Absence begins like so many Sunday mornings from my twenties. You wake up in a random bathroom, not knowing where the hell you are, unable to remember how you got there, and terribly confused. Unfortunately, this time your awakening doesn't involve someone asking you what you're still doing there before not-so-politely telling you to leave. No, instead you see yourself out the door and into the cold, forbidding night...
The game gets one thing right off the bat: mood. Honestly, the most frightening part of the experience is realizing the bathroom floor that served as your temporary bed is located in the middle of a forest, and it's currently pitch black. You hear no music, save for the semi-rhythmic song of the crickets and the steady thrum of your own heart. It's funny because I've played, read, and watched so many horror stories that try to scare you with supernatural or speculative beasts, not realizing that sometimes the most heart-pounding situations involve more grounded, realistic, simplistic concepts like “being lost in the woods in the middle of the night, hoping a frickin' bear doesn't pop out and crush your skull.”
The game does a fantastic job of avoiding predictability early on. You don't quite know where the voyage is going to take you, and that uncertainty proves disquieting. You expect your antagonist to be something from the wilderness, which could be stalking you as you traipse your way to the next campaign beat. This setup proves to be a good way to put players on edge because you allow them to scare themselves, at least for a while. Soon enough, though, the villain has to make its appearance, and that's where Absence falls apart...
The early outs see you following a path to other locales, and eventually to a huge, locked gate. One of three things transpires here with most players (based on “Let's Play” videos I watched): 1) They give up entirely because they're not sure how to open the gate, 2) They check the premises, thinking perhaps there's another way in. It turns out they're technically correct, as the protagonist can clip through one of the gate's hinges and enter without actually solving the puzzle. Lastly, 3) They might actually find the key for the gate, which is incredibly tiny and roughly the same color as the table upon which it sits. At this point, you have an idea where this experience will end up. You know it's going to make an earnest attempt to hit you with quality content, only to end up stumbling along the way...
After a few strange tasks, including one that involves taking a key from an enraged magpie (no, seriously), you eventually end up in a generic sewer setting, complete with creepy messages spray painted on the wall. How nice of someone to take the time to write ominous notes in this apparently dangerous place... Your first order of business isn't obvious, but a brief check of the grounds reveals an area blocked off by electrical currents and some fuse boxes to shut off. Initially, this seems like a tedious task with no challenge until you hear a strange call from around a corner: “BOOOWAAA!” or something like that. No, you don't hear a growl or a cliché demonic voice, but a noise that sounds like a cow mispronouncing its moo. It's hard to take the threat seriously because the baying sounds somewhat adorable. That's when you come face-to-ugly-face with the game's main antagonist.
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Staff review by Joseph Shaffer (October 04, 2023)
Rumor has it that Joe is not actually a man, but a machine that likes video games, horror movies, and long walks on the beach. His/Its first contribution to HonestGamers was a review of Breath of Fire III. |
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