In 2020, the world went into lockdown as a pandemic changed life as we know it. I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you of that.
Five years is an awkward period of time. It hangs somewhere between only yesterday and ancient history. While some wounds inflicted by COVID-19’s peak have begun to heal, the disease has left permanent scars. You feel it every time two lines pop up on your COVID test even though you could have sworn we had defeated it. You feel it in that lingering fatigue that you’ve been dealing with for years. You feel it in the United States government’s ongoing war on vaccines. You feel it in the empty chairs around the dinner table every holiday. Even if you’re sick of thinking about a pandemic that’s been discussed inside and out, we’ve barely started unpacking the lasting effects of it.
Thanks to the lengthy development cycles of modern video games, that moment emerged in unexpected places in 2025. Several games that were entirely developed during the pandemic launched this year and were clearly shaped by then-current events. Epic RPGs were set against the backdrop of mass death, and isolation was a running theme. These games didn’t just reference the traumatic moment they were created during; they pushed us to think about how we continue to live with it going forward.
This year’s clearest COVID game also happened to be 2025’s biggest. Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 isn’t about a disease, but its pandemic parallels are explicit. Set on the fictional island of Lumière, the story centers around an annual phenomenon in which a glowing number in the sky ticks down, controlled by a mysterious being known as the Paintress. Everyone whose age matches that number is wiped out, dissolved in a cloud of blood-red flower petals. It’s a loaded image that gave the game its instant-classic opening: a sea of happy people just living their lives, gone in an instant.
At least through its first two acts (its polarizing third act pivots into more of a meta commentary on art’s role in grief), Clair Obscur unpacks the long-term pain of that mass tragedy. Its heroes live with PTSD, having watched generations of loved ones vanish. The old are the first victims, but the young won’t be safe for long. There’s a constant anxiety in Lumière as people come to terms with the fact that they’re next. The event, dubbed the Gommage, is a terrifying inevitability that threatens to wipe out humanity. It is up to the survivors to halt it, which is why an expedition is sent out every year to stop the Paintress. It’s a daunting task to take on while grieving the dead and knowing you could be next if nothing changes.
It all evokes images of 2020’s darkest moments, as society struggled to contain the disease while scientists searched for a cure. It was a race against the clock as the death toll only seemed to rise, only to fall and spike even higher later. Some gave up, throwing their masks to the wind prematurely, but so many more made sacrifices for the greater good. They refused to disrespect the dead by giving up. Removed from that moment and released in a more COVID-cynical landscape, Clair Obscur reminds us why it was so important for us to rework our lives for years. We fight for those who come after. The fact that someone could have the luxury to even be “over it” is a testament to a powerful collective effort.
Avowed, one of Obsidian’s two RPGs this year, also reflects on COVID, but it has a very different focus. In its story, the Living Lands — an island realm in Obsidian’s fictional Eora, which serves as the setting for its Pillars of Eternity games — are stricken by a pandemic. A disease called the Dreamscourage has taken root, corrupting living things and turning them into fungi-infested monsters. The dynamics of the world here are similar to those we saw in our own circa 2020. Some are terrified and living in isolation. Others refuse to see it as a big deal. No one can come to an agreement on just how seriously they should be taking the threat.
It’s amid all those social politics that the story’s real subject emerges. A powerful political group known as the Steel Garrote seizes on the uncertainty. Led by Inquisitor Lödwyn, the Steel Garrote marches into the Living Lands and tries to take control of the chaos. It’s not an altruistic pursuit. They’re a ruthless, authoritarian regime that smells blood in the water. They see an opportunity to prey on a weak society and impose fascist rule under the guise of order. Your character’s fight isn’t just against the Dreamscourge; it’s against the people who seek to capitalize on that crisis for political gain.
You can draw some parallels to the real political struggles that circled — and still circle — the pandemic. Even today, the United States government continues to prey on the aftermath of the social isolation era to push a full-scale assault on public health. Avowed talks about this in pandemic terms, but what it says is broadly applicable to all sorts of crises. I’m transported back to the immediate wake of September 11, where the Bush administration used public fear at the time to institute stronger surveillance on the American people and to launch a war for oil in the Middle East under the smokescreen of justice. In all of its high fantasy action, there’s a grounded reminder that political institutions will always try to turn collective trauma into a power play. You always have to keep your guard up so as not to cede any ground to authoritarianism in a moment of weakness.
Other games reflected on the pandemic in more abstract terms. At a glance, Double Fine’s Keeper doesn’t seem like it has much to say about COVID. It’s a meditative little game about a sentient lighthouse traveling a quiet and colorful world with a bird companion. But the project was directly inspired by the social isolation years. Earlier this year, Keeper project lead Lee Petty told Polygon that the idea for the game came during a time where all he could do was go hiking. That left him imagining what a world with no people would look like.
Keeper visualizes that future in striking fashion. It takes place in a serene world, where nature has reclaimed the planet in the absence of humans. Animals rule the Earth and inanimate objects have been dormant for so long that they’ve gained sentience. With only minimal interaction and puzzle solving to do, Keeper asks you to simply soak in the landscapes. You’re left to admire the natural beauty of the world, listen to its songs, and find your place among it all.
Playing it, I’m brought back to the rare walks I’d take during the height of lockdown. The always-busy Brooklyn turned into a ghost town; I’d rarely even see another person. It was haunting, but oddly calming at times too. The silences were filled in by birds. They yapped away, perhaps more relaxed with less bodies around to be wary of. Though I lived in fear at the time, I found peace in those moments. It was a reminder that life always continues to find a way. Even if humans disappeared, the natural world would find a way to rebuild, and maybe even create something better. Maybe we could too once we were out of this, I hoped.
All three of these games, and more, approached the world in which they were made with similar optimism. They held space for grief and were attentive to the forces that sought to capitalize on it, but they all imagined a future worth saving. 2025 was as pitch black as they come with its onslaught of current events, but games reminded us that we don’t have to give up in times of crisis. We can build a better world, so long as we’re willing to stand by one another and fight for those who come after.
