In every game, as in every life, there are choices that lead to success and lead to failure. In Catherine, the chunks fall away as you go. In Bastion, chunks of terrain rise up as you go. Both games have you navigate a world that floats amid a backdrop of indeterminate space. It's the signature visual effect of a pretty game, and there's a parallel in another landmark 2011 game, Catherine. The entire world woke up on the wrong side of the bed.Īnd when you walk out that door, fragments of the world assemble themselves beneath your feet. That's The Kid's lot, the burden of the living. The perverse reality is that even when the path ahead appears to hold literally nothing for you, you've got to go there anyway. As you look past the threshold of your bedroom doorway into the void, the only reasonable option is to walk out there. So it's a question of what you're going to do with yourself. Practically everyone is dead, but that's mere prologue. The hero, a stoic white-haired boy named The Kid, wakes up from a night's sleep to find that the world outside his bedroom has vanished, replaced by a three-dimensional fog of emptiness. The loss that opens the game is too huge to contain. When someone dies, we are told that the grieving parties desire closure - that they want to take the death, put it in a box, and tape the edges shut on that sucker until it is good and sealed. About 20 years ago, "closure" became a thing that we wanted after something bad happened.
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