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I’m someone who, for the longest time, did not understand the concept of determination. I have limits, my body feels pain for a reason, I can’t make sacrifices for a zero sum game. There was a point in Undertale where something clicked, a verbal “oh!” escaped my lips as I realized that, in the face of crushing odds, I should just…do it. Stay determined. See it to the end.
The connection Undertale has with the player could only be made with the context of it’s core adventure. Writer/developer/composer Toby Fox thoroughly channels the “completeness” of the Mother series, a journey made from memories, caked with humor and love, constructed as tightly as possible. The underground is four-dimensional in scale, infinitely sprawling within 150 megabytes. Both enemies and NPCs are approachable, you can have a chat or play a game with them. The world is your friendly little oyster.
But Fox differentiates Undertale with a masterful control of tone. There’s a looming sense of evil, far less hyperbolic than the conceptual boogiemen of other JRPGs; the feeling that, despite everything being fine in the moment, the possibility of true horror is ever present. The player’s gut instinct is right in the worst possible way.
That true horror is the other side of the determination coin, a deep dive into the minds of serial killers and cult leaders, those who had the gall to carry out the Manhattan project or the Hiroshima bombing. The end justifies the means, but the means reach an ultimate end. From the beginning, the player has the option to not only disregard the warm welcome of Undertale‘s cast, but to mercilessly grind and grind until enemies stop appearing. The underground becomes god-fearing and the player is the prophet.
This interpretation of Undertale, colloquially known as the “genocide run,” is one of the most fascinating games of the past decade. There are plenty of meta-narratives about the morality of “evil play,” but Undertale practices what it preaches; at every point in the genocide run, it feels like the game is actively trying to stop the player. It realizes the mistake it’s made, letting the player squeeze out some sick, homicidal perversion from the game’s message like the sourest of lemons. Undertale itself has lost its grasp on the player.
This makes a painfully honest case: while it is easier to do what is right, there’s a point where the taboo and immoral become uncontrollably intoxicating. The interactive nature of games prods at our brains, right at the home of anxiety-induced curiosity, as we wonder “what’s the worst thing that I can do here?” The wicked genius of Undertale is how the answer is beyond its grasp.
Let’s not stray on the bleak for too long. The game’s “true” ending is antonymic of the genocide run, referred to as the “pacifist run.” If the player makes it through the whole game without killing a single enemy, the game will prompt them to go down a second path, elaborating further on the lovable NPCs, and even indulging in it’s own dark story (though much more sweet than bitter).
The pacifist run ends on an incredibly heartwarming, bombastic note, one that reverberated deep within me. Undertale ended happily ever after, and I can’t bring myself to change that. Nevertheless, I have to respect the prospect. The darkness that surrounds the flame makes the light worth cherishing.
I’m someone who, for the longest time, did not understand the concept of determination. I have limits, my body feels pain for a reason, I can’t make sacrifices for a zero sum game. There was a point in Undertale where something clicked, a verbal “oh!” escaped my lips as I realized that, in the face of crushing odds, I should just…do it. Stay determined. See it to the end.
The connection Undertale has with the player could only be made with the context of it’s core adventure. Writer/developer/composer Toby Fox thoroughly channels the “completeness” of the Mother series, a journey made from memories, caked with humor and love, constructed as tightly as possible. The underground is four-dimensional in scale, infinitely sprawling within 150 megabytes. Both enemies and NPCs are approachable, you can have a chat or play a game with them. The world is your friendly little oyster.
But Fox differentiates Undertale with a masterful control of tone. There’s a looming sense of evil, far less hyperbolic than the conceptual boogiemen of other JRPGs; the feeling that, despite everything being fine in the moment, the possibility of true horror is ever present. The player’s gut instinct is right in the worst possible way.
That true horror is the other side of the determination coin, a deep dive into the minds of serial killers and cult leaders, those who had the gall to carry out the Manhattan project or the Hiroshima bombing. The end justifies the means, but the means reach an ultimate end. From the beginning, the player has the option to not only disregard the warm welcome of Undertale‘s cast, but to mercilessly grind and grind until enemies stop appearing. The underground becomes god-fearing and the player is the prophet.
This interpretation of Undertale, colloquially known as the “genocide run,” is one of the most fascinating games of the past decade. There are plenty of meta-narratives about the morality of “evil play,” but Undertale practices what it preaches; at every point in the genocide run, it feels like the game is actively trying to stop the player. It realizes the mistake it’s made, letting the player squeeze out some sick, homicidal perversion from the game’s message like the sourest of lemons. Undertale itself has lost its grasp on the player.
This makes a painfully honest case: while it is easier to do what is right, there’s a point where the taboo and immoral become uncontrollably intoxicating. The interactive nature of games prods at our brains, right at the home of anxiety-induced curiosity, as we wonder “what’s the worst thing that I can do here?” The wicked genius of Undertale is how the answer is beyond its grasp.
Let’s not stray on the bleak for too long. The game’s “true” ending is antonymic of the genocide run, referred to as the “pacifist run.” If the player makes it through the whole game without killing a single enemy, the game will prompt them to go down a second path, elaborating further on the lovable NPCs, and even indulging in it’s own dark story (though much more sweet than bitter).
The pacifist run ends on an incredibly heartwarming, bombastic note, one that reverberated deep within me. Undertale ended happily ever after, and I can’t bring myself to change that. Nevertheless, I have to respect the prospect. The darkness that surrounds the flame makes the light worth cherishing.