KETCHUP ON YOUR COLLAR
Here’s one for the history books: in a choice between good and evil, what if playing the villain actually made you stronger?
Traditionally, choosing evil in role-playing games is an act of spite, dark humor, or simple curiosity—sometimes even punished outright. In Vampyr, however, moral corruption is directly rewarded. Commit evil acts, and you gain massive amounts of experience points, rapidly increasing your power. Anyone familiar with RPG systems understands how dangerously seductive that idea is.
Vampyr is thick with plot, dialogue-heavy conversations, and atmosphere. The cramped streets of London may be packed with combat encounters, but the fighting mechanics themselves are bland and rarely satisfying. You come for the story, and you stay for the story—because there is little else to anchor your interest. Whether that is enough depends entirely on your tolerance for narrative-driven games.
You play as Jonathan Reid, a physician returning to London in the aftermath of World War I, voiced with conviction by Anthony Howell. The city is ravaged by the Spanish flu—and, inconveniently, by vampires. Jonathan initially seeks to cure both afflictions. Yet because the game adheres closely to real-world history, most people dismiss the idea of vampirism outright, leaving Jonathan to operate in secrecy.
Matters are complicated further by the fact that Jonathan himself is a vampire, with no memory of how or why he was turned. The opening is immediately gripping: awakening on the docks, consumed by bloodlust, he kills the nearest stranger—only to realize she was his own sister, searching for him. Before he can process the horror, he is discovered by the Priwen Guard, a religious militia of vampire hunters, and forced to flee.
Jonathan eventually reaches Pembroke Hospital in the East End, where he finds refuge among colleagues. As a respected doctor—specialized in blood transfusions, no less—he chooses to help where he can, treating patients and investigating the growing crisis. Who turned him into a vampire? Why is he so powerful? And how can the epidemic consuming London be stopped?
Across six chapters, you talk, fight, and explore your way toward a dramatic conclusion. The plot is mature, romantic, and often bleak, punctuated by genuine surprises. It also contains one of the strongest love stories I’ve encountered in a video game—boldly woven into the main narrative. This thread provides a fragile sense of hope amid the pervasive despair of postwar London, where grief, displacement, and exhaustion linger long after the armistice.
This is where Vampyr’s central dilemma truly takes hold. Feeding on NPCs grants enormous experience boosts, making combat significantly easier. As a doctor, however, you can also help people—treating illnesses, easing psychological distress, and learning their personal histories. The more you care for them, the higher the quality of their blood becomes… and the more rewarding it is to kill them. But should you?
These are not disposable NPCs. Each is fully voiced, carefully written, and embedded in a network of relationships. Some hide side quests within their dialogue trees. Some long for death but lack the courage to act. Others are morally compromised, exploiting those around them. Most are decent people, burdened by fear and doubt.
This makes the decision to kill deeply uncomfortable. You are forced to define what kind of vampire Jonathan will become: a restrained predator guided by selective morality, a ruthless beast driven purely by power, or a principled yet underpowered doctor who refuses to feed. Every path carries consequences, both narratively and mechanically.
Unfortunately, this brilliant moral framework is carrying most of the game’s weight. Outside of it, Vampyr struggles. Combat is a serviceable but tedious affair, clearly inspired by Bloodborne, built around stamina management, dodging, and parrying. It works—but it’s repetitive, frequent, and undermined by aggressive enemy respawns. Every loading screen resets encounters in identical configurations, draining tension from exploration.
Enemy variety is limited, and once you settle on a few abilities early on, there’s little incentive to experiment further. Blood magic comes in interchangeable flavors, resistances mostly translate into damage sponges, and progression soon feels shallow. A handful of boss fights provide brief highlights, demanding more careful resource management.
Even London itself disappoints. Despite its modest size, it’s surprisingly frustrating to navigate. Maze-like streets, locked shortcuts, and frequent patrols turn traversal into a chore. Exploration rarely yields meaningful rewards: a few crafting materials, unremarkable lore documents, and the occasional hideout. Most of it feels disconnected from Jonathan’s investigations.
For the first seven or eight hours, Vampyr felt genuinely compelling—especially once the moral economy of blood revealed itself. After that, fatigue set in. The lack of fast travel became increasingly painful, particularly given Jonathan’s ability to transform into mist—an ability that could have justified instant traversal both mechanically and narratively.
Only the strength of the main story carried me forward. Side quests rarely justify the effort, often demanding long treks and repetitive combat for minimal payoff.
Still, thanks to its writing, Vampyr remains a thoughtful and intellectually engaging experience. Restricting exploration to nighttime reinforces the atmosphere of decay and doom. The game grapples with weighty themes—class conflict, politics, scientific progress—through the perspective of an immortal observer.
The East End’s crumbling brick walls fail to contain the disease, while West End aristocrats attempt to isolate themselves from it. Tensions escalate, and although these social dynamics don’t always feed directly into gameplay, they contextualize the difficult decisions you face.
Jonathan’s immortality also reframes scientific ambition. Freed from aging and death, his potential for progress is limitless—but so is the danger of moral detachment. Does he heal out of altruism, or merely to preserve a steady blood supply?
I admire that Dontnod refuses to answer these questions outright. Vampyr expands the mythology of vampirism without exhausting it. One can’t help but wonder: how long will Jonathan live? What would he think of another world war—or of the modern age? He is such a compelling character that I find myself longing to see history through his eyes.
If Dontnod dares to continue this franchise and fully commits to its ideas, they might one day create something approaching the narrative ambition of The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt. The foundation is here. The blood is rich. And with enough patience, perhaps its quality will improve even further.
Comments
Post a Comment