There’s a very short sequence in the endgame of Sonic Generations that takes place right before the final boss. You platform across a series of clocks that start to move as the chaos emeralds are placed in each one. It’s not anywhere close as bombastic or detailed as any of the levels in the game, but this sequence was something that always stood out to eight year old me. The weary and rustic look of each of the clocks, the different ways the platforms turn around, the backing noise that’s usually shortened versions of music from the stages being replaced by the sound of ticking clocks. The ambience of the scene mesmerized me in a way that I hadn’t been before. It’s a small instance that’s likely to be forgotten by most players, but I feel that it changed the way I viewed this vast white void to some degree. As I went about completing each of the missions, I noticed the ways that certain aspects of the stage exteriors that had been consumed by stark emptiness had become more lively with each success I have with progression. Seeing these locations come to life outside of when I’m blazing past them. Once all the missions were complete, exploring the hub world and seeing color brought to every corner of it was a subtle but strangely beautiful experience. I feel that this experience was a sort of catalyst for my love of environments in games, what made me want to explore and see what makes these various virtual worlds tick. And to think that this passion came from an empty white void. I suppose it does speak to how you can find your passion for things in the most unlikely places.