Tuesday, December 31, 2019

The 10 Best Games of the Decade (2010-2019)

In typical fashion for this blog, I waited until the very last day of the decade to write up a top-games-of-the-decade list. It should go without saying that I'm only one person with limited time and budget. Try as I might, I certainly haven't played every single critically acclaimed game of the last 10 years—not even close. That might be why you’re not going to see something like a Breath of the Wild or The Last of Us make an appearance. It might just be that I haven’t had the pleasure of playing one of your most cherished top-10 games. Or maybe I think your favorite game sucks. At any rate, here’s what I picked as the top 10 games from 2010 to 2019. I hope you enjoy!

10. Fallout 4 (2015)


This might be the most contentious game on my list, and I can understand why Fallout 4 falls short for a lot of people. The main story is a little sub-par. Some of the choices you have to make toward the end of the game feel forced (Just because I’m siding with this faction means I have to wipe out all the members of this other faction? Really?). It’s also built on a proprietary Bethesda game engine that seems to be showing its age and limitations. I could go on, but none of that really matters, because I would continue playing this game until the end of time, for all I care. What really makes all the difference for me is that I play the game exclusively in survival mode, which wasn’t even an option upon the game’s release—it was patched in a few months later. What may have launched as a so-so RPG can now be experienced as a one-of-a-kind immersive sim, one filled with thousands of moment-to-moment choices that give you the feeling of an actual struggle for existence amidst a hostile, devastated environment. What will I eat and drink to stave off hunger and thirst? How can I best avoid exposure to disease and radiation that comes from eating and drinking? Where is the nearest bed, so I can save my progress? Survival mode is absolutely punishing for the first several hours. You are a weak and fragile human, and the odds are severely stacked against you. You simply cannot take any wasteland encounter for granted, and you’ll probably need to stealth crouch everywhere you go. But by the time you level up and really start to have some stopping power against the horrors that surround you, you’ll really feel like you’ve earned it, because you have.

9. Monster Hunter World (2018)


Nice game, you might say, but is it really a top-10 game of the decade? Absolutely! I’m not sure why Capcom relegated this franchise to handheld systems for the better part of a decade, but the fact that they did so made Monster Hunter World all the more jaw-dropping upon its eventual release in 2018 for Xbox One, PlayStation 4, and PC. To explore the game’s lush natural environments, to watch its imaginative wyvern creatures twist and fly and writhe about in full HD glory—it was a visual treat well worth waiting for. So yeah, it’s a good-looking game. That hardly secures it a spot in the best-games-of-the-decade list. What puts it over the top is how it feels to play. Monster Hunter games have always been notoriously difficult for new players to grasp, and while that probably remains true for Monster Hunter World, it certainly inches much closer into friendlier territory thanks to its many quality-of-life improvements. At some point, every player must select from one of 14 weapon types to try and master as they hunt down and topple an increasingly difficult roster of monsters, from flying bird-like wyverns with poisonous talons to lava-dwelling monsters to behemoth elder dragons that can one-shot destroy an entire party with a blast of energy. I personally started out down the path of a bow user, and it still remains my go-to weapon in most cases. It’s one that rewards an aggressive but slightly keep-your-distance play style—forcing me to constantly monitor my stamina, range, and aim. But I’ve had just about as much enjoyment dabbling in some of the other weapons, including the slow-but-devastating great sword, the K.O.-inducing hammer, and its quirky cousin, the hunting horn—which you can use as a musical instrument to grant temporary buffs to you and the members of your online hunting party. Like anything with a steep learning curve, it may take a while before everything clicks, so to speak. Once it does, however, you might find yourself addicted to the rush of intensity that comes from putting your best foot forward and plunging into the fray of battle against the toughest creatures Capcom throws your way.

8. The Witness (2016)


I’m surprised I ended up liking The Witness as much as I did, given the rather dull-sounding premise: Walk around a virtual 3D island littered with 2D line puzzles; solve the puzzles to unlock more areas on the island. It was a slow game to get into, but once I crossed some invisible threshold, it became like a book that I couldn’t put down. Jonathan Blow, the game's creator, deserves a ton of credit for the time and care he put into designing not only the individual puzzles but also the way in which those individual puzzles fit together to form a much larger, intricate whole. The world itself is a giant puzzle box that tantalizes and pushes the player further and further into its hidden areas. Never before has the solving of puzzles felt so intrinsically rewarding. Never before have I felt such a strangely tangible yet invisible bond of trust between the player (me) and designer (Blow). If it all sounds like a bunch of highfalutin nonsense, I don’t blame you. But playing through The Witness immediately goes down as one of the most gratifying video game experiences in recent memory.

7. Super Meat Boy (2010)


The smoothest, tightest movement mechanics of any 2D platformer ever made—that’s what you get when you play Super Meat Boy. That and a chance to feel like a “golden god” should you manage to thread the needle through its 300-plus levels of fiendish navigational challenges. With their 2010 indie masterpiece, Team Meat demonstrated to the world that by keeping the scope small and refining your core mechanics to a state of near perfection, even small games could be stretched to great heights. Super Meat Boy doesn’t distract you with bombastic visuals or superfluous controls. It doesn’t overwhelm you with new sets of verbs or button prompts to learn and master with each new set of levels. You don’t need to worry about collecting coins or power ups. All you ever need to do is run, jump, and change direction—and it never ceases to be fun. For one of the toughest games around, it’s also surprisingly free of frustration—and that’s saying something! The levels are all bite-sized challenges, meaning even if you die for the hundredth time on a given stage, it’s not like you’ve lost hours or even minutes of progress on any given attempt. Without so much as a shrug, Super Meat Boy jettisons decades of vestigial baggage from video gaming’s arcade roots. For starters, you have unlimited lives to play with, and the waiting time between death and restart is instantaneous. These sound like simple changes to the old-school formula, but they contribute leaps and bounds toward making the game the timeless classic that it is. Other platformers such as 2018’s Celeste have taken their cue from this 2010 trendsetter, sometimes to great effect, but nothing I’ve played has yet to surpass it.

6. Alan Wake (2010)


My wife and I both share a real fondness for Alan Wake, a game modeled after the tone and episodic structure of a binge-worthy television show. As much as it’s generally held up as a critical success, I still think it’s an underrated classic that transcends the boundaries of what might otherwise be a generic third-person shooter—thanks largely to its clever premise and intriguing, supernatural storyline. The titular protagonist is a best-selling author who, upon vacationing to a secluded lake cabin near the fictional town of Bright Falls, Washington, finds himself pulled into a strange nightmare reality in which his wife has disappeared and the pages of his latest manuscript—which he doesn’t remember writing––are coming to life. The fact that the game is set in a beautiful Pacific Northwest environment probably elevates my opinion of it, seeing as that’s the corner of the world in which I grew up. But seriously, I love the places this game takes you to—woodland parks and campgrounds, logging mills, an old fire lookout tower. Against these gorgeous backdrops, you'll be fighting off hordes of dark-enshrouded entities with a combination of light and firearms. While I’m sad that we’ve not yet received a proper full-blown sequel to Alan Wake, I’m happy to see the recent acclaim developer Remedy is receiving for its 2019 release, Control. I haven’t played it yet, but it certainly looks fantastic and just as inventive in concept as Alan Wake. Here’s to hoping we’ll get something more out of the franchise in the next decade, whether an actual TV show or another game. Maybe both? (Check out my initial Alan Wake review.)

5. Minecraft (2011)


I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface of this game’s infinite depths, and I say that as someone who once jumped through all the bizarre hoops, traipsing back and forth into the deadly nether world in order to defeat the mysterious Ender Dragon. Depending on your personality and play style, it can be overwhelming to be dropped into a newly fabricated sandbox world—its unexplored blocky terrain expanding out in all directions—with no objective and little guidance given. But that’s the beautiful thing about freedom. There’s virtually nothing to stop you from making your mark however you see fit. You could decide to venture out and map out that surface terrain, like a virtual cartographer. You could start building a simple farm and homestead, an enormous castle, or a sprawling underground bunker. You could play solo. You could play it online with friends. If I’m being frank, Minecraft isn’t really a top-10 personal favorite of mine. I’ve probably started over from scratch too many times and gotten a bit worn out by the tedium that comes with slowly going through my unwritten checklist of mining for iron, gold, diamonds, and other hard-to-find resources. But that’s likely because I approach the game as a self-limiting adult, circling back to my own self-imposed routines. At its heart, Minecraft is a game for children—whether in body or only in spirit. I can’t think of another game that has made as large or as positive an impact this decade.

4. Inside (2016)


After the incredible success of their first game, Limbo, the developers at Danish studio Playdead could have done anything they wanted. That they chose to create a follow-up that bears so many striking similarities to their first outing was a surprise, but that’s not the half of it. That it managed to completely eclipse its already great predecessor was simply remarkable. Just as with Limbo, Inside is a linear 2D puzzle platformer in which you must guide a little boy through a surreal and dangerous world. The game has a very “cinematic” quality that at moments feels very resonant of something like a Stephen Spielberg thriller, where your sense of wonder is slowly subsumed into a pervasive feeling of terror, time and again. To borrow from something I posted last March on the Cane and Rinse website forum: “It nails the element of suspense, not only because of the timing of the action—think of the panic that ensues from the sound of barking dogs before you even see the pack arrive on the screen, or how the relief of a narrow getaway is almost immediately supplanted by the realization that you’re not out of harm’s way just yet. The dread you feel in so many parts of the game is almost always heightened due to the simple fact that you have no idea who or what you’re even up against.” Even scarier, you can't be sure if you're escaping the danger or running ever headlong toward it.

3. Spelunky (2012)


For all of its hair-pulling moments of inevitable failure and despair, this game is simply too much fun, and I would play it more often than I do if it wasn’t for the fact that I know once I start I’ll get pulled into its never-ending cycle of death and reload. It’s still one of my life goals to one day beat this game “the hard way,” which involves triggering a series of events that extends the game beyond its standard 16 levels of mines, jungle, ice caves, and temple to include a secret black market level, a City of Gold level, and four brutally difficult levels of Hell that can only be accessed by getting through those other challenges and then defeating the main game's (not-so-final) boss in a specific manner. I think if I manage to pull off that optional challenge, I might finally be able to hang up my gamer hat and retire a happy man. At any rate, you can see what I wrote about this game back in 2012. It was great then. It’s still great now. Game designer Derek Yu was among the earliest to discover the brilliant formula for endless replayability when he mashed together the genres of roguelike and 2D action platformer to create the original version of Spelunky in 2008. The 2012 remake is the version that cemented its legacy as an all-time video game classic, and I can’t wait to see what Yu has in store for us next year with Spelunky 2.

2. The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt (2015)


I don’t think you’ll find a better example of well-written dialogue, character acting, and general storytelling in all of video games. The Witcher 3 is a high-fantasy epic that never goes off the rails. Every story beat is grounded in the drama of complex characters that feel real and human (even when they’re not, technically, human), starting with the game’s protagonist, Geralt of Rivia. This is largely thanks to the rich source material of Polish novelist Andrzej Sapkowski, but even that would have been all for nought if it wasn’t for the care and talent of the entire creative development team at CD Projekt Red, who used that material to create an entire trilogy of original storytelling. All three games are an achievement in their own right, and in some ways I actually appreciate the smaller, more linear nature of The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings. But with The Witcher 3, CD Projekt Red essentially threw down the gauntlet to the entire AAA game industry with this groundbreaking testament to what an open-world game can be. I’ve played a lot of content-heavy open-world games since 2010 onward. None of them have felt as rich as this one. Even the side quests are almost always terrific, as Geralt finds himself constantly entangled in all manner of feuds and conflicts—from the politics of warring nations to heartbreaking episodes of love and betrayal that befall the lives of everyday people tucked away amidst the most isolated villages. While Geralt always manages to slay the monster—it is his trade, after all—the game rarely offers happy endings, let alone clear delineations of right and wrong behavior. If one of the great values of literature is the ability to conjure empathy in the reader for the struggles of other people, be they real or fictional, then The Witcher 3 represents one of the best current examples of this phenomenon carried over into video game form.

1. Dark Souls (2011)


I wrote about my fascination with this game back in 2014, and I still struggle to find the words to explain it. Every now and then, someone will try to write off the notion that this game is only popular or highly regarded for its brutal difficulty, and ... sure—there’s certainly more to it than just that. But it is an essential ingredient. Take away the challenge and what would be the point? And yet, there have been difficult video games since the very beginning of video games. Why does this one happen to resonate with so many people? I can only assume it’s because it taps into some primordial aspect of our human nature, a part of us that yearns for validation and the chance to prove our mettle against the forces of darkness that would otherwise cripple us if we lacked the strength or courage to face them head-on. If the modern-day comforts and conveniences of the developed world have all but eliminated the most sinister forms of hardship and adversity faced by our ancestors, then why not invent a few imaginary epic struggles to act as a no-stakes substitute? Nine years after From Software gave us the original Dark Souls, it’s still a game unmatched—saved maybe by its successors—in terms of its absolute starkness of visual aesthetics and overall presentation. It just feels more like an authentic journey into the heart of darkness and less like your run-of-the-mill video game, at least in comparison to so many of its contemporaries that constantly invade your field of view with distracting text prompts and tutorials and signposting—all of which tends to pull you away rather than draw you in.

Michael Thomsen famously wrote about Dark Souls back in 2012, asking whether the 100-hour game was ever worth such an investment of time. In the case of Dark Souls, his answer was no. It was a well-written piece, and this was one of his ultimate conclusions: “There is real beauty in Dark Souls. It reveals that life is more suffering than pleasure, more failure than success, and that even the momentary relief of achievement is wiped away by new levels of difficulty. It is also a testament to our persistence in the face of that suffering, and it offers the comfort of a community of other players all stuck in the same hellish quagmire. Those are good qualities. That is art. And you can get all of that from the first five hours of Dark Souls. The remaining 90 or so offer nothing but an increasingly nonsensical variation on that experience.” It’s that last part that probably strikes the nerve for most Dark Souls apologists. Can you really get the essence of the Dark Souls experience in the first five hours, to the point that you’re only playing further toward your own personal detriment? I certainly hope not. I can never really blame someone for choosing to spend their valuable free time in pursuit of other experiences, but all I know is that Dark Souls is still the only game of its kind (the 100-hour kind) in which I conquered through to the very end and immediately rolled a new character to start it all over again. I’ve never read War and Peace, but I have read a few hefty novels from cover to cover: Moby-Dick, Jane Eyre (twice), Bleak House, just to rattle off a few. Personally, I value the time I spent with those works just as much as the time I’ve spent playing Dark Souls, or any of the games on this list for that matter. Some games out there are certainly not worth your time, but speaking only from my own experience, for anyone who loves video games and wants to experience the very best of the medium, Dark Souls might be the one video game most worth your investment.

Saturday, November 30, 2019

System Shock: Enhanced Edition – All the Cyberpunk You Can (or Can't) Handle


The above image is a screenshot from the ending cinematic of System Shock, a 1994 computer game developed by the legendary team once known as Looking Glass Technologies. It's one of the more resonant depictions of a protagonist at the end of a video game adventure I can recall seeing.

For anyone with sight impairment—and don't worry, this is some blurry-looking mid-1990s CG we’re talking about—it's a picture of a man in a tattered uniform looking haggard, bloodied, and spent. As he leans against the wall, covering his eyes and catching his breath, his mind comes to terms with the fact that his long night of waking terror has finally ended.

What, you ask, has caused this man to be so bruised and battered? Well, he's just spent the last 10 or so hours battling hordes of deadly robots, cybernetic assassins, and other mutated horrors untold across 10 vertical levels of an overrun space station. You'd be lucky to look half as good as this guy had you just gone through the same ordeal.

System Shock must have been one hell of a game for 1994. I only finished playing it in August, by way of the more recent System Shock: Enhanced Edition, developed by Nightdive Studios and released in 2015. Getting through the game in 2019 was as memorable and engrossing as it was at times a chore.

The game itself is a first-person action-adventure game—one filled with plenty of shooting but also exploration, puzzle-solving, inventory management, and other non-combat activities. It's even got some amusing, straight-out-of-the-90s virtual reality hacking mini-games in which you fly through wireframe 3D tunnels and fire at abstract colored shapes. We have a word for this particular kind of genre mashup that wasn't available at the time of the game's release but is nowadays used to describe an entire host of games that sprang from the seeds that System Shock sowed—everything from Deus Ex (2000) to BioShock (2007) to Dishonored (2012) to Prey (2017) to Void Bastards (2019). Today, we refer to this genre as the immersive sim, and it's often characterized by things like:
  • Nonlinear, first-person exploration in a 3D environment.
  • The complex interplay of gameplay systems, designed as a means of allowing players to solve problems and achieve story progress in a freeform, spontaneous manner.
Those are my words, and—really—it's a verbose way of saying that these games are all about player choice and freedom. I'll talk more about this aspect of System Shock in a little bit.

If you couldn’t already tell, the story and setting are pure cyberpunk. You play as a hacker who, prior to the events of the game, attempts to access a cache of files from the space station Citadel, owned by the TriOptimum megacorporation. Upon being caught, apprehended, and whisked away to said space station, a TriOptimum executive named Edward Diego cuts the protagonist a sweetheart deal: Hack into the station's A.I. security apparatus—a system known as SHODAN—in exchange for some military-grade hacking gear and a clean record. With the deed accomplished, the hacker receives his promised surgical upgrades and goes into a six-month cryogenic slumber to recover from the operation. The game begins as the hacker awakens in the station's deserted medical lab to find everything gone to hell.


The station's robots are all in attack mode. The rooms and corridors are littered with human remains in various stages of decomposition and even a few shambling corpses. SHODAN, it seems, has been busy, and not in a good way. Piecing together the events of what happened during your coma is mostly a secondary objective. Your real priority is to survive the onslaught of free-roaming cyborg enemies that have taken over every inch of Citadel.

This is the kind of 'in media res' narrative setup that we've seen across so many games, the aforementioned BioShock being perhaps the most famous. As in BioShock, the player character receives communications from an outside party that provides the player with background and objectives that point the way forward. There are scattered logs from the station's dead crew members, who recount in journal form the various events leading up to and after SHODAN's takeover. It's one thing to be told for years about the inspirational lineage from System Shock (and its sequel) to BioShock and another to see it firsthand, albeit in reverse, many years after the fact. I don't know how you could play System Shock and not think to yourself, at least once, 'You know what? This game really was ahead of its time.' And, yes, maybe eventually I'll have to go back even further and play Ultima Underworld.

From the in-game HUD interface to the architectural layout of the space station itself, everything in System Shock is a bit of a labyrinth—hard to understand and easy to get lost in. It's an asymmetry lover's dream. Even the elevator system is a bit convoluted. The first elevator you encounter travels between levels 1 and 2. You then access a different elevator on level 2 to get to levels R (energy systems level) and 3. On level 3, there are two additional lifts, one which takes you to level 6 and another that travels to levels 4 and 5. You get the idea. It's as if the design profession ceases to exist in the distant future. Or maybe the world of System Shock resides in some alternate reality in which Apple never revolutionizes the tech industry with its "user-friendly" innovations, and some version of DOS continues to reign as the dominant computer operating system into the 2070s. Depending on your level of patience, the game's general messiness either becomes a part of its overall charm or one of the main reasons you walk away.

Even the way in which the game communicates to the player what they need to do next—well, it barely does this at all. Even early on, I had to pay fairly close attention to the data logs and email communications I'd been collecting in order to locate the relevant details. For the most part, I was able to piece things together fairly well, and there was a satisfying feeling—akin to puzzle solving—in figuring things out on my own. Even I hit a wall from time to time, however, and I was unable to remember or decipher what exactly I was supposed to be doing. At one point, about two thirds through the game, I had to consult an online guide to figure out my current objective. I didn't feel bad about it.


The plot ultimately guides you through the maze of Citadel in a serpentine fashion as you continue to thwart each of SHODAN's doomsday scenarios. First, you have to deactivate an onboard mining laser SHODAN plans to use to destroy earth's major cities. Then, after you manage to preemptively destroy the laser, you have to prevent SHODAN from infecting the planet with a secretly developed super virus that transforms humans into mutants. Eventually, it becomes clear that your only option is to get to SHODAN directly. The game actually does a pretty good job of building up the stakes and the tension over time. There are even a few memorable boss-type encounters.

At each stage of the overall plot, you encounter various obstacles that complicate your original objective and force you to backtrack to other areas of the station. To get an idea how crazy this game's order of operations is, just take a look at this handy walkthrough guide. And keep in mind that list doesn't even factor in the many dead ends a normal player is going to encounter in trying to figure things out through the normal processes of exploration or trial and error.

I remember at one point my player character's next immediate goal was to fix some kind of broken relay. In order to do so, I had to use a computer terminal to diagnose which numbered relay needed to be fixed. Then I had to walk through four maintenance corridor mazes, blasting away deadly cyborgs around just about every corner, looking for that specific relay in order to apply a manual repair item. The relay I was looking for was literally, by sheer coincidence, in the last spot of the last room that I checked. It sounds tedious, but there was a workmanlike quality to the task that made it strangely pleasurable. If you've ever had to manually troubleshoot something on your automobile, flipping through the pages of a bulky owner's manual with grease-covered fingers while outside in the freezing cold, that's the kind of real-life experience this game recalls. With the entire crew of Citadel wiped out, it now falls solely upon your shoulders to perform each and every maintenance operation on each and every deck of the station.

Ultimately, the qualities that make System Shock an early immersive sim are not quite as pronounced as in later games like Deus Ex. Unlike in Deus Ex, you're not choosing whether to hack the door lock, blow it up, find the password, or crawl through the nearby air duct instead. If there's a door that's password protected, you typically just have to find the password. Rather, it seems that most of the game's variability of play style is concentrated in the combat, which—although it makes up a huge portion of the game—is extremely primitive and unwieldy by modern standards. Here, your minute-to-minute choices might boil down to: Which gun and ammo type should I use for this specific encounter, or should I lean around the corner and lob a grenade instead?


While there are a handful of neuro-interface hardware modifications (i.e. special abilities) the player can accumulate and upgrade through the course of the game, including jet boots that let you (sort of) fly upward, I barely noticed they were there and rarely relied on them. I can think of one interesting section of the game that requires you to navigate a series of particularly claustrophobic corridors, all of which are crawling with seemingly hundreds of these small proximity-mine drone robots that quietly sneak toward the player and explode. At one point, I realized this was a place where one special power, which gives you the ability to turn on a rear-view camera and see what's behind you, might come in handy. It was a clever mechanic, but it didn't really make much of a difference in terms of making that section easier to survive, seeing as there was still no option to actually shoot in the opposite direction. Once again, Deus Ex would turn this type of upgrade system into something much more immediately practical and robust six years later with that game's augmentation upgrade system.

Until 2015, System Shock was something of a lost classic, so we definitely owe a huge debt of gratitude to Nightdive Studios for not only acquiring the rights to the game but making it even plausibly playable for modern audiences with their Enhanced Edition upgrades. These enhancements include beefed up texture resolutions and a control scheme that allows you to play the game more like a modern shooter—namely, you now have the ability to smoothly control the camera aim with the mouse. I can't even comprehend how anyone managed to play through the original 1994 versions of this game (there was, famously, a floppy disk version that preceded the CD ROM version), which required you to use the 'R,' 'F,' and 'V' keys in order to tilt your aiming perspective either up or down. In the Nightdive remaster, by hitting the 'E' button (think 'E' for 'Enhanced'), you are able to toggle back and forth between the original cursor control scheme and the new, modern movement scheme. It's still a little clunky having to constantly toggle between the two, but the fact the option is there is a lifesaver.

I think what I'll take away from System Shock more than anything else is the pleasurable, geeky weirdness of it all. This is a game where you can literally click on any pixel of any environmental texture and the HUD will display a short name description for what it is. These are just a few of examples of the many unique descriptors that make up the walls, floors, and ceilings: quartz light fixture, duralloy panelling (sic), cable access port, industrial tile, medical diagnostic tools, molybdenum panelling (sic), halogen lighting, energy conduits. That's an odd detail I've never seen in another game, and it's one that helps make the world feel purposeful and utilitarian. The art direction itself a lot of fun, and each floor of Citadel has its own visual aesthetic. The old-school CG animation used in the game's intro and ending animations looks fantastic. The music and sound was fairly advanced for its time as well. While the soundtrack initially grated, it definitely grew on me over time as I heard more of its synth-based tracks through playing.

All that said, I understand why people still talk about DOOM and Half-Life all the time and only rarely talk about System Shock or even System Shock 2. You can have all the brilliant ideas in the world, but unless you manage to present them in a user-friendly package, you're only going to reach so many people. The unfortunate setbacks of System Shock's unwieldy interface and control input is probably part and parcel of why it's only remembered as a cult classic and not an all-time great. But for any true cyberpunk fans with a nostalgia for old-school PC gaming, it might be worth checking out.

(Alternatively, you could wait for the crowdfunded System Shock reboot, also being developed by Nightdive Studios. The most recent gameplay footage looks promising.)