Void Terrarium Is One of the Best Games of 2020 That Nobody Seemed to Play
In the rogue genre, whether it’s “-lite” or “-like”, systems are designed for players to delve into dungeons with hopes of a lucky break. On a good run, the player may gain a bonus that will benefit their character long term. On a great run, the system will crunch in a way that leads to slaughtering through a landscape. Crunchy systems violence is, of course, a broad trait across videogames. What’s different in roguelikes is that the computational manipulation of violent play is transparent. These games do not aim to show graphic representations of violence, but to give the player the powerful satisfaction of accumulating it.
In 2020 alone I can count almost 40 notable roguelikes released. I played a couple of these over the course of the year: Risk of Rain 2, Gunfire Reborn, Spelunky 2, Rogue Legacy 2, World of Horror, and Scourgebringer, to name a few. Compared to what the genre’s scene looked like a decade ago, it’s a very abundant area to play in. However, other than the cultural prevalence, many times it’s hard to find a reason why the elements of rogue are chosen with a modern roguelike’s primary mechanics. But last year one of these games stuck with me because it finally felt intentional. That was a mystery dungeon-inspired game published by NIS, void TRRLM; //Void Terrarium.
Void Terrarium is a game about computers, but not exclusively a game about programming, two things which are commonly likened to one another. Despite being a roguelike, it also shares gameplay with a Tamagotchi style digital companion game. Both these forms of game design have a history, an accumulation of attention, and affective properties that indicate some of the parts of our relationship to computers. The largest of these indications being the two affective goals in contrast: one to enjoy the domestic care and maintenance that a loved one provides, the other is to find pleasure in the manipulation of the cybernetic combat arena.
Following a tiny-limbed, doll-like robot named Robbie, the player discovers the last human in existence alongside the AI which destroyed all of humankind. Together, the two AI learn that the last human in existence doesn’t have the ability to survive on their own and must join together to help her survive. This is where the virtual pet care part of the game begins.
The human, known as Toriko to the computers, makes home in an oversized beaker now used as a terrarium. In the beginning she doesn’t have much inside of her domehome. The player is constantly managing her illness and food to make sure she survives. When Robbie must leave the dome to venture out for food, a small digital monitor emulating an LCD display provides details on her hunger, illness, and waste levels. Spend too much time trying to gather materials, and you may return to find Toriko is in immense pain caused by one of the world’s unique illnesses (Contortitis, Liquify, Crying Disease, Insect Gathering).
As the game goes on the player crafts items to decorate the home and to provide healthcare when Toriko gets sick. These provide benefits for the roguelike portion of the game, but there is also a significant design menu that allows you to customize Toriko’s home. Objects can be manipulated in terms of size, rotation and layer. They can also stack on top of one another to create structures that feel more lived in.
This portion of Void Terrarium’s gameplay appeals to the living desire to form relationships, and the pleasure of projecting our emotions onto avatars. This has historically been known as “the Tamagotchi effect” after owners of ‘90s digital pets like the Tamagotchi and Furby revealed a wide spectrum of caring emotions from their owners from love at their greatest moments, to grief when their pets had died. It also continues today with the increasing market of robotic sidekicks to assist in everyday life.
The Tamagotchi effect has caused much debate, with fear of connections between humans to be lost like the technological pets of “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep,” and others arguing that these relationships provide therapeutic potential. However, in Void Terrarium a limitation is placed on the fact that it is a game that does not ask for care once it has been turned off. Toriko never transcends the game, with her responsibility and care remaining within play.
