Stellar production values. Smooth gameplay. A well-conceived and clearly conveyed planet to explore. Two characters with different abilities. Satisfying scavenging gameplay. Some character building and a narrative twist or two, culminating in over-the-top action sequences. And all this spiced up with a fine version of the player character/focal character divide. What’s not to like?
Mainly, perhaps, the character writing. I saw most of the game through the ideas of the young female engineer, and wow, she was waxing poetic all the time. That didn’t really fit the setting very well. The interaction between her and the player character also felt off: she started confiding in me even though I had not done anything to earn her trust. (Sure, I had said some nice things. But saying nice things is cheap.) It’s not awful by any means, but it’s hard to take the characters or the setting fully seriously when much of what they say seems incongruous.
This didn’t stop me from enjoying SCAVS. It was one of the most fun games I’ve played so far in the competition, and the action sequence at the end was great too.
There’s more to say, though, and in order to say it I would like to introduce a distinction from the tabletop roleplaying community, coined by Meguey Baker. It’s a distinction between two different social contracts that a player group can have when it comes to emotionally challenging content: Nobody gets hurt and I will not abandon you.
In Nobody gets hurt, the group agrees to not seek out content that might challenge, upset, or otherwise hurt us. Play does not require vulnerability, because that’s not where we want to go as a group. This doesn’t mean there’s nothing negative going on in the fictional world; a standard D&D game where we kill a necromancers who has been murdering the local peasants might involve murder, gruesome scenes, children who have lost their parents, whatever. But we’re not dealing with it in a way that will really touch us emotionally. We roll dice and kill the baddies.
In I will not abandon you, we do as a group seek out emotionally challenging content. What is emotionally challenging depends, of course, on the players: a character who is ill and dying might mean nothing to one player, but hit very hard for a player who has just lost a loved one to cancer. When such content comes to us, players can choose to make themselves vulnerable to it and explore it through play. The rest of the group will not abandon them; that is, will take the content seriously, will be sensitive, will try to bring out their own understanding.
Inadvertently mixing these play styles can be a recipe for disaster. It might mean that somebody who expects to not get hurt gets hurt. It might also mean that someone makes themselves vulnerable, only for other players to dismiss the serious content with a joke or a perfunctory fight scene. Both are not what you want. It’s not that one play style is better than the other. It’s that you all need to be on the same page (or talk to each other if it seems that you’re not).
Why do I bring this up? I bring it up because SCAVS seems to present itself – or seemed so to me – as a game that is going to deal with heavy themes. It feels I will not abandon you. There’s several levels of dysfunctional power dynamics at the same time. There’s the threat of death. There’s a setting that is presented in quite a realistic fashion. And then things ramp up, characters become more vulnerable, it seems like we are on the way to some kind of thematic reckoning…
But nothing is farther from the truth! SCAVS is pure Nobody gets hurt. It doesn’t want to explore its theme seriously; it wants us to have fun, and not get hurt. Perhaps one slowly starts to realise this as one slowly starts to realise how easy the game is: the planet can’t really hurt us, shelter is easy to find, there is no resource management, and getting good rapport with your team is very simple. The System is a toothless thing, sending some vaguely scolding emails but never doing anything threatening. We’re being handled with kid gloves!
And then, when we approach the climactic scene, and the great reckoning about revenge and guilt and forgiveness is going to come up… man, then we turn the Nobody gets hurt up to eleven. Not only do we get the most cheesy of all possible reasons for reconciliation – she’s your lost daughter! – but, and this is far more important, it turns out that neither of the characters did anything wrong. We’ve been led to believe that this game is going to be about guilt and forgiveness, but then the big revelation is… there’s no guilt and nothing to forgive! He wasn’t even there! Han did not only not shoot first, he did not shoot at all!
I can’t even be disappointed. This plot twist would be very wrong if this was an I will not abandon you game, because it abandons us. But it’s not! It’s Nobody gets hurt. We’re just having a good time and are about to do a big action sequence!
Ah, I can’t be disappointed, I can’t be mad. I just went in with the wrong expectations. Whose fault is that? Perhaps just my own. And to be honest, by the time these plot twists were going on, I was getting on the same page as the game, and could abandon myself to the non-hurting fun.