The experimental, feature-length simulation game Apartment Story isn’t particularly polished, but it does feature a home invasion that’s systemically stressful in ways I’ve never felt in such a specific combination in a video game before. It’s partly a story about mental health, partly about the utter terror of not just managing a Sim, but actually being a Sim, and partly about seeing how many masturbations and cheese sandwiches you can fit into a single morning. Yes, I washed my hands afterward. Oh, but then?
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Both eating cheese sandwiches and eating deez nuts sandwiches are done to meet various personal needs. You take showers and wash your hands to maintain hygiene, sleep to reduce fatigue, and experience various other troubles that no human being in real life would endure. Food must be prepared on cutting boards, then placed on plates, and then taken to the table. No matter what you eat, the plates are covered with a substance that resembles strawberry jam. You can reuse the plate without washing it first, but I have never tried it. A man must maintain standards in a masturbation marathon every hour, every hour.
There's a curiosity and a stark dread to be found in the chimerical player experience as both observer and character. Am I a wanker, or am I simply an unseen force compelling me to wank?
To be honest, I've only ever masturbated once. You can go into your bedroom, smoke a joint (improves your mental health, I couldn't be myself), and masturbate or write on your laptop. That's it. A blank word document and an internet that only contains porn. Heaven or hell? You decide. You don't really have many free moments, because the story takes place in real time. I wondered how much of the story I was going to spoil because unlike God of War Ragnarok, I respect what Apartment Story is trying to do. I'll tell you about the theft, but not much else.
I woke up the morning of the second day, went to the bathroom to calm my urine meter, and noticed that my apartment was a mess—flower pots, toothpaste, and various pieces of furniture everywhere. I walked into my living room and there was a strange man sitting in my favorite sandwich chair. He got mad at me for not messing with something, headbutted me, and then left. It was at this point that I realized that the impressive collection of DVDs and books on my shelf was not a single textured block as I had previously assumed—it was actually dozens of individually modeled elements, and I had to pick up each one and put them back on the shelf by hand if I wanted to get my apartment back in order.
I tried. I really did. Last night, a friend came over and we had pizza together. The remains of the pizza now lie scattered across the kitchen floor. I picked up a bitter, numb slice and chewed thoughtfully on its frozen bounty. If it weren’t for the minutes gathering like glowing red ants on the screen of a digital clock, I could have stayed there forever, chewing first the pizza, then my teeth to the root. I put the plants back first. It felt right, as if they had been the ones who had suffered the most.
Of course, I put on some cleansing music. There's a lovely soundtrack by artist TRAAPS that you can play through your (apple product) dock, and there's also the occasional dreamy ambient track. It creates a feeling I can only describe as 'comfortable agoraphobia', which I'm personally very familiar with.
After I finished packing, I collapsed on the couch. I think the TV is showing the same view from your window. Rows of apartments. It feels uncomfortable. Cyclical. Isolating. A man can't masturbate to this, I'm telling you. Apartment Story is currently on Steam.