Running. This is what my life has come to. I sprint through these streets with weapon in hand in an attempt to flee this monstrosity breathing down my neck. It reaches out with its black tentacles in an attempt to snatch me off my feet. For what reason? I know not. What I do know is that I must keep going in order to survive. This beast keeps nipping at my heels as if to end my existence with its grasp. Is this a dream? Is this a nightmare? No, this is rComplex. Through it, I must channel my instincts if there is to be any chance I make it out of this.
The running begins. As if instantaneously appearing, my battle for survival is thrust upon me.
The shifting red hues of the city around me look familiar, but somehow distant and out of reach. Though an extremely stylistic approach to what most of the time looks like a cityscape, I can’t help but be mesmerized in my flight. I’m locked into a view that places me at a disadvantage with how much I can see ahead of me. From the outside looking in to whatever this scenario may be, one might call it a platformer. While not an 8-bit hell, it seems to be reminiscent of one. I barely have enough time to focus on the setting around me before I’m forced to react. Stark green or blue objects appear directly in my path to aid the wretch following my wake. A park bench, scaffolding, or vehicle might materialize in front of me with only milliseconds to respond. These objects scattered in the road aim to knock me off my feet. My vision must be locked into what is ahead of me as any misstep can mean the end.
My memories are lost, but this scenery makes me scratch my brain’s surface. With each step I take, pictures bleed through the atmosphere back into my mind. Blocks of memory start running back as I seem to stumble onto them in my strides. I must be quick with their revelations. Name, acts, deeds and scenery float into recognition, but all of it is so strange. None of it makes sense. This must be some terrible dream. Am I tossing and turning, bathed in sweat screaming out in terror in my bed? Am I dead and serving my penance for some past misdeed? And why the hell am I wearing this trench coat? Too many questions that I need answered, but no one to be found to provide them.
The story unfolds in my mind like a comic as the memories begin to piece themselves together.
As I run through the city, caverns and sewers, I at least have one tool to keep the beast at bay. I don’t know where it came from or whose idea it was, but this shotgun has been in my hand since this all started. Shells are scattered along the path allowing me to be generous with my shot count.
Blam! A harsh screech echoes in the distance.
Each spray of pellets buys me a little more time, but it isn’t an end all solution. Lucky for me, someone had the keen idea of strapping a scythe blade to the barrel. Before this, I may have called that person crazy. Now though- a pure genius. It has come to be my crutch when the monster has latched on to me. A swift strike through its constricting tentacles has saved my life on more than one occasion. Once through, the blade is rendered useless as hacking through the tough flesh renders it dull by the end of the cut. Much like the bullets, it is possible to find another.
The road offers opportunity for escape, but instead turns into a road filled of new beginnings and constant failure.
I can’t shake the feeling that nothing about this is real. This whole scenario can be turned off at a whim, but it always comes back. All I know is this rush to live. Even if the doom bringer behind me catches me with no resources left to fend it off, I start all over again. This makes my attempt at speeding away on a motorcycle leave a sour taste in my mouth. Any scrape or collision brings me right back to the start. There seems to be a way to freeze everything in my mind, but it does little good when I decide to get away once again. This horror becomes so repetitive and unforgiving at times, that I begin to prefer the blackness. The margins allowed as I attempt to jump, duck and otherwise maneuver around objects leaves no room for error. It almost seems that I am destined to fail and repeat this marathon for eternity.
I’m finding that if I will myself, I can pull my vision away from the action. It is like being stuck in my own mind, looking inward on the chase. If I were to hold it in my hand, reactions to the obstacles must be dealt with by a stationary set of arrows giving myself an upwards or downwards direction. However, these are far too slow to react properly. This slow action feels almost drug induced as I attempt to act. If someone were to play this game like nightmare, I can imagine how this groggy reaction might bother them. The variance in the objects I must jump over and even the flickering shape changes glitches I’m subject to only add to make this worse. This outward view could only be controlled worse if I had to slide these arrows around me, thus making the reaction even slower. Making it even worse, these arrows block the view of these dividers and boxes coming towards me, making these reactions that much more difficult. Adding these up it is largely discouraging to try and push though.
In a moment of zen, the obstacles rush me with intensified velocity. My reactions must be quicker, but I don't know how long I can keep it up.
This dream, this nightmare, this rComplex- it is almost not worth going through. While the sounds and scenery fill my mind with wonder about my curious situation, it does little to make me want to press on. Either way I try to look at it, I will fail. What choice do I have though? All I have is hope and my feet beneath me. I’ll carry on to this catchy beat filling my ears and press on. Whatever the end result may be, I may never know.
I don’t know how it started or why I’m being punished, but I do what I must to survive. Running.
Game provided by public relations for review.
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