For my fourth Critical Play, I played Tiny Room Story: Town Mystery, a mobile game by Kiary Games for all ages. It’s a game that relies almost entirely on an embedded narrative, which is very different from the enacted-narrative games I’m used to playing. The design choice of exclusively having the story progress through having the player find clues creates a challenge I thoroughly enjoyed.
What stands out to me the most about Tiny Room Story is its minimalism. There is no obtrusive HUD, and no indication of which of the simply designed items in a room may be important to finding the next clue. When the player interacts with an object, it either changes state or shakes a bit to show that interacting does nothing. Both of these can result in a short line of dialogue revealing a bit about the object. A room becomes so still when not being interacted with that the tutorial teaches players to remember to check all four angles of any area, because items can be made invisible to create a clear view for the player to look into the room. The game could remind a player to check all angles if they spend enough time in a room without checking one, but I see the exclusion of this feature as a deliberate design choice to make the player feel like their character is the only living being present, to communicate the idea that only by thoroughly searching these inanimate objects can he find the answers to his, and our, questions. To me, this game is one of the purest examples of embedded narrative in a 3D space. From the tutorial, every step of solving this mystery feels like there’s a door I missed, or an item I need to shake a second time, but that’s often the point where I haven’t connected the dots between the items I have and what to do next. In that sense, the narrative only moves forward based on my ability to solve the mystery, and the architecture gives me all the resources I need. I saw this more than ever when I was taking a screenshot of one of the only components of the level I’m on that moves without my interaction, the LCD on a computer screen. While looking at the screen from behind the desk it’s on, I realized I could tap the chair to move it aside and pick up a now visible toy underneath the desk (see image). This moment represents what I love about the game: by re-examining the objects I’d taken for granted, I realized how else I could interact with them to find what might be hidden in plain sight.
I was recently playing The Witcher 3, where the player character must use his heightened senses to analyze murder scenes and track targets. Using these “witcher senses” causes the relevant environmental details, like blood stains or smells, to glow red. This mechanic made me feel like I was controlling a character who’s powerful in a way beyond his physical strength and magical powers, and it helps the gameplay break free from the loop of talking to a person, killing a monster that’s causing them issues, and talking to them again. However, even though this is often the part where I’m solving a mystery (generally, what monster was behind the death of a human), it doesn’t feel like it; I’m just going from one red glow or map marker to the next. I don’t have to use my critical thinking skills to move forward, and the game’s architecture is also nothing but set dressing or to hide valuables. Tiny Room Story takes the exact opposite approach: no glow, almost no HUD, just a minimalistic view of a normal-looking room containing an entire story that only I can reveal. Contrary to the power fantasy of The Witcher, Tiny Room Story makes me completely powerless, until I can put together the pieces in front of me.
Tiny Room Story has no accessibility features beyond basic audio and graphics sliders. This creates a barrier for people with low vision and hearing, since all clues involve using one or both senses to progress. The game’s core mechanic seems nearly impossible to make accessible to people with low vision: as discussed, the minimalism, banality, and stillness of every scene are essential to the game’s narrative and challenge. But without scalable visuals or audio cues for interactions, the design excludes many disabled users and reflects a narrow audience focus.
