Kentucky Route Zero is mentioned again. Nicole Clark talks about it in her Salon article on walking simulator video games, and it reminded me that I have talked about Kentucky Route Zero before in a short little exercise on why I love it.
This time, however, I do not want to focus on Kentucky Route Zero. I want to keep it in the background and instead dedicate my time to Firewatch. I have not played Firewatch as much as I have Kentucky Route Zero, but to me, the experience of being in Firewatch has a greater sense of personal privacy. The experience of walking in Firewatch also feels much more physical, like a part of being human.
According to Clark, the term “walking simulator” originated as a negative descriptor. The term implies that these games suffer from what they lack: no combat, no death, no traditional challenge, and very little influence for the player. However, after my experience with Firewatch, I find those negative descriptors less relevant. In Firewatch, walking between story points does not only create transitions from point A to point B. It also establishes tempo, directs attention, develops feelings, and produces emotional distance from what has occurred and what is about to occur. The story is told through dialogue, but also through walking and exploring the game world.
The mechanics in terms of MDA are basic. My physical actions in the game boil down to walking, looking around, reading the map, using the compass, picking things up, and communicating by radio with Delilah. Firewatch is devoid of combat, contains minimal complex puzzles, and provides very little opportunity for the player to influence the outcome of the story. Most of the time, I walk around the game world and respond to small prompts. It is important that the mechanics are simple, because this allows room for atmosphere, voice, and emotional weight through moving from location to location.
Figure 1: The supply box turns walking into a simple but guided objective.
As a result of these gameplay mechanics, the game creates a clear dynamic. As the player, I am always walking or backtracking to a location, and while moving, I have time to think about what has occurred. Each distance from Henry’s tower, the lake, the supply crate, the cave, and the deeper wooded area becomes part of Henry’s emotional journey. I am walking to arrive at the next location, but I am also reflecting on prior experiences, speculating on future events, and waiting to communicate with Delilah using the radio. The radio adds an element of connection to the walking experience. Henry is alone from a physical perspective; however, he is never truly alone.
The initial segment of the game is especially compelling because it provides progression from both a narrative and a mechanical perspective. The player experiences a level of control over Henry during his time of emotional loss, and at the same time, the player is directing Henry’s body away from that life and into the forest. This initial segment also creates a question of player agency. I have not had the opportunity to replay the initial segment in order to verify which actions can result in different emotional outcomes, but I believe that the choices do not appear to provide much more than a modified emotional texture. It seems that the different possible choices result in similar overall outcomes: Henry leaves the life he built with Julia and goes to the fire lookout station. This does not decrease the emotional integrity of the storyline. The range of possible choices corresponds to the emotional context of Henry’s life, which is defined by grief, remorse, love, and denial. The player can provide the emotional mood for Henry’s actions without altering the ultimate direction.
The aesthetic experience created by Firewatch includes serenity, beauty, simplicity, distance from home, and pain. These feelings can come from passively walking through the game. Listening to the sounds of the environment, seeing the trees, and moving through natural spaces can create a calming atmosphere. However, once the player goes through enough of the game world, this calm emotional state can become negative. The forest becomes threatening, and the player becomes more on guard. The same basic design elements appear different emotionally depending on context. For example, during early play, I may view the lighting of the world as bright, warm, and secure. Later, the environment can have a darker and colder appearance, which creates anxiety, tension, and discomfort. When the game directs the player to check out a particular location, an ordinary walk can start to feel suspicious.
This is not only because “the forest becomes scary” in a story sense. It is because the game changes how I read the same design elements. The lighting, the radio, the distance between locations, and even the objective of “go check this place” all change meaning based on what has happened before. The forest itself may still use the same basic movement system, but the player’s expectation has changed.
One design detail I noticed is that Firewatch does not need to change Henry’s walking speed in order to change the feeling of walking. Returning to the tower after it has been ransacked does not mechanically take longer than returning before. But emotionally, it feels longer, because I am anticipating what might have happened there. The walk is the same kind of action, but the player’s interpretation of that walk changes.
Thus, in Firewatch, walking plays a key role in storytelling. Once the player has moved through areas that once seemed safe but are now perceived as unsafe, each location gains new emotional meaning. A trail may feel open on the first journey, but on a later journey it may seem suspicious. A cave may provide an obstacle on the first pass, but later it can become more threatening. A tower may first offer a place to call home, but it becomes violated when someone breaks into it.
Figure 2: The fence makes the forest feel less free than it first appears.
An ethical dilemma associated with Firewatch involves Henry’s escape. The designers produced an experience full of beauty, humor, and mystery, creating a pleasurable world where players can understand why Henry would want to leave his old life behind. However, once the player enters this beautiful world of nature, they also feel bound by the forest. The forest provides a false appearance of freedom. Henry may gain physical distance from home, but he is still limited by his work obligations, his relationship with Delilah, and his emotional connection to Julia. The lack of true freedom in Henry’s experience suggests the ethical challenge presented to the player. Henry can walk away, but the reality remains that he has not resolved his concerns or uncertainties.
