Level 1

 First Impressions.

It's a commonly repeated refrain that you have to nail your first impression because it might just be your last impression. Wait- no, that's not how it goes. 'First Impressions last longest'? Less threatening, but that still doesn't sound right. How does it go... "You never get a second chance to make a first impression", that's it! (Hmm, that still sounds pretty threatening...) But the point stands strong. The very first time someone starts an experience, meets a new person, or does pretty much anything fresh to them, it will be that first moment which colours their proceeding experiences. Which is why when we bring that philosophy to gaming, a lot of games that are beloved to small subsets of people fail to land with larger audiences. You can tell me all day how amazingly interesting the Avenger's combat apparently becomes once you hit the level cap; but I don't have fifty hours to spend grinding and being bored so I can be mildly entertained by an anaemic game from that point onwards.

Which is why nailing that very first level which the player comes across is so important to establishing the interest in the audience that is going to make them stick around for the long haul. And sealing that interest can't be done in the same way that we do with movies or TV. That stinger scene hinting of the later events might work on some very fringe cases, but most of the time it just highlights how boring the proceeding beginning sections of the game are, or just reveals how unimpressive your most exciting section will be. Perhaps the worst example of this is the legendary 'Ride to Hell: Retribution' which begins with a playable smash cut to all the action set-pieces of the later game, neatly allowing the player to experience right early how unplayably bad all sectors of the gameplay were. Almost like a warning to stay away, which I guess makes Ride to Hell's intro the most conscientious of all other games.

I think this late realisation has been what has led to the slow decline of the 'tutorial', as most games operate with the 'standardised control scheme' anyway and thus most players don't want to sit around being told how to move and shoot for the fiftieth time. The trend has gone towards action-oriented and explosive intros that propel the story and let the player get into the action and narrative immediately, even when the game in question is not a full action title. Some people might have been very surprised when playing the Mass Effect Legendary edition to be reminded how that first game begins with a fairly tame introduction that has you walk around the Normandy talking to the people that will become your crew and learning about the world through simple conversation. Mass Effect 2 has a more traditionally orchestrated tutorial action scene which sets you in a workplace ambush that bears a striking resemblance to the opening of Deus Ex: Human Revolution. And Mass Effect 3 has an even more overblown set-piece that leans more towards interactive cinematic than an actual firefight with stakes and peril. And that is just 5 years of 'first level' development clichés being developed by one company.

First levels have become such an entity unto themselves that comedy themed games, such as Far Cry Blood Dragon, have precedent to make fun of them. Why they had to do so in a manner that is equally as tedious as the cliché they were mocking is beyond me, but the expectation of fourth-wall shattering meta comedy is established by the display. Which is, of course, another function of the 1st level. Setting expectation for the audience to come back seeking a pay-off for. It's especially important to do this in long-form media like games and books because neither are expected to be finished in a single sitting. As a designer or writer, you have to be making the case on why your audience needs to return from page 1. Which is why 'Ride to Hell's' cliché 'fast forward' intro was in the right head-space, if flawed in other departments.

Souls games are great examples of this for how they endeavour to always ensure their reputation as unforgiving and brutal experiences is reinforced from the word 'go'. Practically every Souls game has a moment where you end up face-to-face with either the first boss or a tough early-game foe, totally unprepared for that encounter. The original Dark Souls has the first fight against the Asylum Demon, which transpires before you even have your class weapons; Bloodborne has the close quarters brawl with the werewolf which is attached to an almost scripted death sequence. Sekiro pits you against the final boss, and scripts your defeat no matter how well you do. And Elden Ring has Margit; a wound still fresh enough in it's players hearts that I don't need to tell you how unprepared people were for it. The message is very simple; 'prepare to die' and the humbleness of being killed is the first lesson FromSoftware teaches every one of it's players

There are some game types, however, that have confidence enough in the genre within which they exist and the precedent of their peers that they don't need to slap you in the face for attention. Some take their sweet time to establish atmosphere, or world building, confident in the fact that you will stick around for the prolonged amount of time required for the real excitement to start. Hollow Knight is a masterpiece that begins with a particularly subdued thematically desolate introduction to the Hallownest. And Japanese RPGs like Final Fantasy and Xenoblade usually avoid the big exciting events so they can allow the player to acclimatise first. This is because above all else, these games aspire to establish immersion, not just stimulation; and only when the player has sold themselves fully into the world do they come and supply the action and danger to the world they've built. 

I think there's one game I know, and love, which balances all the points I've picked out beautifully; and you won't be surprised in the least to see how that game is Yakuza 0. The prequel Yakuza game that revived this franchise to the Western world, Yakuza 0 had very big shoes to fill when it proposed to tackle the very beginning of Kiryu Kazama's journey ten years after his original outing. And they began with a shock, but not an explosion. Kiryu beating a man, in a cutscene, to a bloody pulp for protection money. What follows is actually a very subdued sequence of discovering the 80's Kamurocho, meeting the characters and beginning to get hooked into a plot that prioritizes intrigue. But by that same merit; Yakuza doesn't leave action fans waiting. The finale of the first chapter is perhaps one of the finest action set-pieces that the franchise has ever had. Built like the finale of a whole story with the focus on making the ultimate sacrifice by taking responsibility, the player is then thrown into a relentless no-punches-pulled onslaught of enemies in a perfectly paced gauntlet headed off with a climatic boss fight against one of the key villains of the game. It's over-the-top, awesome and supremely satisfying; that is how you start your game.

The beginning can often be the most challenging part of any work of art, and the amount of forethought and intention it demands will never cease to amaze me in the special instances where all works out with flawless delight. A great introduction will play in your head forever and make you want to dive back in the second after you finish; a bad introduction will kill your momentum and maybe even make you uninstall the game before it gets good. (I literally cannot replay Blood Dragon because I always automatically uninstall the moment the intro wraps up.) So think about the next game you start and whether or not the game you're playing touches on all the notes an intro should, and whether level 1 alone is enough to keep you hooked until the last level.