Gamified & Strict Narratives: Understanding the future of immersive stories
Detective Håkansson has a murder to solve in the bleak Skåne winterscape of Sweden. In designing that scenario as an XR mystery, you have a choice: “Should it be gamified or strict?” The answer affects what the explorer, playing Håkansson, can do. And how they do it. It influences how they stay engaged. So, you’ve got to understand gamified and strict narratives. Because if you don’t, you’ll not only create a confusing experience, you won’t understand their importance in immersive storytelling. Skeptical? Come with me on a journey through an understanding of the two types. I’ll show why I believe they are the future.
By the way, I’ll use Henning Mankell’s Mördare utan ansikte (Faceless Killers) to compare the types. The novel is from his Kurt Wallander detective series. And is the basis for our hypothetical XR murder mystery. Both are in the Skåne region, in the south of Sweden. Inspector Wallander’s messy personal life spills into his detective work. That matters because we’ve made the explorer/Håkansson his sidekick.
The obvious place to start is with the strict narrative. After all, we know a gamified narrative when we experience it, right? Maybe. We should first clarify some things; namely games, game mechanics, and gamification.
A game is an activity focused on a goal and competition. And within a rules-based framework. A game has story elements. The player, like a hero, only achieves the goal after overcoming opponent(s) through a series of challenges. Fealty to the king, sacrifice, grand strategies, all set amid two clashing armies: The story elements in chess. But chess is not a full-fledged story because motives like revenge don’t drive the pieces’ movements. Pieces don’t have free will. And though an XR game might have independent characters, each with a backstory, the rules-based framework dictates how the player interacts with them. And to what degree. The underlying narrative gives context and rationale to those interactions. It supports gameplay, not the other way around. The VR title Scraper is set in a machine-dominated world that’s detailed in a related novel. But the player has neither opportunity nor motivation to explore much of that world outside of gameplay. The rules-based framework is for an FPS, with some RPG elements. And like any framework, it’s driven by game mechanics.
Game mechanics have many definitions. For the purpose of the present discussion, they’re the actions a player takes that collectively define the nature of the experience. The actions also govern relations, specifically conflict, between/among players. Human relations and conflict are the essence of storytelling. That’s why every game has story elements regardless of whether there’s an actual storyline.
Gamification commonly means to add game mechanics to an experience, learning geometry for example, that traditionally has not had them. When you add to the story elements in the mechanics, you’ve created a meta-narrative. It frames the problem at hand. The stakes rise from, say, mere number-crunching for a good grade; to a story-based challenge the role-playing student must overcome. So, if the goal is to find a notorious candy thief, geometry might be used to pinpoint their hideout. But unlike a traditional word problem, rules related to game mechanics put constraints on the student’s path to a solution.
You may be thinking, “OK, a story with game mechanics is a gamified narrative.” You’ll be half-right, maybe. Mechanics alone don’t define narrative type. It’s determined by the relationship between game mechanics and story mechanics.
Story Mechanics
The stakes can’t be higher. Find a ruthless killer. If you as detective Håkansson fail, more people will die. Pacing goes from “cautious” to “non-stop action.” It’s diving headfirst into another world. It’s compelling. It satisfies on many levels ― if the creative team gets the fundamentals right. Those fundamentals are the story mechanics.
A story mechanic resolves an immediate and essential problem related to character(s) and/or plot. And drives the story in the process. Like any solution, we first describe the mechanic in broad strokes, then flesh it out, and implement it as an experience. For example, early on we must convey what’s at stake. Setting the stakes is a recurring story mechanic. But is crucial at the beginning because it puts everything else in context. We already know there’s been a murder. So, we can ask, “What happens if Håkansson fails to find the killer?” The answer is, “More people might get killed.” Our high-level solution is that Håkansson reach the conclusion in a scene with Wallander. We express that solution by putting them at the murder scene, where they take in the horror of what happened. A remark like, “We’ve got to stop the monster behind this” will drive home the obvious. That does resolve the plot-related problem. And it’s bland. How hard does it drive the story? What if implementing our solution also addressed the most fundamental mechanic, how to immerse the explorer into the world of the character(s)?
In traditional storytelling, immersion into the fictional world works in tandem with another story mechanic, narrative strategy, which is the plan for using storytelling techniques. But the two can be separate. They can’t in XR because the way storytelling techniques are used directly affects the quality of the immersion.
You might think, “If the explorer is Håkansson, and at literally every turn they see brutality, how is that not immersion?” Well, immersive storytelling is more than “look here” “look there.” It’s a reality experienced through sight, sound, and maybe touch; then filtered through situational awareness; so that we’re affected emotionally or psychologically. It’s when we have these deeper responses that we’re immersed. Visceral reaction to a murder scene, for example, is not enough. Want to know what’s at stake? What if Wallander warns that Håkansson, “Not mess things up this time.” And gets angry about the “botched detective work” on a previous case. Håkansson’s reputation, if not career, is now at stake. As physical drama this scenario differs little from the previous bland one. But the explorer now knows that their character’s every decision, every action, will have personal repercussions. Can their clear-headed police work overcome a desperate need for redemption? This illustrates what immersion is all about. The takeaway here is that the way we express story mechanics strongly affects the experience. However, when expressions include game mechanics, we have a gamified narrative.
The Gamified Narrative
A gamified narrative uses game mechanics in the story mechanics that solve plot and character problems. So, it tends to favor measurable responses to those problems. And can have a reward system independent from storyline.
Let’s say our problem is to change the stakes ― a variation the setting the stakes story mechanic. Our high-level solution is that new clues will upend the murder investigation. How? The explorer can find them in overlooked evidence. This fits naturally into the investigative nature of detective work. The puzzle, a game mechanic, will be our method. The explorer will rearrange notes and photos laid out on a table. Each variation shows how the crime, experienced as a kind of flashback, may have occurred. But one will have the “aha” moment that changes everything. Variations and outcome are tangible and measurable; practical legacies from gaming. The legacies have two implications for narrative design: The assessment moment, and the possibility of a reward system.
An assessment moment is a snapshot of the character who’s “played” by the explorer. Like exposition in a short story, it allows the explorer to periodically peer above the dust kicked up by the action, pacing, and setting that is the experience. And to glimpse their character’s overall situation. But unlike exposition, assessment moments can happen throughout the narrative; can happen as in not necessary. A story might have a character who can occasionally summarize how close the explorer has come to solving the story’s central problem. Yoda in Star Wars in an example. Or the plot might be simple enough to make any progress obvious, like the 360° video series Rainbow Crow. However, most narratives fall somewhere in between. In our detective experience, the explorer might see that they’re getting closer to solving the crime. But not clearly because the partnership with Wallander causes so many complications. The assessment moment makes the complications invisible. By the way, it doesn’t pause the action. The explorer thinking, “How did this happen?” for example, can occur in a warehouse during a frantic cat and mouse with the killer.
A gamified narrative can have a reward system. Håkansson receives a recommendation for promotion for every puzzle solved, for example. This can be a goal within a stand-alone experience. Or, outside each adventure in the case of a streaming episodic series. The reward system is not necessary. But it affords many UX and marketing possibilities. I address them at the end of this article.
A game mechanic always has an immediate and clear outcome. That makes sense because in gaming the player needs to know precisely how well their efforts succeed. So, the outcome is also measurable. But if we think about it in a gamified narrative context, we arrive at an important truth: We should only use game mechanics for important situations. Why? It’s because the game mechanic is a challenge held under rules not applied to the bulk of the experience. The explorer expects a reward that justifies the effort to meet that challenge. If the result in solving a puzzle is interesting information irrelevant to the case, the explorer feels cheated. Why struggle with rules, time constraints, etc., for something that doesn’t really matter? So, we judge whether a game mechanic is appropriate not just by what it does storywise. But by the effort it requires relative to the outcome.
Considerations Regarding Gamified Narratives
The story permeates everything. And fully frames any gameplay. Though doesn’t have to hide it. The explorer can know they’re solving a puzzle while they go through crime scene evidence. The story however should not seem paused while they do it. A contradiction? No. Actions, emotions and gameplay relate to plot and character(s); with few if any exceptions. The actions taken to execute the game mechanic should make sense within the storyline. But there is a paradox. Games with extensive storylines have considerable overlap with gamified narratives. Yet, the core experience must clearly center on gameplay. Or on plot and characters. And what’s the difference when gameplay is linked to plot? It’s all about the rules.
Rules constrain behavior during gameplay. Whereas story mechanics operate under relatively diffuse constraints; plot, personality and backstory, and character arc(s). The explorer should know with certainty if they should follow rules to resolve their character’s central problem. You might ask, “Doesn’t the explorer have to switch between rules-based and ‘open’ situations anyway?” Yes. But unlike a game, the reality in a gamified narrative isn’t built around gameplay.
Imagine a biopic about singer. Singing is confined to concert scenes, as in real life. In musical theater a character can break into song at any time. That reality is what defines the genre. Likewise, gameplay in a gamified narrative is like the biopic concert scene. It’s integral to plot yet operates under rules that allow different behaviors from the norm. And has expectations to match.
How a creative team mediates the switch between gameplay and main plot isn’t a challenge. It’s a complex design element. It’s shifting the explorer from one behavioral mode to another. The handoff should complete the game mechanic. And ease the explorer back into the rest of the story, without feeling contrived.
The more game mechanics represent obvious gameplay, the higher the risk they have less connection to the story. They can also overwhelm a thin storyline. What’s worse, they might come across as crutches meant to prop it up. And make for an awkwardly implemented game. It’s technically a gamified narrative. But not experientially. And the experience is the thing that matters.
Role playing is among the oldest storytelling traditions when you consider group participation. For example, in Maasai and other African cultures, the peoples’ response to the storyteller’s call, a kind of commentary on a key aspect of the story, can transform them into observers with their own comments. Or they become characters when they respond with a refrain, spoken or sung, that is essentially dialogue or thought. Another way to think of this is collective storytelling. Everyone plays narrator and/or character(s) at some point. Role playing is one element shared by gamified and strict narratives. It does not, in my opinion, make an experience a game.
The Strict Narrative
e strict narrative has two defining characteristics. One is that the experience relies solely on story mechanics, hence the word strict. Clues expressed as a puzzle in a gamified narrative will instead be challenges that arise organically from narrative design. And will appear over time rather than all at once.
A door-busting raid on a murder suspect’s flat shows he’s innocent. We have the problem of how to slow the pace so the explorer/Håkansson and Wallander can rethink their approach to the case. The simple solution is that they literally do just that. We send them to Sandhammeren beach, where Wallander draws a diagram in the sand to illustrate how he thinks the clues fit. The difficult relationship between him and Håkansson can also play out. The scene does resemble a strategy planning game mechanic. But actions aren’t bound by a rules-based framework. And the explorer doesn’t know what to expect. So, doesn’t necessarily behave with the intent to gain something that has quantifiable value.
The second characteristic of a strict narrative is that it lacks an explicit reward system. Instead, the explorer receives satisfaction from solving the central problem. They can neither score points nor accumulate anything of quantifiable value, unless it’s natural to the storyline. Maybe a successful case will all but guarantee Håkansson a promotion. Promotion becomes a secondary goal. But what if, true to the spirit of the novel, it causes moral dilemmas? We can have the explorer weigh decisions that increase changes for a promotion. But that have marginal impact on the case. By not tying the decisions to rewards, we create situations where moral issues are both attractions to explore; and obstacles as opposed to explicit challenges.
Here’s a question: How far does the designer go into any subplot or path or character? The strict narrative allows leeway. But to the point where too many choices can overwhelm. Compare that to a gamified narrative, where gameplay limits options because it requires quantifiable decisions. In other words, strict narratives need a design process that is itself carefully designed. And there’s the fundamental “What kind of experience do we want?” Håkansson going clue-by-clue to finding a killer, with every part of the experience feeding into that, is a police procedural. Håkansson trying to save a career by solving a murder, while clashing with a moody Wallander, is a psychodrama.
In a strict narrative, the social reality inherent in the storyline serves the same purpose as game rules. The more detailed the XR world, the more “real” that reality becomes. And the more the explorer adjusts their behavior to fit it. “Detailed” means that narrative design has fleshed out the kind of environment, the kind of social interactions, the kind of everything that’s typical in the XR world. And is relevant to the story. Consider it a baseline. But against which the explorer also measures their own situation. The experience, like any traditional story, is about the challenges in getting the situation back to normal.
Do we need to design highly detailed worlds to create engaging narratives? No. Most content falls into one genre or another. Or mixes well-known genres. For example, we can rely on the explorer’s general knowledge about detective stories to fill in the details. Our XR world has only to offer cues that help to recall that knowledge. We can then focus on what makes our world unique, such as resource problems that plague a small police force on Sweden’s North Sea coast.
And what about the assessment moment? We can create it if we briefly slow the pace. And pacing is a story mechanic. We can design a situation around a past action. The explorer can find out how the action affects things going forward. An explicit assessment is when those things are spelled out. It’s game-like because the explorer comes away with new information that changes the overall situation. An implicit assessment is when we only allow the explorer to know something has changed. An explicit assessment can be long because ensuring that the explorer understands what has changed can take time. And that translates to a marked slowdown in pace. Implicit assessments are always short.
We can create assessment moments outside of story mechanics if we’re designing for handheld AR. It’s the only XR medium that affords a framed experience, meaning it has a screen with hard borders. We can pan across a space to reveal different situations that, in the AR world, occur in different locations and/or times. This panning is the montage bias. (I discussed it in The Content Conundrum: Creating the known by means of the unknown) But it requires careful design. And even more careful justification.
When to Go Strict and When to Go Gamified
Choosing one type over the other has little to do with generic pros and cons. It’s about which better fits your intent. And whatever the decision-making process, it rarely straightforward.
Let’s say our murder mystery will be a kind of Adventures of Håkansson set in Wallander’s world. It’ll debut on PSVR as the first title in a franchise. Making it a gamified narrative is the likely choice, though not a simple one. Every game mechanic must have a measurable outcome. And that outcome requires clearly delineated choices for the explorer. And clear choices add up to a simplified storyline when the total experience is limited to a few hours. Narrative design will initially resemble a film adaptation: Choosing a through line from a complex work, deciding which parts the explorer can delve into, and which parts will be merely suggested so that the XR world feels complete.
What if our title is for Sony Pictures, and they want a close adaption? The strict narrative is suddenly more attractive. But why, if we’re on a game network? Adapting a work that’s long or complex or nuanced ― and Mördare utan ansikte is all three ― is to broaden the scope from Experience Design to Service Design. We’re now looking at an episodic streaming XR experience. Maintaining gameplay that’s fresh, and comes in frequent installments, would be a daunting task. And incredibly expensive if we wanted anything near AAA. The irony is that we could retain a game-like feel with a strict narrative. You may recall from early in our discussion, a beach scene between the explorer and Wallander that resembled a strategy planning game mechanic. This ability to mimic aspects of gameplay is the second reason you’d choose a strict narrative in a Service Design use case.
Looking Ahead and Final Thoughts
We’ll see gamified narratives marketed as games to gamers. And to non-gamers as something else, perhaps as films. In short, the gamified narrative will have multiple labels for largely commercial reasons, though it will retain its technical definition. That flexibility is why I believe it’ll dominate non-episodic content for fully interactive VR, 360° video, VR 180, MR, and both wearable and handheld AR.
The strict narrative will be the default choice for episodic content. As explained above, this has to do with designing the experience as a service. The type will also find acceptance among publishers of traditional and graphic novels, and manga. Not having game mechanics allows for close adaptations. Handheld AR, and to some extent HR, will become the major media for this type of entertainment. I wrote about the similarity between reading and handheld AR in Using Film Language in Narrative Handheld AR.
“AR can only suggest [the XR] world because you’re always aware of your own. So, your presence is partial. And relies heavily on engagement that’s psychological ― an intellectual, emotional and cognitive focus much deeper than user engagement.
“Psychological engagement resembles what happens when we read riveting fiction. Except images, sound, etc., do in physical space what language does on the page.”
There you have it. We’ve taken a journey through the clear, the contradictory and often complex worlds of strict and gamified narratives. What are your thoughts?
