Three and Out – ‘Observation’

In outer space, humanity is a fish out of water. Aside from not being able to breathe, we can barely move except what meager momentum we can gain from flailing. Rendered helpless, all we can do is observe. To this end we’ve crafted technology that has helped us overcome such hurdles, but not without significant risk. A malfunction here or a misfire there and it’s only a matter of time before we’re dead. Observation introduces us to this exact scenario, opening first with a scuffed camera lens view of a dimly lit interior inside the space station named Observation. A gritty, roaring score syncs to light flooding the window. We hear Dr. Emma Fisher’s distress calls to “Houston” and the rest of her crew via station communications, but something is wrong. The System Administration Maintenance AI (endearingly given the name “Sam”) has lost most functionality and memory. Any record of what happened has been lost. We’re operating blind. Observation plunges us into a deep, dark vulnerability, entrenching us in a tension that threatens to choke us from the moment we start playing. Space itself isn’t any more scary than it is wonderful – we simply don’t belong there – and Observation makes that very clear from the beginning not only via the themes of suspense and mystery but from the immediate juxtaposition of the player character as AI. That’s right, we are cast as Sam.

Sam’s functionality drives the mechanics of the game in ways that feel and look familiar to our predispositions of space technology and AI. We navigate the innards of the space station Observation, doing everything from the perspective of a camera network. Sometimes we’ll unlock a door hatch or login to a laptop to get information, but by and large our purpose is dictated by whoever gives the orders. We solve problems in logical ways, deliver input to connect to different parts of the station, and respond with relevant information as requested. The puzzles, input, and response features of the gameplay sit well with the overarching theme and underlying narrative. It’s as though the player is meant to visualize and mimic functions, giving life to the actions of an otherwise unfeeling artificial intelligence. Though we the player act as the brain, our function is never capable of being anything other than mechanical. We are the screaming soul inside the machine.

That’s how it’s supposed to feel. From the title, to the menu, to the character interactions and beyond, Observation tells a story unlike many others and always puts that story first. Though the mechanics and gameplay are simple by nature, they serve to empower the narrative overall. There are many minute details at play at all times constantly nagging in the back of our minds. Before long, the drone of the cameras nests into our ears, and the static becomes a predictable white-wash at recognizable intervals. These things are comfort in a sea of silence. The moments to ourselves become sacred and melancholy as we settle into a routine of logic and function. We’re different now.

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