Big Walk simulates the strange, childlike sensation of being unexpectedly separated from your friends, and the joy and relief of finding your way back
The other week, the SIM card in my phone stopped working. At first, working from home, the change was barely noticeable: a router handled my internet coverage, and Whatsapp messages continued unabated. Only once I left the house did I realise that a safety net had been cut. I’ve never once called for a fire engin...
The other week, the SIM card in my phone stopped working. At first, working from home, the change was barely noticeable: a router handled my internet coverage, and Whatsapp messages continued unabated. Only once I left the house did I realise that a safety net had been cut.
I’ve never once called for a fire engine, but the option has long been a source of comfort. Now, suddenly SIMless, I could not. Nor could I check in with my wife about which binbags to buy. Wi-fi spots at Starbucks and shopping centres became little islands, safe ports where I could resume contact while out and about. A weekend away in a big city became a precisely planned operation, during which comms had to be closely managed, for fear of being isolated and left to orienteer through unfamiliar terrain.
Playing Big Walk, I’ve experienced something eerily similar. Though House House have built a jolly multiplayer hiking game, it's placed a huge emphasis on close communication. Proximity chat is demanded, and confined to a tight radius - tighter than in comparable co-op games that have beaten Big Walk to market. In the colourful mountaineering hit Peak, for instance, your friends’ voices only really vanish when one of you drops through the clouds, having attempted an overambitious bout of freeclimbing. And in Content Warning, the extreme vlogging game, the absence of a pal’s screams typically heralds their death at the hands of some faceless snatcher.
Original reporting appears on the publisher’s site.
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