Death Wave Full Movie
Karoline Oum
Tsunami your thirst in this limited edition tee designed by tattoo artist Justin Weatherholtz. Legend has it there was once a great tsunami known as the Wave of Death that obliterated thirsts as far as the eye could see. The ancient god of tallboys (Carl) summoned it from the deep, generating a 10,000-foot tall wave made of souls that came crashing down on thirsts everywhere, burying them in a watery grave for 3,000 years.
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This is Springdale, a Cities: Skylines sandbox, as it existed on 2nd March 2036. It's a sprawling hive of commerce and leisure with a population of 135,000 and has all the organs of a functional metropolis: roads, hospitals, shops, universities, and so on. But that population is about to fall precipitously, and all of Springdale's services will grind to an abrupt halt. This city is about to undergo what players call a death wave.
With a single click, we can trace this complaint back to the northeast corner of a district called Prospect Park. Here, a red icon emblazoned with a skull pulses over a residential block. When someone dies in a Skylines city, a nearby cemetery or crematorium should send out a hearse to pick up the body. The red skull symbol shows that the corpse has sat in situ for days, and it's not the only one. On the other side of Springdale, a cadaver in an apartment goes neglected. In a distant suburb, a dead resident rots for the neighbours to smell. These skulls start spreading like flu in winter, popping up all over the map in areas entirely unconnected to each other.
The basic problem is that while the city's morgues can swallow a lot of bodies at a time, they're not made to dispatch whole convoys of hearses at once. Each crematorium has seven cars in the garage, meaning I don't have enough vehicles to transport corpses on this scale. Soon, every block in the region has a few stinking ex-humans sitting in it. Something invisible is culling the population, and it's getting worse. As black vans fill the streets, the traffic slows to a crawl, which only prolongs the collection of the bodies. I demolish shops and homes and construct more morgues in their place, but the citizens are expiring in surging numbers, and the new funeral homes aren't close to keeping up. Worse, every hearse is another four wheels on the street, clogging the concrete arteries.
As the highways and avenues freeze to a standstill, emergency vehicles fail to reach their destinations, and employees struggle to get to work. The population plummets, and everywhere, from hospitals to shops, wave goodbye to the staff that they'd need to keep their heads above water. It incubates all the societal diseases you'd expect. Without adequate healthcare, more people get sick and die. With fewer firefighters, more residents burn to death. With a dwindling police force, more crime occurs.[1] As refuse stops getting picked up, we get pandemics. None of the new dead can be removed from the buildings where they died, and a plague of bodies elsewhere only further spreads germs.
The whole supply chain breaks down. This city is meant to import raw materials for industrial workers to process into goods. Those goods should then get sold by shops. But the materials are not delivered to industrial sectors, fewer secondary labourers are arriving at their jobs, goods are not being driven to retail zones, and retail staff are not showing up to stores. The economy enters a debilitating recession at the same time as governmental costs are rising to get more hearses on the roads. As business revenues shrivel, so does the amount of tax collected, meaning there's less to spend on the city, creating a spiral of decay. Soon, my residents are living in the equivalent of a failed state: A sprawl of endless, impoverished apartment blocks filling with dead bodies and no one coming to help.
There are almost no wholly accurate simulations in video games. We're accustomed to programs like "Flight Simulator", "Farming Simulator", or "Cult Simulator", and yet, all these pieces of software employ skeuomorphism in the sensory and mechanical modelling of their subject matter. There is a discrepancy between the verbiage and aesthetic experience of the simulator game and the mechanisms and aesthetic experiences of the real tasks they represent. Additionally, the underlying mathematical and logical systems behind these pieces of software do not mirror reality. Games, like films, are powerful illusions, illusions more convincing than teleporting your card into the middle of an apple or having the Statue of Liberty disappear. Games create the impression of whole worlds, characters, and systems through only the sliver of them they depict.
That hallucination is possible because we infer conclusions from limited data. When you hear the sound of the rubbish truck outside your house, you don't go to investigate and learn what a rubbish truck is and the sound it makes all over again. You access your existing memory, and you fill in the blank of the rubbish truck based on the sounds you remember. If you see someone checking their watch and then running quickly down the street, you don't have to speculate much about their motivation for moving so fast. You fill in the blank from previous experience: they're late for something.
We need this inductive reasoning to operate in our day-to-day life. Otherwise, we'd be researching everything from scratch each time we encountered it. Media exploits the assumptions we make based on context clues. Film creators only compose what sits inside the frame. However, the frame's contents and the audio that cohabits with them encourage us to imagine whole universes outside the frame that the creators have not constructed in detail.
If we hear a scream from behind an on-screen door, we imagine a person back there, terrified. For a more detailed example, consider a film scene in which one character shoots another. An actor can use a prop gun to fire blanks towards another actor, and an effects team can then detonate squibs on the target to create the impression of bullet impacts before the target actor falls and remains perfectly still. The impression given is of a gun that can fire live ammunition, a round that soared through the air, and then reactions of force and lead poisoning in the victim's body, which caused death.
Of course, none of those objects or phenomena are real, but we made assumptions about systems and technologies based on observations. The film creators don't need to add any of the above "real" elements to the scene. What matters is the audience's perception. If a technically realistic inclusion in the art does not change that perception, it's superfluous to requirements. Part of the practice of TV, films, radio, and video games is knowing what you do and do not need to show your audience to get the impressions you intend.
Video games are a systemic medium, so we cannot just discuss what sights and sounds are perceptible at any one time. Not that video games are just films with mechanics added, but given that most games have us interact with systems, we should pay attention to what games do and don't leave in the systemic frame. What events or mechanisms within our vision suggest which events and mechanisms outside of our view?
If guests come sauntering through our door in PlateUp!, we will assume they travelled from a home, workplace, or place of leisure to get to our restaurant. We imagine they have lives outside of our business that have earned them the capacity to visit our restaurant and that they will take memories of their meal out into the world with them. This is true within the narrative of the game, but in-engine, the guests are spawned just outside the business and will be deleted shortly after leaving.
Or we can look at what a barrel roll in Microsoft Flight Simulator constitutes. The physics for the manoeuvre come across as shockingly real. We can feel a true-to-life sense of momentum, drag, and gravity on the plane as we turn it through 360 degrees of movement. But however realistic the physics of a game feel, they are never immaculate recreations of real-world physics. A complete simulation would require modelling every quantum particle that makes up the world, as well as all the interactions between those particles. It is not only outside of the scope of real-time processing, it's pointless, and is an excellent example of how more realistic systems do not necessarily enrich the user's experience.
Of course, no creator is perfect, and time and resources are never unlimited, so the illusion that media presents us sometimes shatters. In the cases when it does, those hidden elements that create the false reality become apparent to the audience. Sometimes, it's those elements coming to the surface that constitute the fourth wall break. Maybe the viewer of our film can see a camera operator in the corner of a mirror. Perhaps the gun is obviously a cheap prop. The reader of a novel might work out that its timeline is broken so that a character would have to be in two places simultaneously. Here, the strings by which the writer is puppetting their characters become visible.
Just as we must analyse the systemic nature of games when looking at the illusions they create, we must keep the same aspect of them in mind when picking apart how their simulations disintegrate. Because illusions are created both through gameplay systems and technological ones, the shattering of illusions can occur through the failure of either. Technologically, maybe our character falls through the ground, or we see polygons z-fighting. But systemically, maybe someone who is meant to be weak acts as a bullet shield, or an entire city spontaneously drops dead.
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