A while ago I was reading up on Starblade, one of the first commercial polygon-based games. What really struck me about the game was just how smooth it was compared to its spiritual successor, Starfox (granted the above links are YouTube videos that don’t accurately reflect framerates, but the differences are still quite noticeable).

It’s an extreme case, but one that nicely demonstrates the importance of rendering speeds.

Despite having animations that consisted of only 2-3 frames, many classic games ran at 60fps. This granularity helped to smooth out movement, including Mario's beloved jump.

Of course no one ever complains about games being too smooth, but the debate of 30fps vs. 60fps continues to pop up. What’s more, the 60fps side keeps losing ground, often to the argument that humans can’t really detect more than 30 frames in a single second.

And that is completely untrue.

It’s an inherently flawed statement as humans are not digital machines. The human brain is always on, always receiving input. Light hits our eyes as a wave, and the information it carries is almost instantly transmitted to the Visual Cortex. The brain analyzes this data, focusing on changes brought on by motion and fluctuations in intensity. Displacement is interpolated via motion blur and identical input is discarded to avoid extraneous processing.

The “decoded” image is further analyzed by various parts of the brain, but the overall process — as complex as it is — is quite fast and versatile. Much faster than 30fps. Faster than 60fps, in fact.

So where does the myth of 30fps come from? Well, film and TV for the most part, but the framerates of those media are not analogous to those of videogames. Others have written extensively about the topic, so I won’t go too deep into it. What I’d like to talk about, though, is why high framerates are important to games.

The Unreal Tournament series has been known for letting its players set very high FPS benchmarks.

As a preface, different titles obviously have different requirements, and some suffer more from a low FPS than others. Also, the reasons for Insomniac’s decision to move away from their 60fps standard were completely understandable, if a little painful to accept.

With that said, here’s why I think high framerates are important:

1). Granularity

The framerate of a game is usually directly tied to the processing of its logic. As a result, action games that run at 30fps cannot have the same granularity of movement as those that run at 60fps. This might not matter much for turn-based strategy titles, but it makes an awful lot of shmups technically impossible to do at lower framerates.

2). Input Lag

Games are inherently an interactive medium, and as such the response times for input need to be virtually instant. On the hardware side this is rarely an issue, but a stuttering framerate can reduce the response times and greatly detract from the overall experience (especially in “twitch” titles).

3). Consistency

30fps isn’t bad, but what most people fail to realize is that it’s often the “ceiling” measurement, i.e., the best case scenario. Unlike TV and film, games are dynamic, and the processing required to render any given scene can fluctuate quite significantly. As a result, 30fps games actually tend to run at a rate of 20-30fps. These sort of inconsistencies can be very difficult to avoid, but they’re much less noticeable with higher benchmarks.

Motion blur at its finest.

4). Motion Blur

Motion blur is the biggest reason TV and film get away with smaller framerates. The phenomenon of motion blur relies on the human brain’s ability to stitch together a series of blurred images into a single, smooth animation. Until fairly recently, games had absolutely no motion blurring, and even these days it doesn’t have quite the same effect. The reason for this is that post-process blurring is not always accurate, and in many cases purposely exaggerated to create a distinctive visual effect.

To properly accommodate for all these factors, a high framerate is a must. And when it’s there, it creates a certain synchronization between the player and the game; a smooth flow that more developers should strive to achieve.

Whenever I sit down to write an article about some aspect of game design, I always do a bit of research first. Often I run into works that already cover the topic, usually more extensively than I would have, so I scrap it. That doesn’t make these existing pieces any less valid, though, so I’ve decided to periodically highlight them.

Also, there’s a lot of information out there that isn’t specifically aimed at videogame design: neuroscience, prose, psychology, etc. Articles that discuss these topics can still be quite useful for a designer, so I’ll try to include them as well.

• An Easy Way to Increase Creativity – The concept of creativity is somewhat ethereal, but this Scientific American article goes over some concrete techniques for “thinking outside the box.”
• Yomi Layer 3: Knowing the Mind of the Opponent – David Sirlin’s excellent piece on predicting and conditioning one’s foe in competitive gaming.
• Intelligent Brawling – Tom Smith’s Gamasutra post on the more subtle mechanics of 3D brawlers and how they influenced the production of Nihilistic’s/THQ’s Conan.

It’s finally done, and none too soon either.

The idea behind that splash-page is stolen from the Xona Games guys, by the way, except I designed our version to be compatible with lower resolutions without the need to scroll. It’s still temporary, but I think its’ a good bare-bones placeholder.

With that out of the way, regular programming will now resume…

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As a kid, I used to excel at various visual arts. I enjoyed sketching, drawing, painting, etc., and some of my work was even briefly displayed at a quite silly our-children-are-the-future event. As I grew older, though, my interest in art waned and I eventually abandoned it for other hobbies. These days I can draw a stick figure as good as anyone else, but that’s about the extent of my skills. As such, I definitely needed some help with the visuals of Tribes of Mexica.

I wasn’t sure what was the best way hire artists, but I figured ConceptArt.org was a good place to begin. The site was filled with varied portfolios, a lot of them by professionals from the videogame industry, and its message boards were very active. I started off by making a post asking for some advice on Mesoamerican art, after which I scanned the jobs section. I read the FAQ stickies so I wouldn’t make any introductory faux pas, and I checked out a bunch of the other offers just to get a rough idea of the pricing.

Then I made my post.

Alejandro's concept for some of the characters in Tribes of Mexica.

What I asked for were two illustrations in a painterly style — one for a boxart mockup, and another for the game’s title screen. I had some rough ideas for their compositions, but I didn’t dwell on those. Instead, I focused on details such as: theme, compensation ($200 USD, half upfront and half after completion), due date, payment method (PayPal), and delivery format (Photoshop PSD files, with the title screen divided into various layers).

Now $200 USD isn’t a very large amount, so I wasn’t expecting too much interest. Maybe an application or two from some talented speedpainters, although I suspected that even those might be turned off by my desired level of detail.

The post was eventually viewed 1000+ times, and I received 90+ individual offers. I was pleasantly surprised, to say the least.

At least half of those responses came within the first two days, which I spent almost exclusively browsing portfolios and answering e-mails. I responded to every submission, and I was genuinely surprised by the lack of links to amateur-ish deviantart galleries. Everyone seemed fine with the price as well, with a few notable exceptions. One person offered to do it for $175, another requested $300, and one individual (with no link to any works) complained in broken English that it was too little money and I wasn’t going to find anyone for the job.

A lot of the submissions were not necessarily in the style I envisioned, but there was a lot of talent being displayed. In the end, I decided to pick out 5 “finalists” from each sub-style, i.e., dreamlike, blotchy, hyper realistic, etc. This would allow me to weigh the pro’s and con’s of each approach, and eventually come to a decision on the look of the game as a whole.

After mulling it over for a few days, I needed to make a choice, so I asked each artist if they’d be willing to provide me with a quick sketch of the boxart motif. I couldn’t really offer much money for these concepts, so instead I proposed to write a blog post (this one) about my experience and maybe get them some extra exposure. Three of the artists agreed, with one stating that he was too busy at the time, and another refusing to do it without some monetary compensation. That was understandable, though, and I hope you still check out their websites.

Here they are in chronological order based on their submission date:

1). Davy Van Verdegem

Davy was actually the first response I got, and it certainly started off on a positive note. His incredibly textured work had a very storybook feel to it, and although he didn’t have many examples of character art, his stop-motion animations were very impressive.

2). Alejandro Gutiérrez Franco

Alejandro has a lot of commercial experience, and his style — which combines pencil drawings and digital texturing — is certainly unique. He’s also done quite a bit of background and character work, with some of his pieces resembling the setting of Tribes of Mexica, and he actually resided in Mexico City!

3). Alice Duke

The proportions, colours and overall style of Alice’s works reminded me of James Jean’s famous Fables covers that have been renowned for years. Theirs is a very iconic look that worked wonders for that series, and I thought a similar approach could make a great fit for my game.

4). Kamjar Fadai

Although Kamjar’s strengths are not his characters, his background work is simply amazing. The animation of the above image — complete with flowing water and falling leaves — was exactly what I had pictured for my title screen.

5). Mélanie Bourgeois

Mélanie didn’t have a lot of examples in her portfolio, but her ethereal, dreamlike illustrations were instantly appealing. It wasn’t quite the style that I envisioned for Tribes of Mexica, but I could still see this more whimsical look fitting the game quite well.

Alice's final version of the Tribes of Mexica cover, sans the title.

Overall there’s a few quick lessons I learned from this experience:

• ConceptArt.org is great for recruiting artists from all over the world (aside from Antarctica, I received responses from every continent on this planet).
• It’s best not to do ask for help on a tight deadline. You never know what might come up or how long it will take to find someone you think really fits the project, so I’d advise posting an ad well ahead of schedule.
• Although it’s great to have one artist do all the work to ensure a consistent look, scope and time constraints might prevent this from happening. Furthermore, visual arts are a very nebulous field, so it’s likely that you might find artists who fit one part of your requirement but not another.
• Finally, if you haven’t settled on a concrete look for your project but feel pretty confident about the quantity of potential responses, feel free to skip out on stylistic details. You might be surprised by the offers and find an ideal style that never even occured to you.

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Previous Tribes of Mexica post.

I’m making a game. Here’s a video of the tech-demo/proof-of-concept:

The basic premise of Tribes of Mexica evolved from kicking around a few ideas that dealt with creating gameplay mechanics from radial menus. I have a couple different takes on it, actually, but the one I’m currently focusing on is a classic match-three approach. The reason for this is that it’s a relatively simple and intuitive concept, but it still provides me some room to be unique.

Of course the fact that match-three is almost a genre unto itself means that I’m not going for 100% originality. And that’s OK, too. Very few developers seem to be willing to point out their inspirations, and it’s a silly phobia. Also, too many titles are credited with being original when they simply use an existing formula with a new element or two. Instead, I’m committed to creating this game all the while calling a spade a spade.

Concept art for Tlaloc, one of the more significant gods in Aztec mythology.

So what’s my inspiration? Well, I think Puzzle Quest will draw the most comparisons, and that’s fairly accurate.

Soon after prototyping the ring-rotation, though, I realized that it’d be tough to make a pure puzzle game out of ToM. The interconnected nature of all the coloured elements meant that it was virtually impossible to visualize ahead more than a move or two. Typical links/chains/combos were possible, but they were usually a result of luck, not skill. The radial design also imposed various limitations that are not an issue with static, grid-based puzzlers such as Bejeweled. Still, I was fond of the core concept, so I decided to build on top of it and turn it into a combat game of sorts.

Much like Puzzle Quest, each attack fills up a colour-coded “spell” (currently indicated by the Xbox 360 controller’s face buttons), but I think that’s where the similarities end. ToM is a real-time game, requiring constant analysis and input. In fact, I think it’s more akin to Patapon than anything else; it’s an abstraction of an RPG battle system coupled with an interesting input mechanic.

The one-on-one nature of ToM also allows it to draw upon some elements found in traditional fighting games, and I’ll try to incorporate more of those as the title progresses.

Also, until we give the Incubator Games website an upgrade, I’m going to chronicle the whole experience here on Significant Bits. It’ll allow me to talk about the evolution of ToM’s design while bringing up a couple of other topics such as contracting and promotion. Too often such talking points are relegated to sentiments of “You should do it, and it’d help if you did it well,” though, and that’s not very helpful. Instead, I’ll strive to provide hard numbers and some personal opinions on the overall experience. Hopefully you’ll all find it interesting.

Next Tribes of Mexica post.

Broadcast Yourself. And videogame clips.

These are usually trailers created by diehard fans. A lot of them are filled with blurry text and horribly incongruous music, but there’s some really good ones too.

There aren’t any specific channels or playlists for tributes, but there’s still plenty of them on YouTube. Just search for your favourite game and the word “tribute,” and you’ll probably find at least a couple of ‘em.

2). The Playthroughs.

The “Let’s Play” phenomenon originated on the Something Awful forums where individuals posted threads about playing through their favourite games. These posts were accompanied by screenshots and/or video clips, as well as personal commentary on various facets of the game. This trend proved so popular that YouTube “Let’s Play” videos soon started popping up. The idea of documenting a video playthrough isn’t completely new, though, and there are various terms such as “I Played a Thing” that wield similar results.

With playthroughs, it’s important to note that they can be rather lengthy, and that the individuals who compile them are usually very enthusiastic fans. Playthroughs tend to explore every nook and cranny of a game from start to finish, often with some commentary thrown in. This is perfectly understandable, although not always beneficial.

There’s actually a plethora of “Let’s Play” videos on YouTube, so chances are if you type in your favourite game, you’ll find a match. If you just want to browse, though, this is a good start, as is the Let’s Play Archive.

3). The Speedruns.

In many ways, speedruns really popularized video playthroughs. The idea behind speedruns is to complete an entire game as quickly as possible, utilizing any shortcuts, glitches, and (at times) software tools to assist with the challenge. These still require an amazing amount of skill, though, which you can see below.

For more speedruns, check out this playlist and these two sites.

4). The Skills.

Sometimes a speedrun is not the best way to showcase one’s abilities at a specific game. Whether it’s a particular combo, a unique tactic in a strategy game, a boss-dismantling, or any other impressive feat, these videos tend to be one-offs. That doesn’t make them any less impressive, but it does mean that they’re isolated clips without a specific channel/playlist.

5). The Cutscenes.

Whether it’s an amazing game intro or ending, or just a particularly memorable cinematic, chances are it’s on YouTube in all its spoiler glory.

The videos are all fun time-sinks, like most content on YouTube, but they can also be a great resource for game developers. They provide user commentary, showcases of skills (and frustrations), entire playthroughs that are easy to browse, tributes to the most memorable scenes, etc. This is an enormous amount of content to analyze and learn from, and I’m a little surprised that no one in the development world has yet to champion it.

A little while ago I dug into Scary Girl for not being a very fun game. This brought up some discussion about what actually makes a good 2D platformer, so I decided to expand on the topic. Below is a list of what I see as three common aspects of many classic platforming titles. These point are not the only things that made those games great, but they’re a shared base that appears again and again.

Sonic CD saw the addition of the dash move. It left Sonic more vulnerable than his spin dash, but it lasted longer and was a great way to instantly build up speed.

The moveset is a nebulous term that encompasses all of the player character’s abilities and properties. These include the standard run and jump, but also other mechanics such as sliding, and the rules of various behaviours, e.g., how much time does it take to accelerate to a maximum velocity, how does the character react when he’s hit, etc. Temporary powerups such as Mario’s Starman and permanent modifiers like Mega Man’s boss weapons also fall under this umbrella.

So what makes a great moveset?

Well, let’s start at the beginning. First of all — and it’s hard to believe that this needs to be explicitly stated —  the moveset should be very clear and accurate. There’s nothing worse than running over a collectible and not picking it up. Well, unless it’s getting hit by an enemy that’s clearly not touching you. This kind of stuff is incredibly frustrating, and it makes the player feel cheated by the game.

Mega Man's wall-slide and wall-jump mechanics added a lot of gameplay elements to the famous series.

As soon as we’re sure that we’re not actively pissing off the audience, we can build a connection between the player and the game itself.

To start off, the interface needs to be quick and responsive. Input should have an immediate effect on the character in order to foster a sense of full control. Granularity and different control techniques, i.e., pressing, tapping and holding, are also important as they provide a level of precision to the movement.

It’s important to note that the majority of 8-bit and 16-bit games actually ran at 60 frames-per-second. Sure, many of the animations were composed of only 2-5 frames, but the actual motion of the sprites was very smooth. This not only aided the physics, but also created a very dynamic sense of movement.

Yoshi's Island has one of my favourite movesets of all time.

Now precision in platformers is often associated with pixel-perfect leaps that — if not properly executed — result in game death. While that is sometimes the case, precision is an ever-present facet of these titles that’s experienced at virtually all times, e.g., jumping up to a moving platform, dashing through a tight tunnel, firing shots at floating enemies, etc.

So how do we actually make the moveset fun?

Well, there’s something to be said for vicariously living through a speedy, agile ninja that performs maneuvers one would not likely do in real life. However, what I consider even more important to the “fun factor” is the integration of the moveset with the various facets of level design itself.

On largely aesthetic level, it helps a great deal if the game is composed of various zones that each have their own unique look. Of course that uniqueness is often accompanied by numerous interactive objects that add variety and help with the pacing, but there’s one small detail that occasionally falls through the cracks: the separation of foregrounds and backgrounds.

Donkey Kong Country has experienced a bit of a backlash over the years, but it was a stellar platformer with clearly outlined levels.

This might seem like a relatively small issue, but if not handled correctly, it can confuse and frustrate the player. Confusion is rarely a good thing, and pretty art is a poor consolation for jumping on phantom platforms.

Now as far as the environments themselves, it’s not a coincidence that they’re often filled with all sorts of slides, bridges, trampolines, ladders, etc., In a way, they’re simply playgrounds for the player, both literally and figuratively. They cater to the moveset and enhance the flow of the game.

Bonk's Adventure was relatively slow-paced and straightforward, but it included some truly bizarre and entertaining levels.

Smart playgrounds also funnel the player into using his various abilities. Once again, this is to provide a wide array of experiences by fully utilizing existing resources. The funneling itself can be subtle — indicating a path through a series of collectibles — or forced — requiring the player to scale a wall in order to proceed.

A great example of organic playground elements in Akumaj? Dracula X. The long water slide ends with a leap onto dry land, quickly followed by a boat ride with the ferryman.

When designing levels, a guiding approach also helps with creating specific setups for how the player enters and leave a specific area. For example, a path of collectibles can lead to an isolated spot that contains a useful powerup. Getting there requires a series of leaps and wall jumps that take the player through the lines of collectibles and deposit him at the desired destination. On his way back, the collectibles are gone, removing the need to retrace steps and making the descent itself easier and more enjoyable.

A good example of incentive-funneling in Super Mario Bros 3. A flight-leaf powerup is followed by a straight runway that ends with a path of coins leading up into the sky (where more collectibles await).

Picture this scene: your character is jumping through the air, an enemy is homing in on him, and a stray missile explodes and destroys a brick wall. A snapshot of this scene reveals multiple states: jumping, homing in, and exploding/crumbling.

States are basically logical denominations that encompass various behaviours and properties of “game objects.” They give standard enemies and end-level bosses a rudimentary intelligence, and challenge the player to decipher and exploit their patterns. This imbues them with personality, and once again encourages the use of various techniques to defeat them.

Every Mega Man game is filled with enemies that all have unique, state-driven behaviour.

However, states are just as important to the levels themselves as to their inhabitants. Even though it’s easy to visually separate enemies and interactive objects, they’re largely the same thing. Springs, conveyor belts, swinging vines, breakable walls, etc. fill out the playground, and they do a tremendous job of turning a static image into a living, breathing environment.

On the initial playthrough, states encourage experimentation and improvisation. Despite the fact that they’re entirely predictable, they also enhance the replay value. Learning the mechanics and patterns of a game guarantees that the player — at least to a certain extent — will continuously get better at it. In some cases, this can even lead to the creation of speed runs.

And if you really doubt how vibrant a game can be largely through its use of states, click the play button below.

Time the occasional jump, and you can blast through this level at top speed.

Now as you start putting all three of these principles together, chances are you’ll also foster those intentional and emergant moments that players tend to remember.

What moments, exactly?

Well, it’s stuff like using pinball bumpers to dart around in Sonic the Hedgehog while avoiding the boss’ attacks. It’s exploring all new underground caverns in Super Metroid thanks to a special ability. It’s running through a level of Super Mario Bros. without stopping while piranha fish sail above you, but never quite touch you.

The flow created by intelligently combining movesets, levels and state mechanics is a large part of what makes platformers fun.

And as a final point, the combination of all three of these aspects can actually be seen in the intro to Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, and who didn’t like that?

The videogame field is very competitive, with every company — no matter how big or small — trying to sell a product. As a result, it’s a breeding ground for elevator pitches. These often revolve around such bullet points as “We have this unique take on cover gameplay!” or “It’s a hidden-object game with a real inventory!”

The boy meets girl theme is strangely absent from videogames.

As John Davison pointed out, though, videogames are not really a niche product. They compete for attention with TV, movies, YouTube, Facebook, etc., so I’m a little surprised that more elevator pitches don’t concentrate on universal themes. So what exactly are themes? Well, here’s a pretty thorough summary from Wikipedia:

“A theme is an idea, message, or lesson conveyed by a written text. This message is usually about life, society, or human nature. Themes often explore timeless and universal ideas. Most themes are implied rather than explicitly stated. The theme is different from the superficial outlay of the text; it is normally the meaning of the text on a more abstract level.”

Yes, themes are more a staple of the literary world, but they’re very powerful when it comes to evoking emotions. Consequently, when you’re trying to get a general audience to emphasize with your product, the premise of a theme is much more identifiable than a gameplay element.

Not that games are completely devoid of themes. Quite the contrary, actually. However, most game themes are usually repeated over and over again. They’re the epic struggles of good vs. evil, or the hero quest, but there are many more possibilities. An interesting thing about themes, too, is that they can quite naturally affect and steer gameplay elements (often in new and unique ways).

Here are a few quick examples.

1). Triumph through perseverance.

A sports game centering around an athlete’s fall from grace due to a (seemingly) career-ending injury. This could fit virtually any sports genre and take the athlete through a quest for a second shot at the big leagues. Starting with rehabilitation, various minigames (or handicapped scenarios of the full game) could act as something of a tutorial, guiding the player through all the necessary steps on the path to a successful comeback.

2). Honour and familial bonds.

A strategy game following the life of a disgraced warlord in feudal Japan. In order to protect his family and subordinates, the shogun went against the proper code of conduct, which was then used by his politicking general to overthrow him. The game itself could revolve around a quest for retribution while implementing various elements of Bushido into strategic combat.

Mario & Sonic at the Olympics -- what more do you need to know?

3). Liberation from slavery.

There aren’t too many fantasy settings that go for a post-apocalyptic feel, and even fewer videogames (Soul Reaver being the only non-licensed one I can think of), but I’ve always been interested in scenarios where the good guys don’t win. Namely, what happens afterwards? Well, how ’bout a typical Tolkien-derived RPG that breaks a few cliches? Enslaved humans that often suffer from Stockholm syndrome, Orc sympathizers that are helping with an underground rebellion, a struggle for freedom in the face of an oncoming genocide, etc.

Of course many videogames have minimal narrative and virtually no storyline, but those too can be thematically summed up, i.e., what is the game about, exactly? This summary doesn’t even have to mention any actual gameplay mechanics, just evoke enticing possibilities. Take for instance Mario Party, Guitar Hero and Wii Fit — none of these games have much in the way of a “plot,” but their titles alone are quite iconic. And they also sold bucketloads of copies.

Zak McKracken was Lucasarts’ second ever SCUMM title. It didn’t really have the same impact as the various Monkey Island or Indiana Jones games, but it contained loads of personality and a few interesting twists on adventure game mechanics.

It all started with a dream...

The good stuff:

• Zak McKracken, the game’s protagonist, dreams of winning the Pulitzer Prize but is stuck working for The National Inquisitor, a trashy tabloid. Despite Zak’s disgruntlement, his job is a very good excuse to have the player investigate suspicious phenomenona and travel to exotic locales.
  

  The red, underlined "LOOK!" arrow-sign was actually a breath of fresh air in a genre notorious for pixel-hunting.

• The game came packaged with a print version of the National Inquisitor and featured headlines such as “Two-Headed Squirrel Attacks Two Campers At Once!” and “Scrambled Son Tries To Kill Parents With Eggs.” Incidentally, not everything in the newspaper is supposed to be fabricated — a concept that was a big part of Men in Black.
• The game’s story revolves around a devious alien plot to overthrow humanity. This is achieved by a group of aliens — disguised in Groucho-style masks — running a phone company that’s slowly eroding earth’s intelligence through dial tones.
  

  The FM Towns version of the game.

• Being exposed to the aliens’ Mindbender machine results in game commands being sucked out from the user interface. This is a rather clever way of simulating Zak getting stupid. It also serves to gate the player and justify some rather perplexing behaviour.
• The National Inquisitor doesn’t have the biggest budget, so Zak must pay for his own flights. Aside from being another logical gating mechanic, it also serves to tease the player with impossibly expensive flights. It’s debatable whether such red herrings are actually a good thing, but they add the illusion of scale.
• A vital way of getting the funds to travel around the world is winning the lottery.
• International flights also double as copy-protection, requiring the player to enter “Visa Codes” (that are provided in the game’s manual) when travelling outside of the US.
  

  Yes, that King.

• Zak can “mind-meld” with animals and control them, but this is often just an amusing distraction, e.g., making your goldfish smile or having a yak poop.
• The game is split into five main parts, each one involving getting a piece of “The Device.” It’s a very non-linear approach — especially for an adventure game — as it allows the player to explore and the world in almost any order he wishes.
• The game’s female characters were based on at-the-time significant others of the various individuals on the development team. One of these women was notorious for dyeing her hair, so her in-game equivalent appears with differently coloured hair every time she takes off her space helmet.
• Zak’s pet goldfish is named Sushi.

The iconic escape sequence from the intro of Super Metroid.

Now there are plenty of ways to encourage the player to physically make progress in a game (collectibles, for instance), but forcing him to do so is a bit different. One approach is to simply take the player on an automated ride where his input bears little to no effect on the actual traversal, e.g., autoscrolling stages in shmups, or wholly scripted camera movement in light-gun games. Another possibility, and the one I’ll be focusing on, is what I like to call the “cattle prod.” But first, a quick definition:

Super Adventure Island's cattle prod is the very intuitive hunger mechanic that requires the player to constantly pick up fruits. Not only is this concept very easy to grasp, but it also fits in with the game's setting and is supported by the extremely horizontal level design.

Game death is a pretty nebulous concept, e.g., losing a race and having to repeat it doesn’t have to actually involve anyone or anything being killed. However, it is also the ultimate consequence of not properly following the directions dictated by the cattle prod(s).

With that in mind, we can now talk about what makes a cattle prod work. Namely, diminishing resources that can bring on game death.

Cattle prods are manifested in various ways, e.g., time limits, combo meters, autoscrolling walls, currencies, decaying health, unstoppable enemies, etc. The overall feeling they tend to bring on is that of tension (and the possible satisfaction of overcoming a challenge) although that intensity varies greatly from case to case.

From what I’ve noticed, there’s three main factors that play into the stress level of a cattle prod:

1). Player Knowledge.

The more information the player possesses, the better he will be equipped to judge the situation at hand. Traversing a familiar level while being accompanied by a minimap that displays various points of interest is a lot less intimidating than being given a time limit and thrown into a hostile and unknown area.

Although Crackdown's races were actually pretty easy, the rapid checkpoint approach definitely increased their intensity.

2). Player Power.

The stronger the player is, the lesser the impact of any possible cattle prods. For example, if an RTS match begins with the player at a fully outfitted base with a lot of units and resources to mine, he won’t be too worried (at least not immediately) about succeeding. However, remove the base, provide only a handful of starting units, severely diminish possible resources and create a massive opposing army, and the stress levels quickly increase.

3). Resource Availability/Lifespan.

The more sparse the resource and the quicker it runs out, the more intense the overall experience. If a checkpoint is fifteen minutes away in a rally-style racing game, the player tends to trust the designer to give him plenty of time to reach that goal. However, if a checkpoint can be seen just a block down the street but the player only has 10 seconds to reach it, the experience becomes much more rushed and hectic.

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