So, funny story: when I was around eleven, maybe twelve, I was at my cousin's house playing Garry's Mod on his computer. He wanted me to get off but in a very subtle way. So he challenged me. The ultimate challenge, he called it: enough Combine Elites to slow his computer down to the point where a hard reset was the only way to close the game.

Mystery Comabt Man 3 emulates this experience with a stable framerate. I kind of wish it didn't.

I mean this in the most insulting way possible: this is a time capsule. Like The Impossible Quiz, but with all of its charm and character stripped in favor of kitchen-sink design that's so "lol so goofy xDDDD" that the developer couldn't have been fucked to add level exits. Not that it would matter, anyway. Strip away everything added to be annoying, and you have a series of maps that somehow manage to rival that time I made a map in TimeSplitters that locked the entire red team in their base because my brother always picked red, and I didn't know that keys only spawned in Story mode. Except worse, because at least the worst maps we made in TimeSplitters (See: single cubes that caused rounds of Virus to last less than thirty seconds) didn't require God mode to be playable. Good lord.

I'm starting to remember why we post-millennial Zoomers like to make self-deprecating quips about the montage parody era of internet culture, and I wholeheartedly agree with them. This is below the lowest rungs of trash-tier modding. And depending on who you ask, it's the exact kind of thing that makes the scene so awesome. I can't disagree with that notion, I've done it before.

Shadow of Chernobyl is a game that is frequently at odds with itself. If it's not impressive on the basis of its ambitions alone, then it's outright apparent that it's the result of two conflicting visions: that of a game studio eschewing its trappings to push boundaries others weren't willing to, even if the developers weren't getting paid very well, and that of a game publisher that was tired of waiting. The dichotomy between these camps sullies the experience the more you play Shadow of Chernobyl. So much of it feels so haplessly thrown together that it becomes hard to know what was kept in to make the experience feel as hopeless as it ultimately is and what just so happened to have that effect. The Ranking system, for example, is a unique concept that ties into the game's early fascination with NPC interactions. I looked at it once at the start of my playthrough, one more time out of curiosity after playing the game for ten hours, and never again. But if you scratch past these layers and try to see what the developers were trying to make behind the scenes... it still feels confused. The unfortunate reality is that, by trying to be as fresh as possible, there’s a significant chance your first attempt will end up clumsy.

The biggest problem Shadow of Chernobyl faces is that its mixture of non-linear exploration and linear set-pieces rarely coalesce. Instead, the game often feels like it’s trying to be three things at once. In one hand, it’s a game about stats and MMO-lite questing/looting for the best equipment you can get with your limited inventory space. In the other, it’s a linear shooter with a high level of difficulty that occasionally goes full-corridor and will have you quicksaving every five seconds. By the feet, it’s a sci-fi-flavored mystery that tries to pull you in on the basis of its landscapes alone. The resulting mixture is a game that expects you to explore and do side-questing to understand several of its key mechanics in its opening moments while a giant arrow in the top-left corner of the screen is telling you to do anything else. Paired with how limited exploration can be, and it quickly becomes an experience that feels more distracted than it should be.

Thankfully, there are still aspects of it that hold up. Although it’s occasionally held back by grating, repetitive sound effects, and voice lines, it’s the intoxicating atmosphere and art direction that keeps the experience from falling apart. There is a damn good reason that this is what S.T.A.L.K.E.R. has become synonymous with. From the moody, blocky grays of the bar area to the ways in which the metal roofs of a couple of warehouses split apart, everything about The Zone feels authentically oppressive. Vast and typically quiet stretches of land are hardly the oases they would be in another game, as they’re often doused in hardly bright hues. Other creative decisions, such as non-diegetic music in the bar area, cause each space to feel lived in. Pair that with the convincing behavior of AI opponents, such as roaming dogs, and it’s almost never a question of if you’re safe in an area. Despite being a game full of bombastic action, its best moments are usually its quietest and most unnerving. While these short moments last, Shadow of Chernobyl remains an engrossing experience.

While they last...

It could be said that the mystery underpinning Shadow of Chernobyl’s main narrative is undermined by its nearly interminable lack of quiet time, which causes the game to outstay its welcome should you find yourself forced to grind in order to progress to more difficult areas (as I did!). And while this is true to an extent, there are far more pressing issues holding it back. One, the quest structure (both main and secondary) rarely evolves throughout. Even at its most interesting, Shadow of Chernobyl is content to have the player kill or loot, and that’s pretty much it. But most damning of all, its characterization is borderline one-dimensional, if it's there at all. I revisited Clear Sky pretty soon after I finished my playthrough of this, and immediately, it struck me as a game with more character and confidence. There are a handful of memorable faces in Shadow of Chernobyl, but it should say a lot that the one I (and many others, apparently) associate the most with this game never leaves the first room you’re in. In twenty hours of playtime, I saw one backstory, and it was only a paragraph in length. While the grand reveals are interesting and do leave some room for interpretation, by the time I reached them, I was no longer interested in finding those answers. Unfortunately, the solid atmosphere that permeates the experience can’t stop its confused and occasionally amateurish structure from wearing you down as it progresses. If you can beat Shadow of Chernobyl in under twelve hours, it’s probably worthy of four stars. But take my advice: don’t revisit it too often.

Having finally finished Shadow of Chernobyl, I can absolutely see where the insane modding scene for this series comes from. Shadow of Chernobyl feels like the coolest roughdraft ever while it’s in your hands. No other game has had me dragging bodies full of half-functioning guns so I could afford new armor. Despite the compromises and slipshod focus that went into its creation, it has all of the markings of an all-timer. I desperately want to love it again, and I kinda do? But even at its most compelling, it’s a hard sell.

I'm just hoping the new one isn't a Shadow of its former self. (had to do it)

Beton Brtual is so fucking tedious that even the method of save scumming I used to make it a palatable experience was dull. When I first started playing it, its blend of precision platforming, tightly designed landscapes, and brutalist architecture-inspired art style wowed me. And then I hit a brick wall. And I kept hitting it. And suddenly, the game lost its zing. It became monotonous, a chore to sit through even at the peak of its vertigo-inducing, pants-shitting intensity. I felt I had an obligation to complete it, though; after all, I gave it four stars! In the immortal words of Kent Mansely himself, "This sort of thing is why it's so important to chew your food."

Fundamentally, my biggest issue with Beton Brutal is that it's convinced, no, insistent that forgiving the player for their mistakes is the wrong thing to do. In smaller spaces where the tension in each jump comes organically and doesn't feel contrived in the slightest, it's right. Those four stars I gave it came before I was faced with the wall spike section or the ice area. Even if its challenge remained organic throughout, though, I doubt it would have remained compelling. Without the inch that a proper saving system might give you, the emotional agony of taking a plunge no longer hits as powerful and just becomes dulling. The rewarding sense of discovery I mentioned in that old review only registers as long as the game manages to feel fresh rather than forcing you into the most rote, mechanical playstyle imaginable in the name of being "hardcore." I'm sorry, that's not "hardcore." I do, however, have a more apt phrase in my vocabulary for that: "self-indulgent and boring."

By the time I managed to complete Beton Brutal, it failed to convince me that games can be made without checkpoints. In fact, it persuaded me of the complete opposite. Checkpoints are not inherently a bad thing, and if you're looking to make your game feel intense and nerve-wracking, you can still integrate them into your game and give your players the same effect. Have them be a reward, or randomized, or hidden. What you do by removing any semblance of a saving system is, ironically, make all forms of progression feel stilted and unremarkable. Given that Beton Brutal has no narrative to rely on or any evident lore, that sense of mundanity feels as though it couldn't have been more than a side-effect. Embrace the gimmicky nature of it all, embrace save scumming! As Backloggd user Momoka eloquently puts in their review for the GameCube remake of Resident Evil, you can have a game that isn't traditionally fun and let the people playing your game save. If you force me to save my game every time I need to take a break, or every time I force the game closed in a particular way, that just feels like the pettiest form of punishment. With nothing to really justify it other than the developer insisting on it, I feel forced to reduce my evaluation of Beton Brutal to a scale that this developer is keenly aware of: spiteful minimalism.

I want to like Beton Brutal, but throughout the ten hours I put into it, it rarely let me. If uninviting games are your bread and butter, I suppose you'll chalk up all of the issues I have with it as me just being bad at the game. I can't say you're wrong. But I can't say you're right, either. You shouldn't need to be "good" at a game to enjoy it. If failing at games is part of their charm, then the least you can do with an interactive medium is make that failure engaging, insightful, or meditative. I seldom had that experience with Beton Brutal, so I can't, in good conscience, pretend that my lack of proficiency has much to do with it.