Climbing a mountain to meet an old man
A story about a making decisions in a video game, and feeling like they matter.
Death Stranding is a game about delivering things to people, and building connections that are both literal and metaphorical. I guide Sam, the main character, as a porter; we deliver parcels of varying value to people, regardless of how silly they seem. The world has collapsed in on itself, is disconnected, and it’s a very dangerous place.
Every few of weeks, I climb a mountain to meet an old man.
The Elder is a prepper that started to build up resources long before the Stranding. He was an immigrant in the old United States of America, and was vastly let down by his government. He's old, protective, hesitant and stubborn, and when I first met him, I was delivering medicine that would keep him alive.
He was grateful, and after a little coaxing, he decided to join the network of settlements I was building in the post-Stranding wasteland. We connected him to a time-traveling Internet, which had the consequence of revealing structures built by hundreds of other players who had made the same trip.1
It wouldn’t be the last time we’d talk.
If I don't make a delivery — any delivery — to the Elder every once and a while, he'll die. I'll enter the game, get an email, and his shelter will be empty.
The Elder's mountain is a bit of a unique destination because it's hard to get up via vehicle; it's kind of a plateau that overlooks the rest of the Central Region, the game's final map. According to the lore, he's made friends with nearby outposts and preppers like The Craftsman, who is considerably more convenient to deal with.
Usually I'll stop by The Elder's place either on the way to or from The Craftsman, bringing herbal remedies, picking up deliveries of aged wine, or find random materials that others have dropped.
I hate that plateau. One of my earliest memories of Death Stranding is getting a truck stuck in between riverbanks lengthwise, unable to get it out. I left there "as a monument to my hubris", and there's a bit of resentment. I know that if I want to make a delivery to The Elder, it's either going to be by hand, or with a lot of pain.
Getting down from the plateau is easy, because you usually can just coast the games' nigh-invincible vehicles down the side of the cliff. You'll get good at judging just the right surface that their tires can grip, so you can get the momentum to get up in the first place.
It reminds me a lot of playing World of Warcraft in the days where climbable surfaces were pretty poorly-defined. If you knew your character and "the angles" properly, you could get places you probably shouldn't have been: Death Stranding is very much the same vibe.
One wrong step, turn, or gun of the engine, and you're back down at the base of the plateau. Sometimes you're injured, sometimes your cargo is damaged, and sometimes your truck's battery is out of juice from stubbornly trying to boost your way up. It's easy to start to resent The Elder, and just avoid delivering to him entirely.
Maybe that's why the game allows him to die — to remind you that both of you made difficult choices. He chose to live somewhere out of the way for his own reasons, and you chose to make the journey — to connect. As a character, Sam is hesitant to form bonds, and the deliveries he makes represent you helping him to build relationships, even if it’s over underwear, archeological samples, or a pizza.2
Despite all that I’ve said so far, lately, I've started to appreciate the journey. This time, I decide to go on foot. I bring a couple ladders, climbing ropes, and materials with me. The journey feels less stressful when you’re not focusing on that perfect angle your truck needs to hit.
As I leave, I can see structures that other people have built. Bridges. Shelters. Generators for my batteries. Ways to make things easier.
I follow my own footsteps that I’ve taken before. The game keeps a record, and in some places, you’ll see multiple back-and-forths.
I meet some computer-controlled porters, making their own deliveries. One gives me a pair of boots. I’ll probably recycle them for materials, but I take them anyway — it pays to be polite. He sends me a “Like”. I send him one back. In Death Stranding, “Likes” have their own lore associated with them.3
I wait patiently for a bridge to 3D print from my time crystals that I’ve collected by sending ghosts back to their dimension-between-worlds. I sent them there with bullets infused with my blood, or grenades I’ve constructed from my bodily fluids after I took a shower, or used the bathroom. Sometimes, when I stealth-kill them, they give me a Like before departing.
This game has a lot of things that sound insane without context.
I pick up a couple boxes of materials that are just laying around the landscape, and contribute them to upgrading other peoples’ structures. They aren’t enough to finish them, but I figure someone will appreciate the extra 100 Ceramics, if they notice.
I've started to appreciate all the player structures built on top of The Elder’s plateau, mostly because it's a calm, rocky, desolate location. There's plenty of places to feel alone in Death Stranding, but I think that if it's going to be such a pain getting up there, people have decided to leave something to show they’ve made it.
And I make it, too. I deliver the nutrition drinks I was commissioned to drop off. I get a “Legend of Legend of Legends” rating4. The old man gives me some materials I’ll probably never use. I don’t even see him in person, since all the characters in this game primarily communicate to you via hologram.
I don’t know how long this will keep him alive, but I’m happy I made the trip.
Back down the mountain we go. Back into mire.
Every time I open Death Stranding, I get a slew of notifications: my structures are degrading, with some near-ruin. What I like most, though, is the reminders that a ladder I left or a casually-placed marker of "go here" actually mattered, and people found value in the struggle I went through before.
I think that's what makes it an extremely unique experience, and something that keeps me from moving on to other games. I don’t think this is an Animal Crossing situation where “you didn’t visit your village in months, your visitors hate you when you come back, and you should feel guilty;” instead, I like making deliveries because it reminds me of the value in chasing difficult things.
Every parcel, every bridge built, road repaired, ladder left behind. It means something to someone — player or not — even if it’s only helping them get through the difficulties they’re facing that day.
We have opportunities to choose to do these things, even outside of the game, no matter how small.
I remember the Stranding like it was yesterday. Craters all over, inter-city comms cutting out, distribution networks shot to hell… Wasn’t no local boys to help a feller out no more, let alone feds. Nope. It was every man for his self. Every man who didn’t work for no private courier outfit, that is. Them ones took it upon themselves to keep on delivering the goods folks needed to survive, in spite of the cost, and without hope or expectation of reward – what good’s money that ain’t worth the paper it’s printed on, after all.
Nope, them private operators had to get by on a thank-you here and there and fuck all else. But supplies kept on coming. Sure, a few went MULE on us, but that didn’t seem to faze the rest none. The country fell apart, then the cities, till all that was left holding the world together was them. And they knew it, too. Knew we’d all be screwed without ‘em.
But they didn’t hold it over us. They just kept things moving best they could, for us independents out here and the huddled masses in the cities. Fragile Express and all them others, we owe ‘em a hell of a lot. Bridges, though? Y’all still got a lot to prove.
— The Elder: “Y’all could learn from Fragile Express”
When (or if) The Elder dies in-game, he’ll send you an email, like the one above, titled “So Long, Sam5.” I toyed with pasting it here, instead of the one above, but something about that didn’t feel right. It felt like skipping to the end of a journey I was still walking, and it wouldn’t seem authentic without my choice leading to his death.
That the letter feels… a little cliche. A little heavy-handed in terms of the game’s themes, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s closure, and for good or bad, this is the type of story that benefits from it.
It comes full-circle, and shows we’ve made even a token difference. It makes me want to keep making those differences, both for myself and others.
The game’s servers might turn off one day, and all that “work” will disappear.
But I don’t think it will for me. See you on the next delivery.
You never see other players running around in Death Stranding; when you bring regions into the network, you see their built structures, can use them, and repair/upgrade them.
God help you if you store that pizza vertically. But that’s another story.
“Eventually, someone ran tests on the users of these networks and discovered that receiving a "like" triggered a rush of oxytocin. The theory was that it stemmed from a sense of being acknowledged. Even though you couldn't see the person you were interacting with, it still felt like they were accepting you, praising you. And who wouldn't like that?” https://antifandom.com/deathstranding/wiki/Likes_Secrete_Oxytocin
You get these by playing on “Very Hard”, and delivering parcels with stricter time and damage requirements.