Recently I have been searching for the answer to a problem I have been drowning in: Do I still love playing video games? There was a time when new video game releases would get me hyped, and it could just be that I am getting older and my priorities are changing, or my love for games is evolving, but I think there is a better answer that sounds more analytical and less like a platitude. I had to start thinking about what made me fall in love with games in the first place, which was easy enough to do; it was an escape. We need to go deeper. What about games, about the escape grabbed me. Looking back at my most recent completions: Dark Souls, Persona 5, Final Fantasy VII Remake, and Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, most of them offered a balance between challenge and story. For a long time in between the excitement of a title, I had been relying on a game either appealing to the challenge or the story, on a sliding scale in one direction or another. Whenever I feel overwhelmed by my lack of enthusiasm for new games, I pick up a game from my childhood, something that made me feel nostalgic, something like Mega Man X. They have this ability to lift my spirit and invigorate me. That’s when I realized what was missing from modern games: my imagination.

When I booted up my copy of Mega Man X this weekend, it was like it was calling to me. I did it subconsciously. I was struggling with my drive to play Persona 4 Golden, and picked up Nioh, a playstation plus game that had been sitting around for awhile. I was working on a boss, and I just wasn’t feeling it. That’s when I went looking through my games library. I had actually picked up a copy of Mega Man X Legends a while back, installed it, and never played it. Without thinking, just like I did when I was a kid, I just started playing it. The Capcom sound plays and the Mega Man logo flashes across the screen and I am instantly back on my friends bedroom floor, hogging the controller. When the first level starts, it’s instantly chaos, cars flying down the highway, trying to escape the ensuing carnage. You can find out why if you wait for the demo screen that explains the game instead of instantly pressing start, but I never did as a kid, and this led precisely to what I am here to talk about. I filled the gaps with my imagination, even in places where the game didn’t ask me to. I was hungry for a world that I could make cohesive. One that offers a clear definition, a map that leads the eye and the mind to a conclusion, but open enough to let that conclusion be anything that suits you. (The opposite of the Nomura-verse!)

In the era of 8-bit and 16-bit games, the worlds were often presented as flat, layered objects, but drawn to appear in three dimensions like a diorama or, as they often called levels back then, a stage. After you beat the opening level and receive a helping hand from your… friend… or brother… or just some other robot who looks cooler than you, Zero, you are introduced to the classic Mega Man selection screen, but with an interesting tweak. You now can access the enemy’s location via the map screen. This really got my imagination going as a kid and still does to this day. It’s just a minor tweak to the usual formula for the series, but it suddenly added a new layer of depth. I always knew they had to exist somewhere, but it never occurred to me that there was an interconnected ecosystem. They boldly took this approach a step further. Defeating certain Mavericks (the stage bosses) affected another Maverick’s stage. For example, defeating Storm Eagle causes the plane you fight on to crash into Spark Mandrils’ stage. I loved this because as much sense as it made, it also really didn’t make any sense.

Take a look at the map. It is an incredibly dense locale, seemingly made up only of the locations related to the Mavericks. You start the game in some sort of cityscape, but now, you appear to be on some kind of island or peninsula that maybe… supplies all of the needs of the people in the city? Some of the functions of these stages are clear, some you have to make a stretch, and others defy clear explanation. You have a power plant, an airport, a mine, and a factory, all pretty straightforward. As a stretch, we have a forest that possibly processes carbon into oxygen. It doesn’t seem to produce wood, the trees are all made of electronics and covered in a wood veneer. The sea port is also a bit mysterious. It seems more military related than shipping related. All of the robots aren’t the repurposed kinds you see in other stages. They already have missiles and lasers, they are attack focused. So this is probably a military research facility. In the unexplainable, first we have the icy mountain stage, which could be a mine or maybe a research station. I often thought that it produced and controlled weather, but what exactly does a mountain have to do with that? Maybe it is rooted in science, but as a kid, the mind isn’t fully formed, and as an adult, you just know that water becomes clouds and it rains. The American Education system is broken. Lastly, we have a tower that appears to be surrounded by a moat. As a kid, I used to think this was the control tower for the airport, but now I am thinking it might be the control tower for the entire peninsula’s robot ecosystem. It’s not clear, at all, but that’s what makes it fun. It is the inconsequential nature of their necessity that makes it fun to explore in your imagination. The bosses don’t speak between each battler or even introduce themselves beyond the shonen bad guy thumbs down, phase in, or muscle flex posturing. If you dig, I am sure there is some concrete answer, but the power is that it ultimately doesn’t matter, it’s just fun to play and explore, either way you go about it.

What also stands out about the construction of the map is how one stage actually interacts with another. If you notice, the Chill Penguin stage is way up at the north side of the map and the factory is to the south, and yet, when you beat Mr. Chill, you Flame Mammoth’s stage is frozen over. There are other stages between the mountain and the factory that are totally in the way of the possible avalanche that would have hit the factory, and yet they are unfazed. I get it, fire is weak to ice, but since there isn’t really an overall method to the madness in the construction of the Map image, as far as I can tell, I just can’t figure why they didn’t move the stages into proximity of the stage that is affected by the defeat of a Maverick master. What is hilarious, the defeat of Launch Octopus causes the forest to overflow, and wouldn’t you know it, they are right next to each other. Same with the airport and power plant, helmed by Storm Eagle and Spark Mandrill respectively. The funny thing about the airport is that because you destroy an airplane in midair, you could have destroyed any stage on the map, and it would have made sense. It would have been even cooler if they had made it so that the longer it takes to defeat Storm Eagle, that changes where the plane falls, and thus the stage it destroys.

It’s not that modern games don’t have these imaginative gaps, it’s just that there are much fewer obvious gaps in the world because they have so much more space to create in. Just looking at the file size between games of the past and today, it’s like comparing the size of Mercury to Jupiter. With that in mind, it could be that I haven’t spent the time to really dive in and find the cracks in modern games. As a kid, I just played the same games over and over again and committed these gaps to memory.

I decided I would use this title to discuss different aspects of the gaps between the imaginative leaps that storytelling asks us to make. Like how we all came up with a particular internal story about what happens inside a Pokeball. I was part of the crowd that thought maybe they get their own personal oasis that suited their type. Or maybe we can discuss the implication of the relationship that Zelda and Link must have based on the minimal interactions we actually get to see them in. Mega Man X has many more facets as series we can dive into, like how exactly his buster arm might actually function and be powered? Maybe it is an internal nuclear reactor offset or totally green and powered by the sun. If it was nuclear, does he leave behind fallout at every defeat? Hopefully I can dedicate more time to this! Thanks for reading.