Repeated failure is a modern kiss of death. There are so many games, so many different types of games that if one breaks the sacred oath between challenge and reward, it’s easy to put it down never think of it again. Roguelikes, named for the comparatively ancient Rogue and embraced recently by the likes of Don’t Starve and Spelunky, buck that specific trend and embrace a merciless challenge. Roguelikes project a focused slice of gaming purity, presenting an adventitious threat against a treasure chest of techniques. You try and you die, but there’s always the lingering belief that next time victory is all but assured.
Galak-Z’s goals are established early. You control a spaceship with access to both lateral planes, and you’re challenged to navigate through open space and into procedurally generated asteroids and derelict bases to locate some deus ex machina at its core. Along the way you’ll hit resistance in the form of three separate factions, two of which harbor and relentless lust for your (and each other’s) blood, and one that will kill the closest applicable party. Pushing through all three and making it back to your base alive is a constant objective.
Levels are called episodes, and five episodes compose a season. Galak-Z ships with four different seasons, with the promise of a fifth to be delivered when the PC version ships later this year. Episode 5 is reserved for a boss battle, but the preceding four episodes aren’t unloaded in any specific order. Instead, a series of rotating objectives are pooled and drawn for each specific season. If you find yourself vanquished over the course of an episode, the season must be restarted (though this can be partly staved off should the player find at least five Crash Coins along their way).
This seems harsh until you consider Galak-Z’s fondness for player empowerment. Dozens of different firing upgrades, defense mechanisms, and movement options can be found in the field or purchased from a vendor. Scouring through each corner of the map also reveals and unlocks blueprints, which instantly create an escalating series of even more potent upgrades. This actually scales well with Galak-Z’s implicit challenge, as you’ll be unlocking higher powered (and more expensive) options are you get deeper into its roster of seasons.
Galak-Z finds definition through structure and ability. Contending with the physics of space, your ship is bound to applied force. This means you can either drift aimlessly in a single direction, or hit your boost and propel yourself elsewhere. Galak-Z looks like a twin stick shooter, but Galak-Z actually defines movement to—forward thruster, rear thruster, boost, curveball-side-thruster—to four different buttons. With offense being assigned to a different button, this seems like a lot to contend with. Like Luftrausers, authored inertia requires constant consideration.
Early on, managing and applying skill is harder than any declared objective. You can move forward and fire, you can move backward and fire forwards. You can temporarily boost in any direction and, with a bit of practice, you can use the side thrusters to effectively circle/strafe around your prey and volley projectiles with reckless abandon. Putting all of this together with any measure of success seems impossible until you can sort thoughts into action, and the process for this may be too high a wall for the impatient or uninterested to clear.
Oh, and you can also turn into a mech at any time. A completely different means of engagement is available, trading laser fire for a chargeable melee attack, disposable missiles for grappling hook, and a brief dodge for a front-facing energy shield. The risk is obvious, getting close to the thing firing at you seems like a great way to get killed, but the rewards are even better. Charging a melee attack has the ability to pummel an enemy into a wall, dealing additional damage. The grappling hook can be used to throw explosives their way, or grab one and launch it into a level hazard.
There’s rarely one solution to any presented problem. Early on I’d swear keeping my ship as a ship was exclusively useful, and that a plasma core (which could set enemies on fire) and dual lasers (which doubled my output) and bouncing fire (which created ricocheting fire) were ideal. Later I’d find better success at operating under observable insanity, sticking to mech-mode, deploying my shield, and charging my enemy before encircling them with a multi-pronged series of melee swipes. If my shields’ depleted and my coveted slivers of health were at risk, I’d hit the boost and seek refuge until they recharged. As soon as they were back, so was I.
I can’t figure out an ideal build or approach because I don’t think one exists; Galak-Z revels in options. Some twenty hours in and I’m convinced upgrading basic movement and boost, both of which enable escape from danger and offensive firepower, are the root of success. But I’m not totally convinced, because upgrading the hell out of your weapons can render your ship a machine of uncompromising death. In either case it can be taken away in an instant—the moment confidence becomes foolishness is usually the same moment you’re obliterated in less than two seconds—as every enemy is capable of wiping you out.
Stealth even seems like a viable option. Upgrading your ship to cut its noise output in half reduces detection from surrounding foes. Snooping around quietly seems like a great idea; if everything can kill you, why bother with the risk? There’s no point in killing things and getting money from upgrades if I don’t need any upgrades. One time I even grappled an asteroid and used it as cover, shielding myself from a parade of enemies as my ship remained unguarded for the precious seconds necessary to exit the level (which totally worked!).
To Galak-Z, developing personal skill is just as important as finding your preferred upgrades. Adding abilities certainly helps your case, but it’s nothing without a steadily improved set of skills to back it up. While Galak-Z’s repeating objectives—destroy these satellites, retrieve this cube, kill these four hulking space bugs—are unabashedly similar, their path of approach is all but linear. The options at your disposal and the unpredictable load-out of opposing forces guarantees dynamic engagement at every turn. There’s always a problem to solve, and no shortage of ways to properly solve it.
Galak-Z may have crumbled without its variable AI. Different classes of ships behave with reliable individuality, and building a mental inventory of their capabilities feels essential to controlling your outcome. I know that Void Raiders only have positional shields, that a certain class of Imperial patrols will retreat if weakened significantly, and that Season 4’s Imperial Cruisers operates and evades with wild unpredictability. Even the huge, hulking mechs execute noticeably different strategies in their attempts to take you down. Mixing all of them together, as expected, is a veritable fireworks display.
While Galak-Z is ultimately driven by its mechanics, there’s a sheen of Macross, Gundam, and even Voltron’s artistry applied to every surface. Witty banter between A-Tak and his commanding officer, Beam, punctuate every mission. Later seasons arrive with the help of General Akamoto, a man high on determination but with little regard for patience or facts. The true stars of Galak-Z are the rich opposition provided in the pirating Void Raiders and resolute Imperial patrols. The Void Raiders, with quips centered on the psychotic embrace of oblivion and constant disregard for personal safety, are also hit—especially when they get cut off by exploding middle of an apocalyptic rant.
The intended level of kitschy cheesiness comes with the territory, but I wish Galak-Z had an option to neutralize its vocal performances. Not only do A-Tak’s quips run out of gas after a few hours, the banter with Beam starts to run dry too. I spent a lot of time in Season 2, and by the end I had practically memorized every piece of dialogue that had been assigned to every mission. Galak-Z subscription to its genre—not to mention the strength of its systems—feels built for a long term investment, and repeatedly hearing a shallow pool of dialogue feels incongruous with its objectives.
Besides, I think Galak-Z says enough with its visual presentation. Space explosions (I can’t figure out a better term for the fluorescent balloons of sharp light that pop out of clobbered ships) are on point, properly echoing the extended animation of their cited inspiration. Likewise, despite the fact that your avatar is considerably small, there’s a lot of detail packed into your ship, and it’s transformation to mech mode even comes with expected transformation-noise sound effects. Galak-Z occasionally runs the risk of exhibiting an Excessive Amount Of Awesome Shit on screen, which can be distracting, although I was usually on the beneficial end of it. Effectively play, as it happens, also looks cool.
Unfortunately my time with Galak-Z was subject to an uncomfortable amount of bugs and glitches. The frame-rate, which is absolutely essential to a game that operates at Galak-Z’s pace, was subject to sporadic bouts of failure; in the heat of battle it would be like I lost time for a second and teleported. Furthermore, I’ve gotten stuck in walls, been subjected to a few hard crashes, and found my transformation button unresponsive (or even delayed) in the heat of battle. It’s fair for Galak-Z to penalize failure with heavy punishment, but getting sent back to the start of a season for no reason is incredibly demoralizing.
With all of that in mind, my desire to immediately restart a season upon any measure of failure never wavered. Counting itself among modern peers like Spelunky, FTL, and The Binding of Isaac, Galak-Z is an exemplary application of roguelike principles. It casually creates dubious odds and makes overcoming them feel like a plausible performance, and its whimsical backdrop and applied influence render Galak-Z exceptional in its adapted space.
