![]() ![]() When the tone lurches into something like horror, A Day Without Me creates moments that will stay with you for a long while. ![]() The first, and most positive, is that when A Day Without Me gets it right – oh boy – it gets it right. Some minor-league puzzles offer obstruction, but they don’t take more than a few grey cells to overcome. The world distorts around you, weird glitches in the matrix threaten you, and – boom – you’re being chased and it’s time to run away. More often than not, you keep walking until something happens. It’s hard to describe what you actually do. You’re the only one, and things feel incredibly lonely. The title is something of a misnomer: if anything, this is a world without anyone else. You are wandering through a suburban (post-?)apocalypse, with garbage lorries and vans overturned and no-one to be seen. But it’s distorted through a Cronenbergian lens. It’s the quaint neighbourhood, the child hero, the control mapping and zoomed out perspective. There’s the faint outline of Costume Quest to A Day Without Me. Then a ritual circle appears on the floor, demons circle you, and things spiral downward from there. It turns out to be a laptop, cluttered with thousands of ‘deleted item’ notifications, as if someone was trying to erase data, fast. Once you’ve unlocked the doors, a bell rings through the house, so your next objective is to find its source. But things are a bit skew-whiff, as all your doors are locked and keys are tucked on the top of bookcases. You are an unnamed child, and your first job is to get downstairs. You start in your bedroom, in a suburban, white-picket-fence kind of neighbourhood. ![]()
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