Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap
The Powers That Be of game design acknowledge that providing us with a task shrivels in effectiveness when providing us a reason to do it. Granted, there are pockets of industry where hard work is still its own reward, but its tough to deny that any one of us would march a little further for a little something extra. Meanwhile, the identity of the individual gamer is now quantified for social consumption. The advent of achievements, trophies and other digital milestones are more than just notches on a belt. Theyre proof our exploits exist in a place outside ourselves. Theyre the tangible results of an imaginary goal. Games striving for mass market appeal reward us for performing the most inherent of tasks while providing the opportunity to validate our choice to do them. This tactical reward structure is not the reason to play games but its prevalence seems to indicate our growing comfort with the concept. What if you had stormed the castle, only to find the coffers empty? What if you knew there was no plunder? Would you still take the castle? Would it even exist? The question becomes what to do when the glint of treasure outshines the glory of the siege. If youre Spec Ops: The Line, you lock the gates and hide the key.
Why are the Gates to Hell Locked, Anyway?
Its a relatively common practice in titles with tiered difficulty. Preventing the user from experiencing content on the most challenging settings until a prerequisite has been completed. The intent, it would seem, is tiered as well. At first glance it would appear to prevent fresh-faced recruits from flinging themselves into a cyclone of terror, right out of the gate. Its only sensible to abandon a game entirely if your point of reference is an impenetrable haze of failure, but such a subgroup couldnt possibly exist in the kind of numbers needed to effect industry-wide design consideration. Under the surface, you could argue that initially locking the toughest challenge is a measure of insurance the videogame chastity belt to forbid even the craftiest from seizing the choicest bounties before making a substantial commitment. While its a valid point, its equally shallow and further indicative of this growing shift towards incentive-centric development. We should hope for more than this. Stories arent told in a vacuum, they affect each of us differently. The most effective stories pluck strings common in us all: anger, fear, inadequacy, joy and love. But the elaborate song that ultimately evokes this spectrum must first be composed, note by note. When timing and delivery are essential, gameplay can ruin everything. After all, you cant carry an emotional tune between points when youre pinned behind a loveseat in a puddle of your own frustration. At the core, this should ultimately be the reason were issued training wheels. To preserve intended vision first and above other considerations. And though its a sharp argument, its certainly double-edged. While saving the worst for last might prevent premature disillusion, narrative dissonance or just old fashioned ham-fisted greed, the very existence of the worst bitterly opposes the intended and fringe audiences when its completion is incentivized. For all intents and purposes, this only substitutes an unpleasant first sip for a foul aftertaste.