The Game Boy: Game Endings Aren't Bad – They're Just Misunderstood

Lone Survivor, especially, uses that necessary repetition to amazing effect in conjunction with gaming's most obvious end-of-the-line exclamation point: the player's experience of actually, you know, playing the game. (WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD.) At first, I approached the game like I would any other zombie apocalypse fight-or-flight-in-fright situation: Did it move? Shoot it. Did it then say, “Wait, stop shooting me”? Shoot it again anyway. Did it follow with “I'm still alive, somewhat miraculously, and am willing to forgive you – possibly because of blood-loss-related delirium”? Hm, that's a toughie. Flip a coin. Heads: shoot. Tails: flip another coin.
And it was miserable. My masked avatar's body was as beaten and broken as his incredibly fragile mind. Meanwhile, progressing became incredibly difficult for me as a player. Ammo was in short supply, as were food and drink (yes, it's a survival-horror game with actual survival) and means to get back to my apartment for precious, frequently necessary sleep. I got extremely frustrated, and eventually, I just sort of gave up. I became all at once cynical, despondent, and hopeless.
And my character echoed those feelings. He complained of exhaustion every time he got out of bed. Momentary glances into mirrors were met with laments of “I'm such a mess” or “I don't even recognize myself anymore.” I met a couple other characters who'd somehow avoided the horrific flesh monster mutation that was seeping the nation, but they wanted supplies. How the hell did they expect me to lend them a helping hand when I could barely even take care of myself? Eventually, I managed to make a mad, desperate dash for the game's finish, and I was treated to a confusing hallucination in which my character ultimately took his own life. It was a powerfully fitting final scene, to be sure, but it also felt empty. I felt like I was missing something.
So I tried again. Violence, I decided, would be my last resort. I was patient and methodical – venturing from my apartment only as far as I knew food and stealthier routes would allow. It took time, but my character kept his cool – and so did I. At that point, Lone Survivor ceased to be a game about zombies for me. I became obsessed with keeping this desperately feeble human being happy.
And it worked. He became confident and capable. Toward the end, I even had an excess of supplies, so I spread the wealth to characters less fortunate than my own. This time, my ending hallucination featured a couple of the same pieces of key imagery and some incredibly similar lines, but the context, mood, and end result were entirely different. One ending, then, was not complete without the other. But neither would've been nearly so powerful if I hadn't sat side-by-side with my character on that irritating, amazing emotional rollercoaster. (END SPOILERS.)