First, let me beg your patience, as this is, like, the ten millionth BioShock-related post in a pretty discrete time period. I'd say it'll be the last, but that'd be useless. As a writer, I'm most interested in gaming as an experiential medium, the way games affect us emotionally, what they say about us as humans, and the things we can explore through gaming that are unique to it, that we can't have, feel, see and do in real life -- with that in mind, a game like this is my meat and milk. That's a turn of phrase, of course, as I hate milk; nor do I eat very much meat. My toast and protein powder, then?Second, I'm not discussing BioShock endings on this blog, at least not directly. I'm fine with spoiling old games in major series or any title whose lifespan can be considered archival rather than current -- if the ending of, say, Metal Gear Solid 2 or Silent Hill 1 is still a source of the suspenseful and unknown to you, you probably aren't reading my work anyway, and Lord only knows, if I didn't discuss Metal Gear endings periodically my precarious grip on exactly what the hell happened in those games and who ended up being on whose side would be shot to hell. There are a few occasions with more niche titles where I feel it's more valuable to a point I'm making to discuss an ending rather than obscure it, but in those cases I'd warn in advance that the article's intended for people who've finished a given game. But BioShock's been out for what, a week? And it's being played or likely to be played by, I dunno, everyone? So let's keep it on lock, okay?
Especially because I haven't finished it yet. There are many reasons why BioShock is compelling to play. To explore the next eerily breathtaking scene, to look with uncomfortable intimacy into every corner of a world that reflects a society's deepest madness is one good reason; to find out with a voyeur's morbid curiosity what happened to them is another. This is a large part of what fixes our interest; my last Aberrant Gamer column discussed how terrifying and thrilling it is to see an inevitability, a portent of human more-more-more compulsion in Rapture; we're seeing ourselves as we might be.
Some want to know just how powerful they can be; to discover 99 ways to kill and to exercise them all. Some are hunted by the impulse to save the little children. The reason most discussed, though, is to see just what the impact of their choices will turn out to be.
In the comments of that Aberrant Gamer piece, and elsewhere, I've heard a lot of discussion about how much choice there is (or isn't) in BioShock on the matter of the Little Sisters, and in gaming in general. People have been saying for years they want more choice in games, and they want to see the gameplay reflect their choices. We want consequences both foreseen and unforeseen; we want the opportunity to make a moral decision without knowing exactly what we'll get out of it. We don't want, as some gamers have called it, a mere "cost-benefit analysis." In other words, at the core of any gaming experience, no matter how intense, it's still a game; you are still an explorer, a combatant, and you have a protagonist with stats to manage. In the end, choice in games may simply come down, at least historically and at present, to what gains you want for your character and what you're willing to trade. It's not a moral issue at all, then, but the simple exchange of boost for penalty, choice being a factor only insofar as you can decide which bonuses you want and which you can do without, and perhaps which cutscene you'd rather see, which ending you'd rather get.
This is why I had to get so specific early in this post -- though there'll be no discussion of endings here, I wanted to address something I've heard said in several circles; that BioShock may be wrapped in a pretty package and obfuscated with the layers of philosophy, but at its core its much-touted player choice is still the same cost-benefit analysis games have given us for years. The saucer-eyed Little Sisters are arresting; it's safe to say that the first time one is barefoot and sobbing at your feet and you're asked to decide what to do when she's kicking and struggling in your hands is one of those "moments in gaming" you'll never forget. But as the game progresses and you learn the system -- and become desensitized to that piteous sobbing, begin to see not a little girl, but a number, and all of the plasmids it will or won't buy you, things simplify a lot. Especially when you factor in that the consequences of your choices are ultimately not very stark in terms of the resulting game experience -- you will still be rewarded for sparing the Little Sisters, just differently.
Add in the fact that we're trained to predict what the game "wants" us to do. In the RPG genre, choice often comes down to which answer you pick to a question. There's usually a "nice" answer and a "jerk" answer, and it's almost comically clear which will result in a reward. The gray area comes in when you're playing a character who's a total dick, in which case you might sometimes wonder whether choosing "...." instead of "Yes, I like you," is the "better" -- i.e, more faithful reply. Persona 3 does a particularly nice job of handling this element of RPGs; even then, though, it is a cost-benefit analysis, where the "right" answers will get you something and the "wrong" answers won't.
Could it be though, that we as players have been conditioned to look at our gaming experience as a cost-benefit analysis? What is it, exactly, that we're hoping to "get" from a game that offers us choices? Complete open-endedness in a console game just isn't possible, at least not anytime soon -- it sounds like a designer's nightmare, as human behavior is endlessly unpredictable and having even, say, three disparate plot branches might be like designing three games instead of one, to say nothing of the fact that the player will still lament the fourth option that was never presented to him. If we want to customize our gameplay experience -- to have a darkened adventure instead of a bright one for example -- it's best to just make those decisions in the checkout line of GameStop.
What is the crux of choice? When we make decisions in life, like which college to go to or what to do on a Friday night, it's true we are deciding between disparate experiences. But those kinds of choices are actually fewer and farther between than you might think, and, surprisingly, are not the ones we remember most. Think back to a time in your life where you had to choose -- chances are, the flashpoints that stick with you were times when you asked yourself not, "what do I want to do," but "what do I want to be?" At those times, the cost-benefit analysis was almost irrelevant as you sought to reconcile your soul with itself.
Maybe the choice in BioShock ultimately isn't much of one in terms of gameplay; harvest or rescue, you're still playing the same exact game, though it's safe to say it'd be a little harder one way versus a little easier another. Harvest or rescue, the environments available to you are the same, the words spoken to you are mostly the same, and the game story is the same with the exception of the ending -- and when you're watching the ending, there's no longer anything you can do about it. But do values and identity really mean nothing because it's only a game?
If one of the most compelling things about BioShock is the ability to see ourselves, to see humanity, advanced to such a nauseating eventuality, to see our human vanity, our lust for power, our self-gratification up close in such an unsettling way, then the rich detail of Rapture draws us in and forces us to answer questions about ourselves that have nothing to do with how much Adam we're going to get.
I'm harvesting all of the Little Sisters (save for a couple I saved out of curiosity). At first, this was a pragmatic, cost-benefit decision. I'm no good at shooters; my aim is pitiful, and I figured I'd need all the help I could get. But everyone who's been playing it knows what an incredibly immersive game BioShock is; it can feel so real sometimes that you feel sick to your stomach, you can almost smell the blood and brine and rot. I've noticed a certain madness setting into my hands on the controller, into my eyes, the forward-leaning, blood-hungry posture of my body. And it gets worse the deeper I go.
At first, I wanted to be careful. I didn't like the idea that too many plasmids could make me crazy. Again, this is not something that will actually appear in gameplay, but sucked completely into the experience of being in that world, I allowed it to become a creative experiment in what I would do, and what I'd become, under the circumstances. I didn't think I'd play this way. I didn't think I'd feel this way. At first, I'd hesitate over the crying Little Sister. Harvest or rescue? Yes, I'd be calculating the cost-benefit. But I'd also be wondering if I could override my maternal instinct and whether I really wanted to be this kind of player. This kind of person.
After a while, I started letting the Little Sisters squirm a sec after I'd felled their Daddy. Just because their behavior was so lifelike, I thought, and because it'd be a shame not to observe such impressive character modeling (right? Right??). But against the backdrop of Rapture's madness and excess, the gratification I felt at their fear was enormously uncomfortable. The richness of the world makes it quite possible to feel as if I am in it, to see what I might do if I were there. To see what I'd make of the opportunities to choose what I wanted to be; what I wanted to become -- and whether the outcome would be something I could live with.
Now, I chase the Little Sisters down. I want 'em. It's like I can't wait; I deserve that Adam after what I went through to get it. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?
I made some choices. And now, much to my surprise, I'm becoming something I hate. And I love it. Cost-benefit regardless, the choices in this game are beyond the mechanics. The merit of choice in games may not be what we get from it, but when done this richly, how it feels.
