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Review
Begin patient analysis.
The UK is experiencing an epidemic. No one knows what’s causing it.
You work for the Department of Health and have been placed in charge of “quarantine allocation.” Working remotely from the safety of your apartment, your task is to evaluate patients for potential infection so your colleagues can find a way to combat the outbreak.
Gameplay
Overview
Gameplay takes place in your apartment and occurs over several days. At the start of each day, you log into your workstation to read emails and review patients using a NeuroWave device.
user: [email protected]
password: ******
connection established to [email protected]
access e-mail
activate NeuroWare™ client (5 patients waiting)
log off computer
It seems that everyone has a brain implant which can be accessed remotely by health officials. The data received contains snippets of a person’s physical and mental health, as well as traces of memories.
To process this data, the player jacks in with their own implant.
Not again.
Red paper lanterns.
Scout-drone hovers.
RE-SCAN
RELEASE
QUARANTINE
Scanning patients provide three lines of info gleaned from their implant. Multiple scans can be run on the same patient. If said patient does not appear to be infected, they can be released. Otherwise, you can quarantine them, sending them to your colleague’s lab for further testing.
When we’re done with our patients for the day, we go to bed.
Use of haikus
As mentioned in its description, the game incorporates haikus into the gameplay. Haikus are poems that consist of three lines. The first and third lines have 5 syllables, while the second line has 7. Every time you run a scan on a patient, the game generates a haiku.
Commuters clutching newspapers.
Glimpse of the news.
Obsolete technology.
Or rather, the game takes inspiration from the haiku three-line structure because the syllable count is a bit off. But I liked this! It replicates the simplicity of a haiku without restricting itself. I was surprised at how effective they were at giving us a glimpse of the person’s life.
Cheap USBs.
Thrown coughing from the train.
Big group of girls.
It also brings out a cyberpunk vibe.
Thoughts on gameplay
For the first few days, I took my job seriously.
Every patient was extensively scanned. My strategy involved quarantining any mention of physical of illness: “Hacking cough,” “Taste of vomit,” “Eyes burning,” “Headache,” and so on. Following Nadeja’s updates, I added signs of mental distress such as, “Intrusive thoughts,” “Frenzied typing,” and “Distrust.” I wanted to end this epidemic.
Except, your choices don’t seem to affect the game’s trajectory.
(Spoiler - click to show)Early on, choices influence the tone of the emails you receive, but only for the first half of the gameplay. For one playthrough I released every patient. In another, I quarantined them all. In both cases I got two warning emails from my colleagues but then that was that. I wasn’t fired. No one followed up on my continued incompetence. The emails I received in the second half of the game were cut-and-paste.
And I don’t think any of these choices influence the outcome of the game, either.
My complaint, however, is geared towards the gameplay’s repetitive nature. After a few days, the scans start to overwhelm you, forcing you to jack out and take a suppressor pill before resuming your work. Problem is, it doesn’t take much for you to get overwhelmed. Re-scanning a single patient can be enough for the game to urge you to jack out.
RE-SCAN
RELEASE
QUARANTINE
JACK-OUT (this option uses shaking text effects; clever)
You can ignore this… but the game will only bombard you with a large paragraph of frantic text, forcing you to disconnect and take a pill.
Gameplay became a pattern of: Login, boot up NeuroWare, scan 1-2 patients several times, jack out, take pill, log back in, boot up NeuroWare, resume scanning, repeat, etc.
It gets to the point where I would just quarantine or release the patients without re-scanning them. That way, I had enough tolerance to power through them all without having to jack in and jack out. At least my colleagues’ emails were no longer tailored to what choices I made.
Ultimately, your choices don’t matter. And maybe that’s the point, to put the protagonist on a one-way track to succumbing from the same ailment that has infected the patients (more on that next). But that symbolism doesn’t make this gameplay any less tedious.
Story
In a nutshell, We’re All In This Together is about (Spoiler - click to show)being afflicted by the same disease you are trying to observe. It comes with a horror dimension because your isolation in an apartment does not save you from being infected. And I love this concept.
Its description says, “It's your job to scan potential plague-carriers and decide whether to quarantine them,” giving the impression that we’re hunting down your typical virus. (Spoiler - click to show)It’s not. It’s something more abstract.
While the disease is never named or fully described, Nadeja (from the lab) assesses the quarantined patients and shares her findings with you throughout the gameplay.
(Spoiler - click to show)Notably, she observes that patients’ symptoms are potentially psychosomatic and have included hallucinations. This probably wouldn’t be a big deal- after all, we are isolated from any infected individuals- if it weren’t for the fact that we’ve been taking suppressor pills every few scans and dreaming about a girl in grey.
A girl in grey?
If you pay attention, you’ll notice that there is a recurring theme cropping up in the gameplay: a girl wearing a grey dress. She occasionally appears in patients’ scans, but our main interaction with her is in our dreams where she talks to us directly. She is curious about your motives and marvels at your perceptiveness. This is hardly reassuring.
18/11/2023: [email protected]: "urgent"
Then, we get an alarming email.
According to the email, a security officer “kept ranting + raving about some girl; who is she; what does she want," before killing himself. Connect the dots. It is unclear if she is the source of the epidemic or merely an anchor point for us to make sense of it, but either way it begs the question: are we next?
your room
step outside
Guess who’s waiting for us outside? Cue the endgame.
She takes us on a walk through the city, during which the game continues to use its three-sentence pattern of narration. Sometimes, she’ll make comments along the way.
We end up at a huge pyramid with human bodies plastered on the sides. The girl apologizes to us and says something about “fixing things” before raising her hands and shattering the pyramid. Then the screen starts flashing with a non-stop chaotic jumble of words.
…
The player is sitting there thinking, “is that the end? Is it over?” Seems like it. And it appears to be the only ending, too. The way I understand it, the protagonist, having been infected by this mysterious ailment, succumbs to its psychosomatic effects, and the ending represents their demise.
I have mixed feelings about this. It doesn’t quite hit the target. Something’s missing.
It’s an ending that is edgy and cool, but also a bit too disconnected with the previous gameplay for the player to fully appreciate its impact. Confusing. Not confusing in a compelling, make-your-own-interpretation kind of way. Confusing because you’ve been carrying around all these questions and are suddenly rewarded with a gibberish screen.
What exactly is the pyramid? I can’t tell if it’s an actual pyramid or a representation of a broader concept. Are we hallucinating? For all we know, the protagonist could be passed out comatose on their bedroom floor.
It’s just that I was hoping for more updates from Nadeja or additional exposition about the epidemic itself. Or maybe further insight about NeuroWare technology and how it interfaces with our senses. In fact, this would help the gameplay feel less repetitive.
If the protagonist is doomed to follow the girl in grey, so be it. And I do think she’s an intriguing character. But we’re left with so many questions.
Like this eerie email:
13/11/1996: [email protected]: "HA"
I'm not sure what this scene is supposed to represent. We have a dream between days two and three where we receive an email containing random words. It’s probably just another side effect. But why is it dated from 1996? Is there deeper story to be found? I will say, it succeeds at rattling the player.
I really want to know what’s causing the epidemic. I understand the merit of not revealing this bit of information to the player, but I’m still curious.
Characters
Story is prioritized over characterization which means we know little about the characters, including our protagonist. And that suits the game just fine.
Also: I’m not sure if this is intentional but I like how the emails serve as a brief respite from your own deteriorating sanity. A bit of human contact that allows you to stay grounded.
Hey, mysterious psych colleage! :)
Nadeja, in particular.
Visual design
Made with Twine, the game’s appearance opts for simplicity. Black screen, blue links, and white text that often appears in lower caps.
There is delayed text. Aside from the dream sequences which may frustrate impatient players (hi), I think these pauses are used appropriately to build suspense. For example, each day begins with the phrase “your room” appearing on a blank screen, followed by “access your workstation” a second later.
However, there are moments where the pause after “your room” is slightly longer, signaling to the player that something different is about to go down. This tactic is used throughout the game.
Final thoughts
I was quite excited to play We’re All In This Together because its description alone was enough to draw me in. I was impressed with the game’s less-is-more style of writing and found its simple gameplay mechanics of releasing/quarantining patients- and receiving emails on the results- to be fun and immersive. I enjoyed my first playthrough when all of this was new to me.
But multiple playthroughs? Not so much. Replay revealed the gameplay to be frustratingly linear and repetitive. Especially once the game starts (Spoiler - click to show)forcing you to jack out and swallow pills after running extra scans. Overall, the framework is strong. And it does feel like a completed game. I just think that further refinement would make a noticeable difference.
That aside, it’s an intriguing game with a foot in multiple genres: The use of neuro interfaces borders on science fiction without overwhelming. Psychological horror emerges as the (Spoiler - click to show)protagonist’s work affects their sanity (pacing for these parts is excellent). And while I would not outright classify the game as “slice of life,” its premise, setting, and even its title strikes a familiar tone thanks to COVID.
If any of that intrigues you, play the game. I’d recommend it for a general audience.
One more thing…
(Spoiler - click to show)Just for fun, this game was published in 2015 and has a story that takes place in the future: 2023. Except 2023 was two years ago now. Also, the idea of an outbreak forcing employees to work from home is reminiscent of COVID, and yet, this is a pre-COVID game. I wonder what the author has to say about the game now.
