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Stepping into the shoes of fan favorite Walking Dead characters like Daryl Dixon, Rick Grimes, Michonne Hawthorne, and Carol Peletier through the magic of VR certainly has its moments. The Walking Dead: Onslaught doesn’t offer nearly as nuanced an experience as its spinoff counterpart Saints & Sinners from earlier this year, but by focusing much more on the action and channeling popular elements of AMC’s TV series, it aims to scratch a different itch altogether. Weirdly, though, a lot of its mechanics don’t feel built for VR, and it never does much to contribute to Walking Dead lore. So it’s just fine if you’re here for a good old-fashioned zombie-themed arcade shooter with a lot of guts and only a few brains.
The developers at Survios don’t waste any time getting the action going. From the very first moment, Onslaught plops you into a rescue mission, hands you a hefty gun, and shows you a nice, big, shambling herd of walkers to shoot at. That’s what Onslaught is all about, and aside from some item collection, it never really moves beyond it. This is disappointing, because the premise is something I’ve wanted to experience for quite a long time as a lapsed The Walking Dead TV series fan, and this scaled-down implementation really does feel like more of a generic zombie game with a little extra walker skin stretched over it. [widget path="global/article/imagegallery" parameters="albumSlug=the-walking-dead-onslaught-screenshots&captions=true"]Onslaught is split into two major modes: a short five-hour story campaign starring Norman Reedus as Daryl Dixon, and an infinitely replayable Supply Run mode where you grab as much loot as you can while outrunning an impenetrable wall of walkers. In both modes, you spend a large portion of time running up to items and grabbing them, which racks up a score that gradually unlocks new survivors and introduces new side quests, which really only boil down to rote fetch quests. They’re linked together in that progression through the main story is gated by how many survivors you’ve recruited overall, so Supply Run mode is clearly there to serve as a loot treadmill that buffers out the length of the campaign. It does double as a fun way to test out your newest and best weapons, though, so it’s generally the acceptable kind of padding.
[poilib element="quoteBox" parameters="excerpt=The%20simple%20action%20of%20pushing%20through%20an%20entire%20swarm%20of%20them%20got%20my%20heart%20pumping%20at%20the%20best%20moments."]Of course, the Supply Run mode can be great fun if you just want to run around and slice through a bunch of shambling undead. The key is that Survios has made walkers genuinely fun to kill. You can grab them by the neck and go with the ol’ one-two face stab, or you can shoot them until their limbs fall off. You can also lop off their individual limbs with a katana or a fire axe. Either way, there’s usually a lot of them around you at once, and the simple action of pushing through an entire swarm of them got my heart pumping at the best moments. That said, this is no survival game, and because of that it never really builds up any meaningful tension or dread. While Saints & Sinners makes you worry about your weapons breaking down or ammo running out at the worst possible time, scarcity isn’t a problem in Onslaught. There’s no backpack or physics-based objects to finagle with either, which ironically takes a lot away from the clumsiness-fueled tension that made surviving Saints & Sinners such a joy in VR. In fact, I never came remotely close to getting killed, so I have no idea what happens when you die. The most dangerous position I found myself in was when I stood across a room full of zombies from an important door, and even then I just brainlessly stabbed my way through and went on with my business. [poilib element="poll" parameters="id=a143b9a1-4bf4-4525-91a3-9d9894eb2a30"]In its favor, Onslaught has a nice variety of comfort and movement options that each feel well-paced for VR play. You can walk around like you would in other VR games such as Asgard’s Wrath and Saints & Sinners, or you can go with teleportation or even an arm-swinger mode. There is an offering of convenience here that goes above and beyond, and it’s refreshing to see. The arm-swinger mode, which literally makes you move when you swing your arms, is just as fun and appropriately-placed here as it is in arena games like GORN or Hot Dogs, Horseshoes, and Hand Grenades.
[poilib element="quoteBox" parameters="excerpt=It%E2%80%99s%20entirely%20possible%20to%20clear%20a%20room%20of%20walkers%20by%20hastily%20stabbing%20your%20way%20through%20it."]What’s less fun is the way in which Onslaught attempts to offset its lack of challenge by making your guns feel underpowered. It’s to the point where you can unload several bullets into a walker’s head, only to have them get back up again (if you’re on higher difficulty levels). That’s pretty annoying and doesn’t feel true to the way walkers work on the show. Worse still, the reload process feels archaic and janky: instead of the traditional and satisfying interactivity of manually inserting a magazine and pulling back the slide, you just push a button and watch an animation in which your character does it for you at their own glacial pace. It looks okay, but it really slows down the natural pace of ranged combat we see in most VR shooters. Luckily, the gun “feel” is pretty good; aiming and firing feels right, and each firearm—including the shotgun—packs the punch you’d expect from its real-life equivalent. Weapons are quickly selected and switched out in a radial menu that even slows the action down to a halt while you choose. Partially because of that, melee weapons end up being some of the most powerful and useful in Onslaught. Between reloads, you can rapidly whip out your trusty knife and the toughest walkers go down with a single well-placed thrust to the nasal cavity. Since weapons don’t break and there’s no stamina system, it’s entirely possible to clear a room of walkers by hastily stabbing your way through it. This does feel great for a little while, but it grows repetitive and tiring by the end. [widget path="global/article/imagegallery" parameters="albumSlug=the-walking-dead-best-daryl-and-carol-moments&captions=true"]Collecting items is fundamental to progressing through Onslaught’s campaign, but it doesn’t feel good to do. To pick up an item, you simply point and tap the trigger button to make it disappear into an invisible inventory slot. That’s something that’s expected in a traditional game but really hurts the immersion in VR. It makes Onslaught’s world feel static by comparison to what we’ve come to expect after experiencing games like Saints & Sinners and Half-Life: Alyx. Adding to this disappointment is the fact that the world is flavorless. There are no physics objects or clear inventory management system here, and much of the level design itself feels clunky. Obstacles and corridors are often placed in such a way that it’s unclear how to move through them, and I quickly noticed how many of the same decorations and buildings are reused in each level.
[poilib element="quoteBox" parameters="excerpt=Alexandria%20is%20modeled%20exactly%20as%20it%20appears%20on%20TV%2C%20right%20down%20to%20the%20row%20of%20townhouses%20and%20that%20one%20solar%20panel."]To its credit, it’s great that the items you collect have some interesting uses. You can spend resources on upgrades for Alexandria, which serves as the primary hub town. It’s modeled exactly as it appears on TV, with some good attention to detail, right down to the row of townhouses and that one solar panel. The upgrades that you buy there in the form of structures like the Town Hall and the Forge can generously improve crucial stats like your max health and how much ammo you find, making them well worth the cost. And it’s a nice touch to see the buildings change as you improve them. On top of that, you can invest in upgrading your weapons and making them even more satisfyingly deadly. All of this looks and sounds just fine for a VR game in 2020, but the character performances and writing are mostly lacklustre and stale. Without ruining anything, Onslaught doesn’t seem to have that much to say or add to the The Walking Dead TV universe, and there are plenty of times where the delivery of its inconsequential story feels uninspired. The best writing easily goes to Eugene, played by the show’s Josh McDermitt. His awkward one-liners are as consistently well-delivered as fans will expect from him.“I Am,” the seventh episode of Lovecraft Country, is all about the power of names. Whether it’s the names that we give ourselves, are given to us, or are assigned to that ineffable tempest of feelings that well up deep inside of each of us from time to time, yearning for recognition through release; the simple act of naming a thing is to have a hand in its creation. It’s no coincidence that the most powerful and sought-after artifact in Lovecraft Country is named, literally, the Book of Names. For Hippolyta, the moral of this episode is simple: to know thyself, and thus to be set free through the certainty of that knowledge, one must name thyself.
Taking place just a few days after we last saw her driving to Ardham in search of answers as to the circumstances behind her husband’s death, Hippolyta is back in Chicago, still tinkering with the gold orrery she found in Leti’s house. Her curiosity, however, has taken on newfound urgency in light of the realizations she made while in Massachusetts: that Atticus, Leti, and Montrose lied to her about George’s passing, and that whatever foul play was responsible for his demise, it’s somehow connected to the mysterious nature of this orrery. We’ve seen the immense prowess of Aunjanue Ellis’ performance as Hippolyta throughout the series, but “I Am” is Lovecraft Country’s first episode entirely devoted to her character’s arc, and the occasion comes not a moment too soon. To the surprise of no-one, she absolutely knocks it out of the park, giving us not only the latest in a long line of terrific performances, but offering the viewer a firmer grasp of Hippolyta’s emotional interiority as a black woman in Jim Crow-era America.
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One thing that we see on full display about Hippolyta this episode, though vaguely gestured at through her previous appearances in the series, is her immense aptitude for mathematics and astronomy. Hippolyta has always seemed like a woman whose aspirations have been stifled by either her obligations as a wife and mother, or by the restrictive gender norms and unrelenting racial biases of her time period. Like Ruby and so many other black women, Hippolyta has been interrupted in her life, to the point of questioning whether her life is truly even hers to live anymore. After unlocking the mechanisms of the orrery, and with them a key and the coordinates to an unknown location, Hippolyta sets out on a journey not only in search of answers, but of self-discovery.
Everybody’s got a secret in Lovecraft Country. Everyone is concealing something from someone else, either deliberately out of fear of reprisal, or unbeknownst even to themselves in the vagueness of their own understanding. Secrets are the ties that bind the Freeman family, and the people caught in their immediate orbit, together, and if left unchecked for too long may very well be the secrets that threaten to tear each of them apart. “I Am” is an episode that not only sees the convergence of most, if not all, of Lovecraft Country’s primary cast in the same vicinity in what feels like forever, but the culmination of several plot threads the series has laid down throughout this season.
The prime example in this week’s episode is the explosive confrontation between Montrose and his son after Atticus and Leti discover his father with his lover Sammy. In a moment of shock and pain, Atticus calls his father a homophobic slur before staring him down in a short but intense argument. “Did mamma know?” Atticus asks Montrose, stepping forward as if to confront him. Montrose, his eyes brimming with tears, tells Atticus that yes, his mother did know. As his son storms off, a visible relief can be seen washing over Montrose’s uneasy expression, as if now relieved that at the very least he doesn’t have to hide who he is anymore from the one person in his life that matters. Jonathan Majors and Michael K. Williams’ chemistry has been nothing short of remarkable throughout their time together on-screen, and this scene in particular stands as one of the absolute best shared between the two. It’s gut-wrenching and exhausting to watch in a way that feels true to life - the uneasy dynamic of a child and a parent watching one other grow in ways that neither could have ever expected.
Atticus’ outburst is less an expression of avowed homophobia as it is one of anger towards his father for denying him the love and support he needed for fear that it would make Atticus “soft,” only for Atticus to discover his father’s fear of his son’s susceptibility to “softness” stems from a conflict within the man himself. It’s a salient example of toxic masculinity: the type of internalized hatred and generational trauma passed down from one generation to the next in the hopes of strengthening them for the future, only to inadvertently stunt their ability not only to fully love others but themselves. It complicates not only our understanding of Atticus’ character, but alludes to an unsavory and otherwise unspoken history of virulent homophobia that persists throughout many black communities to this day. It’s an emotionally raw, painful, and honest depiction of a paternal relationship gone awry that easily ranks among the best scenes of the series to date.
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Another convergence is the reconciliation between Leti and her sister Ruby. The two have neither spoken or seen each other since their argument in the season’s third episode, “Holy Ghost,” and much has transpired in their time apart. Ruby, having discovered the truth behind Christina’s deception, seems nonetheless compliant to her whims, if only in exchange for the serum which grants her the power of whiteness.
However sympathetic her motivations might seem, Christina’s machinations have proven that she is willing to do whatever must be done in order to achieve her aims, even at the cost of others’ safety. Ruby has too, for her own benefit, and so it is for this reason alone she seems to have aligned herself with Christina’s interests. Leti, for her part, has seen and done equally bizarre and extraordinary things since she last saw her sister. Having now experienced dreams of Atticus’ great ancestor Hanna, Leti now suspects that she is pregnant with his child; a fact that, if discovered by either Christina or the Order of the Ancient Dawn, would only endanger her life and the life of the baby inside her.
When Leti and Ruby first speak to each other after so long, the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. It’s a small, yet in no way minor scene between the two characters, one which signals a positive turn in their relationship that will more than likely be undone when the fullness of the truth is finally revealed between them.
Hippolyta’s storyline however, compared to either Atticus or Leti’s, is far more bizarre by several degrees. After being sucked into a vacillating wormhole in space-time alongside Atticus, she’s transported to a far-off planet from our solar system and subsequently abducted by a strange, imposing extraterrestrial with an enormous afro. "You are not in prison,” her captor tells her as she is forcibly restrained. “but you want to be." It’s at this point that Hippolyta is commanded to “name” herself, and when asked where she most wants to be, she sarcastically replies dancing in Paris with Josephine Baker. And with that, she’s promptly whisked away at her own command. The scene itself marks one of the most hilarious and freewheeling to appear in the series, with Hippolyta quickly settling into her raucous new lifestyle as a dancer in a montage set to LaBelle’s “Lady Marmalade.” It’s Hippolyta like we’ve never seen her: jubilant, carefree, confident, and spiritually and emotionally alive. Lovecraft Country’s non-diegetic music choices have wavered between being either tonally consistent and thematically meaningful or so irreverent and irrelevant as to come across as brazenly superficial. Luckily, this sequence fits comfortably in the former as an uplifting refrain paired appropriately with Hippolyta’s personal growth through her newfound sisterhood.
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Carra Patterson’s portrayal of Baker is terrific and all-too-short, with a charismatic presence and energy that almost manages to steal the scene right from under Ellis’ feet. As Hippolyta and Josephine relax after another successful performance, Hippolyta confides in her not only the utter freedom she’s felt having been a part of Josephine’s troupe, but her resentment for the life she left behind not more than moments before being dropped into this timeline.
Hippolyta strains to express the fullness of her outrage: at white society for making her feel small and helpless, and at herself for allowing herself to believe that she was in the first place. And something else too... but the words get caught in her throat, as if she’s afraid to give voice to what she truly feels. It’s then that Hippolyta is again whisked away across space through another invocation of her name, this time to an unnamed African village composed of warrior women where she is forced to train in mortal combat before facing off against an army of American Confederate soldiers.
The whole sequence of Hippolyta leaping across time and space feels like an anthology-lite take on Buck Rogers meets Quantum Leap with a Black female protagonist, which goes without saying is an amazing concept that’s executed superbly with awesome fight choreography and great energy throughout. As the carnage of the ensuing battle envelops all around her, Hippolyta invokes her name one last time in order to be where she wants to be the most: at her husband’s side again.
It’s here where we’re finally treated to the long-awaited return of George Freeman. Or at least, a George Freeman. But the happy reunion is short-lived. After grieving her husband’s death, living life without him, enduring the trials of everything she’s seen and felt, Hippolyta finally has the chance to tell George something that’s been weighing on her heart since before the events of the series even began: that she’s had to shrink herself in order to conform to the world - and her marriage. It’s a great scene and profound emotional climax for the episode, with Hippolyta confronting her husband both out of respect for the love they shared together but the realization of her own worth. It’s a moment of affirmation of who she is, not only outside of what White America expects and demands that she be, but apart from even her existence as a wife and as a mother. After all her journeys, Hippolyta finally has what she has always wanted— for her husband to see and support her for everything that she is, not just who she is to him. “I see you now, Hippolyta Freeman,” George tells her before taking her hand to embark on another adventure. “And I want you to be as big as you can be.”
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The episode’s concluding scene is one of the most whimsical and visually rapturous the series has offered so far. Hippolyta, dressed as her daughter’s space-faring superhero Orinthia Blue, and George, her trusted companion, travelling to distant worlds and cataloguing their findings as intrepid explorers, all narrated by a poignant excerpt from Jazz multi-instrumentalist Sun Ra’s 1974 film Space Is The Place. Like Hippolyta, Sun Ra was someone who felt estranged by the circumstances of his lived existence as a black person in a deeply segregated America, and created his own mythical name and persona in a bid to reclaim a sense of power and autonomy over his identity and place in the world. “You don’t exist in this society,” Sun Ra’s voice can be heard as Hippolyta floats weightless through the celestial ether. “If you did your people wouldn’t be seeking equal rights. You’re not real. If you were real you’d have some status amongst the nations of the world. So we’re both myths. I do not come to you as a reality. I come to you as the myth because that’s what black people are—myths.” After having become so much through this cosmic odyssey, Hippolyta chooses nevertheless to return to Earth, if not for herself then for the sake of her daughter. The only difference now is, the choice is entirely Hippolyta’s now. Having named herself, Hippolyta is finally free.
The episode, however, throws us one last curveball by showing us not Hippolyta emerging from the rift caused by Hiram Epstein’s machine, but rather Atticus. Gasping for air, he shouts his aunt’s name as police sirens can be heard growing closer in the distance. Desperately attempting to reactivate the machine to no avail, Atticus ruminates over the small object he was clutching in his hand as he emerged from the portal: a paperback book titled “Lovecraft Country,” written by none other than his late Uncle George. It’s a delightfully meta cliffhanger capping off an already exceptional episode, and one that hints at a whole swath of possibilities in the immediate future. Is Atticus truly fated to die as Ji-ah predicted, or is this a ‘choose-your-own-adventure’ story? What did Atticus see and experience during his encounters through the rift? We’ll have to wait until next week to find out.
Disclaimer: Former IGN host Alysia Judge worked on Paradise Killer, providing the voice of Judge.
Detective stories are almost always centred around the search for proof: that key bit of evidence, that slip-up in testimony, that missing cornerstone which holds together the rest of the story they’ve been searching to understand. But, if we’re honest, actually proving things isn’t really the detective’s job – they find evidence, piece it together, and present what they believe to be a plausible truth. It’s not proof so much as the confident suggestion that it could be proof. It’s a subtle distinction, and one that Paradise Killer understands intimately – and, as its credits rolled, I realised the entire game is about that distinction. Well, that and a demonic pleasure-world of ritual sacrifice performed to satiate the psychic energy-lust of unknowable, goat-headed cosmic entities. It’s about that too.
To be simplistic about it, Paradise Killer is something like a visual novel exploded into the structure of an open world game. It borrows much from Japanese mystery games, most notably the Ace Attorney and Danganronpa series, but eschews their carefully unfolded, mostly linear whodunnits for a fully explorable (and initially overwhelming) first-person investigation across a near-deserted island, ending in a trial at which you present the story you believe to be the correct one.
You play Lady Love Dies (which might be the least strange name on offer here), an immortal “investigation freak” who was exiled from Paradise 3 million days ago, and is only invited to return after a locked-room murder spree forces the island’s egoless arbiter of justice to bring in the only person deemed capable of solving the crime. Oh, and you get back from exile by skydiving from a mile-high plinth suspended above the actual game map while the opening credits roll.
[ignvideo url="https://www.ign.com/videos/the-first-17-minutes-of-paradise-killer-gameplay"]Yes, Paradise Killer is weird, with an aesthetic that can probably be best described as “Vaporwave Satanism” – imagine a neon sign covered in gouts of blood, and you’re on the way there. Among its best tricks is that it doesn’t just force you to piece together its mystery after the fact, but the workings of its entire world. People still act like people (and lie like people), but how does detective work change in a universe where ghosts can exist, gods can be imprisoned, and taxis can open transdimensional rifts? You’re essentially running two investigations: one building a case in your head, and the other building the world in which it took place.
That also means that telling you too much about that world would spoil some of the fun, but at its most basic level: you’re on an island, Paradise, built like a beautiful holiday destination, but actually created to offer ritual human sacrifices to gods from beyond the galaxy, run by The Syndicate, a group of immortals hiding in a pocket dimension beyond the reach of humanity. Honestly, that’s the basics. It’s one of the more compulsively unique fictional words I’ve come across in recent years – enough so that I’d welcome a sequel out of interest for that setting alone.
As Lady Love Dies, you travel the island entirely at your own discretion and pace, investigating its jarring mix of 3D architecture and 2D populace, combing for clues left behind at crime scenes, wrenching testimony out of old friends, and generally making a nuisance of yourself, as any investigator should. The beauty of that open-ended approach becomes apparent very quickly – the first piece of evidence you find, which can more or less be anything, will inevitably point you to another clue, which might offer a different line of conversation with one of many wild suspects (who range from married ex-assassins, to a horny Scottish doctor living on a yacht). That conversation might, in turn, break the alibi of someone else, or even open up an entirely new sub-case, promising brand new mysteries to find. The pleasure of unspooling a blood-drenched, twisting story behind the crime you set out to solve is only increased by the fact that you’re more in charge of how that crime’s solved than almost any other detective game I can think of.
The world you travel through to do that is almost equally fascinating, a mixture of the mundane and the bizarre slotted together seamlessly. Climb humble apartment blocks to hunt for hidden clues, or the many collectible Relics that offer glimpses at what this grim world once was, and you’ll stare across a landscape dotted with blood donation points, grotesque statuary, and pyramids jutting out from an endless sea. In an unexpected twist, Paradise Killer is also a platformer of sorts, asking you not just to travel the island, but work out how to in some cases - even offering unlockable double jumps and other abilities to help you find its most inaccessible corners.
You’re not travelling towards an ending, as such, more a culmination – you can begin the murder trial that closes the story at any time after its introductory sequence. The best comparison I can think of, weirdly, is in how you can take on Dragon’s Dogma’s final boss at any time, with almost no impediments put in place to stop you from doing so – it would likely be absolutely terrible to do it too early, but you can if you want to. But that element of choice in when to stop also lends Paradise Killer its greatest air of mystery – you’re never told when you’re done, you simply have to intuit whether there could be more clues out there that you’re yet to find. Are you confident enough to make your case on what you have, or will you keep scouring the island for more?
Unfortunately, that air of mystery gives way to Paradise Killer’s only real point of frustration. After around 10 hours of exploration, clues begin to dwindle, suspects have less and less to say and, without being able to effectively revisit any hints they may have offered, you can simply be left to trudge across a near-empty island for several more hours, looking for a glimmer of possibility based on nothing else than a hunch. Yes, that sounds authentically like a detective story, but in practice it can get pretty dull – in reality, you’re likely to start the final trial because you’re a bit bored of fast-travelling to areas you’ve already scoured, rather than because you have steadfast conviction in your conclusions.
[widget path="global/article/imagegallery" parameters="albumSlug=paradise-killer-screenshots&captions=true"]But no matter how you get there, that trial sequence itself is the jewel in Paradise Killer’s crown. For obvious reasons, I won’t discuss its story contents, but the structure is wonderful – an hour-plus long riff on Ace Attorney’s trial sequences, seeing you accuse suspects and then present your collected evidence to back up those assertions. Except, in Paradise Killer, there’s no truly wrong answer.
While there is a set backstory to be unravelled, it can be interpreted in different ways – the evidence I’ve collected might support one side, and the evidence you collect might support another, and the trial can account for both assertions. That’s not to mention the potential for corruption, as you could purposely accuse the wrong person to save an obviously guilty character you grew to like along the way, or just throw someone under the bus for no reason other than an evil whim. The characters who survive – of course there’s a death penalty – can be wildly different depending on any given playthrough.
Paradise Killer has no narrator in place to tell you the “true” story of what happened, and you’re never told if the actions you take – at any point – are right or wrong. You live as Lady Love Dies up until the bitter end, and your conclusions, whatever they end up being, are hers too, shaping the outcome of your time in Paradise. This is, in essence, a first-person game in more than physical viewpoint. It’s a truly bold storytelling choice, and one that makes Paradise Killer feel more authentically detective-like than almost any game of its kind.