When I play a game, immersion is key. As stupid as it sounds, I don't want to be constantly reminded that I'm playing a video game; I like to fully drop myself into everything, and live it, as if its physics and parameters were my own. My suspension of disbelief will go far; when playing Bioshock, for example, I'm willing to let myself believe that I'm a part of some supposedly once-peaceful underwater dystopia filled with ammunition-vending machines. When playing Resident Evil, I am willing to believe that some zombies somehow got into a closed room and just silently chilled out, waiting for me to enter, injured, and in desperate of a typewriter ribbon, only to go into an idiot zombie-rage when I turned that doorknob. Indeed, scenario is something I can get past quite easily.

However, nothing will make me put a game down quicker than those moments where the veil is lifted and you realize that every reaction from every object and character is defined by a poorly laid out set of logic switches. You know the moments I mean: that point where Bioshock becomes "just a game" because some splicer gets stuck on a corner and runs in air for thirty seconds before forgetting suddenly that you exist, or when a supposed world-class hockey goalie doesn't realize that you're going to cut behind the net and poke it in the corner just like you did the last nine times. Indeed, the games that keep me interested the longest are the ones where the interactions continue to feel organic; where the veil is never lifted, and the world around you is built on people and creatures, not zeros and ones.



I'll start by saying this isn't a universal truth for all games. There are games I come back to over and over despite the fact that there is no AI in them; for example, Space Invaders is one of my most favorite titles of all time, and it's not exactly known for its characters' complex relationships with the player's avatar. No, this tends to apply to games that attempt to simulate something that isn't "game-y" in nature. The games that are supposed to be "real," like sports games, or games that are supposed to be "immersive," like fluff-filled first-person shooters are the ones that are most easily ruined by stupid reactions.

For a shining example of amazing AI, one need look no further than Valve's fantastic Half Life 2 series. This is one of the few narrative-based FPSes I've been able to play through a couple of times, and here's why: the Combine react like living things. I can't think of a time I got sucked out of the game because they were running in place facing a wall, or lost me around a corner, or generally, any time where they acted like anything other than aliens who wanted to kill me. It makes the game more thrilling when you are thinking more about staying alive and less about exploiting the system; among many other things, this is one aspect of game immersion where Valve excels.



Sadly, I cannot say the same for BioShock. I remember many points in this game where it became readily apparent that splicers were nothing more than stupid robots made to lower my hitpoints. I remember times where hiding behind a staircase would cause them to fire their revolvers harmlessly at the obstacle in front of me, or where they smack their head on the corner of a wall and completely lose their bearings (and not in the good way-- I can imagine this would be cool if they actually, like, fell down and screamed, and got up and chased you again or something). I've beaten Bioshock, but I have absolutely no urge to pick it up again, because I just couldn't continue suspending my disbelief. Furthermore, there are so many parts where interactions just feel wooden and scripted (particularly when a certain little sister is leading you through a series of obstacles) that you never feel like you exist in Rapture like I think Levine intended-- you feel like you're playing a game.



A game that has a foot planted firmly in both sides of this argument is S.T.A.L.K.E.R.-- a title with a lot of potential but often disappointing results. Yes, the baddies in this game frequently display the intelligence of a box of half-drowned kittens. However, the place where this title shines, based on the limited amount of time I've spent with it, is the apparent selfishness of people in its world. They are persistent, and go about their tasks, and make decisions that affect their 'lives'-- holding you up and taking all of your equipment, or running away when they realized they're outmatched, or merely avoiding the player-- that make the game a lot more believable.



I play a lot of sports titles, too, but I tend to stop playing them once I find game-breaking bugs. For example, in NHL 96, I had hours upon hours of fun, until I found a way to ruin the game. At first, it was kinda funny to amass 15-0 scoreboards, but after a while I realized it was empty; I was just playing a game. My love for hockey never died, but I fell off of the video game equivalents for a long time. It wasn't until I found the incredibly sophisticated and daunting management sims, however, that my love for sports games truly flourished again.



Playing Eastside Hockey Manager or Football Manager is like entering a world where dozens of Deep Blue clones have learned sports and taken the helm of various teams. They are constantly learning, adapting, and challenging the user, and there's no easy way to "screw" them so they're useless. Every action you make has a reaction, both from the game's engine and the other "players," and it is up to you to ensure your team succeeds (or, at least, doesn't fail miserably).



I suppose AI isn't the be-all and end-all of good game design. After all, I also play Desktop TD every once in a while-- and that AI is only as sophisticated as "get from point A to point B"-- but, in some cases, it can make the difference, at least, to me, between a good game and a brilliant one.