I’m calling this comic Reset for, well, obvious reasons.
That main menu screen after the true ending is a real downer, isn’t it? Just an empty black chamber in an empty underground, no music, no nothing, and all you can really do is stare at it. It feels like you’re a ghost or something that got left behind when everyone went to the surface, and now you’re trapped down here. You can quit, of course — or you can reset, so that you don’t have to be alone anymore.
Reset is a gorgeous first person sci-fi noir puzzle adventure in which pilot a mech that canrecord and playback versions of yourself, co-operating with yourself to solve large open-world puzzles.
To record yourself you simply press ‘R’ and carry out your actions, then press ‘R’ again – when you press ‘R’ the second time you’ll reset back to where you started the recording and your duplicate will start to ‘play’, allowing you to work alongside and co-operate with yourself.
Even in these early stages of development it impresses with its fantastic visuals and core gameplay mechanics. A smart sci-fi noir adventure with beauty and brains.
It’s funny to look at the clock at certain times and think, wow, is that really what time it is? Where did the last few hours go? What have I been doing? And sometimes, it’s because you’re doing something pleasant like reading a book or having dinner with some friends. Other times, you’re sitting in a waiting room in a hospital, answering the same questions over and over again, while you try to figure out what happened, how you got to this point, and where to go after it’s all said and done.
There was a software update on my son’s vent yesterday, and it’s reading his circuit all wrong. The pressures are off and the new setting is too sensitive, so it constantly alarms due to a perceived error. But everything is fine, there is no error, the machine just thinks there is. Still, after a few hours of pressing the button to silence the alarm, it didn’t matter if the machine was right or not. The fact remained that the software change would set off the alarm over and over again. It was going to be a long night. We called the respiratory company, and they delivered a new vent to us in the middle of the night.
As I looked at the clock yet again, noting that only three minutes had passed since the alarm last rang out, I noticed the date. It was six years to the day that my son nearly didn’t make it. We spent that night in the hospital waiting room, wondering what was happening during emergency exploratory bowel surgery, fully expecting to call our friends and family and tell them he wasn’t going to survive. He did, though, and we got some time back that we didn’t expect we’d ever have.
Time is funny. Why do these things happen at certain times of the day, or year? It’s a terrible anniversary, and I will never forget it. I almost look forward to it every January. Some years, my son is healthy enough for us to have a little party, celebrating the fact that he survived. Some years, something else horrible happens. A new sickness. A night of pressing the button on the vent to silence the alarm all night because his heart rate is high, his oxygen is dangerously low, or he has a fever. Or there are nights like last night, when the vent was wrong, my son is fine, but we have to press the button anyway. Time is a big wheel, the year turns, the days go by, and something cosmically or karmically happens and you’re reminded that you’ve been here before. The circumstances may be different, you may be pressing the same button for a different reason, but you’re still pressing it.