Advertisement
Advertisement
The Deadseat begins during a car ride. The player is seated in the back, holding a handheld console. At first, the setting feels limited — a quiet ride, a simple game. But something begins to change. The events inside the game start reflecting what’s happening outside the screen. The car, once just a background, becomes active. The game is no longer a distraction. It’s connected to the moment, and ignoring it—or relying on it too much—leads to consequences.
Players must constantly switch between interacting with the handheld and observing their surroundings. What begins as routine gameplay becomes part of a larger structure. The car may shake. The environment may shift. The handheld becomes a tool, but it cannot be trusted entirely. Decisions must be made quickly, and awareness is always divided.
These mechanics create a structure where stillness becomes part of the challenge.
There are no weapons in The Deadseat. No open world to explore. Everything takes place in a moving vehicle with limited vision and few tools. The only way forward is through attention. The screen may help, or it may deceive. The car may hold answers, or it may trap the player further. Tension builds not from what is seen, but from what is nearly seen. The player’s ability to survive is tied directly to how well they understand the rhythm between both spaces.
The Deadseat concludes not with a solution, but with a question. What happened during the ride is never explained directly. The player is left with fragments — moments where the line between game and environment blurred. The car continues on, but something about the ride has changed. The experience isn’t about clarity. It’s about tracking the point where the two layers stopped being separate, and recognizing that it may have started earlier than expected.
Related games
Comments