STALKER - Or at least in North America, anyway. While the vanilla games can be a little clunky and difficult at times, they offer one of the most unsettling and atmospheric experiences around.
There is nothing quite like tucking your tail between your legs and hurrying back to the safety of numbers, or a lonely campfire after realizing the sun is rapidly setting and you’re still out there with the shadows. Once you reach that camp or relative safety, there is this strange, mixed feeling of simultaneous security and insecurity as you listen to your temporary companions converse with each other in the glow of a crackling fire in a decaying village or industrial lot, while distant creatures howl in the night, and the Zone itself creaks and groans around you like great metal in the sky.
Those feelings are intensified when conversation abruptly halts and the men around you go on alert, and you remember that nothing stopping those things in the night from wandering right into your camp, or whether/whoever that distant flickering flashlight belongs to from getting a little too close.
And then there is that feeling that follows, after the sun finally rises and you head back out into the strange, abandoned beauty of the world. Never completely safe, always on the edge, but a little more confident after having survived another haunting night in the Zone.
STALKER - Or at least in North America, anyway. While the vanilla games can be a little clunky and difficult at times, they offer one of the most unsettling and atmospheric experiences around.
There is nothing quite like tucking your tail between your legs and hurrying back to the safety of numbers, or a lonely campfire after realizing the sun is rapidly setting and you’re still out there with the shadows. Once you reach that camp or relative safety, there is this strange, mixed feeling of simultaneous security and insecurity as you listen to your temporary companions converse with each other in the glow of a crackling fire in a decaying village or industrial lot, while distant creatures howl in the night, and the Zone itself creaks and groans around you like great metal in the sky.
Those feelings are intensified when conversation abruptly halts and the men around you go on alert, and you remember that nothing stopping those things in the night from wandering right into your camp, or whether/whoever that distant flickering flashlight belongs to from getting a little too close.
And then there is that feeling that follows, after the sun finally rises and you head back out into the strange, abandoned beauty of the world. Never completely safe, always on the edge, but a little more confident after having survived another haunting night in the Zone.