Inside (me)
In recent months, I’ve been making a concerted effort to reconnect with the world of video games—a phrase that might make some smile, but let me explain. Back in 1999, when I made the definitive switch from Windows to Linux, I also bid farewell to gaming. As a devoted Dungeons & Dragons enthusiast, I had fallen in love with Diablo and, later, its much-criticized expansion Hellfire, where I played as the Monk. A few years later, my aunt gifted me a PlayStation 2, and I dabbled in Kingdom Hearts. However, I quickly lost interest. That was a difficult period in my life, marked by my first major bout of depression, and I couldn’t even find solace in gaming. As the saying goes, the first time is never forgotten.
Recently, I rediscovered the joy of gaming, thanks to an Italian creator, Phenrir, whose work I discovered through her review of the TV series The Man in the High Castle. I started with a few indie games—To the Moon, Machinarium, Nocturnal, The Bridge, Swapper, and Sheepy. Then, through recommendations and the ever-reliable Steam (bless it!), I stumbled upon a game that left me utterly breathless: Inside. Released in 2016 and developed by Playdead, this game features a minimalist yet profoundly impactful narrative.
The protagonist is a child navigating a hostile world determined to kill him. From the opening scenes, he is pursued by armed guards, and it quickly becomes clear that his very existence threatens the system. Muddy swamps, feral dogs, and deadly machines stand in his way. Strangely, his only allies are zombified beings—living but lifeless creatures he can control using a high-tech helmet. The child’s red shirt—a vivid scarlet—stands out against the muted palette, serving as a striking symbol throughout the game.
Later in the story, the child gains the ability to breathe underwater after a terrifying encounter with a siren-like creature who unexpectedly grants him this power.
The gameplay is gripping, but—spoiler alert—it’s the ending that left me stunned. At the end of his journey, the child infiltrates a scientific laboratory where scientists are observing something in a giant tank: a blob, a formless mass containing countless human bodies, connected to machines. Vulnerable and stripped of his clothes, the child disconnects the blob from its machines, only to be absorbed into it. Now a part of this entity, the blob—known as “The Huddle”—becomes an uncontrollable force, destroying the laboratory as it escapes. Strangely, some scientists assist the creature, offering tools to open doors and guiding its way to freedom.
The final scene is hauntingly poetic. The blob rolls down to the valley, eventually coming to rest by the shore, bathed in a faint ray of sunlight. Yet, there’s nothing alive or human in its shapeless form. The freedom it fought so hard to attain comes at a steep price—nothing will ever be the same.
For me, this resonates as a profound metaphor for the struggle against capitalism. You may fight it and even overcome it, but the experience inevitably changes you. Freedom comes, but not without leaving its mark.