The Story of Mirror's Edge.

Finally, here's Part 3 of the little series I did on Mirror's Edge. You can find Part 1 - Flow, Part 2 - Combat, and Part 2 - Addendum... in those links.

Today, we talk about the Story of Mirror's Edge. I finally finished the game a day or two ago and have had a little bit of time to think about its story. This may end up a little stream-of-consciousness, but here goes. Also, SPOILERS MAY LIE IN WAIT LIKE CREEPY LITTLE EELS OF KNOWLEDGE-YOU-DON'T-WANT-TO-HAVE.

I think I heard somewhere (maybe it was at GDC?) that the writer of Mirror's Edge was brought on quite late in the process. This isn't altogether uncommon in the game industry. Quite frequently, writers will be brought onto a project that has six months until launch. They are given a bunch of levels and are asked to come up with a story to suit it. So you can easily see why some games are incredibly lacking in the story department.

Rhianna Pratchett, daughter of renowned author Terry Pratchett, was selected to be the writer for Mirror's Edge and, I think, the one responsible for the world design and overall story of the game. I really hand it to her. If someone handed me a bunch of levels for a first person parkour game, I wouldn't know where to start. But she took that and asked the question, "Why would someone be doing this? In what society would this need to happen?" She created this whole dystopian society out of those questions. Runners are needed to make sure information is not seen by anyone but the intended recipient. It's a simple, elegant solution that did not require the designers to create a whole bunch of new assets to fit the story. In fact, it even helps explain why the landscape is so devoid of color. The story helps put the game mechanics into a semblance of logic (which is what game stories should be doing!).

In fact, it was partly because of Pratchett's solution to the problem of being brought on late that I was excited about the story of Mirror's Edge. I thought, "Surely an author who can come up with such elegant solutions to the gameplay/narrative problem would tell a great story."

Well, I've been wrong before.

Before I go on, I want to say that very little of this is probably Pratchett's fault. I can guarantee that the same forces that thought it wise to bring on a writer six months before release prevented Pratchett from doing anything really revolutionary. However...

The first question on my mind when I heard the concept was, "What are they carrying?" What can't the government see? And, since I believe in surprising storytelling, I thought, "What, besides rebellion, would Runners be carrying?" What if there was a government conspiracy even outside the government conspiracy? Etc., etc., etc... So when they decide to go the "someone framed my sister for murder route," I was unpleasantly surprised.

If it were me, I would have put the focus on the Running. What are they carrying? For whom? What does it mean if cops show up and start shooting? I would have propelled the story on the mystery of the packages, not on the interpersonal relationships of the characters. This would accomplish many, many things at once.

First, it would give the players an entire game to understand the world and understand the stakes of being a Runner. If this was only the first of a trilogy, then it makes sense to spend most of the first game in what will be perceived as Act 1.

Second, it skips the cut and paste characterization. The characters would mostly be defined by actions, not by cutscenes and mission requirements. Faith goes to Kate because she gets in over her head with some private security firm that keeps hiring her to carry something that gets her shot. Now we know their relationship before anything terrible happens to either character. We are not told to go rescue our sister on the basis that she's our sister. (I mean, that satisfies the audience's need to understand why the character does it, but we don't see the connection. It's another case of needing to be shown, not told.)

Third, it opens up new gameplay possibilities. In a world where there are these Runners that take important documents around the eyes of the law, wouldn't there be a whole lot more teamwork? More false bags? I would have built the story around a partnership between Celeste and Faith - swapping bags, acting as decoys, and, ultimately, betrayal by the person you trust most. When the betrayal came in this story (both by Celeste and the other Runner guy...), there was no kick. I couldn't care less about these characters. But if I had spent the game working with Celeste, watching her risk her life for me as I do the same for her, I would have felt much differently when she sold out to Project Icarus.

At its core, Mirror's Edge is a kind of vengeance story in the vein of Taken or Shooter. Both of those stories feature very active protagonists who have a particular assortment of skills that make them good at taking revenge. Faith is a RUNNER! She runs away! The act of running - even running toward something - is not the skillset needed to take vengeance. I keep coming back to the idea of Flow in this game. A vengeance story necessitates combat. This game is not about combat (In fact, it does it terribly!). Therefore, it should not have been a vengeance story. Period.

That being said, in the grand scheme of the trilogy, a second game could be about vengeance. Maybe at the end of the first story, she upsets a corporation by revealing their secrets and they frame Faith's sister to show her who's boss. The second game can be about rescuing her, proving her innocence, and rising above petty, personal vengeance into a more aware, society-wide sense of justice. That's what future dystopias are for, right?


Like I said in the beginning, I don't think Pratchett had direct control over a lot of this. I think her premise is powerful, the dialog carried voice and subtext where necessary, and the voice acting was pretty good. However, the choice to have a character driven vengeance story in a first person game with Flash animation cut scenes? Not that great.

The Combat of Mirror's Edge - Addendum.

Just a quick addendum to the post on Mirror's Edge's Combat.

I already talked about how it seemed silly to put such an emphasis on combat (especially late game). My argument was that this game is about the Flow. To stop the Flow is to stop the core gameplay mechanic.

As another argument, I'll go ahead and invoke the ludonarrative dissonance of asking the player to fight.

(Side note: I was going to link to a definition of ludonarrative dissonance and found the internet lacking in quick answers. Essentially, it means that the meaning conveyed by the system of the game - the mechanics, reward structures, and verbs of gameplay - is different - and sometimes counter to - the meaning conveyed by the story. As near as I can tell, it originated with Clint Hocking here.)

Why is combat necessary in Mirror's Edge when Faith is a Runner? Her very title defines what she typically does. Either run away or run toward, but always running. Not kicking butt.

As a hopefully-some-day-designer of console games, I want to put players in the shoes of the characters. If I were Faith, the last thing I would be doing is killing guards. I know I'm a small woman. I know that I'm not super well trained in combat arts. In fact, given the options of 1) Fight, 2) Run, 3) Sneak Past, or 4) Wait for it to cool off, I would always choose options 2, 3, or 4.

My problem is that the game designers did not allow Faith to choose her most rational choice (even emotionally rational, if you want to argue that...).

Numerous times, I tried these strategies. In my previous post, I mentioned the door that took a while to open and the four guards. At first, I tried waiting. I waited a few minutes, just in case the guards would think I've moved on and vacate the garage. Nope. Next, I tried to sneak. I ducked behind cars, around corners, and monitored the guards' movements carefully. But the buggers had supernaturally acute vision and hearing. I was caught every time and riddled with holes faster than I could find a hiding spot. At the last, I tried over and over again to run through the guards in some kind of clever way, thinking, "There's no way the designers want me to fight! This is a game about subtlety and creativity, not just killing guards..." Guess who was wrong.

Rather than building a crappy combat system, I think I would have rather the designers built a decent sneaking system. Truly let combat be emergency only. Faith would not initiate combat without a good reason for it. She's not out to destroy the government. She's not out to draw attention to herself. She just wants her sister. Instead, the actions forced by the designers ended in the death of a few characters and more trouble than what a Runner could conceivably get into.

The Flow of Mirror's Edge.

I've been playing a lot of Mirror's Edge since getting back on vacation. I'm a pretty big fan, but there are some troubling problems.

For a game that's about "the flow" (as the lead character, Faith, says in the intro), there could be more... flow. The designers do their best. I mean, it's a first person game about parkour. I'm amazed they could pull off a first person game that requires so much awareness of body, distance, and momentum. They use a very bright red to indicate an object that can be used for one of the parkour moves that they introduce. For the most part, this red stands in stark contrast to the rest of the set and is very helpful. In large, open, outdoor levels, it's great. The white of the buildings highlight the boards and bricks that give Faith the ability to do crazy things. The problem is in the indoor levels.

The indoor levels are almost the opposite of the outdoor levels. The outdoor levels usually have a plethora of paths that Faith can take to get from point A to point B. Very few of them are interesting or optimal, but if something goes horribly awry, you can always try something else. Indoors, there is exactly one path to take. Not a problem. Usually, it is obvious which way to go and what to do. There are plenty of unopenable doors and dead ends that are fairly clear before you head towards them. On occasion, though, the one path comes to a large room (or two. or three.). This is where the headaches begin.

The designers forsaw that players would have trouble knowing where to go. The B button fixes Faith's gaze on the next goal or door. But some frustrating times, they turn this off. I don't know if they think it's obvious enough that they don't need it or they are trying to get a player to explore, but it doesn't work. Usually because people are shooting at you. With machine guns.

Last night, I spent about 45 minutes trying to explore a mall filled with cops to find the exit. I would run in, get their attention, delay getting shot by a few minutes, sometimes steal a gun and shoot them back, not find an exit, and die. Over and over and over and over again. My B button direction was turned off and I almost threw the controller in frustration. I cursed the designers over and over again before finally consulting a walk through. (Turns out there was a bar [colored slightly red] that blended in with a low hanging wall that I was supposed to swing to...)

Here's a game design maxim that all this has taught me: Difficulty should not come from not knowing what to do. It should be the task itself that is difficult.

This frustration comes back to the desired experience of "flow." Letting the player guess their route means that they won't stay there very long. The players do not know the rooftops of the city like Faith does. I found myself many times thinking, "Wow. I want to play this level again until I know the route well enough to really run through here." That would be a fun experience. To know where you are going and to use the parkour moves to get there.

Maybe the designers meant for me to think that. Maybe that's the "replay value" in this game. (I put quotes because I won't actually do it...) I think a better solution would be to put some kind of red path in Faith's vision. At least on the rooftops that she is familiar with. That way, we as players, are privy to her knowledge and are more able to sync up with the experience that we paid money to have. Flow is a lot easier when you know which way to go.

Even despite my frustrations about the Flow of Mirror's Edge, I'm still enjoying it. The rare moments when I can confidently wall run, jump, dive, and slide are well worth the money I paid to play this game. I just wish the designers had made it easier to feel that more often.

The Lost Pilot.

One of my goals for the summer is to keep a journal of sorts of things I watch and play. There is much to be learned from things that have already been made, right? Naturally, spoilers abound below.

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About six years too late, I finally watched the Pilot episode(s) of Lost. It was pretty fantastic. A couple of things I noticed:

• The characters were introduced gently. Usually in pairs. This allowed the audience to cling to remember Jack and Kate or Annoying Brat Girl and Brother. It was a lot easier to form associations among all these characters when they were interdependent.
• There were very few introductions. All of a sudden, characters were referring to each other by name. The most memorable of these was Hurley. All of a sudden, everyone is referring to the Big Guy as Hurley. No time was wasted with worthless "Hi, my name is...".
• Each character is hiding something. The audience may not know what it is yet, but we get the sense that everyone has a secret. Kate hides that she's a convict. The Black Dad is hiding his unfamiliarity with his son. Charlie is hiding his drug addiction. One of my big questions is about Creepy Bald Guy playing backgammon with the kid. He's certainly hiding something...
• The writers are controlling very tightly the flow of information. One of my favorite scenes was the discovery of the pilot in the cockpit. Finally, after 16 hours, there is a character who may actually know something. As a viewer, I was watching and waiting for him to start spewing secrets - to help me and the characters understand what happened to them. The whole scene, I was thinking, "Please don't kill the pilot," knowing full well that he was doomed.
  

Now, as a writer, I perfectly understand what's going on here. Give the characters hope. They expect to find a transceiver. They get a transceiver and a living pilot. But what do the writers do? They not only take away the pilot, but they put the characters into an even worse position - a giant who-knows-what is upon them. As a viewer, I was fully engaged emotionally into this scene, hoping against my instinct that the pilot would live to be a recurring character. Writers are allowed this god-like power. To give and to take away. This is what gives stories emotional pull.

Let's take this home into game writing/design, though. As game designers, we have the power to give and to take away. As a DM, I have the power to put a huge treasure horde at the end of a dungeon. And, to give them more, maybe this horde contains the Staff of Overpowered Players. But, to keep a good story according to traditional rules, I want to take away what I've just given them. So I send in a Giant Who-Knows-What, it paralyzes the players and takes the Staff.

Is this good storytelling? Is this good game design? From the mechanical brief that I just used as an example, certainly not. It's terrible game design. What if the players resist the paralysis? Story ruined. What if they teleport out of the dungeon just in time? Story ruined. Heck, what if they just use the staff? Story ruined, game design unbalanced.

So how do game designers and writers use this push and pull of desire, expectation, and consequence effectively?

In a pen and paper setting, this is a little easier. Maybe the staff turns out to be a fake. Maybe the Giant Who-Knows-What focuses all its attacks on the staff and shatters it. Pen and paper GMs can react to these situations much more nimbly and creatively than a video game.

Situations like these are why cutscenes happen. We don't want to give the player the chance to screw up the plot point, so we take control away. Or - and I've done this in D&D - we make the obstacles too great for the player to have a chance. The Giant Who-Knows-What is actually the final boss and there's no way the players can resist its paralysis... It monologues for a while about why it wants the staff even though it's not a player... Then it knocks them out and they wake up in the Old Man's Hut...

Anyway. Neither of these are that great of options. As of this moment, I don't have any great ideas on how to fix it, either. Can you think of any games where this was done especially well?