once powered, profoundly alters the gameplay experience, as that powering bathes the bunker in light – or at least counters weakly the all-consuming darkness which typically takes hold of the bunker. Fuel is found dispersed throughout the environment, and while more abundant than other resources like offensive objects, still it is finite. Stumbling upon a stockpile of fuel is uniquely satisfying, for that acquired fuel results in player empowerment – if the winding corridors are lit, the Beast is comparatively kept at bay, meaning more relaxed exploration is possible, though still sound production must be considered – light does not equate to invulnerability; the Beast is simply too powerful. Still, in these instances it can be repelled, and player voyages are necessarily determined by available fuel, how long the generator can remain active; venturing into the bunker’s depths with no or little fuel is often disastrous, reinforcing, again, the importance of decision-making. This generator and fuel system is completely innovative, is central to the gameplay, and is perfectly implemented, encouraging not only decision-making, but also resulting in a fair degree of tension, in that at any moment the generator can power down, leaving the player in a state of heightened vulnerability; paths of advancement must be plotted out before leaving the safe zone, the newly powered generator.  

Amnesia: The Bunker must be regarded as Frictional Games’s magnum opus, being essentially free of flaws, ever engrossing and thought provoking, whether speaking of gameplay or narrative. World design, meanwhile, marks another triumph, the bunker proper being a labyrinthian space brimming with atmosphere, principally moodiness – and dread, this dread only amplified by the mysterious, savage Beast’s constant presence, its frightfulness similarly amplified by excellent sound design, heightening immersion and uneasiness; hearing the Beast’s wail is a singularly distressing affair. Also, unlike Frictional Games’s more recent titles, this one rejects derailment, does not venture down the path towards total, otherworldly bizarreness; everything is grounded and human, with only vague supernatural elements included, namely those revolving around the Roman’s implied rituals within the tunnel complex proper. Just as derailment is averted, pretentiousness is averted – the narrative and writing are more inviting, though not deprived of depth or poignancy; indeed, the narrative can be very affecting, disarming, its soberness sharply countering Soma’s confused and muddled narrative. With the altered inventory system, meanwhile, similarities must inevitably be made between this title and the more recent Resident Evil games, especially Resident Evil VII, both games sharing the first-person perspective, both emphasizing inventory management. More than ever, The Bunker feels like a traditional survival horror title, though one featuring periodic generic breaks. Humor and levity are totally absent here, and the game thrives on its darkness, whether speaking thematically or of the environments explored, the bunker morphing into a character in its own right. With occasional puzzles and the careful attention to resources and sound production, the game is no mere walking simulator, that genre thriving in recent memory; exploration is essential to the entire experience, certainly, though it is complemented by gameplay soundness. The sole objective failing is directly related to the game’s highly punishing nature, the opening hours being especially brutal – and consequently painfully unfun. The corridors seem lazily stitched together, making navigation difficult, confusing, and unrewarding, while the Beast’s immense strengths cut down on progress, the player not yet having forged strategies to counter those strengths; the opening hour or two are slogs, uninviting. But as the narrative progresses, as the gameplay systems are better understood, and as the bunker’s layout is mastered, enjoyability soars: learning of sound production’s importance, the importance of the generator and fuel, is absolutely essential to success, but no given player can discern this importance from the first. With this early punishment, many players will likely never see the narrative’s conclusion, a sorrowful but understandable admission; the title rewards patience, especially with the periodic emphasis on trial-and-error gameplay. But The Bunker is an absolute masterpiece, abounding in frightfulness, affecting and disturbing in a manner unrivalled by recent horror titles – the experience is unmatched.