Mind Mapper. Experience in the morbid frontier is enchanting, intriguing, dangerous, bewildering. As a meaning maker, your job there is to filter experience for things that matter – things you can use – and relate them to an obscure metabolic condition that is ominously unfolding in the shadows. Like an archeologist, you interrogate each shard you pull from the biomuck for the story of what it is, how it works, where it came from, what it wants and why. The shards are tangible things with familiar, physical properties; moreover they are metaphors for other tangible things that were beyond your ken before Humaginarium: atoms, molecules, cells, tissues, fluids, organs, mechanisms. You capture their stories with the aid of dynamic mind mapping. This is the visual equivalent of “mapping sentences” that distill coherence from a churning chaos.
Dorian Gray. Users in the morbid frontier are not told what to do or forced to do anything. They do what they want in light of self-interest; which means, whatever it takes to win. Most users will do anything to win, yet their moral and intellectual lights are dim to begin with; and they lack wisdom to make good choices intuitively. So they wind up making and having to cope with bad decisions and failures. How does that affect them? The way crime affects Dorian Gray in Oscar Wilde’s novel: by scourging the alter ego. Users who do bad things for the sake of quick wins – such as skirting or accommodating rather than confronting and controlling morbidity – may appear outwardly heroic, but they are wounded warriors in Diabetes Agonistes. They can eventually heal their wounds by atoning (changing, compensating) before it’s too late; or allow wounds to fester and settle into disability.
Monsterography. Maybe the worst thing about chronic morbidity in real life is transparency. You can’t see, hear or touch this disgusting thing that’s inside you, but is not you. You feel it when it flares, but even when that happens all you can see and hear and touch is not disease, but the tracks that disease leaves on your flesh and psyche after the ravages. The physical evidence indicates that your body itself is the disease: the perpetrator rather than the victim. You blame the victim for your pain and suffering. You’re revolted by your own body that is relentlessly harming you. You fear, you’re angry and you deny the body the way a prisoner despises a jail cell. “What have I done to deserve this? My body hates me.” But unlike life, in Diabetes Agonistes morbidity is not transparent. It appears as it feels: monsters in the body, but not of the body. Horrible monsters that you can more than revile: you can, if you’re clever, destroy them without ever mistaking them for the world they occupy. Monsters here are personified, parasitic, repulsive chronic diseases that users capture and kill while the godlike body lives on.
Combat. My game mechanics stress cognitive and emotional affordances. I want users to perceive and think their ways through challenges, not randomly shoot them down like snipers in a carnival booth. “Nice shot, lad! Here, have this worthless trinket as your reward.” I daresay I’m bored by meaningless kinesis in play of any kind including video games; and I believe that many adult players feel the same way. We want adventure much more than effects; and adventure by definition is purposeful risk-taking. In most play and in Diabetes Agonistes in particular, adventure is experienced as agon. Not merely fighting, but fighting for something that matters. That something – here and now – is wellness. The fighting that wins wellness is tense, noisy, horrifying, vicious, calamitous, brutal, raw, hopeless, heroic. Fun for its own sake, yes, but these many fights accrete into an epic struggle, a true adventure. Humaginarium rewards wins not with trinkets but with tokens that reinforce users for later, harder, nobler existential challenges.
I have a few other core mechanics for this post, but instead I will end with a reminder about context. Diabetes Agonistes is a simulation. It’s a system simulation of physiology and biochemistry; it’s also an experiential simulation of health literacy tempering medical self-efficacy. As a game simulation, interactivity is maximal; passive displays are minimal. Several times a minute during hours of play, users must ask themselves and the game tech: “What is this? What does it mean? How can I use this? What should I do?” Simulation then is our ultimate game mechanic. The faithful, behavioral representation of how chronic illness manifests inside the human body. Damn hard to get your head around, and incredibly fun to try.