At first, there are strong vibes of howling dogs. It's a Twine game set in a small cell-like environment -- though this time it's a space ship -- where we perform boring daily tasks and kill the time, while the environment seems to be decaying around us, and we experience strange dreams at night. A cookie cutter recreation of the original Twine sensation, then? Well, no, not at all.
The first difference that becomes apparent is the vibe. There's no sense of true alienation here, nor of helplessness, nor of confusion. The protagonist owns this space ship, even if its not much, and they have a measure of control over how they live -- if they can arse themselves to do it, they can tidy things up, grow plants, do some exercises. Basic self-care, sure, but there's a sense of ownership and accomplishment. "I can give you the gift of meaningful labour," is what a character will say to them later on, or words to that effect; and then too it is the mundane things, mixing a salad dressing and helping clean up a kitchen, that anchor life and self.
Basic self-care, and emails. It's a good storytelling device, used often because it works: messages coming to us from outside to paint a fuller picture of the world and our life. There's a father in the background, a friend who would like to meet us but is also willing to support us if we need to absent ourselves for a while, and a surprising amount of information about esotericism, including tarot, but mainly focused on some ancient Greek cultic beliefs which also inform some of the protagonist's dreams. The juxtaposition of spaceships and Eleusinian Mysteries is surprising, but it works.
It turns out that (Spoiler - click to show)we are travelling to a cult that made a base under the ground in some small, otherwise uninhabited planet. The cult is not scary at all; in fact, it feels a bit like coming home, seeing some old friends, sleeping in your old bed, having a sense of community. But the protagonist is here with a specific goal: they want to renounce their membership. The want to do undo the rituals, unsee the revelations, return to the state of the uninitiated. It's not clear whether this is possible, although there's certainly nobody who tries to stop them. It's perhaps also not clear what it means.
But, perhaps, if it means anything, it is renouncing dreams of what is beyond this world in order to truly anchor ourselves in meaningful labour. As they are returning to the awfully mundane, we must imagine them happy.
As you can no doubt tell, I liked Metallic Red. I especially admire its understated, subtle approach. There are wild elements here (space ships! cults!) but it handles them in a way that is the exact opposite of pulp, going instead for the quotidian, for the mundane, for the abandonment of grand grand dreams that mean to pull us away from the solid core of our very material life. We need no blind seers to show us the way.