GutterPutter

By hiding the key subtext behind one of the first items you interact with, the RPG masterpiece satiates our curiosity with a relapse into obsession.

For every role-playing game one would have played, be it tabletop or on a computer/console, you would be very well aware of one selling point – worldbuilding. Learning about the region that you are supposedly set on changing as you develop your character helps to not only fuel engagement, but to also unify all forms of narrativity into an immersive experience. A paper by Swedish then-student (now marketing manager) Dimitra Papacosta for Umea University has gone into depth what she described as “secondary narratives”, taking a form of side quests, descriptions surrounding in-game objects, anything that exists outside of the main storyline. (pg.2/Introduction) In elaborating the intersections between the numerous variations of that form of narrative thanks to her research, she argued on pg.48:

“[…] the physical spatial worlds of games were identified as the driving vehicle for immersion. Mentions of world were often done in conjunction with expressions such as ‘being inside it’, suggesting projection, or perceiving the game as real, suggesting realism, that the world feels ‘alive’ and well-contextualised and cohesive, and that the player’s existence in that world has affectivity. In other words, all categories of themes become intrinsically co-dependent in how they promote immersion.”

Thus, secondary narratives are key in getting players to feel as if they are a part of the actual world that the game takes place in, not just partaking in it as per say. This was highlighted previously by blogger for Game Developer Glen Clooney who, in 2012, noted the adventure game genre’s integral influence on inciting immersion by enabling exploration of the game world for Planescape. Yet, much as these aspects matter to RPGs in general, they are largely placed in speculatory settings. For Papacosta’s case, her research saw Witcher 3 sticks out as being the best with secondary narratives and it’s based in a fantasy world as does the mentioned Skyrim. 

Yet, while they try to highlight the ways to try and win over the player, there are little examinations into the character themself. Attempts to do research on narratives and characters like Malang State University’s Mitra Istiar Wardhana &c. or game developer Luís Fernando Bicalho &c. only looks into how to further immerse the player into the game world with little regard for the ethics behind developing the playable character. 

These points generally persist well until ZA/UM’s Disco Elysium, a 2019 RPG set in a city district that’s shaped by a massive communist uprising from decades ago. Playing as an amnesiac alcoholic and once-respected detective Harry Du Bois, you are set to investigate a murder case in an impoverished neighbourhood that happens to be the epicentre of a major labour strike. Not only are you pushed to solve it to prove your worth after years of self-destruction as hinted throughout, but you are also encouraged to make use of your lost memories to reinvent yourself for better – or for worse.

Since its release, Disco Elysium saw acclaim for its intricate gameplay and what is immediately thought of as one of the greatest pieces of writing in video game history. The main companion Kim Kitsuragi was lauded as a moral compass to incentivise selfless decisions made as noted by academic Piotr Klimczyk in looking over the strong feelings that many players feel after finishing the game. Its critique of capitalism as the lone socioeconomic system was noted once in a Master’s Degree thesis by Leo Springfield for Uppsala University who, influenced by Mark Fisher’s late-stage capitalism argument, highlighted its thematic push for solidarity. Its expansive skills system was lauded by many sites since its release which is best summed by a Gamespot review by Daniel Wildgoose: “[It] serves as a captivating exploration to your character’s inner life and echoes his journey of self-rediscovery.”

Its insightful look into depression, above all else, takes up much of the analysis surrounding Disco Elysium. Many deemed it to hit close to home based on their personal experiences with their vices, others felt the impulse to root for Du Bois in his road to recovery from his self-sabotage. Video essays run abound to note how much the game pushes the player to go for a redemptive march for betterment. Community commentaries point out overlooked details that further enforces the vices that plagued him. Alcoholism, drug abuse, or even a foray into fascism, these characteristics are largely tied to one key subplot – his long-gone romance with Dora Ingerlund who was only mentioned or hinted at until the ending. 

Or rather, how the possibility of remembering her could entice a relapse into ruining oneself again. A major part of the subplot is on how it starts on an initially innocuous act that you would have likely committed at the beginning of the game – that being to open the hidden drawer in the ledger. When you open the drawer, you are introduced to the card from “[a] young woman in her twenties” that reads:

“Harry, I wanted to write you a card, so you can read it when you wake up. Maybe it will make you happy. […] Every morning when I step you and you’re asleep behind me, I find a little piece of sadness in me. I carry it in my chest down Voyager Road… Every step I take, it grows. By the time I reach the fuel station it has filled me entirely. I step out on the light rail and look back, sparks fall from the bow collector. I know it will be like this until late afternoon, when I get off the 42 – and walk back to you… You, you… Every step I take will get lighter. It almost makes me run! Sometimes I do. I can’t believe I met you. I can’t believe the happiness I feel with you. You have a vast, vast soul and I will always, always, always come back to it. Kisses, kisses, kisses.”

In-game source: https://fayde.co.uk/dialojue/6250182

Upon reading the card in its entirety, you then faint and, if Kim is around, you are taken to his motor carriage to recover. This launches you into one of the most engaging instances of secondary narratives in recent history. The way that the game posits Du Bois into remembering his ex through the ledger interaction is integral because it ultimately flips immersion in its head – and thereby gets us to realise the serious depth of his many problems.

In thinking about the event, I thought about the lead writer and game developer Robert Kurvitz (now of Red Info due to being fired from ZA/UM) and his interview with Verso Books. He mentioned the first two Fallout games by Interplay as among his favourites for its environmental storytelling. In an example that was highlighted by PC Gamer’s Jody Macgregor, Kurvitz noted the use of the skeleton in the beginning of Fallout, the very first game of the franchise, to show that you’re not the first to leave the Vault for a mission. He elaborates that in general, he finds the game’s worldbuilding to be among the best that is “almost Biblical in its annihilation.” It seems to be irrelevant at first, but much of the interview shows that secondary narrative is a key part of Disco Elysium even if he doesn’t explicitly say it out loud.

Yet, Fallout as a whole is dependent on offering its vast wealth of backstories to the player through environmental objects and dialogue without altering how the playable character thinks specifically. It is entirely on the player themself on how they can react to it and how they can develop their own character. You can, for instance, go through the entirety of Fallout: New Vegas for example with all of the DLCs included, pick the morally correct choice in not only the first two arcs of the base game, but almost the entirety of the packs. You can side wholeheartedly with the New California Republic in the bid to help the faction obtain more resources for their army and the refugees that they are responsible for caring for. You can reach the highest reputation point with them at “Idolized”. And when you are about to finish Lonesome Road, you can direct the nuclear missiles toward them to maximise the amount of loot you can gain.

Players will recognise this as an instance of ludonarrative dissonance especially if the game remembers your standing via someone like the antagonist Ulysses commenting on which faction you’re closest with. He wouldn’t acknowledge if you decide to reverse your alignment at the last minute nor would he even remark on your decision when you return to him after finishing the DLC. Outside of a handful of updated responses based on what happened in the base game, there is no in-depth evaluation on your character even based on the contrast between their alignment compared to their final choice. Let alone the motive behind many of their actions.

For Disco Elysium, the decisions that are made throughout the game will be remembered and the ending will commentate on whichever option you lean more towards. For the subplot with Ingerlund however, it is reliant on opening the card. Aside from the “ex-wives” comment at the beginning, you have no clue about the ledger and its drawer and its significance altogether, let alone Du Bois’s past. The game from the beginning pushes you to investigate his background just as it demands that you look into the murder case. Already, there is pressure for self-discovery without any hint about the consequences. In conjunction with the habit of learning about the world that’s fuelled in part by the expository info from the skill “Encyclopedia”, you are encroaching on the prospect of relapsing without a warning.

Thus, once you read the card through, our knowledge of Ingerlund segues immediately into that of an indomitable aspect that haunts Du Bois throughout the rest of the game. Be it with the encounter with Dolores Dei during the series of tasks surrounding the church or with the fascism political quest, the desire for winning her back becomes paramount. Not even an awareness of self-ruination would deter the goal of reunion. Ingerlund is presented not as a muse but as an addiction. Her idealised state is more intoxicating than even the drugs or alcohols that ravage Du Bois’s health. 

Even the skills warned you about the problems surrounding her. Before reading the card, Volition, which represents your mental willpower, insists that you “[throw] it away.” Meanwhile, Shivers, which is your personal connection to the setting of Revachol, only says “LET GO.” There is a subtle nod to let you know that what they are doing is not going to help Du Bois out at all. If you were to stand your ground, you can even release it into the wind which will net you a new thought, a perk-like feature to shape Du Bois, called “Caustic Echo”. With an XP increase of 300 after internalising, you would think that this would help him move on for good.

Yet, throughout the game, Ingerlund remains as a phantom even if you let go of the card instead. All it takes is for you to enter the church and you can easily be made aware of her. Her essence continues to contort Du Bois to the point where she’s almost inseparable from him. To actively play the game without knowing about her is a near-impossible feat. This sets the card as an exemplary example for how secondary narratives can entice and yet punish the player for indulging into potential weaknesses of the playable character. 

By setting up the allure of learning about Du Bois’s background via immersiveness, you set him up on remembering the pain from the past that he craves. At worst, you can even incite him to “turn back time.” It is both enticing to learn more about Du Bois’s past relationships and heartrending to set him up for reminders after reminders about a breakup that he continuously struggles to move on from. It is a secondary narrative that works at its most engaging and its most torturous.

But, if you do manage to go through the rest of the game without learning about Ingerlund, you at least get no dream sequence if you opt to rest on the final island. It’s a small reward in-game, but a cathartic release from a lifetime’s worth of delusion.