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Scary stuff can come from the oddest details. In Phantasy Star II, a government agent and his adopted sister (actual adopted sister, not anime/Lunar-esque "adopted"-note-the-quotation-marks sister), the biogenetically-engineered, childlike Nei, are investigating a recent outbreak of genetically-engineered monsters. The source of the outbreak's been traced to Climatrol, the planetary weather-control system, and so off Rolf & Nei go to have a look-see. Neither they nor the player have any idea of what's in store at Climatrol - if anyone's there, if something needs to be repaired, what they're supposed to do, nothing. They're just to show up and look around.
So after an ocean voyage, we arrive at Climatrol proper. After a bit of searching, we come upon a chest:
Hey, that's pretty good. An upgrade for Nei. With a pretty name, even! OK, let's explore farther, and--
--Well, huh. Another item for Nei, but a few tiers down. Nei should've had a Fibervest a few dungeons ago.
The thing here is that all of Nei's equipment is unique to her. And that's all that the party will find in Climatrol's chests. They'll cycle through every piece of equipment available for her, even her negligible starting equipment.
One of PSII's most notable merits is how it tells its stories obliquely, primarily through its environment and game mechanics (through the distribution of items in treasure chests, no less) rather than here's-the-plot cutscenes. With Climatrol, you enter into a blank slate, heightened by the sterile cleanness of its streamlined hallways and the clinical, relaxed background music. And then you come across an expression of intent: the conclusion is inescapable that not only have the chests's contents not been chosen for their utility, but that they've been chosen, period. But who's responsible, and what are they trying to say? There's no one to ask. No one should be here. Their intent is unclear but hardly comforting, and targeted to one of the party's own. If you've played PSII, you know that there indeed is something waiting for Nei specifically at the end of all this.
It reminds me of the only effective scene in the otherwise execrable One Hour Photo, where a man receives a packet of Polaroids of his daughter in everyday circumstances - but with each successive photo, the focus moves ever and ever closer. A mundane event is purposefully made threatening through a context of repetition, pattern recognition, and lack of outside explanation. It reflects a grasp of what makes something quietly unsettling that gaming didn't often have in PSII's day.
.
So after an ocean voyage, we arrive at Climatrol proper. After a bit of searching, we come upon a chest:
Hey, that's pretty good. An upgrade for Nei. With a pretty name, even! OK, let's explore farther, and--
--Well, huh. Another item for Nei, but a few tiers down. Nei should've had a Fibervest a few dungeons ago.
The thing here is that all of Nei's equipment is unique to her. And that's all that the party will find in Climatrol's chests. They'll cycle through every piece of equipment available for her, even her negligible starting equipment.
One of PSII's most notable merits is how it tells its stories obliquely, primarily through its environment and game mechanics (through the distribution of items in treasure chests, no less) rather than here's-the-plot cutscenes. With Climatrol, you enter into a blank slate, heightened by the sterile cleanness of its streamlined hallways and the clinical, relaxed background music. And then you come across an expression of intent: the conclusion is inescapable that not only have the chests's contents not been chosen for their utility, but that they've been chosen, period. But who's responsible, and what are they trying to say? There's no one to ask. No one should be here. Their intent is unclear but hardly comforting, and targeted to one of the party's own. If you've played PSII, you know that there indeed is something waiting for Nei specifically at the end of all this.
It reminds me of the only effective scene in the otherwise execrable One Hour Photo, where a man receives a packet of Polaroids of his daughter in everyday circumstances - but with each successive photo, the focus moves ever and ever closer. A mundane event is purposefully made threatening through a context of repetition, pattern recognition, and lack of outside explanation. It reflects a grasp of what makes something quietly unsettling that gaming didn't often have in PSII's day.
.
