The Real Monster

Some time ago, our friend Gerard Delaney of the Binary Swan put up a post about zombies that has since been shambling around in my head. Gerard argued that, despite the preponderance of zombies in video games, "Zombie games draw heavily from film but do so without ever replicating what it is that makes the movies horrific." In films "Zombies may produce the most ’shocking’ moments, but it is the degenerative humanity in the survivors that is most horrific."

I found this critique very perceptive and I began to keep my eye out for games that had the potential to transform the player and their avatar into something that resembled their enemies. The pickings were slim: it seems that most games tend to excuse or justify even the most dubious behavior from their characters and players. In games like Resident Evil and Dead Rising, zombies are a convenient enemy that can be guiltlessly mowed down. Any humans that find themselves on the wrong side of the battle can be written off as insane, traitorous, or evil. The player is never tempted or lulled into losing any part of their humanity.

However, as I wrote about Dead Space, I was reminded that this is not always the case.

Dead Space is basically a tale about zombies in space. The hapless crew of the Ishimura are first killed and then systematically reanimated into undead parasites whose mission is to hunt down the player. It was easy to forget that the monsters were once human during the heat of battle, but the various audio logs and story sections made it clear that this was a ship full of individuals. Furthermore, playing as Isaac, the player is ostensibly worried about his girlfriend, Nicole, as well as the rest of the rescue crew.

This concern for others was dumped out of an airlock the minute I saw the parasites infect a corpse and turn it into a crazed monster. From that point on, the game became about surviving. Doing so meant not trusting anybody and discarding any respect for dead. Every survivor I encountered became a potential traitor and the thought of possibly protecting them made me resentful of having to waste the ammo. Because the zombies were vulnerable to dismemberment and relied on intact human hosts, I decided to cut their power off at the source. Every time I found a human corpse, I engaged in my ghastly work. There were times when I was listening to the departed's audio logs as I viciously desecrated their corpse.

Of course, this makes tactical sense: I was depriving my enemies of the means to fight. However, as I was mutilating the dead beyond recognition, I could not help but think that what I was doing was pretty close to what the necromorphs were doing. On one hand, there was an entity who was completely self-serving, who harbored no respect for anyone else's life, and whose actions were an affront to human social customs. On the other hand, there were the zombies.


While there are other games that funnel the player towards decisions of questionable morality, few arise as organically as my corpse stomping choice in Dead Space. As Wander in Shadow of the Colossus, I quickly got the sense that there was something ominous about the world. I eventually noticed as Wander's face grew more pallid with the death of each colossus, yet there were really no alternative decisions to make if I wanted to keep playing the game. Eventually Wander became a beast, but it felt like inevitable fate rather than my doing.

When playing Heavy Rain, I had Ethan follow the killer's order to shoot a drug dealer, in hopes of saving Ethan's son. While this scene had the potential to explore the issue of weighing one life against another, the episode was quickly dropped after the killing happened. True, the person who was killed was no saint, but it was still odd that it was never mentioned again. Before I had time to reflect on what had happened and how it might have transformed the character, the game had dropped it in order to move on to another scene.

Dead Space's seamless world does not have scene breaks, so I was left isolated and alone with my own thoughts. After spending enough time in the ship's cold, dark corridors, I began evaluating every person and object based on its threat and its utility. Could I use this to hurt my enemies or could this be used to hurt me?

It was sad that I had to destroy the bodies of the dead and abandon many of the living to certain death, but it was necessary. These monsters would stop at nothing to kill me, so I was justified in doing what I could to survive. In a way, I was saving these people from a fate worse than death.

At least that's what I told myself as I tried to scrape flecks of blood, both human and necromorph, off my boots.