Pace Yourself now

Some players think about pace a lot less than game designers do, which is a shame because pace can lie at the root of why players might appreciate their favorite games. Before we start, a quick definition of pace in video games, for those of you that aren’t familiar: Pace is the speed at which you move through a game. Pace can be how fast you move through levels, how fast the game shuttles you through the story, or even the speed of the combat.

But what is good pacing? How does pace improve a game?

You might think that action games need to have a constant ramp up as far as pace goes, and many do. However, some might argue that the best action games understand the importance of a little down time. Quiet moments give you a chance to explore the world that you’re in and understand what the characters are going through. 

Wolfenstein: The New Order did a great job with the little moments. In between bombastic combat sections where you literally fight moon-Nazis, you head back to your home base. Usually, you have a little quest to find some tools, or just explore for a few minutes.

Yes, literal moon nazis. Bet you thought I was joking.

Each time you go back, things change a little. Maybe a room once empty now holds a rescued resistance fighter, or maybe a civilian’s room is now empty. You’re never removed from the harsh realities of a Nazi dominated future. You can talk to the other characters and really get a sense of why you’re fighting, ensuring that the combat never gets too ridiculous or boring because it means something.

Wolfenstein: The New Order focused on environmental storytelling in the quiet moments, to its benefit.

Half Life 2 also understood how much a quiet moment here and there can mean. The opening plays much differently than the rest of the game, adding flavor and context with observation. You walk through a train station in City 17, meeting civilians and civil protection agents. You understand the oppression that the citizens of City 17 labor under, and you can get angry on their behalf. You can see how terrible this world is and how many of the people have lost hope. Most importantly, you’re given time to digest these feelings and the world. When you actually get to fighting, you have a reason beyond “oh hey this is fun.”

"Pick up that can, citizen." That simple line tells you so much about how people are treated in this new world.

Level design also has a huge amount to do with pace. If a level requires you to backtrack 500 times, it feels tiring or annoying. Conversely, if a level is just a straight line, it can feel a little too simple.

Shovel Knight is a game that excels at clever level design. The whole game is a callback to NES era platformers, from the look, to the gameplay, to the sound of the game. Much like those earlier platformers, the game has an overworld where you choose which level you want to play. Each level is uniquely designed with its own set of challenges, enemies, and treasures. Not only that, but each level’s pace plays into the challenges you face. Mole Knight’s stage, for instance, is filled with lava that you can “goo-ify” to bounce on.

Bounce, Shovel Knight. Bounce to your doom.

You spend most of your time in this stage hanging in the air, and the enemies are designed to knock you slightly off course as you fall, or be where you're going to land. The pace of this level is fairly slow compared to some of the other levels, but it never feels tedious.  You feel like you’re really improving as a player because you learn to deal with everything the game throws at you, despite the differing feelings of all of it.

Shovel Knight captures the Super Mario Bros. 3 style, where each level has it's own unique challenge and speed.

Does pace have to change from level to level, or do you need different levels to make an engaging game? Doom, a breakneck ride from start to finish, might have something to say about that. You’re dropped into a space station on mars with a pistol and you carve your way through hellspawn (and that’s all the story you’re getting).

John Carmack, Doom's lead programmer, once said, "Story in a game is like a story in a porn movie. It's expected to be there, but it's not that important."

Doom is a game of reflexes, frantic movement, and keeping a cool head. The pace of Doom never really dips, it just sort of increases as you have the chance to use more intense weapons. Each level has a “par” time, usually under 5 minutes. The fast pace forces you to rely more on instinct rather than planning and the weapons and enemies are designed around this. Most enemies fire slow moving projectiles or need to use melee attacks. Many of your weapons follow similar rules, so you have to move around enemy fire and you strafe, jump, and run around pillars to return fire without eating too many fireballs to the face. A slow space marine is a dead space marine, according to Doom.

Doom is full of traps for the unwary player, but with quick feet and a quick trigger finger, you'll make it out.

So, we’ve seen how pace can be changed up to great effect, how levels can be paced to keep the game feeling fresh, and how a constant pace can tell you how the game is meant to be played. Pace tells us a lot about how the game designers thought about progression, atmosphere, and playstyle. Think about your favorite game. How was it paced? Where was that pace the most obvious? Why did the pace fit?

Pickling Games: Atmosphere

Imagine that you wake up on a train. There are only two other people in your car, both say that they didn’t see you get on. The train stops, and with a heaving sigh and a "Well, end of the line" from one of the other passengers, you enter a dirty train station. High above you, gigantic screens show a man, speaking to all of you. He mentions the" generosity of our benefactors” in allowing you to live in “one of humanity’s finest remaining settlements.”  Meanwhile, you can get a better look at the people inside the station. They are frightened, depressed, and extremely wary of one another. The police force abuses the populace with total for fun, taking some into “interrogation rooms” and beating others for nothing more than not picking up a can. You can see the desperation and anger in the citizens who wait for a single bag of food from an automatic dispenser. Walking out of the train station, you are blinded by the flash from a security drone taking pictures of all the populace. “Welcome to City 17”, the overseer says.

Though over a decade old, the opening of Half-Life 2 still stands as one of the best introductions to a world in games.

This is the opening to Half Life 2, considered one of the best video games ever made. A large part of this is because of the well-constructed and designed world and atmosphere of the game. Atmosphere is the salt of the video game world. It adds flavor to normal games and drastically increases the chance of preservation. Those few games that get it right are guaranteed at least a footnote in the history of Video Games.

So, how do you do atmosphere right?

The Shock games (System Shock/System Shock 2/Bioshock 1, 2, and Infinite) are loved by many players.  Every step you takes, every sound you hear, and every new room you see adds to the atmosphere of the game.

From the very opening of System Shock 2 you know that only a thin metal wall separates you from the gigantic cold void of space.  As you move through the station, enemies’ mumbled cries echo around the empty rooms and the slowly decaying station machinery blips and beeps. The game shows you clear evidence of the people living there: audio diaries, magazines left out on beds, and discarded drink cans in the mess hall. More importantly, the layout of station is designed for people, rather than just a level in a game. All of these little things make the space station of System Shock 2 a haunting and unforgettable environment despite uncomfortable combat, a confusing upgrade system, and wildly unbalanced weapons.

The villain of System Shock, SHODAN, adds a huge amount to the atmosphere  with her almost Max Headroom style messages.

If you are interested in western RPGs in the slightest, chances are you have seen a lot of discussion and comparison between The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind and The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. In Morrowind, the minute you step into the playable part of the game (in the hold of a ship), you hear all the sounds you actually might hear on real wooden boat; the creaking of the wood, the water splashing against the hull, and the footsteps of the people upstairs. These little environmental sounds immerse you in the area, to say nothing of the visual aspects of Morrowind.

The first town looks normal, but even that has tons of visual and audio cues that let you know that it’s as close an to a real place as video games can create. The town is built around a few buildings, like the Trade House and the Guard House. There’s a lighthouse near the water and several lower income houses near the less desirable, swampier parts of town. The outdoors themselves are really well put together as well, and give you clues about how this world works. Step a few feet outside any town and the you find mushroom trees, giant bugs that serve as a sort of public transport, and areas ranging from damp swamps to giant mountains hidden in swirling clouds of red ash. Your character reacts to all this like you actually might.  You have to wade through ash storms when you encounter them. They slow your forward movement and force your character to shield their eyes. When you walk under the mushroom trees, you can see various creatures scuttling  underneath and flying gas creatures moving gently from place to place.

The first area you see in a game helps set the tone for the rest of your time int the world, and a lot of games don't use the first area as well as they could.

Skyrim misses a lot of these little touches. The sounds of the world are generic and your character moves the same whether you are trudging through snow or running in a field. The dungeons of Skyrim are almost always designed in the same way. You follow a crescent shaped path only to find a switch at the end which allows you to move from the beginning to the end much quicker. The dungeons are oddly quiet and the exact same color palette and textures do start to wear on you. These details make you feel unconnected from the world and reduce atmospheric quality of the game.

However, there are parts of Skyrim that do further atmosphere, like the lighting and weather systems. In one of the first dungeons, a single fire on top of a pedestal illuminates a broken down chamber, and the enemy slowly crosses the room. The flickering flame and the quality of light make the room seem warm, somehow. You can almost feel the one room of heat in this cold tomb, and feel the trepidation when the enemy emerges from the shadow.

You find the best moments in Skyrim happen when you're exploring. When you trudge up a mountain, over rocks and through a blizzard, only to look up and see an ancient structure slowly appear out of the snow, you get a feeling like you're exploring something that's been untouched for years. You can almost feel the cold that chills your bones and the snow that weighs your feet down. The sense of adventure here is almost unparalleled; what's in that template, just waiting for me to find it?

Discovery is one of the best things in The Elder Scrolls series, and Skyrim definitely has that in spades, but other issues weigh it down when compared with earlier games.

Atmosphere does not always have to be beautiful or inviting; the dark and lonely world of the S.T.A.L.K.E.R games tosses you into a dangerous and tense fight for survival. This series of games takes place in the area around the Chernobyl reactor, famous for its 1986 nuclear disaster. You assumes the role of a stalker, an adventurer who goes into the “Zone” to bring back mysterious artifacts created by disaster.

Most worlds draw you to go outside and adventure, but not the S.T.A.L.K.E.R series. Every time you go out into the Zone you risk getting mauled by psychic dogs, gasmask-wearing snorks, or white eyed blood sucking humanoids that can become invisible at will. The unfriendly humans can be even worse. When walking through “The Zone”, you can hear the haunting cries of the mutated animals and feel a chill run up your spine, you can see the far off light of gunfire and decide whether intervening is smart given your ammunition count and health. You can see the various radioactive anomalies light up as an unfortunate person or animal wanders into them and feel your steps become more cautious to avoid a similar fate. You can feel the cold of the rain and the anticipation for safety upon seeing a friendly group of stalkers around a fire. The world forces you to treat it with caution and respect, making it far more memorable than most video game locales.

If the mutants of the S.T.A.L.K.E.R don't creep you out, I don't want to know you.

Imagine dropping into the cockpit of a space fighter. Immediately, you see the metal bulkhead in front of you that reads “Trevithick Dock.” You select the “launch option”, and your ship is carted through the station until you are on the surface, the black void of space around you. In the distance, you can see millions of stars through the translucent glass of your cockpit. Inside the cockpit, you can see your ships controls, and watch as your avatar responds to your commands, readying to ship for launch. Around you, your audio feed picks up various ships docking and leaving as well as the Dock master’s stern warning not to cause any trouble. You launch your ship off of the landing pad and suddenly, the galaxy is open to you. All you have to do is chose where to start your adventure. This is what atmosphere does. It creates memories that stick with you for far longer than any game can last. 

Welcome to the galaxy, pilot. Where to first?