It's common to describe video game worlds as ”alive”. Obviously, this isn't literally the case, but sometimes a developer will be able to create a strong enough illusion that something approximating life exists within the ones and zeroes of a game's universe. Very occasionally, the illusion will be so powerful that you almost fool yourself into imagining that the world carries on existing after you click Exit To Desktop. As if the AI-controlled figures carry on living their lives even when you're not there to observe and interact with them.
Even though I'm fully aware that this is not the case, there is one game that would make me doubt it. No other facsimile of real life has been more convincing than Rain World.
Rain World is an extremely unforgiving and harsh survival adventure that takes place in a postapocalyptic world, far removed from our own. You play as an adorable ”slugcat” who has to find their way back to their lost family. On the way you will need to hunt for food while avoiding becoming someone else's meal in the process. Alongside the many predators of this desolate land, you also need to avoid the deadly rain that regularly floods the world and will literally crush you to death if you don't find a rare shelter in time.
However, none of this is what makes Rain World a unique specimen. Challenging adventures with a focus on survival and exploration are even more common now than in 2017, after all. Instead, it's the way that the world moves around you that makes it special. That's because practically nothing in Rain World is scripted or predetermined.
Every creature in the game feels like an individual with their own unique needs and moods. This is partly conveyed through the innovative animation system, which feature no premade animations, instead being procedurally created with each body part moving individually. This creates an uncanny realness to their movements that gives each one their own personality and makes every interaction unique.
This is further enhanced with the sophisticated AI, which is as unpredictable as it is engaging. To demonstrate this, let's talk about Scavengers. These creatures live in clans and your relation to them can vary massively due to a number of factors. How you act towards them obviously plays into it – if you come carrying a weapon they will be standoffish, perhaps attack you on sight.
However, if you put the weapon down or lay flat on the ground to signal that you mean no harm, they can leave you alone. If you give a gift, they might even welcome you. Their mood and individual personalities can also change this. If you happen across a Scavenger who is hungry or scared or angry, they can take it out on you. And of course they'll also remember if you ever attack one of their own.
On the one hand this is a system that is ripe for frustration since none of this is communicated to you directly. You have to instinctively work out how to interact with others, largely via trial and error. But it's also the lack of hand holding that makes every interaction feel organic. When I manage to find peace with another creature it doesn't feel like I've cracked a puzzle designed for me by a game developer, but like I wordlessly communicated with a living being.
Even the more primitive creatures have a similar level of complexity. Crocodiles and giant centipedes will move from room to room hunting for prey, completely free of a predetermined pattern. Sometimes they will sleep or hide, ready to ambush a careless slugcat. Sometimes they will start fighting each other, or ignore you entirely if they're tired or already full.
Not only does this manage to give the game a genuine sense of reality, but also makes your journey entirely unpredictable. A room can be empty and safe in one playthrough, only to be full of bats and two crocodile squabbling with each other over the flying buffet above them.
Many games utilise this kind of systematic world design, and while this is sometimes used to create the illusion of a random, living reality, it's usually a way to let the player express themselves. By exploring and playing with the systems, the game worlds become a sandbox for you to experiment in and conquer. Rain World uses the same basic idea to instead make the player feel like just another part of a wild ecosystem.
Rain World is not a world made for you, or at least that's not what it feels like. Every time I return to its rusty, murky ruins, I get the sense that this world carries on whether or not I'm there to see it. There are no enemy routes to memorise, no clearly defined path. I have no power here, I am not its master. I am just a small slugcat in a large, unwelcoming world that doesn't care about me at all. And I love it.
Even though I'm fully aware that this is not the case, there is one game that would make me doubt it. No other facsimile of real life has been more convincing than Rain World.
Rain World is an extremely unforgiving and harsh survival adventure that takes place in a postapocalyptic world, far removed from our own. You play as an adorable ”slugcat” who has to find their way back to their lost family. On the way you will need to hunt for food while avoiding becoming someone else's meal in the process. Alongside the many predators of this desolate land, you also need to avoid the deadly rain that regularly floods the world and will literally crush you to death if you don't find a rare shelter in time.
However, none of this is what makes Rain World a unique specimen. Challenging adventures with a focus on survival and exploration are even more common now than in 2017, after all. Instead, it's the way that the world moves around you that makes it special. That's because practically nothing in Rain World is scripted or predetermined.
Every creature in the game feels like an individual with their own unique needs and moods. This is partly conveyed through the innovative animation system, which feature no premade animations, instead being procedurally created with each body part moving individually. This creates an uncanny realness to their movements that gives each one their own personality and makes every interaction unique.
This is further enhanced with the sophisticated AI, which is as unpredictable as it is engaging. To demonstrate this, let's talk about Scavengers. These creatures live in clans and your relation to them can vary massively due to a number of factors. How you act towards them obviously plays into it – if you come carrying a weapon they will be standoffish, perhaps attack you on sight.
However, if you put the weapon down or lay flat on the ground to signal that you mean no harm, they can leave you alone. If you give a gift, they might even welcome you. Their mood and individual personalities can also change this. If you happen across a Scavenger who is hungry or scared or angry, they can take it out on you. And of course they'll also remember if you ever attack one of their own.
On the one hand this is a system that is ripe for frustration since none of this is communicated to you directly. You have to instinctively work out how to interact with others, largely via trial and error. But it's also the lack of hand holding that makes every interaction feel organic. When I manage to find peace with another creature it doesn't feel like I've cracked a puzzle designed for me by a game developer, but like I wordlessly communicated with a living being.
Even the more primitive creatures have a similar level of complexity. Crocodiles and giant centipedes will move from room to room hunting for prey, completely free of a predetermined pattern. Sometimes they will sleep or hide, ready to ambush a careless slugcat. Sometimes they will start fighting each other, or ignore you entirely if they're tired or already full.
Not only does this manage to give the game a genuine sense of reality, but also makes your journey entirely unpredictable. A room can be empty and safe in one playthrough, only to be full of bats and two crocodile squabbling with each other over the flying buffet above them.
Many games utilise this kind of systematic world design, and while this is sometimes used to create the illusion of a random, living reality, it's usually a way to let the player express themselves. By exploring and playing with the systems, the game worlds become a sandbox for you to experiment in and conquer. Rain World uses the same basic idea to instead make the player feel like just another part of a wild ecosystem.
Rain World is not a world made for you, or at least that's not what it feels like. Every time I return to its rusty, murky ruins, I get the sense that this world carries on whether or not I'm there to see it. There are no enemy routes to memorise, no clearly defined path. I have no power here, I am not its master. I am just a small slugcat in a large, unwelcoming world that doesn't care about me at all. And I love it.