Rope Arrow on 17/8/2013 at 13:02

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(Quick note: I am obviously a newcomer here, so I'm unsure if I'm breaking any rules by posting this here. If I am, let me know and I'll happily comply. I suppose this might be construed as a 'for the attention' post, but I'm not sure as to the definition of that. This piece was written as a way to clarify my own thoughts, but it ended up on my mind long enough to reach its current level polish, and I thought it might be worth sharing with my fellow Thief fans. My hope is that it will be relatable to some, and perhaps spark some discussion on how our love of the Thief franchise informs our own behavior.)

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Considering the first game of the series is now fourteen years old, I am very much a latecomer to the Thief franchise. And in many ways, gaming in general. It has only really become a large hobby of mine while I am recovering from the effects of a long-term illness over the past few years. With only an aging PC to call my own, I have been left with a lot of time and without much modern hardware for gaming. As such, I have been working my way through the old classics, spoken of with reverence and fondness in the online gaming community. Such legends as Deus Ex, Morrowind, Max Payne, Half Life, Knights of the Old Republic, and the first two Fallout games. One of my earliest acquisitions via Steam sale however was Thief: The Dark Project and Thief II: The Metal Age. As a gameplay mechanic, stealth has always fascinated me. While hulking men with high-tech killing hardware, skilled warriors, or superhuman heroes are well and good, I've always been the most fascinated by the protagonist that has none of these things and still accomplishes all the things they could. The reviews and general internet consensus of Thief purported it to be the master of such concepts, and I was curious to see how such claims held up.

I was blown away.

The first game's opening mission of burgling a noble's manor was exactly what I had always wanted from such an experience. Hiding in shadows. Peering around corners. Memorizing guard patrol routes. Slipping hurriedly into a tiny patch of darkness when I realized my timing was off, tensely holding my breath and praying the guard would move along without noticing me. Reading notes and journals left behind, getting an idea of what life was like for the people that lived and worked there while the sun was up. And of course, stealing the possessions of a man who had too much to enjoy. I knew immediately how it drew such a dedicated fanbase, but I was disappointed when the game seemed to fumble its own concept. Forcing a hybrid of survival horror and monster-slaying into its gameplay. These sections wore me down, or bored me, and I only slogged through them so that I could get to the 'good' missions, which sadly ended up to be few. Thief II was another matter entirely. From the first mission on, I felt that it had finally come to terms with exactly what it was, and consistently gave me everything that I wanted from the experience of being a master thief. A fun, well-written, well-designed game. But for me, the enjoyment goes deeper than that.

For myself, the game is less about what it portrays, and more about what it captures; a feeling that is very familiar to me. The thrilling tension of being somewhere you shouldn't be, doing things that people don't want you to do, and taking things they would rather keep. Learning things that you would never know otherwise, and without anyone else knowing that you are in on the secret. All of this without anyone knowing you were doing it until you are long gone, if they ever find out at all. Perhaps this does not reflect well on me as a person, but all of these things are familiar to me in my life.

For better or worse, hiding has been a large part of my behavior for as long as I can remember. I am an introvert by nature. I enjoy my own company most of all. Not out of any sense of hatred or dissatisfaction towards people in general, nor I am apathetic or mal-adjusted. I merely find that company, especially strangers, drains energy, while being alone replenishes it. I will not point fingers, but there is a stigma against introverts in our society today. I grew up blessed with wonderfully loving parents, and the coolest siblings a child could ask for. But it was a large family, with an even larger extended family. I vividly remember as a child at the holiday gatherings, sitting in a corner somewhere. My cousins would inevitably seek me out, asking me why I was being 'antisocial.' That word seemed to follow me. Antisocial. A word closely associated with terms like 'pyschopath' (A term for which, looking up in Thesaurus.com right now, 'Antisocial Personality' is a synonym). Occasionally at home and often in public, my need to remain on the fringes of human contact was implied to be a negative trait, as if there was something somehow wrong with me. As a child not wanting to be offensive, I learned to pretend. And over time, I learned to enjoy it. Perhaps too much.

The first fantasy of course, was invisibility. If the world couldn't find me, my solitude wouldn't offend anyone. But I quickly learned that the movies were wrong. It works for Garrett, but he has his Keeper training, and it is implied within the context of Thief that his ability to blend with the shadows is slightly supernatural. But In Real Life, hiding is a lot more difficult than it's made out to be. Either that, or my cousins simply had X-ray vision. I don't discount that possibility. At any rate, I quickly learned that it was a lot easier to be seen, but simply not noticed. To be perceived and then immediately dismissed by the people around me. In a crowd of strangers, this is easy. Never move too quickly, but don't meander; always act with purpose. If you're going to linger, pretend you're waiting for someone. Fiddle with your phone. Check your watch occasionally and sigh, look bored. Keep a neutral expression, and avoid eye-contact at all costs. Watch people, but don't look like you're watching. Set your eyes on a point somewhere a few yards past what you're actually looking at, no matter how interesting it may be. From the shopping mall to the convention center, this is how I act in crowds to this very day. As of yet, no game has really captured this feeling for me. Assassin's Creed has played with the concept of 'social stealth', but always at a very simplistic level. Merely walking at a certain speed within a certain line renders the assassin completely invisible. Like most stealth in games, it is merely something that precedes the combat, which has far more strategy and programming related to it.

When my life came to interaction with friends and relatives however, I quickly learned that somewhat different tactics were needed. In such gatherings, the purpose was not utility, but relaxation and enjoyment. So a neutral expression does not work. Instead, smile. Smile often, and smile big. I had to learn to smile with my teeth, even practicing in the mirror, and it has been one of the most valuable of stealth skills in my arsenal. But in a crowd of friends, smiling isn't enough. There are always predatory extroverts scanning the fringes, looking for anyone daring to be by themselves. So get up and wander, mingle, get into shallow conversations here and there. Do this with just enough frequency so that no one person catches you alone long enough to trigger an alert, and they single you out for the duration of the party. There is a timing to these things, a rhythm, a sense of flow. This too is found in Thief, especially for the hard-core players who 'ghost' their way through the game with no kills or knockouts, relying completely on hiding and moving in the gaps of a guard's patrol-pattern. When taking breaks to recharge from the mingling, you have to situate yourself at the fringes. Not quite far enough away to look like you're hiding, but enough to be comfortably alone. But you always have to be conscious of where the fringe is, because the center of the gathering will sometimes shift, and you have to be ready to dodge carefully around it. Much in the same way as ducking into a shadowed doorway and waiting for a guard to walk past, before slipping out again and moving while his back is turned, a tactic that any good Thief player will have used countless times.

To this day, these are skills that I have perfected. I have come to enjoy it, even take pride in it. I fully admit that I romanticize such skills, as I equate them with those of a spy; an infiltrator, a secret warrior. One man doing things that an army could not. When I'm uncomfortable in simple, everyday social situations, it is a comforting self-delusion for me to think that I would be more comfortable in extreme danger or tension. As a child, I was at least not alone in this. My best friend also struggled with his own feelings of wrongness, and I sometimes think he had it worse than me. Together, our shared interest involved spies and commandos; sneaking behind enemy lines, vastly outnumbered and outgunned, with only wit and skill as an advantage. We practiced these fantasies in our imaginations. During sleepovers, we would sneak out of our houses and wander the darkened neighborhood. Avoiding the light and dodging between cover, careful of window sightlines, pedestrians, and passing cars. As we grew into our teenaged years, we became more bold, sneaking into a local outdoor racetrack with posted 'keep out' signs and the wavering glow of the guarding caretaker's TV in her trailer. This woman had a reputation for being notoriously watchful, and calling the police at the slightest disturbance. We suspected she also had the help of the surrounding neighbors as well. We never did break anything, or so much as leave a scratch on the woodwork. But if we were caught, we would face charges. All of this of course was merely part of the fun. This was the purest form of tension; the consequences of getting caught makes for the biggest thrill. A thrill that any Thief player has experienced as they waited tensely in the shadows under the eyes of suspicious guards.

For the record, I do not advocate this behavior to anyone. It was stupid and irresponsible, and certainly not worth the risk for a few thrills. But even now, as I move out of my teens and begin my transition to a responsible, productive adulthood, this desire stays with me, and even grows. As many young children are, I was fearful of stepping beyond the marked boundaries. But that fear has waned. My father, as an engineer, spent much of his time in the service-areas of public buildings. Usually concrete or bare-studded spaces with no natural light, filled with clanking machines and hissing pipes. He would sometimes take the young me with him on his jobs, and while I loved the time with my dad, I hated and feared the boiler rooms. These places all share a common feature; in any school, library, or hospital, they are all found behind 'Keep Out' or 'Employees Only' signs. My father, a contracted employee, was cleared for these spaces, and I was with him. But he took this attitude with him even to buildings in which he was not working. This scared me even more. 'Dad, didn't you see the sign?' 'Dad, I don't think we're supposed to be here!' I would say, a crawling sensation in the pit of my stomach. Hadn't he seen the movies? Didn't he know what happened to people that wandered into places they didn't belong, poking and prodding things just because they were curious? In all those years though, he never got scalded by a jet of steam, became trapped, jumped by a masked murderer, or caused the escape of a world-destroying virus. At least, as far as I know. Perhaps that is why that attitude seems to have rubbed off on me, and why I enjoy wandering beyond the boundaries society has set. Past the 'Keep Out' and 'Employees Only' signs of the world. In any building I have occasion to spend a significant amount of time inside, I will invariably see how far into it I can get. I will enter and examine every room I can get access to. Check every unmarked cupboard or drawer, so long as it isn't obviously someone's desk or personal space. I create a mental blueprint, complete with all the viable escape routes, entrances, and sightlines of people working there. I remember the location of possible resources like weapons, implements, and tools. You might be surprised how many rolls of duct-tape that can usually be found in a church or a school, and I remember every one. All of this information comes together when I'm bored. Sitting in class, I used to gameplan what I would do if the building ever came under attack by zombies, ninjas, or government hit-squads. I was even learning Parkour, solely for the purpose of opening up new options for traversing my environment, and to make even barriers like walls and fences into mere suggestions.

All of this is captured in another aspect touted by Thief fans; exploration. Large, non-linear levels, laden with secrets, all designed (somewhat) reasonably like real-world structures, not just obstacle courses to be navigated. Thorough exploration is often required by mission objectives, and searching under tables, running hands over bookshelves, and fiddling with torch-brackets is rewarded with secret passages or extra loot, or useful tools for progressing further. Even with these rewards, the best part is always the sense of accomplishment in finding something that someone did not want you to find. This of course leads to my final and most uncomfortable piece of attraction to Thief: the aspect of voyeurism. There is a moment in Thief II's legendary tenth mission, The Life of the Party, where the player can overhear a conversation between two childish and stuck-up nobles drifting from an open window. While doing this, the player can creep silently up to the wall and steal the noble's coin-purse through the window, giving me an extra few coins to spend on gear when the mission was done. And yet, the conversation was the bigger prize for me. When wandering the darkened halls of Shalebridge Station, reading diaries, police reports, and casual notes, I was given a feel for the personalities and struggles of people that were not even there. I started to wonder what it would be like if Garrett ever met Watch-Sergeant Mosley; he would know so much about her, and she would know almost nothing about him. The thought was a thoroughly amusing one for me.

In this same vein, direct interaction with strangers feels to me like getting caught. Situations in which I must call attention to myself, like talking to a bank-teller, or even places like elevators and waiting rooms where escape simply isn't an option, feels to me like my stealth-measures have failed me. I am in the light, and the guards are moving in, and I have to resort to last-ditch measures like polite conversation, making jokes, asking leading questions and nodding to the answers. Things that seem to come so naturally to other people, but have never worked as well for me. If the world is a stage, I never got the script that everyone else seems to be using, so I'd rather be an extra. It makes me feel awkward and uncomfortable to be under so much scrutiny, so I hone my skills to better stay in the shadows.

I often wonder if something is wrong with me. Now, describing the voyeurism found in the Thief games, I did not include any real-life examples. This is not out of tact or shame, it is because I don't have any. I have never read someone's diary or opened someone else's letters. I carry a strong moral code, and a respect for the basic right of a person to possession, and to privacy in their dealings. Likewise, my excursions past signs, fences, and boundaries are never with the intention to steal, spy, or cause damage, and they never have. But I find that I still take great satisfaction in the thought that I could do all these things if I wanted to. I will also turn down the chance if the consequences or risk of getting caught is simply too great, but I take satisfaction in knowing that I do not have to conform, I merely choose to. Knowing the the barriers would not stop me if I ever chose otherwise, but still respecting the consequences put in place to enforce them. Games like Thief carry the attraction of removing these consequences. 'Sneaking around, spying, stealing, and causing damage' might as well sum up the gameplay. Unlike seemingly most of society and the media today, I'm not worried that this will ever lead me to rob a bank, or spy on people in their showers. As I said, I have a strong moral code, and I do not dislike people in general. I care about the intrinsic value of people for no other reason than that they are people, and I care about their problems. I have been blessed by several good and loyal friends around whom I am comfortable and open. I am not a monster.

But I still sometimes worry about how much I sympathize with Garrett, the main protagonist of the series. He is tailored so perfectly for the game and its surroundings, coming across as a cynical loner, making snarky comments on the stupidity of the people beneath him; a category from which no one is excluded except himself. As an antihero, he so often ends up saving the world, but almost always for selfish reasons. (If the world blows up, where will I live?) He equates feelings with obstacles. He retains many useful acquaintances, but his relationships with them are based on mutual usefulness and performing favors, to be terminated as soon as such things are no longer supplied. He measures his own worth entirely by his skill as a thief. Cold, clean, professional. Going through life with as little entanglement as possible. One inevitable aspect I have found in my relationships is that eventually, my own flaws of character will collide with someone else's, and it will usually hurt us both. While smarting under the impact, the idea of hiding from it all the way Garrett does sounds very appealing. I think that if I did not have such loyal friends and a loving family, and a faith that teaches me my priceless uniqueness and infinite worth, I would probably have turned out a lot like Garrett, if probably not nearly as skilled.

I am getting better. Despite the stigma still in place, I have come to accept there is nothing wrong with being inherently introverted. Like stealth, human interaction is also a skill, which means that even if it doesn't come naturally to me, I can learn. But I doubt I will give up my stealthy ways, nor my love of the Thief franchise. At the time of this writing I have yet to play Deadly Shadows, and I understand Eidos is making a fourth installment. I don't hold out much hope that these games can capture the experience as well as Looking Glass Studio's gems, but I leave room to be pleasantly surprised. For those of you still reading this far (if any), I thank you. If you feel some of the same things I have related, know that you are not alone. But I probably won't see you, and you hopefully won't see me. We'll be in the shadows, and we'll be quite at home.

Goldmoon Dawn on 17/8/2013 at 21:22

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A very interesting read indeed. Perhaps it is because of the obvious "polish" as you have called it, but the post almost seems a bit like a puzzle of some sort. Perhaps it is just me, but this part is interesting and made me take note:



If you are truly only 20, then you are wise way beyond your years, and have obviously done a great deal of research on Thief to speak so openly about the majesty of LGS, almost as if you were there the whole time. You are more than welcome to stay here at TTLG, and I sincerely hope that you do so. I think that you would have an enormous amount of insight to offer on certain topics around here as they spring up.

Rope Arrow on 18/8/2013 at 06:20

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Oh... That makes sense. Thanks for clearing that up for me!

Your story from university also puts me in mind of a lot of my own explorations. Living in a large family without so much as my own room, there was a lot of satisfaction in finding a nice out of the way place to be myself in a public building. Preferably ones with a lot of blind corners and clutter to hide behind when someone just happens to blunder in. I once had to hide behind a row of choir robes in a church storage room as the janitor came by, otherwise I would have had some awkward explaining to do. Or use a flashbomb, and I hate those fiddly things. XD



Thanks for the recommendation! Having now finished both games and not being too terribly impressed with Deadly Shadows, I have started to turn my attention to the awesome fan works out there. But I am very curious, what exactly do you mean when you say 'go astray?' Do you mean in that I didn't turn out as some kind of creep, or some kind of destructive tendency? I am truly wondering what the worst-case scenario might be.



Ah, thank you so much for the kind words. I did in fact recently turn 21, so I know I still have a lot to learn. But writing is my passion, deep thinking is my hobby, and videogames have lately been my main source of inspiration for my own fiction. And I've been finding more and more that modern games tend to skimp on the world interaction and gameplay depth for the sake of shiny graphics, while nostalgic titles feel more immersive with how the world looks and the degree to which you can interact with it lining up.

I actually haven't done all that much research on Thief's history, or Looking Glass, but one thing is clear to me; the people on that team really know how to capture what it feels like to hide. Thief spoke to me on a much deeper level than most games I've played, and one of my deep-think sessions was devoted to pinning down exactly why. This piece is the result. The Thief series opened up a rather cathartic look into my own behavior, and that's on top of being two of the best games I've ever played. I'm looking forward to discussing it with people that love it as much as I do, and perhaps have had even more time to think about it. =)

R Soul on 18/8/2013 at 14:49

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That reminds me...
(http://www.abandoned-places.com/)

Psychomorph on 19/8/2013 at 13:55

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There are forms of asocial-ism and introversion - weak introversion and strong introversion. Rope Arrow, you're the weak introvert (take no offense please) and Garrett is a strong introvert (he's fiction, but his character traits are not).

What does it mean? A weak introvert does not feel as comfortable about it as he may pretend. In fact he pretends (smile, don't offend, remain unnoticed), feels guilty, small and weak. A strong introvert is the one who embraces it, who trusts only himself and rather sees himself above others (thus distances himself from them), does not feel helpless and does not feel the need to fit in, to pretend, to not offend or to be of service to anyone, let alone society. Garrett is absolutely a self confident introvert. He embraces it as his strength and frankly, don't gives a f##k.

I've been an weak introverted child myself, but as I grew older I sought to transform myself into a strong introvert, which I believe I am for the most of the part (still learning, have my weak moments still). I accepted that I will never be an extrovert and I don't want to be.
I'm fascinated by strong introverts like Garrett. Silent professionalism. Calculating intelligence. Cunning if need be.

As you say, there are those predators out there, who see through you and spot your weakness and turn it against you, but your weakness is not your inner self, it's false behaviour.