There comes a point in the journey when you’re thinking to yourself ‘hang on, I didn’t think it’d take this f**king long’.
The roads just keep coming, and with them space between A and B where things can get in the way of you getting from A to B. This would be fine, if you knew what you were doing, but, annoyingly, you’re a borderline useless twerp still trying to recover from acne. And, worst of all, your ego’s not quite big enough to consider somehow convincing you that’s not the case.
This is your life in Keep Driving, an RPG where your goal is to get to your mate’s house in your crappy motor so you can play a game on a little cartridge, because there are retro vibes going on within the thing. This was my life, a number of years ago, when I decided to go for a drive to a reservoir on my own in a Ford Fiesta my grandad helped me buy.
As you do in Keep Driving, I faced more obstacles than I’d planned for that day, after telling my dad I was off out to read a bit of whatever philosophical drivel I was pretending to not find a bit hard going at that point by the side of a body of water I’d heard was quite scenic. The main one was that I didn’t actually have a concept of how long the trip there and back would be. Sure, I’d gotten up the directions on Google Maps, seen the distance indicated by the little blue line, seen the estimate of how long it’d take, but none of it had really sunk in.
In this way, I’m a bit different to the nameless protagonist of Keep Driving, who – in true Dominic Toretto fashion – plans out their journeys one stretch of road at a time. What do you need most in terms of the amenities available at each little pitstop, from corner shops, to garages, to places you can take on odd jobs for a bit of pocket money? How much gas is left in the car’s tank? How much of the car itself is left? All of it’s in a constant state of flux, along with your character’s general state.
Sometimes they’re hungry, sometimes they’re cold, sometimes they’re inspired. Sometimes they need to be cleaned up with a bit of toilet paper, so the gang of hitchhikers they’ve picked up in their travels don’t start complaining about the dreaded smell.
Life moves as you do, and is made all the more interesting by the fact that on every stretch of road, you’ve got to battle two or three obstacles in turn-based combat. Everyone’s big and tough until they and their ride get roughed up by a puddle, or some vaguely defined lanes, or a tractor they need to overtake.
In the wonderfully surreal back-and-forths between the abilities you and your hitchhikers have unlocked and the threats to your energy, car durability and fuel usage that’re being pinged at you, there’s something that hits home for anyone who’s been an inexperienced driver. Just like they were on your test, each little event you run into on the road isn’t just something you can breeze through, as someone with more experience behind the wheel inevitably would.
They’re a matter of life and the death that is a breakdown that’ll result in you having to choose between dire options like running to the next town on foot for petrol or a risky call to your parents that’ll result in a game over if they don’t like you enough to pick up.
To help deal with them, you fill your motor up with a bunch of stuff. A grotty little survival kit to call on in moments of personal weakness or when this crappy saloon you’ve spray painted black, added a turbo to, and slapped a decal of some flames on decides to get its knickers in a twist and chuck on a warning light. A toolbox, a case of beer, a pizza, headache tablets,a bar of soap, a trumpet, a baggie of coke or weed you bought from a shady miscreant in a hoodie, it all forms this sea that gently laps away at the shores of your boot and rear footwells, an ever-eroding and replenishing soup around some transient dumplings that’re all going somewhere, just about.
Unlike me, in my real world quest to get to that reservoir on the kind of random summer whim that the idleness of someone struggling to actually kick on into adulthood inevitably brings, Keep Driving gives you about three days to get to your mate’s house and start playing the game you’re conveying like one of the wise men from the Bible.
If you’re anything like me, you’ll finish your first run through of this Steam Next Fest demo, and immediately go back for more. Those roads, they just keep on coming.