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Someone's coming… that's what they do. Night after night, before the morning sun gets hotter than I've ever known. They bare their perfect, platinum teeth and make me feel small and dirty in comparison – but I think that's the kind of feeling you have to submit to when playing a game as uncomfortably poignant as No, I'm not a Human.
The darkly funny narrative-driven game from developer Trioskaz and Mouthwashing publisher Critical Reflex is also a poem to Armageddon; it's a one-to-three hour experience that lets you quickly meditate on good and mundane evil while it's all still relevant. The end of the world is coming, and it's best experienced on an empty stomach. You will do bad things.
Here we go again
The world makes you bad, No, I'm not a Human implies. In the game, the sun is on the verge of exploding, scorching everything it touches during the day. It's unleashed what TV reporters are calling "Visitors," creatures nearly indistinguishable from humans that have dug themselves out of the torched earth to knock, with strange politeness, at people's doors. I need to decide if I want to let them in or not – but there's more to consider than just my silverware.
Visitors are eager to kill humans and leave them portioned up in greasy garbage bags, I quickly discover after making the mistake of letting one of these imposters in. He killed a little girl and left her in my kitchen. I don't know, he seemed nice at first. Big smile. I wish he would have gotten rid of the guy in the "Amogus" t-shirt instead – like, who owns an Amogus t-shirt?
This swirl of regret and homicidal urges is how No, I'm not a Human will try to lead you by the bloodstained hand to what I think is its subtle goal. Like Junji Ito-inspired apocalypse horror game World of Horror, No, I'm not a Human coaxes its players to consider the truth of monstrosity: Is it a condition reserved for strangers? Or can anyone become one if the temperature is right, and the need is there?
Monster mash
Like many people, including me, the nameless No, I'm not a Human protagonist would rather not think about it. Gun in his hand, beer in his fridge, he just wishes everyone would leave him alone, like he's used to. Hey, lady, get your tarot cards off the kitchen table!
"Loneliness & Isolation!" cheerfully reads a poster on one of his walls. In any case, the apocalypse has given all its survivors the same task, and I am not exempt. So I use my protagonist's limited energy points to check whatever I allow in my home for signs of Visitor-ness – things like an impeccable set of teeth, red eyes, a moldy aura.
But, here we are, back to moral anguish: I don't always know what to do when I identify them. I could use my gun and shoot my houseguests in the head, though I feel guilty when I realize I incorrectly profiled someone and murdered them for being annoying, not a Visitor.
Then there are irritating social politics to consider, even as the world outside burns. Some people I let in my house won't enter unless I kick out whoever their enemy is. Government agents keep showing up and kidnapping people from my home, depleting my strength-in-numbers and making me paranoid about who's responsible for societal collapse. Us or them? Is there a difference? Why is this man trying to bribe me with cat food?
Trick-or-treat
I trick myself into feeling momentarily removed from responsibility, because No, I'm not a Human smartly takes place entirely inside its protagonist's neat, but joyless, home. But the more I peek through his windows and witness things I don't want to see… things like a human who wears ripped teeth like a beaded necklace, a pale Visitor with three saggy chins menace me with a severed head in my front yard, my neighbor's house is on fire, his daughter lost, lost, lost… I know I'm a part of it.
Me, the person, not the player. No, I'm not a Human can be a bleak game, and each of my playthroughs reinforces the idea that everything – questions, choices, even little germs of faith – is painful. From the subtle dread of the No, I'm not a Human protagonist's empty bedroom, to the obvious threat that is the heat death of the very Universe, pain prickles the gaps between.
But then there are other things that slip through, like resolve, and a sense of humor. There might even be a lesson – it's better to be kind than afraid, or sometimes not even tarot knows why you're here. These sprinkles of faith and mystery make No, I'm not a Human a one of the most interesting games of the year, as well as a uniquely moving horror game, much like Critical Reflex's cult hits Mouthwashing and Buckshot Roulette. You need to play it to believe it.
No, I'm Not A Human is out now on PC. For more recommendations, head on over to our Indie Spotlight series.
