Thursday, January 2, 2025

Sonic the Hedgehog (Sonic '06) Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 11/21/2024)













[Image from glitchwave.com]


Sonic the Hedgehog (Sonic '06)

Developer: Sega/Sonic Team

Publisher: Sega

Genre(s): 3D Platformer

Platforms: Xbox 360, PS3

Release Date: November 14, 2006


If you knew the lengths I went through in order to play this game, you’d think that I was fucking insane. Missing out on Sonic’s big leap to the seventh generation of gaming initially felt like being too sick to attend the school field trip to Six Flags. You can imagine my disappointment that the blue blur’s next big release during the era of my childhood where I still harbored a genuine enthusiasm for Sega’s speedy mascot was going to be released exclusively to two separate, brand-spanking-new consoles that were too rich for my parent’s blood–even for the most prosperous Christmases. Alas, as history tells it, not experiencing Sonic the Hedgehog, or “Sonic ‘06’” as it’s colloquially known, at its launch when I was ten was a fortunate happenstance akin to being absent on the day of a school shooting. The self-titled 3D Sonic was not that satisfying successor to the two Sonic Adventure games that I had yearned for after Sonic Heroes left me jilted with its shifting of the Sonic formula: it was a categorical disaster of inconceivable proportions and a record-breaking low for the franchise that caused irrevocable damage. The game may share the moniker of a once-respected video game series, but this game is commonly uttered under the same breath as the all-time losers of the medium like E.T. and Superman 64. Yes, it’s that bad. By the time I owned an Xbox 360 in 2009, I was thirteen and my interest in Sonic had waned in favor of more mature interests like boobs and heavy metal (and my gaming habits were contingent on the trends of online multiplayer first-person shooters because of my friends on XboxLive as well), so I couldn’t be bothered to listen to the warning of a soul-crushingly awful Sonic game anyway. When the “social era” of gaming had come and gone and my inclinations became entirely independent, my Xbox 360’s disc drive became kaputt again and I did not bother going through the arduous and time-consuming process of fixing it as I had done five times already. Sonic ‘06 was and still isn’t available on the Xbox One’s backwards-compatible catalog, so the opportunity to give into the temptation of playing Sonic ‘06 was voided. That is until I purchased a used PS3 to experience the exclusives endemic to that system and realized that Sonic ‘06 was also released for the alternate seventh-generation console that I passed on at the time. One quick visit to Ebay and voila–the infamous Sonic ‘06 was in my possession as well as the functional hardware that supports it. One might be dumbfounded at the painstaking effort I went through to play a game that had evidently escaped my grasp due to divine circumstances for so many years, but I could not in good conscience skip Sonic ‘06 after reviewing every 3D Sonic game up to it. Like a prostate exam, I had to bend over and accept the pain, even though the game’s shockingly inexcusable quality makes this metaphorical health examination especially painful like it’s being conducted by Lou Ferrigno.

Despite the notorious reputation Sonic ‘06 has garnered, it isn’t to say that the game is totally bereft of any admirable qualities, which might be my continual thesis for this game as the review progresses. Firstly, the opening cinematic that begins Sonic’s campaign is nothing short of stunning. The evening glow of dusk and the skybound sparkle of fireworks gleaming off of the flowing water surrounding this intricately-designed urban landscape is a sight to behold, and the scope of the scene couldn’t have been achieved on the sixth-generation consoles that I owned when the game was released. High definition, indeed. All of this striking visual flair on display is for the purpose of detailing the conflict catalyst that spurs the game’s events, which obviously involves Dr. Eggman/Robotnik in some capacity. This time around, the bulbous robotics genius with the mustache that rivals the length of the average person’s arm span is harassing a red-headed girl named Elise, a princess in a royal family that governs the city setting. What could be the reason for Eggman’s fierce intimidation towards this girl who has never caused him any harm? A chaos emerald, of course–particularly the one she wears around her neck that Eggman needs to uncover some sort of mythical treasure that the universe houses. The princess of Soleanna doesn’t face the consequences for hesitating in complying towards Eggman’s aggressive orders to hand it over, for Sonic duly interrupts the doctor’s schemes as scheduled. Sonic escapes the ruined ceremony with Elise in his arms, but he quickly loses her to Eggman’s gigantic mech with kinetic opposable fingers. Sonic’s rescue mission may have been all for naught, but what he did accomplish without compromise is the swift proficiency he used to trounce Eggman’s robot fleet in the introductory cutscene. The high-definition fluidity of the cinematic action during the cutscene is Sonic at his most badass. It’s another mark of incredible presentational prowess this game bestows, and I’ll bet the Deviantart faction of the Sonic fandom was creaming their jeans upon seeing it for the first time.

Another compliment I will pay to Sonic ‘06 regarding its HD presentation is that the human characters in the game are equally as graphically refined as their surroundings. Or, at least they look impressive in a vacuum. Elise is a contentious character in the greater Sonic universe for a myriad of valid reasons, but the innocent and cherub-cheeked visage of a young princess is accurately portrayed with this enhanced visual fidelity. In brief, the core issue revolving around this character is that her relationship with Sonic is creepy. Sure, the classic “knight in shining armor” dynamic that Sonic has with Elise certainly calls for some romantic palpability, but I bet the ancient epic writers of yore never anticipated that their archetypal story structures would ever include a blue, anthropomorphic hedgehog in the heroic role. Such an idea would be perceived as a crime against humanity. Obviously, their relationship never verges into obscene beastiality territory, but even the slight hints at a budding romance between Sonic and Elise are enough to throw off my appetite. Lock up your daughters, guys, because Sonic the Hedgehog is on the prowl looking to press his gloves up against their bodies in an intimate embrace. Gross.

The interspecies love between girl and hedgehog is also indicative of a prevalent problem with the human characters of Sonic ‘06. Each of the human NPCs are rendered with an intricate amount of detail that would be impressive for any video game, but they look off-putting contrasted with the cartoonish Sonic and his furry friends. The presence of human characters in the Sonic franchise became prevalent in the 3D era, but they’ve been tolerable up until now. Sonic Adventure 2 relegated them to the occasional cutscene, and the denizens of Station Square in the first Sonic Adventure resembled that of plastic dolls rather than flesh and blood people. Eggman is the sole human character with a consistent presence in the Sonic series, but his features have always verged into caricature territory. With the advanced tint of high definition, the juxtaposition between realism and animated fantasy is jarring, to say the least. The NPCs exaggerating their interactions with Sonic in such goofy fashions like rapidly flapping their gums and flailing their arms with the drama of an angry Italian doesn’t lower their personhood to Sonic’s realm of animation: it just looks like they might be affected by a gas leak that’s permeating around the city.

The uncanniness of the human NPCs is mostly confined to the game’s hub world. An attribute from the first Sonic Adventure returns, and I would’ve been delighted as a kid because I found the freeform environment of the three hubs to be one of the most engaging aspects of the debut 3D Sonic title–even though they’re all kind of bland in retrospect. However, the generic nature of Station Square and the Mystic Ruins is admirable in its simplicity. Another evolving factor of 3D Sonic that is also rather unsavory is that the series has become a bit pretentious with polygons allowing them to tell weightier stories with an elevated narrative scope. The grandiose spectacle of the opening cutscene has often been compared to Final Fantasy in ridicule, but I’ve been comparing 3D Sonic to Square’s extravagantly overblown JRPG series ever since Shadow sulked his way into Sonic Adventure 2. Soleanna, the primary setting of Sonic ‘06, is another example of the series reaching for something out of its element. This Euro-inspired metropolis with Venetian Gothic architecture shares a strong resemblance to the real-world city of Venice located in northeastern Italy, and this particular urban area is renowned for its seductive atmosphere. It’s a picturesque paradise perfect for a honeymoon or any other romantic getaway. Is Sega suggesting that romance is a key component to Sonic ‘06 considering the sumptuous environment with canals galore that he finds himself in? I’ll wager that if Sonic gives into feelings of twitterpation, the target of his passion will not be Amy Rose. Sega, no one will think Sonic is a devilish casanova if he dicks down that human princess girl. Stop it. Your attempts to facilitate this outcome are as laughably awkward as when Attack of the Clones borrowed the same Venice-esque setpieces to blossom Anakin and Padme’s shoehorned relationship. Even if the developers never intended for love to permeate through the air, Soleanna’s ornate architecture still clashes with Sonic’s animated aesthetic as sharply as its human denizens. Maybe Soleanna bothers me because navigating through it trying to find the right objective is as unclear as the water in the Baltimore harbor. Where’s the Tikal energy ball when you actually need it?

But everything I’ve criticized Sonic ‘06 on so far has been nothing short of fastidious nitpicking. Every aspect of the game I discuss from here on out will get into the nitty gritty of why Sonic ‘06 is as critically castigated as it is, listing all of the aspects that made me want to castrate myself for ever considering purchasing this piece of shit game. Frankly, I don’t have a clue which list item to start with because the flaws of Sonic ‘06 are far too numerous and equally as vexing. I guess my first point of contention is with the abysmally long loading screens, for they’re an immediately noticeable issue as soon as Sonic encounters Tails a few seconds after the opening sequence ends. To test the absurd pause time of these loading screens, I went upstairs to use the bathroom in order to see if the game would still be loading when I returned. It HAD loaded, but the fact that I was confident enough that I’d have wasted zero time in my brief absence is a clear enough indication that the game’s buffering periods will have the player checking their watch/phone clock and stamp their feet with impatience as Sonic used to do back he was depicted with 16-bits graphics. These swathes of buffering also occur at every conceivable intermittent moment throughout the game, whether it be when Sonic reaches another section of a level or cycling through sub-mission requests assigned by the NPCs. Having to sit through TWO ungodly long loading screens in the process of reaching a simple side quest is ludicrous. Constantly implementing these prolonged sequences of inactivity subtly suggests that the game is struggling to keep up with the HD standard of its console like a fat chronic smoker after walking for more than a minute. As par for the course regarding an infamously atrocious game, Sonic ‘06 is naturally overflowing with glitches like a swarm of maggots infesting a corpse. These glitches include, but are certainly not limited to; Sonic continuing to perform the oscillating wildly animation when he runs into something while running precariously, tripping on inexplicable objects that awkwardly halt Sonic’s movement, Sonic freezing when he’s meets an unagreeable angle on the field, and countless instances of collapsing through the game’s fragile foundation into a wormhole of oblivion. I’ve yet to encounter any of the glitches that either Sonic Adventure title has been rumored to be rife with, but encountering bugs that break Sonic ‘06 is as commonplace as finding actual bugs in the humid swamps of the Everglades.

In what is either out of genuine delight or a coping mechanism at play, the varied array of bugs and glitches that plague Sonic ‘06 are a source of amusement for the more optimistic Sonic fans, laughing at the game for its litany of glaring issues like a shoddy B-movie. I, on the other hand, cannot join the cackling crowd treating their experiences with this game like it’s Mystery Science Theater because all of the flaws of Sonic ‘06 were busy beating me senseless. On a deeper fundamental level past the comedic visual glitches lies their absolute fracturing of Sonic’s controls and how he interacts with his environment. Whereas the controls of fellow maligned 3D Sonic game Shadow the Hedgehog suffered from slipping all over the place like an ice rink, the general controls of Sonic ‘06 are beleaguered by the opposite issue. Sonic feels as stiff as an overdose of Viagra pills, moving with the fluidity and grace of a paraplegic mannequin. Besides the uncomfortable restraint of his general movement, every homing attack knocks the wind out of Sonic and grinds his momentum to a screeching halt. Trying to hop from a grind rail to another one directly beside it will only result in Sonic jumping as he normally would and flying off into the abyss, and any snowboarding segment operates on a plain removed from the rational rules of physics. Precision is somehow more paramount to Sonic’s gameplay than in any previous outing, as colliding with walls or other parallel surfaces during those automated speed sequences will often result in immediate death. The roller coaster loops that have served as joyous set pieces of Sonic’s terrain since the early days on the Genesis now instill feelings of stress and worry in the player, for it’s uncertain if Sonic will careen off the track at any point while in this adrenalized instance of hectic acceleration. Actually, any instance of a spring bounce, speed booster, or any other Sonic trope where the trajectory is determined by the game is a leap of faith risking Sonic’s life–a roll of the dice where “snake eyes” is too likely an outcome to impress a sense of security. To the game’s credit, the level design for most acts offers multifaceted gameplay routes which indicate the depth of a bonafide Sonic experience. However, the additional proficiency needed to verge onto the alternate way to victory isn’t worth exercising because the faulty mechanics are a handicap that hinders the player’s heightened skill ceiling. I recommend taking the simple route in any of these levels just to ensure absolute safety.

The one recurring gameplay mode in Sonic ‘06 that encapsulates all of the aforementioned shortcomings into the pinnacle of broken bullshit is the speed sections. At the climactic point of a few levels, Sonic will proverbially unshackle his restraints used for platforming and engage his maximum velocity to its fullest extent. It sounds absolutely electric on paper, but this untethered display of Sonic’s full potential is downright perilous in every way imaginable thanks to the game’s ramshackle status. Directing Sonic through a level at a moderate pace during manual control in Sonic ‘06 is challenging enough, so imagine how furious the flairs of frustration are when the player is expected to navigate him around obstacles with his brakes cut. The obstacles in question are littered all over the field with hardly any legroom to dart around. Multiple obstacles in succession will only expose that invulnerability windows are another requisite that the game neglected to implement. Jumping over an obstacle situated on the ground should be the correct course of action, but Sonic’s hops are subdued by the unmitigated velocity of his turbo-charge which usually results in scrapping his ankle and having his rings erupt as a result. Sonic also can’t alter the course of his movement while jumping, so expect to watch in agony as he charges headfirst into his demise due to his rigidity. These sections will also shift the perspective of the camera abruptly and expect the player to assimilate to this swift adjustment in a flash or suffer dire consequences. I’d comment that these sections feel as if Jesus is taking the wheel, but Satan is the only appropriately nasty and sadistic enough divine entity that would purposefully verge the player in these disastrous directions. I’ve never been glad to experience lag while playing a video game before. When faced with these vulgar, unhinged displays of Sonic’s maximum speed, I clench my body with a nerve-racking discomfort and uncertain anxiety as I would while anticipating a thorough cavity search, and I’m not referring to the ones conducted at the dentist. All of the botched aspects of Sonic ‘06’s mechanics inadvertently turn it into the most difficult Sonic game to date, but these sections in particular sink the game even deeper into unplayable territory.

If you’re under the impression that these HD consoles still couldn’t contain the lightning-fast might of the blue blur despite their supposed advanced hardware capabilities, the distinctive mechanics of Sonic’s stupid friends will prove that Sonic ‘06 is a comprehensively abysmal experience. Again, Sonic ‘06 reintroduces another gameplay attribute from the Sonic Adventure games I adored with the playability of multiple characters. With my adult hindsight leading me to conclude that every other secondary character in that game (except maybe E-102) was lackluster compared to Sonic, imagine how that dynamic works in a game where playing as the titular character is torturous. During progress points of certain levels, the game will swap the central role of playability from Sonic to either of his Team Sonic friends. The transition between characters tends to be quite hasty, so be prepared to unwittingly lose a life or two due to the sudden change. The fluttering of Tails’ two namesake mutations sure does make a lot of noise considering all of the propulsion amounts to accelerating him at the leisurely pace of a parade float. The player might be inclined to jump through the airborne hoops to boost Tails while he flies as they did in the first Sonic Adventure but now, avoiding the rings altogether is the wiser decision because attempting to aim Tails through the hoop feels as repellent as attempting to connect magnets of the same charge. What strikes me and several others as odd regarding Tails in Sonic ‘06 is that his primary attack method is expelling ring canisters and tossing them at enemies. When has a character ever used the currency or health item associated with their franchise as a projectile weapon? Whenever the developers stopped caring, obviously. As far as Sonic’s red friend is concerned, his array of maneuvers is more recognizable but they have been soiled all the same by the game’s fractured foundation. Knuckles couldn’t even swat a mosquito on his arm considering his pitiful punch range, and he has a habit of sinking his pointy fists too deep into the walls and getting stuck as a result. I was fortunate enough to never experience this fluke, but the infamous moment from when Game Grumps played this game speaks for itself. Elise is also involved during a selection of action stages, but she only serves to subdue Sonic’s abilities when he has her clutched in his protecting arms. Her contribution to the gameplay that relieves her as a steel ball that chains and drags Sonic is that she creates an orange forcefield encompassing the two, which prevents Sonic from drowning in either water or quicksand. The protective orb looks like a cheap visual effect achieved from the free version of the simplest editing software. What exactly ignites Elise’s ability here anyway? The power of love? Gag me with a fucking spoon, Sega. I’m not as critical about incorporating multiple characters into the fray compared to the zealous Sonic fans, but I always keep in mind that they’re always going to be inferior to the titular character. When Sonic is struggling to this unprecedented extent, one can imagine that the meager alternatives with their own slew of problems are unwelcome.

In terms of the narrative, perhaps Sonic needs all of the assistance he can scrounge up to conquer the conflict of what is the grandest Sonic story ever told. If you thought that Sonic ‘06 was a by-the-books hero arc with a damsel in distress, wait until the layers of this narrative onion unfold. Unfortunately, the thickest folds of this metaphor consist of a sensitive thematic construct that tends to crumble if not given the proper consideration: time travel. This core aspect of this game’s story becomes relevant when Sonic and friends are transported by a time machine created by Eggman to Soleanna in the distant future, an apocalyptic urban hellscape flooded with lava and searing flame tornadoes called “Crisis City.” When the context behind the opening sequence is revealed, we learn that the “treasure” Eggman needs the chaos emeralds to unlock is the concentrated power of the sun God Solaris. Elise isn’t integral to achieving this goal, but she has a grim, yet vital insight regarding Eggman’s diabolical ambitions due to her father inadvertently killing himself trying to harness the power of Solaris a few years prior. Receiving an up close and personal look at Soleanna’s destitute future reveals that the stakes are dire and that Eggman’s trifling with forces beyond his element will be cataclysmic. Sonic’s pursuit in stopping the mad doctor is mostly a series of playing catch with him using Elise as the makeshift ball, losing her as quickly as he recovers her from Eggman’s clutches. Eventually, their little game of keepaway reaches a stalemate when Eggman’s callback Egg Carrier careens out of the sky with Elise on board. To negate her untimely death, the aggrieved Sonic uses the time travel properties of the chaos emeralds to revert to the moment where he catches Eggman’s starship and flees the wreckage with Elise intact. Obviously, the climax of Sonic interfering with the space- time continuum is intended to evoke feelings of relief and triumph after a scene of devastation, but even an earned moment of romance between Sonic and Elise still makes me wince. Eggman acts as if she’s ultimately superfluous to his master plan, so why didn’t the developers adopt the same attitude and drop her once the greater context of the scenario was revealed? Is Sonic getting his rocks off a new essential plot point that will persist from here on out?

Admittedly, Sonic’s arc doesn’t stray too far from the initial goal of protecting his taboo new boo from his arch-rival. However, if one reads carefully, I did technically state that the story of Sonic ‘06 superseded the triangle of interest between Sonic, Elise, and Eggman. What I did not disclose was that Sonic’s story is a mere third(ish) of the game’s entirety, so the player is far from out of the proverbial woods if they manage to conquer Sonic’s campaign. No, the greater scope of the game’s narrative is fleshed out with two other campaigns with two separate protagonists at the helm. Because the ending of Sonic Adventure 2 has been retconned continuously at this point to where I wonder if it’s even canon anymore, Shadow returns as the forefront protagonist of one the game’s major story arcs. Instead of chronically rescuing a princess and doing dirty things with her, the focal point of Shadow’s story is a figure named Mephiles. During the experiments that resulted in the death of Elise’s father, Solaris was divided into two separate manifestations, one being Mephiles and Iblis the other. Both of them have an ID and ego type of dynamic. During a scuffle with Eggman, the breaking of a mythical artifact called the “Scepter of Darkness” releases Mephiles, who proceeds to model his corporeal form after Shadow sans his mouth. A copycat isn’t a coincidence, for Mephiles’ speaking of his wishes to destroy humanity mirrors Shadow’s attitude to the point of mockery. Sonic’s unbridled positivity was never going to convince Shadow to turn the other cheek, as the only way for the black hedgehog to see the error of his ways is to echo his misanthropic disposition right back at him. Mephiles is surprisingly a better Shadow antagonist than Black Doom ever was, or at least if we are to trust that Shadow’s evil adversaries should prompt him into embracing his moral side as the hero he is perceived to be. Still, I wish the time travel component to the overall story didn’t complicate the intricacies behind the relationship between Shadow and Mephiles.

I’ve made my distaste for Sonic’s edgy doppelganger abundantly clear when I discussed previous titles in the series where he makes an appearance, so one would think that prolonging this excruciating experience with him sharing the forefront with Sonic particularly ruffles my feathers. To my surprise, Shadow’s campaign is slightly more favorable to Sonic’s because the developers have highlighted attributes of his gameplay other than speed. Shadow’s campaign is more action-oriented, littering the screen with dozens of enemies per block of a level. Shadow may not be packing heat as he was in his self-titled outing, but a “chaos blast” will effectively deplete the health bars of all enemies in its radius–making him more suitable for stomping out enemies than Sonic. Vehicles are a returning aspect of Shadow’s gameplay from his eponymous game, and the buggy, hovercraft, hang glider, and motorcycle are all unified by Shadow’s black and red color scheme despite their varied utility. Controlling them is marginally more responsive than when Shadow had the entirety of the screen time, but there is still a rudimentary quality to their acceleration that feels underdeveloped. If Sega showcased an interactive “museum” like Insomniac tends to do, riding around in these vehicles feels comparable to the rough drafts of their development that are presented as a lark. Like the quasi-Team Sonic reunion, Rogue and Omega complete Team Dark as secondary characters in Shadow’s campaign. Rogue is beset by the same glitchy climbing mechanics as Knuckles, but at least Omega’s projectiles are fitting for his character not like Tails. The improvements of Shadow’s campaign to Sonic’s are ultimately marginal, and it’s probably the more favorable one because Shadow doesn’t drive me insane with speed sections.

The last piece of Sonic ‘06’s story is unfolded through the sole series debutant Silver the Hedgehog. Unlike Sonic and Shadow who are commissioned to reside in Soleanna due to Eggman mucking about, Silver is a Soleanna native. However, he’s a citizen of Soleanna’s dismal, infernal future, which is why he pulls a John Conner and transports himself two centuries into the past to retroactively prevent what doomed his city. At first, he travels back in time with a similar objective to the T-1000, for he was manipulated by Mephiles into thinking that Sonic is the “Iblis Trigger” and strives to kill him. His confusion also results in a boss battle that stands as one of the most notorious moments of fractured fuckery in a game bursting at the seams with them. When he realizes he’s been duped and stops antagonizing Sonic, Silver alters his focus to vanquishing the actual Iblis and assisting Sonic with the time travel process whenever it’s necessary. Really, the core of the game’s overarching conflict resides with Silver’s story arc in the grand scheme of things, which is why I invested more of my attention in his campaign as opposed to the narrative lollygagging and confusing convolutions the previous two campaigns were rife with.

Despite his arc showcasing the most interesting extrapolation of the game’s events, I still couldn’t attach any personal fondness for Silver. If every hedgehog character the series introduces is intended to contrast Sonic in some way shape or form, Silver lacks Sonic’s cool charisma similar to Shadow. However, Silver is a goober instead of a brooding grouch. I don’t know whether the whiny voice acting is to blame, but the impassioned naivety of Silver comes across more as an ubergeek larping than an endearing, intrepid hero. Altogether, the hedgehog protagonist trio encompasses douchey, edgy, and dorky in an unholy trinity of cringe. In terms of his gameplay, Silver uses his psychokinetic powers in combat to lift objects like crates and fling them at enemies. The developers evidently noticed in the development process that Silver’s extraordinary abilities conflicted with the tension of combat, so they thought it wise for Silver to use his gift for moving things with his mind in the vein of puzzles. Silver’s brain teasers aren’t as consistently aggravating as Sonic’s speed sections, but one particular ball puzzle during his version of the “Dusty Desert” level is so demanding and unyielding that players commonly exploit phasing glitches to circumvent having to humor it. I, unfortunately, discovered that I never had the makings of a varsity speedrunner and had to masterfully calculate the force and trajectory of Silver’s psychokinetic pushes like a good boy. Even though Silver exists in an era beyond any other Sonic character’s mortal limits, Amy and Blaze the Cat from Sonic Rush accompany him on his quest to extinguish Iblis. I’m sure some Sonic fans will argue that Blaze being a futuristic contemporary to Silver contradicts her placement in the Sonic timeline, but I don’t give a shit. Anyway, Amy is the most sluggish out of all nine playable characters and Blaze operates like a more adroit version of Sonic. Silver’s campaign is, for the most part, the stand-out among the rest. Still, this bar is so low that not even an ant could limbo under it.

For the first time in the series, Sonic is neither the most savory nor significant figure in one of his many titles. This is probably why the developers felt no qualms about murdering the blue blur at the hands of Mephiles in the game’s final act. Elise may not be vital to Eggman’s plans, but executing her newfound love in cold blood is emotionally injurious enough to make Elise cry crocodile tears and release Iblis as a result–a cunning component of Mephiles’ scheme. Acquiring all seven chaos emeralds is also a factor in Mephiles’ plan to merge himself with Iblis to re-emerge as a wrathful Solaris ready to wipe humanity off the map. Drastic circumstances call for more manpower, which includes every other playable character in the fray for the (supposedly) grand finale of Sonic ‘06. As fittingly epic as the framing of this finale is, the idea of enduring a gauntlet of eight levels in succession with only five lives is excruciating. In execution, several characters such as Amy and Silver cannot outrun the swirling vortex of the time portals, and the sheer length of such an endeavor connotes that there are quite a bit of tidbits to memorize through failure. All of the elements of this finale aren’t as much of a stinging slap to the face as Sonic’s speed sections, but the amount of content the player must undergo without a breather is sure to cause a hefty amount of duress. Sonic is resurrected and shares his Super Sonic powers with Shadow and Silver to douse the demigod Solaris, and Elise sacrifices her memories of Sonic to prevent Solaris from ever becoming a threat to mankind. Off the record, I wish I could blow Elise away from existence so I wouldn’t have to stomach Sonic’s puppy love butterflies at every turn. Did they ever realize that Shadow and Silver have more stake in this story than he does?

I would like a formal apology from everyone who candidly shat on both Sonic Adventure games (and Sonic Heroes to a lesser extent) when I was a child. Sure, these rude comments were made before the release of Sonic ‘06, but the roaring holocaust of unspeakable, visceral horror that is Sonic ‘06 makes all of the quirky hiccups of the previous Sonic games seem like silly little quibbles in comparison. I don’t think there is a more appropriate video game comparable to the Hindenburg disaster, a bombastic display of ultra-modern technology exploding in a shocking inferno and leaving everyone awestruck at the glorious spectacle of failure. Whether it be the glitches deciding when I died, the scrambled, obtuse plot branches, the loading screens that spanned the length of a short film, or those godforsaken speed sections, I felt like I was being pinned down and sodomized at every waking moment. Do you want to know what the sad part is? Underneath all the bloated, asymmetrical, and inexcusable layers of dirt lies a solid 3D Sonic experience if the level designs and surface-level ambitions are anything to go by. My guess is that Sega put all their eggs into the game coinciding with Sonic’s fifteenth anniversary to such a great extent that they couldn’t wait another year for Sonic’s sweet sixteenth, releasing the game in its rough draft format before the developers had the chance to undergo whatever the game developer equivalent of the editing process is. Due to Sega’s impatience, hubris, greed, and total anathema for their fans, they’ve condemned what could’ve possibly been the greatest Sonic game by all contexts of the word to an embarrassing, smelly stain on the franchise that will never wash out. May God have mercy on your souls, Sega.

Wednesday, December 11, 2024

PowerWash Simulator Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 11/14/2024)













[Image from igdb.com]


PowerWash Simulator

Developer: Futurlab

Publisher: Square Enix

Genre(s): Simulation

Platforms: PC, Switch, PS4, Xbox One, PS5, Xbox Series X

Release Date: July 14, 2022


My first paid job in life was working at a car wash. From my late teens to my early 20s, I drove twenty minutes all the way across my home county as the sun was signaling a new day at either 8 or 9 AM and worked six to eight-hour days on the weekends after attending either high school or college full time during the week. My schedule at this job evolved to working almost full-time during the summer. I sacrificed potential parties and other social gatherings with friends, my hobbies, and my precious sleep for the sake of making minimum wage and to uphold that first step into adult responsibilities. Hey, we all have to make the plunge during this era of adolescence that allows us to adapt to the adult world. Still, I believe that this particular job was rather challenging for a young person with no work experience, or more so than just sitting at a counter and collecting people’s cash in exchange for their services like many teenagers do. This job involved strenuous pressure on one’s feet standing in the washing tunnel and attending to everyone’s individual wishes for their filthy automobiles as they entered one by one like a lunch line. On winter days after snowfall would delay schools and inhibit people from traveling, what felt like the entire population of central Maryland would storm onto the lot and form a ceaselessly ending line that rivaled the length of a console launch event outside of a GameStop for us to blow the salt off their vehicles with pressurized liquid. While I’m on the subject, the tunnel was not heated, so the combination of standing around outside all day in weather below freezing shooting soapy water afflicted me with an unpleasant illness soon after. The people working at the Taco Bell up the hill used to give me their condolences when I took my lunch break on those days. Did I mention this job was dangerous? You can imagine being in close quarters with the general public driving their two-ton steel bullets in your direction makes you liable for grievous injury, which thank God never occurred. Not to mention, what harm they could potentially do to the equipment, which resulted in a calamitous system crash whenever someone ignored our directions. From a customer service standpoint, several of the patrons tended to be particularly quick to harsh vocal aggravation. Fucking up someone’s food is one thing, but mistreating something that many people perceive as a precious member of their family is bound to generate some serious outrage. If dumping out the unholy terrors that were disposed of in our trash cans (that were just empty chemical drums) didn’t befoul my clothing, then the odd aroma of the cleaning chemicals was always enough to make me nauseous once I returned home. I often have dreams where I still work at this job and I’m catapulted into a chaotically stressful, worst-case-scenario day seven years after I left for greener pastures.

When I became aware of a game such as PowerWash Simulator that gamified my teenage wage struggles, my eyebrow raised so high up in incredulity that it almost popped off my head. Are you telling me that there is a video game that simulates my arduous experiences and that there are numbskulls out there that are genuinely…enjoying it? Oh, to be so ignorant. In actuality, once I played PowerWash Simulator, I could see the appeal of the game, or at least from an outsider’s point-of-view, uncolored by performing the real-world parallel for four years. Aiming the water gun at an object until it's spotless is a task that requires little to no strain on one’s brain, and I should know. Really, the monotony of it all is somewhat relaxing compared to the reflexes and acute mind functions needed to succeed with most games. However, the game will start to frustrate players when the size of the objects needed to be hosed down expands to things that would realistically require a team to clean, especially since the game is scrupulous with wiping away its dirt specks. Seems a little counterintuitive for the game’s effortless ethos, does it not?

At the end of the day, PowerWash Simulator probably still wouldn’t stimulate me even if it didn’t remind me of workplace trauma from a decade ago. Comfortable games with menial objectives seem to be an ever-present trend in the modern gaming landscape, and I can’t quite gel with a lack of meatiness in a game even if that’s the point of it. For those who enjoy a humdrum simulation game where one can have a spot of tea over to decompress, I'm sure PowerWash Simulator will be satisfying. Alas, seeing people play this game conjures up the Rolling Stones song, "Gimmie Shelter" as I have uncomfortable flashbacks.

Super C Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 11/8/2024)













[Image from glitchwave.com]


Super C

Developer: Konami

Publisher: Konami

Genre(s): Run 'n Gun

Platforms: Arcade, NES

Release Date: January 8, 1988


As far as the remembrance of the assorted Contra games is concerned, the series second outing, Super C, has received the short end of the legacy stick. Diminishing the legacy of the second title is a common trend for several of gaming's classic franchises that churned out several titles during the early, pixelated eras of gaming, namely on the NES. Because Super C was rarely spoken of compared to the two Contra entries chronologically between it, I assumed that it was yet another example of a sophomore pratfall. Was Super C an instance of a misunderstood deviation in gameplay like Zelda II, or was it a half-assed experiment like Simon's Quest that attempted to execute a methodical approach to gameplay? I highly doubt it's a case of mistaken identity like the American Super Mario Bros. 2, even if the first Contra inspired several imitators. No, to my surprise, Super C is an exemplary run n’ gun experience on the NES. Dare I say, it’s even better than its predecessor which manages to still receive all of the due credit when discussing the iconic examples from this early era of gaming.

If we must assess every aspect of Super C to properly critique it, the only instance of sequel fatigue is that its narrative replicates the one from the first game. The Soviet soldier and extraterrestrial imperialist coalition has returned to enact another attempt at laying waste to the Western world, enslaving the American population either economically or erasing all autonomy completely. While their persistence is honestly admirable, the two causes of their first failure, the testosterone-oozing duo of Bill and Lance, are still ripe and ready to defend the inalienable freedoms given to everyone born in the US of A. Even though our courageous heroes aren’t hesitating to jump into the line of fire again, the player(s) will likely approach this second Contra outing with a cautious sense of dread. If we can confidently state anything regarding Contra’s legacy, Konami’s series is notorious for being so goddamn difficult that playing it will instill a gaming PTSD as deep-seated and intense as stepping into the role of a soldier and experiencing combat in real life. One piece of context regarding Super C, in particular, is that Konami has eliminated their namesake code from this title. It was a precious ten-digit sequence that better ensured the player’s survival during the first game. Now that it’s disappeared without a trace, any player’s confidence is bound to burst from their being like a disembodied soul. Before the player begins to cope with the inevitability of eating borscht and whatever unholy diet that aliens subsist off of for the rest of their lives, I can say with conviction that they won’t struggle to the same extent in Super C even without the generous safety net.

Immediately, Super C’s comparative accessibility should be apparent by the first screen. Unlike the jungle where bullets were shaking from the trees like little lead coconuts, the commie military base presents a more reasonable barrage of deadly objects to contend with for an introductory level. All angles of the screen will see firepower flying toward the player as they move, but they’ll have ample opportunity to react accordingly because the bullets seem to move at a glacial pace. Enemies from behind proceed towards the player at a brisk jog, and the turrets are situated at an incline above a pit in the route. If the player uses the sunken support to their advantage, they can eradicate the machine while avoiding its projectiles completely. If there is one noticeable consistency with Super C’s level design, it’s that the developers decided that the bottomless pits that were littered throughout the first game’s battlegrounds were too common for comfort. In a game where the protagonists will become lifelessly cold and stiff as cardboard by even the slight graze of anything in this environment, they figured that misstepping platforms was too extraneous of a casualty. When the player returns to the jungle in the third area, the humid wilderness has been flattened to a crepe. Swimming in the neck-deep water doesn’t even put the player in a spot of vulnerability as it once did, for they can duck beneath the surface to protect themselves from the whizzing offense of bullets from above. One might state that Contra’s level design has been streamlined, but areas with intensive platforming are still available–just later in the game as an additional obstacle to overcome along with keeping an eye out for enemies and their projectiles. Platforming becomes an intense bout of timing and precision during one particular section in the surreal and sublime alien hive where the roof sequentially rises and falls on the player like a piston. Ascent levels also return from the first Contra, but the player can climb at their own pace without having to worry about being consumed by the screen. Just be wary of enemies materializing on screen and a rogue purple boulder falling from the sky in the fifth area and all other sorts of enemy onslaught can be flexibly mitigated.

Super C also continues the trend of swapping the perspective of level progression for every other area to shuffle the gameplay up a bit. Instead of charging through a facility from a quasi-third-person perspective, Super C adopts a top-down drone view more appropriately fitting for an 8-bit title. From this perspective, Bill and Lance have a clearer view of everything closing in on them, plus the player isn’t forced to readjust entirely to a different control scheme. Discerning where one’s bullet trajectory is also much clearer, for the angle at which the player was aiming at was hard to determine from the backs of Bill/Lance’s thick skulls. Overall, the change that occurs with every other level in the name of diversifying the gameplay isn’t as jarring. The alien base infiltrations were essential to the narrative of the first Contra, but I vastly prefer levels that feature something more compatible with the 8-bit hardware.

The developers also evidently noticed that players tended not to fall as frequently as leaves in autumn when they were properly equipped with effective weaponry. I’m not stating that the standard blaster should be removed or that reverting to using it upon death is an inappropriate penalty. Still, the punishment extends to being stuck with the default weapon in the game for a long swathe of time, and the player is likely to exhaust plenty of lives in that vulnerable period. In Super C, the developers have granted the player with a Berlin Airlift of aid. Flying weapon capsules appear nearly thrice as much as they did in the previous game, and each of them is generous enough to bring a friend if one of them doesn’t suit your fancy. Every single weapon and enhancement item from the first game transfers over as well, so the player should already be accustomed to how each of them will serve their mission. However, even though one’s inkling for a certain weapon should be subjective, it’s guaranteed that every player will be salivating at the chance of a capsule revealing an “S” to signify the almighty spread gun. While the divine beast of weapons technology will still eradicate all that stands before it in three different directions, I’m afraid that our beloved has lost a bit of its unabated luster. Don’t worry–the nerfing of the spread gun is like tweaking an atomic bomb to disintegrate a city instead of an entire country when dropped.

I noticed the spread gun’s relative decline in destructiveness when I was faced against the level-ending bosses of Super C. Unlike the enemies that crumble with one strike of a spread gun bullet, the bosses are obviously heftier challenges. The helicopter boss at the climax of the first level shouldn’t have had enough time to deploy any auxiliary defenses when I was sticking spread gun shots up its ass like an enema. Alas, liberally using the once-divine weapon did not relieve me from dodging its obstacles to prevent losing it upon death. Illustrating this experience may connote that the bosses of Super C are a more formidable bunch but really, it just conveys how the developers knocked the spread gun down a peg so the other weapons stood a fair chance. The reality of the situation is that like every other aspect of Super C, the bosses are another example of comparative ease. The aforementioned helicopter and the Krypto-crustacean unleash smaller enemies on the player, which are far more detectable than swarms of bullets. The Laser Chandellier’s blast pattern is learnable like first-grade arithmetic, and the “Babalu Destructoid Mechanism” will short circuit in seconds when the player notices that his top doesn’t have a cannon attached. The two-phased Jagger Froid fight is as difficult as any of the bosses from the first Contra, but I wanted to highlight him anyway because his horrific alien visage the player will be bombarding with bullets is quite the Gigerian spectacle. The same could be said about the final bosses’ design, achieving the same balance between cool and grotesque. In terms of it's position as the game’s final challenge, it’s a perfect test of one’s proficiency without stepping over into the territory of impossibility.

Is Super C inherently better than the original Contra because it’s easier? Yes, any other questions? Accessibility isn’t always imperative to enhance a gaming experience, or at least that’s an applicable statement for modern video games. In the case of the cruel and unrelenting NES era, I’ll take every helping of sugar to make this medicine go down smoother. Reworking the assets of the previous game to reach something smoother should always be an integral goal of any sequel, and it’s a wonder why so many other franchises of the NES era decided to abscond entirely from the first game’s fabric instead of fixing its foundation. As a result of giving Contra a coat of fresh wax, Super C is one of the most agreeable experiences I’ve had with an early, pixelated video game. Why then isn’t Super C the prime representative for the Contra franchise, or why is it still undermined by the first game? I’ve explained this before, but NES enthusiasts gaming when the system was released are like ODB in that they like it raw. Sorry oldheads, but I don’t think we share the same kink.

Monday, December 9, 2024

Gris Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 11/7/2024)













[Image from glitchwave.com]


Gris

Developer: Nomada Studio

Publisher: Devolver Digital

Genre(s): 2D Platformer, Puzzle Platformer

Platforms: PC, Switch, PS4, Xbox One

Release Date: December 13, 2018


At first glance, Gris reminds me of the critically acclaimed title Journey. Typically, this would be a clear reason for most gamers to seek out Gris. However, in my case and what seems to be my case alone, it’s a core reason to avoid this game completely. Sony’s pretty walking simulator is another subject of my critical scorn that contradicts the status quo. I don’t inherently dislike games that drive their narrative through sparse, non-action-oriented linearity. I quite enjoy the existential deep sea horror of Soma, the surreal dark mystique of Limbo and its anti-fascist younger brother Inside, and the fourth-wall fracturing of the Stanley Parable. In the case of Journey, which ironically seems to be the most well-regarded of the genre, there was no narrative to speak of. In fact, there was very little of anything in Journey that would ideally hold anyone’s interest. There were no puzzles, enemies, obstacles, or any other element that comprise the anatomy of a video game. Platforming was involved intermittently, but jumping on the few suspended circles of foot support was hardly comparable to a Super Mario-style ascent. This emaciated experience ended just as soon as it started, probably because the game was so starved of any gaming fundamentals that it felt faint and collapsed. Due to its fun-sized length and lack of any memorable moments interspersed before its abrupt end, I was flabbergasted at how Journey won over the hearts of the greater gaming population. The game was even the subject of my first “dud review,” a jokey, brief type of written analysis reserved for games that are either notoriously awful or have little to no substance to divulge. Yes, I’ve placed Journey in the same category as Action 52, Sonic R, and Bubsy 3D. What are you gonna do about it? I shouldn’t have bothered to humor Gris since it shares many similarities to the beloved game I’ve been disparaging. However, my interest in Nomada Studio’s interpretation of the walking simulator/cinematic platformer was entirely due to how it reminded me of Journey, for I was optimistic that another developer could reconfigure Journey and inject some much-needed content into the experience.

While the objective of this review is to divulge the gameplay substance of Gris and compare it to Journey, I’d still feel remiss if I glossed over the fact that Gris is gorgeous. Never have I ever heard anyone express a distaste for watercolors, so Gris achieves its elevated visual scope with arguably the most agreeably pleasant paintwork from an aesthetic perspective. A few games have managed to achieve the look of the warm and vibrant art style in the third dimension with the aid of cel-shaded graphics, but rendering Gris with the same expressive visual tint would’ve been needless on account of its 2D perspective. Eschewing the buoyant pop of cel-shaded graphics with the watercolor palette on an X-axis restriction really captures the look of a painting, seeing as all of the esteemed watercolor artworks throughout history are also two-dimensional. Watercolors are inherently alluring, but the developers take full advantage of their choice of aesthetic by rendering some spellbindingly beautiful landscapes. The expressionistic color choices not only display the ethereal atmosphere of a dream, but the most pleasant dream ever experienced that you’d never want to wake up from. Journey’s 3D environment may impress on a technical level, but the flatter dimensional perspective of Gris exudes the sense of playing an interactive work of art in almost a literal sense.

Seeing Gris in its full, immaculate splendor is a treat that needs to be unlocked by the player. In what is either a cruel tease or an enticing incentive, the mission of Gris is to replenish the game of its color. The game will begin with The Protagonist walking through a blank and brittle world bereft of any glowing shades alluded to in the previous paragraph. Soon, the color “red” will start to blossom once again, and every other color of the rainbow will splash the screen incrementally like a chapter-based progression. The restoration process is a linear path from one color to the next that is rarely interrupted. Well, unless the player is struggling with one of the puzzles interspersed between progression milestones. If violent conflict does not gel with the awe-striking immersion of a walking simulator, then I can’t think of a more complementary fit than environmental brain teasers to add a layer of gameplay meat. Many of the thought-provoking impediments in Gris revolve around the abilities that The Protagonist unlocks with every color restored. The Protagonist will inflate her cloak to the shape and size of an anvil to manipulate the leaning direction of rickety platforms and smash through cracked floors. Her cloak will also allow her to glide for short distances once she obtains the requisite platforming maneuver of a double jump. Some platforms near the end of the game are immaterial, so she’ll have to trigger a move that blossoms them to tangibility. Her swift acceleration boost while swimming certainly helps during the prolonged underwater sections. If the player finds themselves faced with a moment that halts progression, cycling through these abilities and applying one is bound to solve the roadblock. Gris doesn’t showcase the most complex of puzzles, but at least they’re stimulating enough to spruce up the straightaway trek.

Beneath the vivid domain and the hike lies the subtle narrative depth of Gris. Or, at least I’d like to believe that this adventure has some sort of profound point to it. I couldn’t deduce any greater substance from Journey, and the fact that the title of the game is so bluntly literal is another reason not to bother reading into its subtext (if it had any). Gris, on the other hand, at least gives the player something to chew on so the game’s flavor will last a bit after they complete it. For starters, one of the only pieces of contextual evidence we have is that the title translates to the Spanish word for grey. This murky tint that lies between white and black is the only prevalent shade at the beginning of the game. The significance behind that particular color most likely relates to The Protagonist’s internal dissonance. She’s not literally reinvigorating the world around her with the glow of its former radiance: it’s a replenishment process for her mental state. Only by partaking in this spiritual trip will The Protagonist find her inner brightness once again. What caused all the color to literally and metaphorically drain out of her life? Perhaps there is some relevance to the stone statue that The Protagonist finds at every progression milestone, climbing into the palm of its hand which releases another color into the atmosphere. In all likelihood, the figure is an effigy of someone who was close to her and has passed on, and their death was the primary cause for their broken state of being. It might be a stretch but hey, there’s at least something to extrapolate.

What a surprise–I found Gris to be a more substantive gaming experience than the game that draws constant comparisons. Then again, for as positive as the general consensus is for Journey, I believed that surpassing it wouldn’t be a herculean undertaking. Honestly, Gris’ adequate quality is entirely contingent on the parallels to Journey. Without noting its comparatively stronger graphical style, gameplay elements, and narrative depth than Journey, Gris still feels a bit empty by the end in all of those departments. If Journey is a hot chick who turns out to be nothing but a boring, vapid airhead underneath her surface, Gris is like her equally beautiful younger sister who studied abroad for one semester of college. You’ll get something of interest out of her for a brief period, but she'll start to falter into nothing once she exhausts the script.

Wednesday, December 4, 2024

P.T. Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 10/31/2024)













[Image from glitchwave.com]


P.T.

Developer: 7780s

Publisher: Konami

Genre(s): Graphic Adventure, Horror

Platforms: PS4

Release Date: August 12, 2014


It is time to pay my respects to Silent Hills, which is probably the most infamous example of a canceled game in the history of the medium. Like a musical prodigy or another sort of precocious wunderkind who has met an early demise, the world collectively weeps for the full potential of their extraordinary talents that could’ve blessed humanity. Alas, death is a fickle matter in the end, and not even the exceptionally gifted are shielded from its unpredictability. Even though what was built as the spiritual successor to Konami’s iconic survival horror series Silent Hill was unfortunately cut down before it fully sprouted, the profound lamentations of those most crestfallen by its cancellation have preserved its legacy. The sole remnant of its existence is “P.T.,” an acronym that simply spells out “playable trailer.” In the gaming biz, an interactive sampler of what is to come is called a “demo,” available for download on consoles that the finished game will be released. I realize that reviewing a demo is a tad cheap and invalidates a proper analysis. However, I can’t ignore what a sizable handful of gamers have dubbed as “the scariest game of all time.”

I should issue a disclaimer that I have not played P.T. and will never play P.T. This isn’t a confession to tarnish my credibility, but the availability of P.T. has all but vanished completely. In 2014, I was an eighteen-year-old preoccupied with my first semester of college and all of the frivolous activities involved with that age that I still plead the fifth on. I missed my opportunity to download P.T. (on a console I didn’t own at the time), and I’m not seeking out a used PS4 or Xbox One that houses the demo. I hope you forgive me for watching someone else play through P.T. on YouTube. After all, doesn’t the “trailer” portion of the title suggest that it can be viewed from an impersonal perspective as well? I think that I can be excused for half-assing this review as I’ll be able to assess P.T. 's quality and its potential via this method just fine.

Immediately, I was quite impressed with the presentation of P.T. The visuals are crisper than a glass of water fresh from a spring. Still, all that the hyperrealistic graphics do is pronounce all of the horrors that lurk in the dark, which is also contrasted appropriately enough with the player’s line of sight while maintaining a potent spookiness. Many people criticize the scare factor of setting something horror-oriented in the modern domicile of the character (probably thanks to the oversaturation of that Paranormal Activity crap), but what’s more unsettling than having the mundane and comfortable shaken up and plunged into the realm of terror? As the player moves back and forth through the corridors of this home, the lighting will grow more eerily dim to signify that the intensity of the horror factor is growing. The piece de resistance of the scary scene is the phantoms that emerge from the darkness, popping out at the player with their grizzly visages and moving about in a horrifically inhuman fashion. Encountering these ghoulish apparitions may verge into the realm of cheap jumpscares. Still, the game effectively supports these flashes of terror by maintaining the tension with odd little instances of bugs crawling down the walls and the sound of a baby crying from an unknown origin. All the while, all the context given to the player is the murder of a family by the patriarchal figure, letting the player conclude that the frightening figures that roam about the house were his victims in a state of purgatorial unrest. The demo ends with a phone call telling the player that they’re “the chosen one” to something without context. Norman Reedus shows himself outside the scene on the streets, and the camera angle and fame status lead us to believe that he would’ve been the face of this project if it had been continued. I’m sure he’s paying the bills just fine without a full release.

Okay, I’ll concede that I’m a little disappointed. I can fully ascertain why so many gamers continue to visit the grave of this aborted fetus of a game every so often and laud it for the appetizer that it was. Still, an appetizer is obviously not a full meal as it still leaves gamers with those unsatiated hunger pangs. However, in their state of grief, it seems like the greater gaming community is coping with the loss of Silent Hills by treating its demo as a full game. Given the effective and nightmarish pacing that made the original Silent Hill the title of “scariest game of all time,” I can certainly see how they could argue its legitimacy as a complete experience. Not every game needs to match the epic length of Red Dead Redemption, after all. I’m not fully subscribing to the mental gymnastics needed to label P.T. as a fully-fledged project, but it sure is one hell of a ride for how brief it is.

Omori Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 10/24/2024)













[Image from glitchwave.com]


Omori

Developer: Omocat

Publisher: Omocat, Playism

Genre(s): JRPG

Platforms: PC, Switch, PS4, Xbox One, 3DS, PS Vita, Xbox Series X

Release Date: December 25, 2020



I debated with heavy consideration whether or not to tackle Omori for the upcoming Halloween season. Since 2021, I've annually handpicked five or six video games to review in October that correspond with the major holiday occurring on the final day of the month. Overt horror games such as Resident Evil and Silent Hill are fairly self-explanatory for even the least avid of gamers. Still, the classification of what constitutes a game appropriate for this time of year has been bent and reconsidered per my better judgment. Castlevania, especially the 8-bit titles on the NES, couldn't even startle a jumpy toddler. Still, an homage to the Universal horror classics of the 1930s makes it equally an essential elder statesman to its medium like the gothic monster movies that inspired it. Destroy All Humans and War of the Monsters are both relatively fitting because the bygone atomic horror period that they’re both tributing used to genuinely frighten audiences during the 1950s. Luigi’s Mansion still evokes the eeriness of navigating through a haunted mansion like Resident Evil even if it forgoes the gore for campy, lighthearted goofiness. With something like Omori, however, there’s something about its conceptual identity that strikes me as inappropriate to induct it into the October canon of horror-themed video games. Sure, there isn’t any doubt that the game fits its psychological horror label like canned juice through a laundry chute (that’s a Silent Hill 2 reference for you), but the way that Omori directs its brand of cerebral torment veers more towards gloom and forlornness rather than panic-inducing encounters with mentally fabricated monsters. Depression, grief, and mental illness are constructs that plague humanity in real life, and the grave nature of these afflictions strike a chord of solemnity that wipes away the fun factor of fictional scares. Omori plasters all of these grim concepts on its thematic bumper like stickers on a minivan, which is the primary reason why I felt reviewing Omori was a tasteless digression from the exhilarating spirit of the spooky season. However, I did state that what crowned Silent Hill 2 the king of horror video games was its unparalleled integration of similar themes into its narrative, evoking a potent feeling of something I dubbed as “emotional horror.” I’ll eat my own words in this instance, for I now must know if Omori expertly captures the same peculiar phenomena that skyrocketed Silent Hill 2 to interactive horror prestige.

One probably couldn’t discern Omori’s horror elements just by taking a gander at it. Okay, the gray and hazy flashes in the opening shots are rather discomforting, and all the reassurances in the text such as “don’t worry” and “everything will be okay” signal that perhaps the aura of Omori is worrisome and that everything might be a catastrophe. Still, this opening sequence evokes cries of angst rather than screams of terror. Once the game includes player involvement, the homey pad known as “WHITE SPACE” may perturb some players with its eerily monochromatic and minimalistic design, and the drawings found in the notebook would send any child straight to a psychiatrist. Again, any and all feelings of consternation set by this scene are negated by Omori’s presentational elements, namely the chibi-sized playable character and other setpieces seen here rendered by the endearing, pixelated graphics. Leaving “white space” through the conveniently generated door teleports the player to a place that could be described as if a zoo managed to put the sickeningly colorful Nyan Cat in captivity and displayed it for human amusement. The land outside of this variegated cell isn’t as profusely vivid, but a more restrained and consistent color scheme still proves to be equally as stimulating. One particularly alluring aspect of the visuals is that while each individual area of Omori’s world disciplines itself to a concrete color palette, the game still displays an overarching idiosyncratic style no matter the specific shade. If the pixelated graphics weren’t charmingly rough-hewn enough, Omori scribbles in the insides of those grainy outlines with pencil-drawn shades where blank, white slivers lie in between for authenticity. The doodle drawings matched with the vibrant, lightly-toned colors of the foregrounds portray something very child-like. They not only speak to the whimsical nature of childhood, but craft something akin to an art style typically associated with children. Even though the art style is amateurish, an inexperienced child could never possibly match Omori’s refinement. Omori doesn’t look scary in the slightest, but its visuals are still wonderfully appealing.

Once the player sees similarities between Omori and a certain Nintendo title from the SNES era, they might make inferences that its horror elements are stealthily waiting beneath the surface for the opportune moment to violently erupt on the player like lava gushing from a volcano. The game I’m obviously referring to is Earthbound, a cult classic oddity with some deceptively disturbing content that has become the building blocks for a plethora of acclaimed indie titles released over the past decade. The quirky, seemingly guileless aesthetic both games share is a fair parallel to draw from, but a more apparent connection to Omori and its primary influence is the relationship between the player and their RPG party. For a sad sack with a perpetual glower, Omori, the title character, has an enterprising social life. South of the tree stump that houses Omori’s aforementioned cell is a playground where all of the local children play merrily until the sun sets. The bossy Berly and her burly, candy-covered companion Van seem to run the roost here but for the sake of relevance, let’s focus on the three central children who encompass Omori’s supporting team. It’s difficult to say which of the three is Omori’s best friend, but the token girl, Aubrey, seems to express the strongest affection towards the grey, stoic boy to the point where I’d call it puppy love. If you ask me, she has better romantic chemistry with the immature and impulsive Kel, and their constant butting of heads will likely lead to a future as teenagers in the back of Kel’s Dad’s Dodge Challenger on prom night. Kel knows not to provoke Aubrey too severely, for he might become victim to a literal butting of Aubrey’s head or a swift clobbering with her baseball bat–hence why she’s the muscle of the group. Add Kel’s older and winsome brother, Hero, into the mix as a positive proton to the negative charge Aubrey and Kel emit and this ensemble is certainly dynamic. As for where Omori fits in this group, he’s essentially Eeyore–the taciturn one that everyone still accepts into their social circle despite his doleful demeanor.

I think the sight of the other three children tailing Omori in a straight and unified line at all times is the image that empirically proves the game’s heavy Earthbound influence. However, this connection between Omori and its much older RPG muse is a tad more nuanced than simply having four children as the playable party members. In Earthbound’s mixed bag of both brilliant and bullshit aspects, one of the game’s better attributes relates to how each kid Ness would scrounge up to aid him on his quest served uniquely different roles on the team. Not only does this apply to their physical stats in combat, but it also applies to how each party member was a distinctive character with their own interesting personalities that made the quartet so eclectic. In Earthbound, characterization kind of slows to a glacial halt for each kid once they are absorbed into the Ness collective. While the characters in Omori hardly look dissimilar on screen unless the player squints, the personability of the title character’s friends never wavers because the game barely ceases in highlighting their distinctive personalities. Banter between characters through frequent dialogue does its job effectively, but Omori extends the transparency of every partner’s distinctiveness through their actions outside of conversation and combat. Traversing through Omori’s weird world will often be stopped by various progress impediments, and each of Omori’s friends has their own particular solution to specific problems. For example, if an object like a ceramic pot or a barrel are blocking the path, Aubrey will smash it to smithereens with her trusty baseball bat. Her hitting skills are also applicable to activate switches as well. However, if those switches aren’t in close quarters, it’ll be up to Kel to stand on a pedestal and channel his inner Dennis the Menace by aiming his slingshot and pelting the button or other object from afar. In the instance where the hindrance is a sentient being, Hero will take the stand to persuade the recalcitrant figure with his nice guy suaveness. Omori’s specialties are mostly contingent on hefty progression milestones, such as being able to slice the spiderwebs in front of the entrance to Pyrefly Forest and swim to the underwater Deep Well after conquering his fear of arachnids and drowning respectively. The player will have to swap out who is leading this congo line in order to enact a character’s specific field talent, and the transitional photos of one character tagging the other are both adorable and on brand for how the foursome perceive one another (I.e Aubrey’s elation when Omori tags her versus the irritation she feels when Kel does it and Hero giving his younger, smaller brother a noogie). The special abilities are just another example of Omori expertly fleshing out its characters outside of their combat attributes, engaging the player with these kids on a scale that Earthbound neglected to reach.

Still, the quartet’s dynamic during combat remains essential as it would for any archetypal JRPG team. If the merged movement of Omori and his friends on the field echoed Earthbound, one can imagine the combat system to be as equally uncanny. Upon encountering a boss or a common enemy, any battle is depicted with an immobile image of the foe at the center with the four characters framed in each corner. Attacks aren’t physically seen and are rather implied by flashes, and enemies are prone to waste a turn nodding off at times. Omori does not borrow Earthbound’s winding slot health mechanic, for perhaps that is a patented attribute whose use in other properties is impermissible. Each character has their individual health bars and magic meters, and they all have a unique set of skills that drain what is known here as “juice”. More skills are unlocked as each character levels up, but many revolve around their designated right-hand item or field ability. Omori stabs and slices foes with his knife like a sashimi chef, Aubrey emerges from her box to wallop enemies with her skull, Kel’s rubber ball ricochets around wildly, and Hero miraculously manages to whip up restorative baked goods with his spatula despite not also being equipped with a stove or oven. If the player instead chooses to engage the standard attack to conserve “juice,” they can still deal critical amounts of damage through the passing mechanic. Before attacking, a menu appears in the blink of an eye with three directional options. The current character can follow up their attack by passing it to one of the others, and the nature of the collaborative encore depends on the character’s skills and interpersonal relationship with the other person. Hero will yell chants that inspire confidence which heal both health and juice, while Kel will toss a ball to his friends, particularly Aubrey, to hit a grand slam into the enemies. Even when there is no dialogue or overt story exposition on screen, Omori still finds ways to cleverly cultivate character interactions.

Passing an attack to Kel when it's Aubrey's turn, however, will instead cause a peculiar status effect, which is my segway into discussing what is probably Omori’s singular contribution to the turn-based RPG combat. Omori is unquestionably a game that revels in vulnerability, wearing every emotion on its sleeves as prominently as an arm-spanning tattoo. Since emotions are a stark thematic construct in Omori, Omocat, the core creative force behind Omori, had the bright idea to integrate this element of the game’s essence into the combat. Whether Omori and friends are inflicting mercurial shifts on the enemies or on each other, the emotion mechanic is vital to success with the game’s combat. Depending on the character, the player can exhaust a bit of juice to either give them a pep talk to fill them with happiness (Aubrey), read them a somber poem to evoke feelings of sadness (Omori), or anger them through annoying yelps and screeches (Kel). Stacking these status afflictions with the same special skills will increase the severity of each emotion to ecstasy, depression, and rage respectively. Only Omori can push the emotional threshold to their extremes with mania, misery, and fury. Basically, the utility of the emotions operates on a rock, paper, and scissors system where an emotion is forceful against one and delicate to another both in terms of offense and defense–as helpfully illustrated on an artful schematic once the mechanic is introduced. While the goal is to contrast the opposing emotion felt by the enemy, the state of each mood still carries certain benefits relating to aspects such as speed, luck, defense, etc. Sure, one can argue that this is a reinterpretation of Pokemon’s (or Shin Megami Tensei) elemental system. However, the way that Omori weaves one of its chief thematic attributes into the combat plausibly and practically makes it anything but derivative.

While the emotion system is more than an admirable mark of intuition, it comes with a glaring flaw that almost soils the combat entirely. Omori’s combat is easy to learn and easy to master, which will cause any lucid player paying attention to never experience strife at any point in the game. The issue stems from the fact that emotions are perpetual until the battle ends, and they can be altered without much effort by the player at any given moment. When the party is all donning the opposing shade on the emotional spectrum, they’ll be able to trounce the enemy with several consecutive super-effective strikes and still have the time and energy to have a joyous picnic afterward. An example of how fundamentally broken this system is with the Sweetheart boss fight, a regal, narcissistic brat who resembles Strawberry Shortcake if the wholesome character had a yandere streak. As the fight progresses, she’ll elevate her “cheerful positivity” to the heights of pure, rapturous bliss. It’s intended to convey the notion to tread lightly around her at her maximum potential but as long as Omori dampens himself and his friends in a shield of sorrow, they’ll smack that manically gleeful smirk off of her irritating face while she barely dents any of them with her pink medieval flail. The intended formidability of this fight is rendered into a sweatless joke, which can really be said about any instance of combat in the game. If the emotions were a temporary slight or stat boost and the player was forced to take advantage of the slimmer window of opportunity, the mechanics would prove to be a thrilling tint to the combat. As it is, I wonder if the title character’s expressionless face is inspired by boredom rather than despair.

Speaking of the aforementioned boss whose battle is practically effortless, Sweetheart involves one of the numerous detours the game takes from Omori’s main quest. The primary goal for Omori & company is to find their sensitive, plant-enthusiast friend Basil, who disappears without a trace after the events of the prologue. The gang must scour every crevice of the Vast Forest to find their frightened, flower-crowned compadre, which will lead them to countless corners of dangerous, uncharted territory. As I stated beforehand regarding Omori’s eclectic color palette, the necessity of sprucing up the pixelated graphics with every shade of a rainbow is to highlight distinctions between all of the world map’s varied districts. The “Otherworld” moon colony that requires the longest ladder imaginable to reach is an audacious fuschia, an attractive, unconventional shade for a quasi-urban environment. The creamsicle sands of the Orange Oasis are the grounds of an excavation site, luring tourists to dig for treasure with its accessible, marketable dinosaur mascot. Places where NPCs are less likely to be found include the misty, spider-infested Pyrefly Forest and the watery trenches of Deep Well, and the latter area evokes such a mesmerizing underwater atmosphere that it made me yearn to remain down here until the character’s lungs collapsed from a lack of oxygen.

I enjoy that the map I’m forced to search every nook and cranny of to find Basil is wonderfully diverse but ultimately, all the diversity does is distract the foursome from their primary objective. Once they deduce that Basil hasn't stepped foot in the Otherworld neighborhood, the gang then shifts their focus to finding an intimate mixtape for a lovesick character called Capt. Spaceboy in its local junkyard. Aubrey receives tickets to a bachelor auction in the village where the common sprout mole enemies reside, and attending the show leads to a long escapade trying to escape Sweetheart’s vain and extravagant castle estate where the fountains jet a richly red liquid that the game describes as “not for children.” Aubrey said she’d humor this outing IF they found the time, and someone responsible like Hero should’ve stamped their foot down and said no to this nonsense. Severing Omori’s friends of their unpaid employment at the Last Resort casino feels like an unconcealed distraction by design, and not a single vital piece of information to Basil’s whereabouts could ever have been found in the elaborate insides of Humphrey the Whale. The gang actually struggles to remember Basil at this point in the game and quite frankly, his relevance was getting a bit fuzzy in my mind as well. Look, I understand that the impetus for all of these plot deviations is from Earthbound doing the same at every waking moment. Random happenstances worked in Earthbound’s favor because the game was unabashedly absurd, and the overarching plot of reaching the sanctuaries allowed for some extracurricular activities in between. In a game where the characters communicate more often on a mission where time is of the essence, too much rerouting makes the player think there’s a glitch in the matrix and that the characters are nonchalant little dickheads.

I’m fairly patient with Omori’s wonky trajectory, but I did reach a point where I found myself asking what was the point of this quirky investigation involving a brooding Myspace-era emo kid and his three friends. Omori’s arbitrary events didn’t even match the humor of Earthbound’s because the game is too puerile and squeaky clean, even though there is clearly a latent sexual tension between Aubrey and Kel. I struggled to find the substance of Omori until Capt. Spaceboy was defeated, for the game then warped to a scene where the title character awakens from the interactive dream that I was just experiencing. Before you dismiss this occurrence as a maddening cliche, transporting to the realm of consciousness unlocks Omori’s foundation that I was beginning to believe the game didn’t have. The world surrounding The Protagonist, who is canonically named Sunny here and not the title’s namesake, once he snaps out of his slumber is where the “domestic RPG” aspects of Earthbound start to shine. Or, it’s when the alluring veil of fantasy is ripped off to expose a drab and dull reality, depending on your perspective. Gone is the lush, psychedelic tint to the visuals, as Sunny’s actual residency adopts a sober, realistic rendering of the real world–pixels withstanding. This also extends to how the protagonist and the NPCs are portrayed, with more melanin in their skin fit for a healthy human being instead of a bunch of bed-sheet-white anemics. There are no submerged casinos or cities in the sky, as only the park is the real-world parallel that crosses over into Sunny’s dream land. That is, unless you discount that he’s inserted his favorite comic book superhero Capt. Spaceboy and the popular starlet Sweetheart into his subconscious, giving context to the elements of HEADSPACE that seemed irrelevant. The character progression that comes with turn-based combat is not relevant here, as Sunny cannot gain experience through battle and is limited to one attack and a single skill involving meditative breathing to restore his health. I wouldn’t be surprised if several players loathe every section of Omori that takes place after Sunny wakes up and exasperatedly rushes through them, for the vibrant locations and the RPG mechanics that grab the player’s attention cryogenically freezes. While nothing here is as appealing as the components of “HEADSPACE,” revealing that the roundabout realm where erratic, almost episodic, events happen on a whim are all but a fabrication conjured up by The Protagonist’s subconscious justifies the scattered progression. Personally, taking a breather from the turbulence of HEADSPACE to a more grounded dimension is refreshing.

The effectiveness of the Persona-esque juxtaposition between Omori’s two realms is based on one universe informing the context of the other. Anyone who has ever slumbered before will tell you that the elements of one’s dreams are ethereal embellishments of recognizable attributes, and this observation is expressed by Omori’s reality if the park is any indication. People’s dreams also tend to feature familiar faces they regularly interact with, so you know that Sunny’s three friends have to be circling around the vicinity somewhere here. However, they are not all waiting in the same spot together, eager for Sunny to meet them and gallivant off fighting the local wildlife or helping an elderly woman save her cat that got stuck up in a tree. In fact, the friendship dynamic of the foursome is fractured entirely here. The young adult Hero has shipped off to university and Aubrey is spending her time with an entirely new group of local kids that vaguely resemble the figures found at the park in Sunny’s dreams. She’s almost unrecognizable with her bubblegum pink hair dye job, and her attitude has shifted into that of an unruly miscreant like the rest of her playground chums. Their prankish deeds barely outdo the Gangreen Gang from The Powerpuff Girls in legality, but they will still draw ire from players because they are obnoxious jerks to Sunny, Kel, and especially poor Basil. Aubrey has entered her “Chloe Price” phase, and comparing her to that hellacious character sickens me considering her HEADSPACE counterpart was so sweet and full of natural exuberance. Kel still exudes the same high spirits, albeit now as a dorky, overly positive goodies-two-shoes instead of a reckless bull in a China shop. Maybe he’s rekindling the energy he once had because he’s excited to see Sunny again after years of The Protagonist’s absence, and perhaps he’s in a people-pleasing mood because Sunny is permanently departing from the neighborhood in three days. Whether it's the fact that Sunny’s lifestyle has turned his name into the pinnacle of irony or that Aubrey is now browbeating her old friends instead of appreciating them, it’s evident that the tender connection these kids once had has been ripped to shreds to the point of total dissipation. Once the player learns of the conditions surrounding the present state of The Protagonist’s being and his non-existent relationships with his former friends, the whimsical ecstasy felt in the HEADSPACE portion of the game is swapped for a potent melancholy. Sunny has ensconced himself in a dreamy, exaggerated dominion of nostalgic bliss, when life was simple and free of both internal and external conflict. The nebulous nature of HEADSPACE that once confounded the player becomes appreciated when we get a glimpse at the bleak reality that spurred its creation. Suddenly, the player is hanging on every moment taking place in HEADSPACE and is as enveloped in the fantasy as the character that created it.

Why Sunny became a recluse and how his loving group of friends was torn asunder isn't another secondary mystery arc taking place in the realm of reality. The player learns as soon as the first full day that Sunny’s dear friends separated due to the untimely death of Mari, Sunny’s sister and beloved member of his friend group. Even though she’s only a memory to the other characters in the real world, the player receives plenty of exposure to this departed character in HEADSPACE where she facilitates the save function with her picnic baskets. She does nothing but supports the gang and praises her younger brother just for being himself, even though he just interprets her compliments with that sustained look of apathy he has. When the player browses Basil’s photo album, either the real one or the HEADSPACE equivalent, seeing Mari in these photos alongside the other characters in their most intimately cherished moments effectively conveys the weight of their loss. She was clearly a lovely influence on her younger brother and their shared group of friends, so it's baffling to everyone why she would’ve committed suicide in her backyard. However, as the game unravels, it’s clear that someone at the local PD should’ve conducted a thorough autopsy. Once Omori collects the keyboard key collectibles necessary in spelling out “WELCOME TO BLACK SPACE” in a game of hangman, completing the puzzle unlocks the passageway into a shadowed mirror version of Omori’s home of WHITE SPACE. It’s here in this sterile, dark no-man's land where the momentary sprinkles of horror that Omori has been dropping to foreshadow this section blossoms into a Wonka’s Tunnel of Terror of freaky, surreal occurrences–ranging from dissecting Sunny’s cat as “punishment” to the fingers of a graphically refined hand being gruesomely severed. The objective surrounding the cavalcade of strange and upsetting instances is to collect the Polaroid pictures scattered around the ground, and piecing all of them together in a photo album in chronological order reveals the truth behind how Mari died. From what I can tell, Mari accidentally broke Sunny’s violin in a scuffle because she felt he was too inexperienced with his instrument to perform a duet with her on the piano. In a fit of anger, Sunny retaliated by pushing her down a flight of stairs, and the impact proved to be fatal. Panicking, he dragged her body to the backyard and hung a noose around her neck to make it seem like a suicide, avoiding the severe consequences of his actions. It’s not clear whether Basil was a witness or an accomplice to this shocking scene, but his involvement here explains why he’s been so inactive in Sunny’s cognizance–avoiding the truth by avoiding the only other person who is privy to it. The black, discorporate figure that has been present during Sunny’s anxious episodes of mental dissonance is also revealed to be the indelible image of Mari’s swollen eye peeking over her hair as she motionlessly hung from the tree branch. When that piece is inserted into the greater puzzle of Omori’s narrative, it’s so upsetting that I’m afraid that I’ll start seeing it when I rise from bed at night to use the bathroom.


They pulled a James fucking Sunderland on us. Up until Sunny’s descent into BLACK SPACE, I was confident that the ethos of Omori was rooted in coping with the bittersweet inevitability of change. I was going to confidently state parallels to Earthbound’s themes of maturing and adapting to the trauma of that initial loss of innocence. Instead, I’ve come to find that the character I’ve been empathizing with and was hoping that he’d pull himself out of the rut he created over something out of his control caused his own crippling malaise. Regardless of whether or not his actions were inadvertent and if his remorse is eating him alive, it doesn’t change the fact that *he killed his own fucking sister.* James Sunderland even had more rationale for doing what he did! Anyway, the damage is irrevocable and is now out on the table. Sunny cannot resurrect Mari, but he still has the power to positively change the outcome of his future without her. If the player has been attentively stomaching the sections in FARAWAY TOWN, it’ll put Sunny on the path of redemption. He’ll still confront Basil in his room which will result in both boys ending up in the hospital, but Sunny will still barge in and say “I have something to tell you…” with his friends all present–signifying that he’s come to terms with his actions. Any variation of this route may also result in Sunny killing himself when the grief is too unbearable to take, especially when he gives into his defeat fighting his Omori doppelganger in WHITE SPACE. Alternately, the player can also abstain from ever interacting with the real world and sink even further into delusional degeneration. The player is in control of Sunny’s destiny, and the outcome could also subtly illustrate how they’d act if they were faced with the same circumstances.

I didn’t think that the cannon that fired a crushing grapeshot of emotion into my gut after playing Silent Hill 2 had more ammunition to do it again with Omori. Alas, Omocat’s creation threw me into the torrent of overwhelming guilt and grief just as effectively as Konami’s masterpiece without copying anything from Silent Hill 2's narrative. Really, the game of interest that Omori bunched itself in a tangled knot with is Earthbound, and some of the assets borrowed from that game ended with complications involving the pacing and combat. However, Omori’s comparatively starker resemblance to Earthbound than the rest of the game’s indie acolytes makes me see that it has flourished all of the aspects of Nintendo’s cult classic that I found excruciating with modern accessibility and a better emphasis on character growth and interactions. It lacks Earthbound’s edge, but all of the improvements more than compensate for that. I’d argue that it takes Earthbound’s template further into refurbishment territory than its own sequel. With its impactful narrative, layered characters, and moments that will make you both sob and keep you awake at night, I can see why Omori earned the same rabid following on the internet as Undertale once did. Omori will persist as a contender for the horror classic canon of gaming.

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