The game I played this week was Babbdi, a free first-person exploration game developed by Sirius and Léonard Lemaitre. It’s available on Steam and seems to be aimed at players aged 13 and up. In this game, the player is dropped into a decaying city where the only real goal is to escape. There are no enemies or missions to overcome, just walking and trying to make sense of the space.
To be honest, Babbdi isn’t the kind of game I’d usually go for. I’m quite scared of eerie or horror-adjacent experiences, and I tend to get frustrated with games like walking simulations that lack clear direction. However, as I spent more time in Babbdi’s world, I began to appreciate how subtly it was able to pull me into the story.
Babbdi tells its story entirely through walking. The player starts in an abandoned building with essentially no onboarding unless you’ve read the Steam page instructions beforehand. You’re left to figure things out on your own, including how to move and interact with tools, but this lack of guidance feels intentional, as the player is meant to feel disoriented and out of place.
What stood out to me most was how effectively the game uses mood and atmosphere. From the moment you start, Babbdi evokes an uncanny sense of abandonment. The city is built in a low-poly, grey-toned style that feels lifeless. The few NPCs you come across are grotesque and unsettling, with some spinning their heads to follow you as you pass and others muttering cryptic comments that hint at illness or escape. For instance, the woman drowned in the pool, the sick wife in bed, and the people slumped against the corners of buildings all offer fragments of a larger, unseen story.
One interaction that genuinely startled me was when I approached a door to see if I could find more clues. A slit in the door suddenly slid open and a face appeared behind it. The sharp sound physically made me yelp and jump back in my seat. Even though there’s no violence or threat in the game, Babbdi manages to feel deeply tense, like something could go wrong at any moment.
Sound plays a huge role in that feeling. The ambient noise like the rustling leaves, mechanical hums, and heavy breathing of NPCs all add to that discomfort. There are also a lot of moments when it’s completely silent, which somehow feels even more unnerving. Even though I knew there was no real threat, I stayed on edge throughout, which is a testament to how Babbdi skillfully channels horror aesthetics without ever needing an antagonist or explicit danger.
This tension is heightened by the game’s open-endedness. There are no clear objectives, which can be frustrating but also mirrors the emotional tone of the world. Some interactions feel meaningful while most feel like noise. For instance, many of the interactions with NPCs did not reveal anything significant about how to proceed, and at one point, I stumbled upon three people dancing underground, which felt random but was oddly joyful in an otherwise bleak game. These unexpected touches make the world feel more alive.
Eventually as the player explores further, they come across an NPC that mentions escaping the city via train and getting a ticket at the end of the canal. It’s not obvious where to go, but even just discovering the train and how to get a ticket feels like a major win after so much wandering.
What’s most fascinating about Babbdi is how it generates the emotional tension of a violent game without any violence at all. In section, I played The Witch is Dead, a tabletop RPG centered on revenge and murder. While that game encouraged overt conflict, it mostly felt humorous to me. Babbdi, on the other hand, made me feel even more on edge through atmosphere and immersion alone.
This contrast shows that violence isn’t necessary to create urgency or emotional depth. Rather, Babbdi invites reflection through observation, and the absence of combat lets the player experience a world shaped by trauma, rather than actively participating in it, thus showing how narrative can emerge from environment alone.
Although I didn’t love playing Babbdi, I respect the design choices made. It’s not a game I’d return to, but it reminded me that storytelling can happen through mechanics and atmosphere without needing plot. Even if I felt uneasy and unsure most of the time, that discomfort was exactly the point and the game still kept me engaged.
