While other stalkers don't have much in the way of personalities – I could give you the names of a few, but no real descriptions – they're still an important part of the atmosphere. I've simply died too many times to ever stop jumping at my own shadow, and my deaths, be they at the hands of other stalkers, the claws of mutants, or the violent invisible clutches of the Zone's reality- bending anomalies, have all been the same: sudden, brutal, and seemingly indifferent to my upgraded weapons and fancy new armour. But unlike most RPGs, no matter how many missions I've completed, no matter how deep I've gone into the Exclusion Zone, I've never really stopped feeling like an entry-level employee, easily spooked and exceedingly vulnerable. There are a few RPG elements: artefacts that boost health or increase resistance to radiation, more accurate weapons to collect, and sturdier stalker suits to buy. The key to sustaining this feeling throughout SoC is that the game never lets you feel like an invincible superhero. It begins with the sombre tones of the menu music and doesn't end until long after the quit to desktop. The sense of dread is like white noise: pervasive and constant. Stalker: Shadow of Chernobyl certainly has its share of jump- scares and oh-shit monster moments, but what makes the game so memorable is that the neck-tightening tension never evaporates, even in broad daylight, far from claustrophobic chambers full of mutants. It's quite another to feel just as uneasy in the middle of an empty field with the sun directly overhead. It's one thing to feel an overwhelming sense of dread while crouching in the darkened sub-basement of an abandoned lab at the stroke of midnight.
0 kommentar(er)
