Going into No, I’m not a Human, I think I was expecting a quirky horror curio about identifying monsters in people-suits, which it sort of is – for a while. But slowly, it slips on a new face, and by the time things wrapped up several hours later in a smog of suffocating hopelessness and a smear of blood and bone, I was genuinely a little shellshocked by it all.
No, I’m not a HumanDeveloper: TrioskazPublisher: Critical ReflexPlatform: Played on PCAvailability: Out now on Steam
It’s clear from No, I’m not a Human’s strikingly assured opening moments that developer Trioskaz is completely in control of its vision here. A lilting guitar strums over a photo montage of sunsets, swing sets, sleeping cats, and placid bays, while a muffled voice on the phone talks a little sadly about coming home. It’s an understated, unexpectedly melancholy start, but quickly its mood shifts again.
It’s night. You, whoever you are, stand in a sparsely decorated hallway, walls papered in disorientating swirls of lurid green. An upbeat melody plays insistently on the soundtrack, waning and warping in a way that immediately unnerves. Suddenly, a knock at the door; you peer through a peephole and a sullen face stares back – a concerned neighbour with news of a deadly heatwave, dangerous Visitors with human faces infiltrating homes, and a firm warning to stay indoors. (It’s a little weird my two favourite horror games this year, the other being Look Outside, involve people being trapped inside a building as meteorological calamity rages without, but that’s probably a story for another day). Then, bedtime.
Squint and there is, perhaps, a touch of PT here. As in Hideo Kojima’s oft-mimicked horror teaser, No, I’m not Human’s L-shaped hallway is your entire world. Sure, it has a couple of spartan rooms you can peer into either side, but for its duration this grim corridor – the game’s sole explorable 3D space – is pretty much everything you know. But unlike PT, which finds a kind of forward momentum in its endless loop, here you remain stuck – literally and thematically – in this stagnant hole. Even your limited means of interacting with the outside world – glimpses through peepholes and sealed windows, through TV broadcasts and muffled telephone calls – only serve to intensify No, I’m not Human’s sense of claustrophobic incarceration.
With the scene set, things soon settle into a distinct rhythm – a cycle of repetition that’s suffocating in its own way. You sleep by day, as the burning sun turns the world to ash, then wake at dusk, always to another knock-knock-knock at the door. Each night as the world cools, a ghoulish parade of loners and losers – drunks, wasters, conspiracy theorists, religious nuts – appears on your doorstep, each requesting sanctuary. And it’s for you to decide whether to welcome them in or send them on their way. Any of them might be a Visitor – othered creatures with human faces and unclear intentions – but companionship, you’re warned, is critical for your survival. A nightmarish end supposedly awaits if you’re visited by the Pale One when all alone.