I'm a Ravenous Flesh Monster and Nothing Matters

It's the pandemic and I'm going to eat whatever I want

It’s August of the pandemic. The second August to be precise, and I can’t believe I’m still writing about games as a metaphor for my feelings of entrapment amid a global viral outbreak. What else can you do?

Today’s emotional canvas is Carrion, a “reverse horror” game where you play as an escaped eldritch monster harassing and devouring the occupants of a Metroidvania-esque underground lab. It follows vaguely in the footsteps of games centered on mayhem-making but with the clever constraints of narrow, looping corridors typical of the genre.

What gripped me about this game isn’t so much the role reversal as the way the nameless monster feels to control. The developers at Phobia Game Studio have engineered the creature — a shapeless blob of guts and sinew with prehensile flesh tentacles — to basically lurch effortlessly wherever you push the controller’s left analog stick. And because it has no discernible skeletal system holding its shape, you can slink in and out of every vent, pipe, and crevice as you please, even as you grow larger with each pound of human meat you consume.

This nimble form of locomotion is the star of Carrion’s gameplay. Even in the early moments of your escape from whatever glass tube was holding you, you’re given the impression that you are the apex predator in this scenario. The game doesn’t reward you for any clever manipulation of your prey, but it feels so damn good to creep from vent to vent, terrorizing people before cornering them in some flimsy bathroom stall and making them your dinner. In this vast, branching government laboratory with only one way out, you alone reign supreme.

Here comes the part where I tell you I totally see myself in this amorphous flesh creature on my TV screen. And you know what? Yes, I feel seen. When you’ve been bouncing around the same 40-something square meter space for eight months, occasionally naked but totally in control of your limited environment, yes: I can absolutely relate.

I would look at my clothless self in the mirror, usually when brushing my teeth, and think I’m still lucky to be able to exert myself in a house where I call the shots. I cook adobo with whatever meat’s left in the fridge. I take a nap at the slightest suggestion of a yawn. I butcher my haircut and do nothing about it. I postpone my laundry to the last piece of underwear in my closet because I have no one to please but myself. While the world outside goes up in flames, inside, I am expending myself at a controlled burn. I’m dying slow enough for me to make it to the end of The Crown.

This last part is a major spoiler for Carrion. Obviously, the goal all along has been to flee the confines of the underground laboratory. There is only one escape hatch, and it needs a living, breathing human to operate it.

As you move from each area of the cavernous lab, you come across various vats of experimental DNA that augment your monster powers. One lets you turn temporarily invisible. Another lets you produce sharp spikes around your body to impale your victims with. All sick-looking abilities, but none to get you out of this accursed hole in the ground.

At the last moment, you ingest a final piece of DNA that transforms you into probably the most terrifying creature of all: an adult human, complete with a white shirt, a necktie, some pants, and a pair of shoes. You walk slowly, clumsily to the exit. You press your hand on the lock and the door cracks open. You step outside, into the growing night and towards the city in the distance.

When this all ends and we can finally emerge into a world altered by the pandemic, one of the first things we’ll do is pretend nothing’s changed. We’ll wear the same clothes and hang out in the same places, except in our guts will remain the bloat and viscera of years spent indoors. We’ll talk about the things we’ve had to consume to make our way out in between sips of uncontaminated iced coffee. We’ll wear paranoia and anxiety like a trendy piece of fashion.

One day, we’ll be dressed decently and walking upright. It’s a terrifying thought. Right now, I’m just glad that I can drift about the house in my underwear, sport a botched haircut, and eat off-recipe adobo like nothing matters.