From the Archives: The beating heart of Dishonored

What made Arkane Austin's flagship series so iconic

The following excerpt is the closing statement from a longer piece of writing about my personal picks for the Dishonored trilogy’s five best missions. I first published it in 2019, save for a few formatting changes, I am presenting it here unedited, warts and all.

Dishonored on a fundamental level has always been about the conflict between autonomy and consequence. Your actions are not governed by such folly as good or bad, but rather these more abstract ideas of order and chaos. And while these two dichotomies might seem like surface level changes to a largely similar underlying mechanical construct, the psychology that governs them is wildly different.

For good and bad are not concepts that can really exist in the world of Dunwall, a decrepit, poisoned city suffering two dreadful plagues, one literal, the other metaphorical. Instead, this is a world where noble action can often lead to ignoble outcome, regardless of intention.

Where the choice becomes not about what you feel is morally right or wrong to do, but rather how you the player choose to direct your anger and your cruelty.

One of the series’ biggest contradictions is how it loads you to the gills with incredible tools for destruction but whose use has an incredibly awful affect on the world. The more you stab and maim and shoot the more hostile the environment becomes for both yourself and the citizens of the city.

And this makes perfect sense in a world of great plague and poor sanitation. More bodies mean more rats which in turn means more victims which in turn means greater destabilisation of the world. Your choices don’t end with yourself, they impact the people around you, and just because you’re ultimately on the right side of history, it doesn’t mean that history will necessarily end up seeing you in that light.

Morality is ever present, but it’s not a systemic feature, It’s just...there. Offering questions with no real answers, putting the onus on you the player to decide whether or not you want to play judge, jury and executioner en route to your wider goals.

Asking you whether isolated instances of quiet kindness towards the vulnerable excuse otherwise inherent complicity in a fascist regime. Calculating which punishment worse? Death, or cruel irony.

Dishonored is about choice. About responsibility. That much is clear, but it’s also about the double edged blade of opportunity. Creating pillars of exploration that empower the player to express themselves but recognising that there are many ways the world can express itself in turn. 

Opportunity differs from choice. It is a window where choice is a doorway. It is about offering up information as much as it is options. It’s about placing a gun in your hand but whispering that there may be another way to solve your problem. Giving you an environment, and the means by which to interact with it, but still throwing in a few unexpected secrets along the way.

Key among all of this is tasking the player’s cerebral functions to fill in the gaps. Knowing what they can do but not necessarily how that ripples outward. Leaving them to decide what risks are worth taking.

Opportunity is inviting, it’s a buffet of goodies, where the familiar treats are still nice, but the more elaborate ones might be even nicer. What Dishonored does so well is in how it presents the options at this buffet, and how it dresses up the secret menu beyond. 

This allegory sounded better in my head.

Mechanically divergent, thematically unified. This is the big take away from what has basically ended up becoming a dissertation of sorts: Using systems to bolster story, and story to bolster systems, a symbiotic relationship between the two is integral to the success of these games. Incorporeal elements can elevate an already brilliant game into something sublime. 

Necessary and mandatory are not one in the same in this sense, because while good storytelling isn’t mandatory for Dishonored to function on a mechanical level, I would argue to the death that it is absolutely necessary.

Despite being an immersive sim, an interactive experience based largely on systemic rules, the context matters. The motives matter. Storytelling is such an integral part of what makes these games that without it, they would be little more than an unfinished painting.

Without a heart, all you have is a body, and a body without a heart doesn’t last very long at all.