Seemingly a simple game with limited scope that really sneaks up on you with its unique ability to repeatedly make you feel like a complete monster. This is a ‘message game’ par excellence, one that expertly manipulates the player into making heinous moral choices with the mere ‘ka-chunk’ of a customs stamp. You play as a border official in a fictionalized totalitarian state, navigating an ever-growing list of arcane rules as you attempt to correctly process heaps of paperwork. Mixing scripted events with procedurally generated border crossings, the moment-to-moment play is focused on management of the cluttered desk on which you have to shuffle about the numerous papers you’re checking. As you engage with this system more and more, the processing develops an almost hypnotic quality. Shifting different papers about, stamping passports, and calling in guards (among other things) all become second nature. Indeed, one of the most brilliant parts of this game is how subtle details in the sound design and the booth interface make these processes feel both satisfying and true to life.
Of course, from a thematic standpoint, all the paperwork is just a smokescreen. As you get into a rhythm of robotically and efficiently processing entries, the game starts to present you with increasingly complex and diverse moral dilemmas - a wife who is missing the paperwork required to accompany her husband, a human trafficker who has proper documentation but who will undoubtedly commit terrible crimes if admitted into the country, and so on. You can always choose to do the right thing, but it nearly always leads to significant, employer-imposed financial penalties (or sometimes the triggering of a fail state) for your character and their family. I was frequently taken aback by how this game lulled me into a state where the efficient operation of my repetitive one man assembly line took precedence over treating the people in the booth with humanity and respect. Which, of course, is the point. A frightening testament to how ethical landmines can be hidden within a bureaucratic swamp of paperwork and regulations, this is actually one of the most unsettling games I’ve played. I wouldn’t necessarily call it fun, but I would call it essential.
Of course, from a thematic standpoint, all the paperwork is just a smokescreen. As you get into a rhythm of robotically and efficiently processing entries, the game starts to present you with increasingly complex and diverse moral dilemmas - a wife who is missing the paperwork required to accompany her husband, a human trafficker who has proper documentation but who will undoubtedly commit terrible crimes if admitted into the country, and so on. You can always choose to do the right thing, but it nearly always leads to significant, employer-imposed financial penalties (or sometimes the triggering of a fail state) for your character and their family. I was frequently taken aback by how this game lulled me into a state where the efficient operation of my repetitive one man assembly line took precedence over treating the people in the booth with humanity and respect. Which, of course, is the point. A frightening testament to how ethical landmines can be hidden within a bureaucratic swamp of paperwork and regulations, this is actually one of the most unsettling games I’ve played. I wouldn’t necessarily call it fun, but I would call it essential.