Is a plot still a plot when it's different for each player?
This chapter focuses
on ways of making game plots interesting, while taking into account the many different kinds of story structures—linear, nonlinear, and multi-path—unique to games.
I squirm a little just to think about combining the words “plot” and “game” in the same sentence.
Plot suggests events moving in a straight line, it suggests external control, and it suggests order.[1]
Game suggests something open-ended and chaotic. It suggests fun and play.[2]
Putting “plot” and “game” together is like trying to combine order and chaos. It's like trying to tidy up the Big Bang.
As linear writers make the transition into games or become demented, frothing beasts in the attempt, one of the things they'll need to adjust to is that games aren't very much like films. Even if the game has a plot, the story is likely to unfold through some very unorthodox structures.
Forget film structure; a game's story is just as likely to unfold in a structure that resembles any or several of these:
The game, “Capture the Flag”
Solving a crime, with clues you can seek out in any number of orders
Exploring a landscape and figuring out how to get past the seemingly impassable parts
Playing poker
Accumulating weapons and spells, and calculating which ones serve your needs—often on the fly, during battle
Waging a war, including all the strategic elements and the resource-management aspects
Building a city and making sure all its inhabitants have everything they need
A shooting contest
At least a dozen other such interactive structures
Within these structures, can we say something even has a plot?
And so, when working on a game, my colleagues and I frequently stretch our synapses to the breaking point as we riddle ourselves with questions such as:
Which plot information, character insight, character information, or emotional experience is it critical for the player to eventually learn or undergo during the course of the game?
The following examples shed light on what I mean:
Plot information: This city was built on the ruins of another. That one was destroyed so quickly and cataclysmically that the ghosts still yearn for life.
Character insight: Your best friend had been here once before, but never told you. He has met those ghosts.
Emotional experience: You try to defend your friend in a battle, but he gets severely wounded.
Almost any game with even a modicum of a story has many of these “critical bits.” And in some games, for instance some RPGs (role-playing games), the number of these critical bits can balloon astronomically.
Once you've created and decided upon your critical information and experience bits, you've got to determine:
Which of these bits need to be revealed by certain points in the game?
Which of these bits need to be revealed sequentially, and which can be revealed non-sequentially?
Which bits have (for instance) just three different places and ways they can be revealed? Is there flexibility in the order? (Meaning, that some bits can be revealed in more than one place, but not in an infinite number of places.)
What different methods can be used to reveal them?
Which of these bits must be experienced by every player, so that they'll even be encountered by players who just want the quickest route through the game?
Which bits are optional, and thus won't be “forced” on players, but instead will be saved for players who want to explore every nook and cranny of the game?
Which bits will be experienced by the person who wants to break every rule and play the game in a very different way than it was designed to be played?
Which bits will be learned, discovered, encountered, or experienced only the second time the player goes through the game, or the third? Which are saved for bonus levels or bonus experiences?
Designers in game company after game company wrestle with these issues. And when the variables really seem overwhelming, especially when it's crunch time and the clock is pushing midnight after a 14-hour day, game designers across the country invariably arrive at the same solution:
“Let's take a break and order pizza.”
I'm going to hone in on some of these unwieldy story structures and identify some of the structural building blocks used in games. And I'm going to do it the best way I how: by talking about a 7-11.[3]
Here's the game scenario:
I want to get to the 7-11, which is a mile away. I can only walk only along one path. Along the way, I'll encounter obstacles and enemies.
This first version is a straightforward linear structure.
Consider some other example structures:
I walk out of my front door, but can go any direction. There are many things for me to do that are fun and adventurous. At some point, I'll learn that there is such a thing as a 7-11, which I may elect to visit, or may never visit.
This is a nonlinear structure.
Halfway between home and the 7-11 is a bridge I need to cross. I go there but it's blocked. I need to find a number of objects, pieces of a code, clues, etc. to be able to get across the bridge.
So I go back and explore my neighborhood, enjoying various adventures, collecting clues, fighting enemies, and polishing my skills. These activities can be done in any order. Eventually I learn, retrieve, or attain whatever I need to get over the bridge.
This is a combination of linear and nonlinear structures.
I have a choice: I can start walking toward the 7-11, but, along the way, there are many side-quests—fun adventures—I can go on. I can enjoy them in almost any order.
On these side-quests I might get money, weapons, and the like, but if I never did a single side-quest, I could still make it over the bridge. So the side-quests aren't technically necessary.
This is a combination of a linear structure and a different form of nonlinear structures.
I can make it to the 7-11, but laying in wait are a spectrum of enemies and obstacles. I have a wide range of weapons and spells I can use for offensive or defensive purposes, and I must select among them.
Furthermore, I have different styles of making it to the 7-11. For instance, I can sneak there and try to not alert attention. Or I can unleash my firepower and act like the Grim Reaper's bastard stepchild.
This is a multi-mode structure. Almost all games are multi-mode to one degree or another. Sometimes the player can take on different roles, and each role has its own mode (sets of weapons, skills, defenses, etc.).
I can go to the 7-11, but when I come to the bridge, I find that there are actually two bridges, going off in different directions. I have a choice, but they'll both end up at the same place in the end.
This is a combination of linear and multi-path structures. Diverging paths aren't done very often, because this approach requires the creation of up to twice the assets—money that could be used for other aspects of the game. Still, some games do have paths that split for a period of time.
As I get toward the 7-11 along a linear path, near the end, I have a choice of which direction to take. One takes me toward the 7-11, and the other takes me to its arch-rival, the notorious Circle-K store.
This is a combination of linear and multi-endgame structures.
I can play the hero or the villain. As the hero, I try to get to the 7-11 and kill the villain. As the villain, I try to kill the hero, and get everyone in a five-square-mile radius to be my slave. As the villain, I can accomplish my goals in a variety of orders.
note
Examples of emergent gameplay can be found in such highly popular games as Sim City and The Sims. Instead of the game supplying a narrative or a contest (such as with driving games or sports games), emergent games give the player advanced or somewhat “intelligent” building blocks that you can use to create your own story. Did you ever play with Lego™ as a child? It's the same basic concept.
Unlike Lego, in emergent games, there's often some kind of instability built into the system, however. Either you constantly need elements you don't have but are required to get, or the system needs to constantly be attended to so that entropy doesn't destroy it, and so on. Thus, in many games that use emergent gameplay, you're continually prompted to take action to maintain or expand whatever world or system that you've created using the building blocks.
This is a multi-role game; the hero role is linear; the villain mode is nonlinear.
I can make it to the 7-11, fighting all sorts of baddies along the way. There are other missions to run as well. They can be run in any order. Each is a complete adventure unto itself. The missions are only loosely related to each other.
This is a modular structure.
My goal is to build a city, with a happy population and a complex, functioning infrastructure. And, of course, the city will include lots of 7-11s. If you built a city, yours would only vaguely resemble mine.
This is emergent gameplay. And because “The Sims” could have infinite “endings,” or no ending at all, games based on emergent gameplay are often called open ended.
Most games have combinations of some of these basic structures—linear, nonlinear, multi-mode, multi-path, multi-role, multi-endgame, modular, and emergent. Add to this all the ways of creating fun (see Chapter 5.2, “Techniques for Creating Fun”), and then factor in the innovative genius of today's and tomorrow's game designers, and it's easy to see that there is an infinite number of ways to create a game.
This is one of the reasons why writers coming from traditional, linear story telling occasionally are plunged into psychotic breaks when they begin working in the field of games. However, evolving effective psycho therapies to help linear writers who've crashed and burned against some of these game structures isn't our focus here.
We're here to talk about making game plots interesting—while we redefine “plot” to mean all the structures mentioned earlier. How can you make a game plot interesting?
One way, of course, is to assess all these different structures, and then do a mix-and-match to arrive at the combination that best serves your game. It's very possible that parts of the game will use a few of these structures, while other parts of the game use wholly different structures.
Here are few plot twists that could work in some of the preceding structures.
Structure Twists means surprising the player with the way some of the basic structures are used. For instance, it could be interesting for the player to discover that a game has non-linear elements, just when he or she thought that it was a linear shooter.
Let's look at a few more plot twists in the context of a hypothetical, contemporary war game.
You and your squad have been making it across hostile terrain toward the enemy's stronghold. You've been getting orders from your higher-ups over a radio carried by one of your men.
And then comes the revelation: You learn that your radio is bugged. Your enemy knows where you are and everything you've been planning.
You can make it even more interactive if you didn't have to bring that radio with you, but you elected to do so as one of the five accessories you could carry on the mission. Because you chose to bring the radio, this plot twist won't seem as if it's “rammed down your throat.”
The enemy has put his compound in the middle of a densely populated area. If you shell it, you'll kill many innocent people.
You're making a final assault on the enemy's fortified compound. The rocket-grenade launcher, your main and only sure way of destroying the ramparts, breaks.
Continuing the preceding story…You turn around, and there's the enemy's right-hand man. You panic! Assuming he's here to kill you, you shoot first. Blam!
As he dies, he confesses he had deserted the enemy and was changing sides. He tells you there's a lightly guarded, secret back entrance to the compound. He's about to tell you exactly where it is, but he dies.
No sooner are you inside the walls of the enemy fortress when your best buddy is captured. Do you go to rescue him, or do you go after your enemy?
The enemy's henchman has got you in his sniper scope, and you're in an open area with no place to duck for cover. The way you discover you're doomed is that he's tapped into an ear microphone you've been using as part of a communications system, and he taunts you.
The henchman says he'll kill both you and your buddy (the one taken hostage earlier, who's still their prisoner) unless you tell your men to leave—that you'll take it alone from here.
So, to save your and your buddy's life, you dismiss your very confused men. You've been forced to carry out another's agenda.
A Mini-Goal is a goal you need to accomplish first before proceeding to the main goal.
Let's say that there's an enemy soldier up in a guard tower, picking off your men. Before you charge the enemy's HQ, you've got to take out that soldier one way or another. This becomes a mini-goal.
The solution to one problem gets you into an even worse problem. For example:
The enemy has a futuristic catapult that it was using to bombard you when you were outside the walls. You break inside, but can't get to the center of the compound because it's too heavily guarded. You get an idea: Have your men catapult you. You'll use your parachute as a break to slow down your descent. It seems like a great solution—but when you do this—
You land in the wrong place—right in the middle of a munitions storage area. Enemy troops are swarming you. The solution is to use your flame thrower to start a cascade of explosions—
You start the explosions, which destroy the troops, but they ignite a fire that rapidly spreads your way. You run out of the munitions area—into some worse problem.
In the hypothetical game depicted on the left, a destructive spirit has taken refuge in your space ship. You can't dislodge it or even harm it without damaging your ship.
Finally, you're forced to blow up your own ship. You don't kill the spirit, but you do succeed in injuring it. Unfortunately, you've also eliminated your only way off this planet.
Getting your player into problems with no obvious solutions can be quite dramatic and emotionally engaging.
Pancaking Scripted Sequences means that, at certain points in a mission (I'll call these points nodes), scripted sequences are stacked on top of each other like a stack of pancakes. When you reach that node of the game, any one of a number of scripted sequences could be triggered.
Here's an example.
In a “Desert Storm” type of first-person shooter, you go to take out an enemy radar antenna. One of your men follows you. Once the two of you shoot your way through a ring of enemy troops, one of two scripted sequences are triggered. Either:
Your comrade gets injured by an enemy who ambushes you, or
You blow up the antenna, but it falls in such a way that it blocks your and your comrade's best exit route.
So these two scripted sequences are pancaked on top of each other, and you don't know which one will occur. Either the computer picks one randomly, or selects one of the other factors that occurred earlier in the game.
Each one of these two scripted sequences demands separate courses of actions. Let's say option (1) occurs, and you drag your wounded comrade to a medic. This will be the next node. At this node, one of two pancaked scripted sequences could occur:
The medic could save your friend. Just as it seems that everything worked out well and you're relieved that your comrade didn't die, the medic himself is unexpectedly shot and killed by an enemy. Now you've got to find and take out that sniper. Or:
Your comrade, who has been treated, is now okay. He stands up, and notices that some other members of your squad are pinned down 50 yards away. The two of you rush off to help them.
No matter which of the two options occurs, once you go off and do what you need to do, you'll hit another node and another series of pancaked scripted sequences.
What pancaking scripted sequences means is that two people playing the game will experience very different stories. And if at each node where the scripted sequences occur, you could end up experiencing one out of three possible scripted sequences instead of one out of two, then the variance between the stories experienced by different players will increase manyfold.
The big disadvantage of pancaking scripted sequences is that is costs a lot of money and time to program—time and money that could be otherwise used to enhance different aspects of the game. This disadvantage is large enough that it would dissuade most developers from utilizing this technique. The advantage of this approach is that makes repeat gameplay a lot more fun.
However, because many gamers only play through their games once, before taking this approach you've got to decide if your game is one intended to be played many times.
Electronic Arts has discovered that many gamers play their Medal of Honor games more than once, so EA is introducing some pancaking of scripted sequences into their game Medal of Honor—Rising Sun. In fact, I first heard the term “Pancaking Scripted Sequences” from one of their executives who was discussing Rising Sun in particular. Because the game wasn't out when this book was completed, it will be interesting to see if they pull off pancaking in a way that also keeps the varying story-lines within each mission both exciting and emotionally gripping.
Meaningful Nonlinear Re-Sequencing means that the player in a game can undergo a variety of experiences, or pursue a variety of tasks, in any order he or she pleases (thus, they can be “re-sequenced” in any number of ways, and so are “nonlinear”). These experiences and tasks, which can be re-sequenced nonlinearly, have meaning. By meaning, it's implied that the experiences and/or tasks have emotional content, and they feel like they hang together coherently as an emotionally engaging story or as part of a story.
But is MNR truly possible?
Pancaking Scripted Sequences is just one possible way to allow a game to be played in any number of orders. But one doesn't need to get nearly so fancy.
Almost all games allow players to, at one point or another, undergo a variety of experiences or pursue a variety of tasks that can be re-sequenced nonlinearly. For instance, as a player, you might, at some point in a game, have a choice of:
Retrieving an amulet that will open the door to the next level of the game
Killing a few enemies, and by doing so gaining some kind of benefit to your offensive or defensive capabilities
Locating certain precious stones that can be later traded for weapons, goods, or services
Going off and creating mayhem just for the heck of it
Seeking out and speaking with NPCs who give you information about the history of this place, or about current events
And so on
There are a thousand variations of the preceding. Games set in present time have their own versions.
While events and activities such as these can be re-sequenced nonlinearly, they aren't meaningful—i.e., they don't evoke emotion (except perhaps fear when fighting a difficult enemy). Nor do they lead you through a sequence of experiences or insights that by any means constitute an emotionally gripping story, or even a piece of one.
There's a fatalistic argument in favor of keeping events like the preceding meaningless—i.e., without emotional content and not constituting a gripping story or part of a story. The argument goes something like this:
In a (non-game) story, if Ethan secretly yearns to kiss Britt, who barely notices him—but eventually he does and she falls for him—then this is meaningful (i.e., it has emotional content and it constitutes a coherent story or part of a story). However, if you were to reverse the order of events, so that first he kisses her and she falls for him, and then he later secretly yearns that someday she'll kiss him, it doesn't make sense.
Therefore, the only events that can be re-sequenced nonlinearly are those that have no emotion, such as something like the list of potential game experiences and tasks I enumerated a bit earlier. Otherwise, certain combinations of experiences or activities won't make sense.
I call such a viewpoint “fatalistic” because it assumes there's no solution. The result of stringing together activities and tasks that are meaningless is that huge nonlinear portions of a game might end up being meaningless. Don't get me wrong—this isn't a condemnation. Chess, skiing, laying on a beach and getting a tan, or playing basketball might not contribute to an emotionally gripping story, but they all can be quite satisfying at different times.
However, this brings us right back to Chapter 1.3, “Why Put Emotion into Games?.” If we're trying to increase games' demographic appeal and reach out to people who desire meaningful entertainment experiences (i.e., who watch films and TV but who won't play games because they're too “meaningless”), then this hurdle needs to be crossed.
Let's take a look at a hypothetical game example. In this game, you could undergo the following three experiences in any order, and they'd still be meaningful:
You can undergo these four experiences in any order. The story and emotions change, depending on the order, but in each case the story remains emotional and coherent.
Each order has its own unique flavor. If you experience (3) after experiencing (1) and (2) (these last two in any order), you live with the secret that you can talk to the Elders, something the villagers think is impossible. And you know the secret that you're the “awaited one,” even though they're not totally certain about this.
If you experience (2) after experiencing (3) and (4) first (these last two in any order), then the Shaman's statement—that the people always treated him strangely—has a sort of tragic quality, for you know the reason. It's because he is made out of their own unconscious dreams. Obviously, there's something about their dreams they're uncomfortable with, and thus they view the Shaman with that same unease.
If you experience (2) after experiencing (1), then you find yourself holding a secret from the Shaman. He says his time is at an end, but you've already learned that may not be true, since the Elders have told you that you may be able to alter time.
If you experience (3) after experiencing (2) and (4) first (these last two in any order), then the villagers' statement that the Shaman made them uneasy is ironic, for you know that he was created out of their own unconscious.
Also, if you experience (3) after (4), there's a further irony. When you get to (3), you've got to wonder if, on some level, you're like the Shaman. You were both “created” out of the villagers' dreams. He was created literally, and you were “created” metaphorically—i.e., created as a hero out of their need for one.
Let's change the order again. If you experience (3) before (4), the sequence will still be meaningful, but the preceding irony disappears. However, the irony that the people were made uneasy due to their own unconscious creation (the Shaman) still remains.
Each order of these four experiences is meaningful (emotional and coherent). The emotions you'll experience in all the different orders will vary, but all will be emotional. Even the story will shift a bit, but not so much that it mandates any new, alternative paths through the game.
Coherence is created in the MNR in various ways. One is some of the previously mentioned ironies. Another is your Character Arc (learning that you're special and have an important role to play).
A third method is by exploring themes, of which there are at least four in this brief example.
One is secrecy. The Elders have secrets from the villagers. You hold secrets from both the villagers and the Shaman.
Another theme is time, although this theme has just begun to emerge. The Shaman says “his time has come,” and you're told that you may be able to alter time.
Yet another theme is people not knowing who they are. For instance, you're just learning who you are (the “awaited one”). The Shaman doesn't know who he is (that he was created out of the villager's psychic desires). And the villagers don't even really know who they are—i.e., that the Shaman is part of them.
The final theme, discussed a bit earlier, is how the people require saviors of different kinds, such as the Shaman or yourself.
In short, Meaningful Nonlinear Re-Sequencing is indeed quite possible in a game. It can be done with both emotion and with coherence.
To me, MNR represents a sort of ideal. However, it's not always practical, or even the best solution in all cases.
MNR offers players experiences unknown to audiences of the linear media of film and television. It's a way of unfolding story (advanced and revealed through gameplay whenever possible, of course) that many people think is impossible, due to their assumption that storytelling can't be emotional or coherent if it isn't linear.
The difficulty linear writers might face in trying to create MNR is their linear training. The difficulty game designers are likely to have in trying to create MNR is a lack of understanding of all the different kinds of continuities that usually operate outside a player's awareness, but which MNR depends on to work effectively.
Unfortunately, these continuities often operate outside the awareness of game designers and inexperienced writers as well, unless they've been explicitly studied. These “hidden” continuities, critical to making MNR work, include elements such as:
Character Arcs
Ironies
Symbols that gradually accumulate emotional power or increased emotional associations
Set-Ups and Payoffs
Emotional continuities and emotional contrasts between game experiences
Revelation of details
Revelation of plot twists that can work at different places in a story and in different orders
Themes[4]
—to name but a few.
Game designers and developers still often pursue interactive storytelling in a sort of topsy-turvy, non-emotionally engaging, afterthought kind of way. Add the challenges of time, budget, and the need to create stories often in coordination with a large team, and I don't anticipate the widespread use of MNR in the near future. It remains a powerful technique, yet barely touched upon in today's games.
But the future won't wait. Games with a breadth and depth of emotion are needed and wanted. Meaningful Nonlinear Re-Sequencing can be a valuable tool in their creation.
Some amateurs think that plot twists are themselves enough to make a story interesting.
But a story that has no emotional content is rarely interesting, no matter how many twists are involved. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was filled with action and twists, but at times seemed strangely empty and slow, even when the pacing was at its peak. The lack of emotional content meant that, even amidst the heavy action and jeopardy, it was sometimes hard to care about the twists or the danger.
Games have an advantage in that the action and twists are happening to you, the player—so there's a good bet you'll care.
I've played games with plenty of twists and no emotional content, how ever, and it's hard to get excited about them. I'm sure you've had the same experience.
Why then include mention of twists as an important facet of Emotioneering? Although twists might not be enough, a game without them could be simply tedious. When designing a game, I usually spend a lot of time trying to think of twists that will surprise the player and alter the context of the gameplay, as well as each level's, and indeed the entire game's, big and memorable moments.
[1] And thus, by extension, it connotes people who can't leave the beaten track, who can't dance, and who won't try exotic foods.
[2] And thus, by extension, it connotes irreverence, rebellion, and teens who seek attention by having their underwear or bra-straps showing.
[3] 7-11 is a convenience store chain across the U.S. The stores never close, much like the eyes of fish.
[4] If “Character Arc,” “Set-Ups and Payoffs,” or “Theme” are not completely understood terms, you'll find them exactly defined in the book's Glossary.