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"This is the End…"

It's late, and your body is telling you it's long past the time when you should be tucked up in bed. Shifting uncomfortably in your chair, your backside is as numb as yesterday's cardboard, your throat is bloated from gulping down an endless assault of the Yawns, and your bloodshot eyes look like a smashed mirror. Unable to shut down your brain, you're desperate for some sleep, but a freak bolt of over-stimulation is still jamming in your head. And the reason for this self-inflicted delirium, this jittery, cranky, frothing, writhing, wired-but-tired mental drubbing?

The one you've been risking your wrist over for the past two weeks. The one that's responsible for the oozing finger blister from repeated mouse tipper-tapping. The one that's been steadily nibbling at your every thought for the past two weeks, munching up that portion of your brain normally allocated to eating, and is steadily, dreadfully, guzzling its way towards the Bodily Functions Department like some malevolent, hissing Pacman Of The Mind, or something.

But there's no giving up. There's no turning back. There's no turning off. Insomnia-cranky and oh-so-close to being certifiably zombified, there's no giving up, no turning back, no turning off because if you can just time that final click, hit the key, solve the clue, change the view, suss the puzzle, kill the Romans, muzzle the enemy and kick and slap and slip past that last impossibly bossy boss...

When suddenly, after half an hour of tapping, trying and hair tugging, skill and luck click together at last. With the ex-boss crumpled into a steaming stack of pixels, you rub your eyes, sit back, empty your lungs, and settle back for what should be the grandest of in-game finales...

When your character finally shuffles across the monitor, past a half-rendered logo, hoists his thumbs up and makes a swift exit leaving a blank, black screen, your heart sinks like a concrete hovercraft. As you switch off your computer after 57 hours of continuous brain-melting, adrenaline-gushing effort, the character's scratchily sampled "Well Done!" squeaks forth from your speakers. And, you just can't help feeling, well, done.

*Spoiler Alert*

Endings are the strangest of species. Developers will spend hours polishing a game's cut-scenes and film-length intros, but when it comes to the ending, many seem alarmingly content to chuck in a few minutes of rendered footage, roll the credits and hope nobody notices. Except, of course, we do.

Take, for example, the spirit-crushing finale of Tomb Raider. Having gone to the trouble of creating one of the most groundbreaking titles in recent memory, how do Core choose to end this marathon of interactive experience? The island blows up, Lara Croft jumps on to a boat and sails off into the sunset. Full stop. For all the thought that seems to have gone into it, we might just as well have had one of those stingy screens that ended the old Ultimate titles on the Spectrum. "Well done. You have completed Tomb Raider. 67%. Try again!"

And it's not just Core. Very few games have endings that live up to the promise of the game itself, but does this matter? Should we care? After all, we're always being told that it's substance that counts, not style. It's how the game plays that matters, not how it looks. But you don't spend £35 quid on a Roman candle only to watch it flap and fizzle like a damp match. The fact is, game endings do matter and the majority of them could, and should, be a damn sight better than they are.

From the moment you start playing a game you are immediately, subconsciously wondering how I will all end. Unless you're playing a totally open-ended game, like The Sims, then the whole structure of the game is building up to a climax, right from the start. In Doom this build-up consists of the increasing difficulty between levels, your steady descent into Hell and the appearance of new and more powerful weapons, which make you wonder what sort of Satanic beasts you'll be using them on. In Command and Conquer it's watching the map change to your colour. In Syndicate it's seeing your corporation take over the world. Ah yes, Syndicate. A game which I unreservedly loved playing (there's nothing quite like hiding round a corner and flamethrowing unsuspecting commuters) until I completed it. The fact is, there is no ending. Sure there's the usual "Well done you did the level" sequence, but after that, zilch, nothing, nout.

A great ending should give you an indication of just how well you've done. It should be the most dramatic and conclusive passage in the entire game, and it should motivate you to play the whole game all over again, so that you can do better and get more from the game. There is no formula for achieving this, but there are certainly dos and don'ts which help, or hinder the process.

Ultimately, of course, a great game remains a great game. None of us will shun sequels because the original had a weak rendered end sequence - we all appreciate the playing experience more than the finale. Doom may have had a weak ending but it remains the game that brought people out in cold sweats. For a moment, though, it's wonderful to imagine a world where developers replicate all the effort and imagination they put into the game itself, and come up with a finish that is truly worthy.

In ten years time, when we're all sniggering at Medal Of Honors' primitive graphics, which games will we be proud to say "I finished that!" and recall the final moments with crystal clarity? Memorable endings are a chance for developers to provoke wonder and adulation in millions of gamers. It's an opportunity they should not miss.

Wow, what a great reception! Thanks a lot for all your comments.
I definitely look forward to writing further posts and topics on this forum.
Thanks again :)

Just one thing there, you said it was too late, when you posted it at 8:10? LOL!
Good post, well worth a GAD!

Well done, good post.

An example for all newbies - people will like you if you do stuff like this rather then calling everyone silly poo-poo heads in 20 new topics.

A VERY good post there Axel,

Well worth a GAD.

Well done.

You're a credit to the newbie cause :-D

It's late, and your body is telling you it's long past the time when you should be tucked up in bed. Shifting uncomfortably in your chair, your backside is as numb as yesterday's cardboard, your throat is bloated from gulping down an endless assault of the Yawns, and your bloodshot eyes look like a smashed mirror. Unable to shut down your brain, you're desperate for some sleep, but a freak bolt of over-stimulation is still jamming in your head. And the reason for this self-inflicted delirium, this jittery, cranky, frothing, writhing, wired-but-tired mental drubbing?

The one you've been risking your wrist over for the past two weeks. The one that's responsible for the oozing finger blister from repeated mouse tipper-tapping. The one that's been steadily nibbling at your every thought for the past two weeks, munching up that portion of your brain normally allocated to eating, and is steadily, dreadfully, guzzling its way towards the Bodily Functions Department like some malevolent, hissing Pacman Of The Mind, or something.

But there's no giving up. There's no turning back. There's no turning off. Insomnia-cranky and oh-so-close to being certifiably zombified, there's no giving up, no turning back, no turning off because if you can just time that final click, hit the key, solve the clue, change the view, suss the puzzle, kill the Romans, muzzle the enemy and kick and slap and slip past that last impossibly bossy boss...

When suddenly, after half an hour of tapping, trying and hair tugging, skill and luck click together at last. With the ex-boss crumpled into a steaming stack of pixels, you rub your eyes, sit back, empty your lungs, and settle back for what should be the grandest of in-game finales...

When your character finally shuffles across the monitor, past a half-rendered logo, hoists his thumbs up and makes a swift exit leaving a blank, black screen, your heart sinks like a concrete hovercraft. As you switch off your computer after 57 hours of continuous brain-melting, adrenaline-gushing effort, the character's scratchily sampled "Well Done!" squeaks forth from your speakers. And, you just can't help feeling, well, done.

*Spoiler Alert*

Endings are the strangest of species. Developers will spend hours polishing a game's cut-scenes and film-length intros, but when it comes to the ending, many seem alarmingly content to chuck in a few minutes of rendered footage, roll the credits and hope nobody notices. Except, of course, we do.

Take, for example, the spirit-crushing finale of Tomb Raider. Having gone to the trouble of creating one of the most groundbreaking titles in recent memory, how do Core choose to end this marathon of interactive experience? The island blows up, Lara Croft jumps on to a boat and sails off into the sunset. Full stop. For all the thought that seems to have gone into it, we might just as well have had one of those stingy screens that ended the old Ultimate titles on the Spectrum. "Well done. You have completed Tomb Raider. 67%. Try again!"

And it's not just Core. Very few games have endings that live up to the promise of the game itself, but does this matter? Should we care? After all, we're always being told that it's substance that counts, not style. It's how the game plays that matters, not how it looks. But you don't spend £35 quid on a Roman candle only to watch it flap and fizzle like a damp match. The fact is, game endings do matter and the majority of them could, and should, be a damn sight better than they are.

From the moment you start playing a game you are immediately, subconsciously wondering how I will all end. Unless you're playing a totally open-ended game, like The Sims, then the whole structure of the game is building up to a climax, right from the start. In Doom this build-up consists of the increasing difficulty between levels, your steady descent into Hell and the appearance of new and more powerful weapons, which make you wonder what sort of Satanic beasts you'll be using them on. In Command and Conquer it's watching the map change to your colour. In Syndicate it's seeing your corporation take over the world. Ah yes, Syndicate. A game which I unreservedly loved playing (there's nothing quite like hiding round a corner and flamethrowing unsuspecting commuters) until I completed it. The fact is, there is no ending. Sure there's the usual "Well done you did the level" sequence, but after that, zilch, nothing, nout.

A great ending should give you an indication of just how well you've done. It should be the most dramatic and conclusive passage in the entire game, and it should motivate you to play the whole game all over again, so that you can do better and get more from the game. There is no formula for achieving this, but there are certainly dos and don'ts which help, or hinder the process.

Ultimately, of course, a great game remains a great game. None of us will shun sequels because the original had a weak rendered end sequence - we all appreciate the playing experience more than the finale. Doom may have had a weak ending but it remains the game that brought people out in cold sweats. For a moment, though, it's wonderful to imagine a world where developers replicate all the effort and imagination they put into the game itself, and come up with a finish that is truly worthy.

In ten years time, when we're all sniggering at Medal Of Honors' primitive graphics, which games will we be proud to say "I finished that!" and recall the final moments with crystal clarity? Memorable endings are a chance for developers to provoke wonder and adulation in millions of gamers. It's an opportunity they should not miss.