Experimental, feature-length simulation game Apartment Story is not especially brilliant, but it does feature a home invasion that’s stressful in several, systemically tangible ways I’ve never quite felt in such a specific combination from a videogame before. It’s partly a story about mental health, partly about the absolute horror of not just managing a Sim but actually being one, and partly about seeing how many wanks and cheese sandwiches you can fit into a single morning. Yes, I washed my hands afterward. Ah, but after which?
Both lunching upon cheese butties and punching upon deez nutties is done with the aim of keeping various personal needs fulfilled. You shower and wash your hands to keep hygiene up, sleep to reduce tiredness, and various other hassles that no real-life person would put up with. Food needs to be prepared on chopping boards, then popped on the plate, then taken over to a table. No matter what food you make, the plates end up covered in a substance that looks like strawberry jam. You might be able to use the plate again without washing it up first, but I never tried that. A man needs to maintain standards during his on-the-hour, every-hour wank-athon spectacular.
There is a curious and piquant horror in the chimeric player experience, as I exist as both observer and character. Am I the wanker, or simply the unseen force that compels the wank?
Truthfully, I only actually had one wank. You can pop into your bedroom, have a joint (improves your mental health, couldn’t be me), and use your laptop to either wank or write. That’s it. A blank word document and an internet that only contains porn. Heaven or hell? You decide. You don’t actually end up with all that many free moments, truth be told, since the story also takes place in real time. I mulled over how much of the story to spoil, because unlike, say, God of War Ragnarok, I sort of respect what Apartment Story is trying to do. I’ll tell you about the break-in, but nothing else.
On the morning of the second day, I woke up, went to the bathroom to placate my piss meter, and realised my apartment was trashed – plant pots and toothpaste and various furnishings everywhere. I walked into my lounge and a strange bloke was sitting in my favourite sandwich chair. He got angry at me about a thing I won’t spoil, headbutted me, then left. It’s about this point I realized that the impressive collection of DVDs and books on my shelf were not, as I’d previously assumed, a single textured block – they were in fact dozens of individually modeled items, each of which I’d have to pick up then manually place back on the shelf if I wanted to get my apartment back in order.
I did try. I really did. A friend came over last night and we ate a pizza together. Now the remains of the pizza are scattered over the kitchen floor. I picked up an embittered, stolid slice and chewed upon its congealed bounty pensively. Were it not for the minutes gathering like glowing red ants upon the display of the digital clock, I may have stayed there forever, chewing at first the pizza, then my teeth down to nubs. I put the plants back first. It felt right, as if they were the most wronged by the event.
Obviously, I put on some tidying music. There’s a lovely soundtrack from artist TRAAPS you can play from your (apple product) dock, and also the occasional snatch of dreamy ambience. It makes for a vibe I’d best describe as ‘cosy agoraphobia’, which I’m personally very acquainted with.
I collapsed on the sofa after I’d finished tidying. I think the television just shows the same view from your window. Rows of apartments. It feels haunting. Cyclical. Isolating. A man can’t wank over that, I tell you. Apartment Story is out now on Steam.