Okay, I don't mean all ridiculously hidden bullshit. For the sake of brevity, I opted to leave my thesis of, “I miss ridiculously hidden bullshit in video games; but only when it's for tertiary content that would inherently encourage me to do another playthrough so that I may experience it,” out of the title. You're welcome.
To compress the subject a bit, I’m specifically talking about video game secrets. Things you can find or experience that are far removed from the game’s core, focused content. What I'm not saying is that we should bring back NES era progress blockades like the sneaky, one-in-one-hundred-thousand burnable bush in The Legend of Zelda, or the comically intangible tornado in Simon’s Quest that you summon by staring at a very specific wall while holding a very specific item. You can keep that stuff—if you want it.
While it's true that I hold some sadistic appreciation for that kind of design, it isn't exactly what I think video games should always strive for. Like most, I enjoy being able to reasonably solve a game without any external guidance. That sort of self-reliance douses my ape-like brain in so many good, warm chemicals. That, and I highly respect the sleight of hand developers must employ to trick players (such as myself) into thinking they're smart because they were able to solve a puzzle or do a slightly obtuse task. That's an art form all on its own.
Over the past couple of days, I've been replaying DOOM Eternal for maybe the 4th or 5th time. Despite that, this is actually the first time I've gone out of my way to 100% the game; that is, completing every combat challenge, scrounging for every collectible, and filling out all of the codex entries. It’s more fun than I would have initially assumed—I really enjoy the way in which all of these things are carefully peppered around every mission. It only asks you to observe your environment just a little more carefully, but that subtle change in how you interact with the game’s geometry helps to create a much deeper connection to each level’s individual layout. It makes for a more memorable experience, akin to the older DOOM titles and how they would constantly be prodding your navigational faculties with their maze-like level design. I especially appreciate when these collectibles afford the game a bit more mileage out of its platforming mechanics, sometimes challenging your acrobatic abilities in order to obtain them.
So, that's all fine and good. The game has these neat supplemental trinkets that add more value to the game’s downtime. But no matter how hard I try to ignore it, there's exactly one thing about them that really gets under my skin. One incredibly subtle decision that, throughout my entire gameplay experience, gnawed away at the most fastidious parts of the mushy thinking orb inside my head. The issue at hand manifested as a single nagging, persistent question: why the hell are these called “secrets?”
Yes, that genuinely is my biggest issue with these. The name. Possibly the most cosmetic thing about them. I don't take issue with their placement, design, or purpose in the overall experience; it's literally just the name.
I must put my foot down in protest of this decision! A secret in a video game is something you're not supposed to find with ease! It's hidden away, tucked inside of a corner of a corner and discoverable only by the most prying of eyes. By my measure, the collectibles in DOOM Eternal are more akin to puzzles—something to serve as a fun distraction from the game’s murder-centric mission statement. Brain teasers wearing a secret’s clothes.
Now, I will acknowledge that I am absolutely being pedantic. The usage of the word “secret” here is purely traditional. DOOM games have always had secrets, after all. It was, and still is, one of the few statistics you see after completing any given level in any given DOOM title. My point isn't that these collectibles in Eternal are a problem that need to be addressed, more so that they reflect a shift in mainstream game design sensibilities. One that is—in all honesty—quite understandable, but still leaves a vacancy in the hearts of people like myself who care way too much about this sort of thing. If you're one of those people too, just know you're not alone, and we can be weird about this together.
That being said, I completely recognize why developers would be hesitant to invest time and money into something that, by design, players aren't explicitly meant to see. I'm also deeply sympathetic to the absolute horrors of crunch and deadlines, two things that unfortunately still plague large-scale game development industry-wide. So please, don't interpret my musings (or rambles, if you prefer) as me saying developers are lazy, passionless, or have lost sight of “what made video games fun.” That's not a narrative I would ever feel comfortable pushing, and it's not the point. What I'm really trying to say is: secrets in video games are really fucking cool.
One of my favorite secrets of all time is actually from the DOOM series, to stay topical. DOOM 64, alongside being one of the most unique and refreshing games this franchise has to offer, features a remarkably cool side quest that is semi-hidden from the player. Those who’ve played through this entry at least a couple of times probably have an idea of what I’m talking about—the expedition you must undertake to upgrade the Unmaker.
For those unfamiliar, DOOM 64 features a weapon called the Unmaker; an ultra-powerful, shockingly scarce weapon that acts as a cousin of sorts to the BFG. When you first acquire it, it’s not an overtly impressive find. The damage is good, but it shoots slower than the plasma rifle, making them interchangeable depending on the situation. For some players, that’ll be where the story ends. They procure this weird new device, use it when the circumstances allow them to, and it just becomes another homicide appliance in Doomguy’s already stacked kit.
That was also the case for me during my initial playthrough. I grabbed the Unmaker, said, “Huh, neat,” then proceeded to pretty much only use it on powerful, individual enemies. Which was fine—the game still left an incredibly strong impression on me, cementing itself in my mind as one of the strongest entries in an already fantastic series.
The credits rolled and I promptly jumped toward the nearest forum, looking to compare my DOOM 64 experiences with others who'd trekked the same expedition. As I scrolled, I kept encountering a phrase that, to my recollection, hadn't been part of my experience with the game: “Demon Keys.” I tilted my head at this entirely foreign concept. I took a moment to ask myself if I'd seen these somewhere in the game and simply forgotten about them. I came to the conclusion that, no, I had categorically no idea what these were. What the hell are Demon Keys? A cursory Google search answered my inquiry, revealing them to be optional, hidden collectibles that I had apparently completely missed. There are 3 in total, all neatly tucked away in the game’s handful of secret levels. A corner of a corner. Further investigation disclosed what these were for: upgrading the Unmaker.
You can upgrade the Unmaker?
I opened another tab and jumped straight to YouTube. I wanted to see exactly what kind of steps I would have to take in order to witness this additional content. As I watched through the first video I could find on the subject, a feeling of shock began to infect my intrigue. My eyes narrowed as I saw this guy perform absurdly esoteric actions: pressing tiles that appeared entirely decorative, passing through solid surfaces to enter hidden rooms, hitting switches in very particular orders, and opening parts of the wall that looked the same as any other—in true DOOM fashion. Two different thoughts competed for dominance as I watched through the video. The first being, “How the actual hell would I have figured this out on my own?” and the second being, “Wow, that is insanely fucking cool.”
I jumped into another playthrough entirely without hesitation. I absolutely had to experience not only these hidden levels, but the absolute powerhouse that I assumed the upgraded Unmaker would be. This second run through the game only further compounded my positive feelings toward it. I felt a deep, rich connection to each individual level after initially spending hours being entirely lost within them. Overcoming that initial friction and being able to effortlessly glide through each act was an incredible feeling, one that is pretty unique to the DOOM series thanks to its unique level structure. The addition of these new, unexplored missions generated a renewed sense of mystery that only continued to enrapture me further the more I played. When I finally collected that final Demon Key, the reward only sweetened the experience more so. The Unmaker became an absolute monster of a weapon, tearing through absolutely everything I threw it at. The final boss might as well have been nothing more than a dried leaf for me to step on. I’d never been so happy to re-experience a video game in its entirety.
Now that’s a video game secret. One of my favorite video game secrets of all time, in fact. There are many, many more that left a huge impact on me throughout the years. I didn’t even mention Undertale and how its various narrative-driven easter eggs add so much depth and texture to not just its world, but its characters. I also have to give a huge honorable mention to Cave Story and the delicate, easy-to-fuck-up steps players must take in order to achieve that game’s good ending. Cave Story I love in particular due to how those steps change the way the game is experienced: increasing the difficulty a respectable amount, getting to save the lives of characters thought to be doomed by the narrative, and unlocking wholly new, incredibly challenging areas not seen in the game’s other routes. It gives you a huge incentive to run through the game again, and as someone who’s perpetually replaying old games instead of trying new ones he just bought for $60, that’s a huge bonus for me.
You know what to do, id Software; it’s time to make an old-school, crusty DOOM title with billboard enemies, the inability to adjust your aim on the Y-axis, mazes galore, and weird, hidden nonsense that no one would ever find without looking it up first. It’s your move. I’ll be waiting.