On November 6, I was rudely awoken by my alarm blaring from behind my pillow. It couldn’t have known that I’d barely slept the night before, anxious about what world I’d wake up to the next day. No hesitation. It was time to rip the Band-Aid off. I opened the CNN browser tab I’d been obsessively refreshing the night before. I looked at the election result I’d always known was coming and shut my screen off just as quickly.
I’m in a rush. In 45 minutes, I need to be in a cab on my way to the airport. As fate would have it, I had a morning flight to Canada to catch. While standing in the shower, the void in my chest opening wider, I wonder if I’d get on that return flight in three days.
It’s a feeling I’ve felt twice before. Once was in 2016, when I’d had the exact same experience upon waking up one November morning in a world I struggled to recognize. I’d feel it again in 2022 when I learned that one of my closest friends had died in a car accident. All three of these moments left me standing frozen with a phone in my hand, trying to see the future through a blackened sky.
I arrived at the airport two hours early, a distant life lesson my parents instilled in me back when they seemed more committed to helping me navigate the world. It was a ghost town compared to the usual zoo that is John F. Kennedy Airport. After a quick pass through the security line, I finally have an hour to myself. Do I check my phone? I try that for a minute, but I only see the pained cries of others like me pouring in through social media. I’m frustrated that I can’t help, so I shut the screen again. The only thing I can think to do is pull out my Nintendo Switch and play the game I’d started downloading the night before. Fate had another cruel trick up its sleeve, though; my download had stopped dead in the night and torpedoed my plans.
It’s a tiny moment, but also the proverbial straw. Everything feels hopeless.
I stare into space for an hour. The silence is only interrupted by a gentleman reading the day’s news stories to the woman with him who sat with her head in her knees. I barely even hear the boarding announcement. I trudge to my seat like a zombie and prepare for another long hour alone with my dual anxiety: both my fear of flying and, in this moment, my fear of landing.
I go for plan B. I pull out my Steam Deck this time and start scrolling through my library hoping that there’s something that can distract me. My cursor moves over UFO 50, a collection of original 8-bit games that I’ve already put 80 hours into since its launch. I’d already beaten a good chunk of games in the collection and figured I wouldn’t clear many more. They’re designed to feel like old games, so the skill-based challenges of the remaining batch felt insurmountable after so much play time.
I open the app up anyway and start scrolling through the list. I just need something to keep me distracted for 60 minutes. It’s then when my eye meets my greatest rival: Velgress.
There are many fiendishly difficult games in UFO 50, but Velgress has had my number since launch. It’s a vertical platformer, in which its space pirate hero, Alpha, is trapped in a pit by the nefarious Princess Charkas. A short opening text scroll sets the scene over menacing music. I’ve survived the long fall, but I’m now trapped in the darkness surrounded by monsters. I only have one mission: climb out.
That’s much easier than it sounds. Like a lot of old games, Velgress is unbelievably punishing. There are no checkpoints. No saved progression. When I die by falling into the spinning blades that chase me from the bottom of the screen, I’m dead and have to start from zero. Finding stable footing is only a small piece of the battle. As I climb, I’m swarmed by alien enemies determined to knock me off my feet and send me to my death. The forces of this dark planet have it in for me.
I’ve played Velgress for hours on end over the past few months and barely made any progress. Every time I’ve tried, I find that something always gets the best of me. Sometimes it’s an overly hopeful jump that leaves me plummeting to my death as I fail to land on solid ground. Sometimes it’s a projectile from a bomb clipping into me and throwing me off balance. More often than not, I’m my own worst enemy. When things get tough, I panic. Rather than focusing on my jumps, I freak out about where I’m supposed to go next. Sometimes I hesitate too long; the platform I’m standing on quickly erodes below my feet. I try to jump, but I can’t think fast enough. If only I were a little sharper. Then maybe I could rise up against Charkas.
I load up Velgress on instinct. I don’t know why. It’s only ever brought me frustration. I’ve spent nights on the couch swearing at my screen feeling like escape was impossible. It’s rarely a productive play session. I’d only ever gotten to its second biome, where I’m consistently thwarted in an instant by spinning laser bars and exploding platforms. Maybe I see Velgress as the game I deserve at this moment: an inescapable dive into the abyss rather than a fun distraction.
No. Not this time. I need to do it this time. I need a sign that I can survive.
My first few attempts are familiar as I plummet to my death over and over. It’s clear that whatever I’ve been doing up to this point isn’t working. I need a new strategy, one that gives me the focus and precision I need to overcome the evil critters out to make my life a living hell. I lock in. My hands grip the Steam Deck a little tighter. I feel my shoulders pressing inward as I put my entire body into controlling Alpha.
Something changes instantly. I’m no longer hopping around like a scared animal clawing its way onto anything it can. Now I’m moving with renewed purpose. Each press of the A button becomes more deliberate. What once felt difficult was now feeling like second nature to me. I’m a dancer using my enemies to my advantage as I bounce off their heads to gain height, leaving them to be fed to the wood chipper below. I’m now clearing the first biome with ease instead of dying in seconds. With each attempt at the second, I’m moving up higher and higher — a white line shows me my previous best attempt, and I’m seeing it on every run now.
It’s not long before I make my real breakthrough: Level 3. I’ve never beaten the second biome, but I’ve finally made my way there. It’s entirely different from anything I’ve seen up to that point. Despite being closer to the surface, I’m somehow underwater now. I bounce between bubbles and leap off fish. I’m caught off guard when a giant sea creature dives from the top of the screen and destroys everything in its path, sending me to a watery grave. I die, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Somewhere during that playthrough, the airplane hits sudden turbulence. Flying is my ultimate fear, combining my distaste for both speed and heights, so the hairs on my neck immediately stand up and Alpha falls to her death as a result. My once strong hands are now shaking as another challenge in my day rears its head. My hope fades away for a minute, and I’m back in the harsh real world that I’m so desperate to escape from, with the wind outside eager to tear me from my seat and send me to the ground below.
I can’t do this. I can’t go back down there. How can I? A regime change in my home country threatens to harm everyone I hold dear. If that doesn’t kill me, big tech companies are desperate to take my livelihood with tools like generative AI that aim to both steal my work and then replace it. The rent is too high. My eyesight is getting worse. My friends are dying. There is no way out.
Screw that. I’m beating Velgress.
I embark on another run, back at the bottom with no abilities at my disposal. I’m more determined than ever. I leap from platform to platform without a second of hesitation. I blast through the first level with no hiccups. When I get to the second biome, I finally start paying attention to every obstacle on the screen. I learn to tell the difference between bombs and friendly gadgets that’ll let out a safety net of clouds when I shoot them. I’m more aware of the shrapnel launching up at me as the buzzsaw sets off bombs. I duck and weave my way to Level 3 without breaking a sweat.
I still don’t have a full grip on all the obstacles here, but I’m convinced I can take them as they come. I’m not jumping off jellyfish with confidence, hopping from bubble to bubble. Suddenly, my old nemesis dives down at me from above. I side step the giant fish, leaping to some bubbles out of its path. It wriggles in the ground for a moment, its giant body remaining on screen for a few seconds as I keep ascending. That’s when I realize it. I’m not the scared animal here; it is. I’m facing down an angry creature lashing out at anything in its way. It doesn’t care who gets hurt in its quest for self preservation.
I won’t become its fish food. I take a leap of faith and jump onto its body as it twitches, launching me up to a far-off platform. The menacing monster wants me to fear it, but it can’t hold me down anymore. It’s just another platform for me to step on in my quest for progress.
As I climb higher, the elevator platform at the top of the screen comes into view like a sunrise. I step onto it wondering where it’ll take me next. Nowhere. I’ve reached the top. What felt like an endless labyrinth of suffering could actually be overcome in a few short minutes so long as I had the patience, strategy, and execution to pull it all off. I’ve escaped just as buildings of Montreal come into view, ready for me to land.
As Velgress ends, another bit of text comes up on screen. I’ve made it out, but Princess Charkas is still alive. When I check a list of goals attached to Velgress’ game select icon in UFO 50’s menu, I realize there’s a secret ending. To fully defeat evil, I’ll need to collect keys earned from shooting down birds in each biome and make it to the end. That’ll unlock the true final fight against Charkas. Alpha’s work isn’t done, and neither is mine.
The airplane skids down the runway and comes to a stop. I shut down my Steam Deck with the closest thing to a smile that’s been on my face for the last 24 hours. I haven’t won the war, but I know I can. Despite the overwhelming difficulty and punishing restart system, I have figured out how to navigate a harsh world that’s hell bent on destroying me. I’ve escaped once and I know I can do it again. I just need to choose my battles carefully, weigh the risks, and make my next move with purpose. Maybe I won’t thwart Charkas on my next run, or the one after, or the one after. But I know I can overcome and change this planet for the better one day.
The fight is just beginning.
