Vampyr

Jonathan Reid is a former medical doctor and newly-minted vampire. He’s torn between his fresh biological imperative to feed on blood and his crumbling oath to not murder human beings. You are the person playing Reid in Vampyr, an action role-playing game where blood is experience points and experience points enable marvelous action. Forcing Reid into unconscionable homicide births a warrior but ruins the man. This is quite a pickle.

Vampyr has more on its mind than its modest appearance may indicate. Contained in its 25-35 hour narrative are over fifty unique citizens of London, each with their own interconnected dilemmas, optional objectives, and myriad of dialogue. Roaming between their four districts are aggressively outfitted vampire hunters and other very angry, feral creatures. Within both of them are dozens of light and heavy weapons, rudimentary guns, and a combat system that is despairingly infatuated with Dark Souls. As its title might imply, Vampyr is also earnestly devoted to chasing vampire folklore.

Vampyr’s backdrop is constructed to facilitate its network of ideas. The 1918 Spanish flu pandemic that killed tens of millions of people has stricken the dank streets of London. This explains the disheveled state of the city and the prevalent fear and chaos of its populace. Reid can only prowl the streets at night, neatly excusing most of the remaining citizens indoors and justifying the menacing ghouls who seek to oppose him. Believing in Vampyr’s world is only slightly more difficult than believing in vampires. Once you’re on board it’s easy hear terms like “ekon” and “skal” in natural language while keeping a straight face.

Vampire folklore has been twisted to suit a variety of campy and maudlin applications over the last decade, but Vampyr prefers to play it straight. Reid, already a grizzled veteran of The Great War, is haunted by the concept of feeding off of blood. His breed of vampires, ekons, are seemingly more conscious and pure than their mindless and dirty lessers, the skals. The Guard of Priwen are sworn to neutralize any breed of vampire, which occasionally results in three-way battles on the streets of London. Politics among other vampires, Reid’s relationship with the Priwen Guard, and his own desire to solve vampirism’s epidemic drive his will across Vampyr’s narrative.

A lot of Vampyr’s time can be spent chatting up the locals. Each of London’s four districts is loaded with characters. The Pembroke Hospital, where Reid is generously employed by vampire researcher Dr. Swansea, is loaded with confused physicians, delusional patients, and predictably sick people. The Docks and Whitechapel are evenly matched with unscrupulous grifters, scared elders, and disaffected youths. The affluent West End, however, still clutches to the norms of high society while pretending everything is fine.

Speaking with citizens reveals a selection of dialogue options. Sometimes these conversations prompt short quests, typically necessitating Reid travel to a dangerous location to acquire an item. Further conversations can be exhausted for all they’re worth, but occasionally Reid will have to reply with a definitive statement. If you listened and told the person what they wanted to hear, this will unlock further conversation options. Those conversations better connect characters together and, usually, result in Reid receiving a pittance of shillings or access to items and weapons.

Reid can also eat people. He can eat anyone. Unlocking conversation options increases a citizen’s worth to his or her district. This is measured in their blood quality, which is experience points in the eyes of of our vampire Dr. Reid. If you’ve gotten your mesmerize ability high enough, a feat accomplished by keeping a district healthy and curing citizens when they’re sick (and they’re always getting sick), you have the option of taking anyone to a secluded place and feasting on their blood. This kills them and almost always elicits a horribly depressing comment as they exit Vampyr’s narrative.

The dilemma of murdering the local populace is exacerbated by its ridiculous yield of experience points. Taking out the Priwen Guard or skals nets single-digit points, if any. Completing sidequests nets a few hundred. Story related events, like bringing down scripted bosses or complete key objectives, might get up to one thousand. Killing a fully developed citizen, on the other hand, can be worth like four thousand points. This is a heaping sum of potential that could allow the player to unlock abilities and wreak havoc on anyone who stands in their way.

Vampyr makes it extremely challenging for Reid to remain a civil pacifist. Reid’s desire for blood mirrors the player’s temptation to expand their combat prowess. Denying either is an exercise in self-control. I chose to play Vampyr without killing anyone and I was perpetually five-to-ten levels below my opponents roaming the streets. While it’s not impossible—upgrading weapons can help close the gap—there were about a half-dozen instances where I was sorely missing additional health, stamina, or better abilities. It’s an accomplishment that Vampyr is able to link the player’s plight to its protagonist without relying on some arbitrary mechanic. It’s hard for a reason.

Of course, Reid can kill dangerous and nameless opponents without moral penalty. Vampyr’s combat is organized around three distinct meters. Health is obviously health, Stamina governs melee attacks and dodging, and Blood effectively serves as a mana bar. Following Dark Souls’ model, Reid locks-on to an enemy and circles in and out of their attack range, choosing when and where to take shots and expend Stamina. Priwen Guards fire stamina-draining gas, swipe furiously with torches, and threaten any number of guns and edged weapons. Skal’s are melee specialists and, later down the line, excel at draining Reid’s Blood and Stamina meters. Rogue vampires are a fast-acting blend of the two with stun-locking abilities. Mixing all three together creates a level of hostility that increases as Vampyr unfolds.

Light crafting elements add another layer to Vampyr’s tapestry. The refuse of London is rich with handle pieces, screws, and lead plates to enhance weapons and guns. Inside trash cans or discarded boxes are a litany of discarded chemicals. Reid uses the former to enhance his weapons and the latter to heal the various ailments (headache, cold, fatigue) developed by the poor citizens of London. Fallen enemies almost always cough up a mixture of the two. In my time with Vampyr I always had more crafting materials than I knew what to do with, revealing artificial gates that didn’t release essential weapon-upgrade components until a part of the story had passed. Crafting is there but it’s difficult to say it has a material impact on enjoying Vampyr.

Blood is where Vampyr’s combat attempts to perform its flourish. Certain abilities, like Claws for melee attacks or Bloodspear for ranged attacks, drain the Blood meter as if it were stamina. Others, like the Blood Barrier that creates a shield or Coagulation that briefly freezes enemies, rely on cooldown timers to refresh. Experience points are invested to boost the effect of Blood abilities, along with traditional outlets like Health and Stamina. When I finished Vampyr at level 25, there were still a considerable amount of abilities I never bothered unlocking. As a pacifist I never had enough experience to invest beyond the basics.

The balance between Blood and Health fuels Vampyr’s tension. Autophagy, your only mandatory skill, unlocks Reid’s ability to consume Blood and restore his Health. Every single enemy in the game also has a stun meter that, when depleted, allows Reid to bite them and drain their blood. Bite and Autophagy are both enhanced with experience and naturally support Reid’s vampiric obligations. It all builds into a dangerous cycle of risk and reward, and helps provide Vampyr with an identity beyond its obvious inspiration.

Vampyr’s aspiration for open-ended combat falls prey to its lack of viable options. Early on I found a giant, two-handed club that I upgraded and used for the rest of the game. Certain enemy classes were resistant to it (and more vulnerable to Blood attacks of gunfire) but, even as under-leveled as I was, repeated bludgeoning fools never stopped being my most effective path forward. Sometimes I would switch to a shotgun or a blood-drawing dagger, but it never felt necessary. The enemy designs—scared men wildly waving torches and frocked priests melting stamina with their crosses—are effective, but their practical application favors quantity over quality. Unless you’re caught against a wall it’s pretty easy to isolate and dispose everyone one of them.

At the same time, progression through Vampyr may be open to any manner of direct or indirect assault. Someone trying for a pacifist run may invest in the more fruitless Blood abilities or stick with a fast-acting, low-damage weapon. On the opposite side of the spectrum, feasting upon citizens would render the least-skilled player a veritable god. Vampyr’s link between narrative and combat creates a sharp edge on a steep ledge, poking those whom, through no fault of their own, are just reaching out for a grip. It’s the inevitable result of ambition catching up with reality; Vampyr’s not going to connect for everyone. Nevertheless, it pushes forward.

Certain elements of Vampyr are tied to Reid’s need to sleep. Experience is acquired and banked until Reid finds a bed at a hideout or at Pembroke. Upon sleeping you can spend it experience as you please, but this also resets the invisible afflictions of London’s populace. People will catch colds, become fatigued, or develop migraines. Upon waking up it’s usually a good idea to concoct remedies and, as a good doctor, make your rounds. Failure to do so deteriorates districts and leads them to ruin. While this reinforces Reid’s responsibility to society, it feels like idle maintenance and busywork. I get why it’s there, but nothing compels me to complete it other than checking off a box.

In its power to construct a clockwork world, Vampyr essentially runs an A and a B plot. Progression, the A plot, is measured by Reid’s research into his own vampirism and its hold on London’s decaying streets. The four districts and their citizens, and the tenuous connections between them, can either thrive or go to complete hell without injuring the main plot. Losing a district to disease, disinterest, or eating everyone there sucks but can be written off as collateral damage. Vampyr gives the player a satisfying level of control over the governance of these areas without affecting their ability to push forward with its story.

After I finished a clean run of Vampyr I copied and loaded an older save file from a few hours back. I wanted to see what would happen if Reid mesmerized and murdered the London citizens he had spent the entire game trying to help. When I killed Sabrina, the barmaid at Tom’s bar in Whitechapel, Tom was despondent and standoffish. I killed Tom, too. After I murdered Pippa in Pembroke, her clandestine partner Milton, the ambulance driver, tearfully said he was the only one to attend her funeral. Other conversation options, presumably unavailable through any other means, suddenly became accessible with characters who were still among the living. In some cases eliminating a person actually made things in a district better for living residents. Reid’s humanity is forfeit, but, as a pure mechanism, murder unlocks more detail behind Vampyr’s world.

I was unprepared for how rotten I would feel after taking the lives of citizens. Reid’s report with people leads to a sense of familiarity and, often, empathy with their condition. There are few saints in London, but many people are genuinely trying to make the best of it. I murdered an old woman in her own home and her dying words were a gracious reflection on her own life. I felt terrible. In the West End I killed Venus Crossley, one of Reid’s neighbors and wife to one of his good friends. As she died she was incredulous, remorsefully stating “Jonathon, I danced with you at my wedding…” This destroyed me. I had to take a break from the game. A cynic could read these lines as dull epitaphs designed to make the player feel horrible, but each one profoundly affected how I perceived my actions. Vampyr sells its characters well, and destroying their bonds with Reid (and each other) framed a sense of guilt I don’t often receive from a videogame.

While technically optional, Vampyr’s all-in ledge to character and dialogue can trouble its pacing. Progressing through each person’s dialogue tree can require up to five minutes of listening to them converse with Reid. Multiply that by fifty people and Vampyr is left with a lot of wait-and-listen sessions. Generally the writing is strong enough to support its time and create morally grey conflict, but its frequency may be seen as a negative if you’re playing Vampyr for its action. By the time I got to the West End even I was slightly incredulous by a fourth round of finding people, talking to people, and scouring the city to solve their problems. I admire the dedication but also recognize its inefficiency.

Vampyr’s technical presentation plays on the wrong side of foreboding. Coming from Detroit: Become Human and God of War, Vampyr’s opening sequence arrives with the oh shit realization that not every game can be the best looking game ever made. Sustained exposure normalizes its technical limitations, but a first-impression with Vampyr, compared to other $60 products, can’t match its competition. There’s nothing wrong with this! But it projects a level of quality and commitment that Vampyr readily exceeds. There’s more going on with Vampyr than its modest visual presentation indicates.

Less forgivable is Vampyr’s inconsistent performance. On a PlayStation 4 Pro, Vampyr produced nearly two dozen instances where it would completely freeze for up to a minute at a time. It only fully crashed once, but this was weird! Later, after the day 1 patch, Vampyr would deliver a “loading” icon in the bottom right corner, seemingly at random. Coupled with load times that already border on ridiculous (especially after repeatedly failing at boss fights) and you’re left wondering why any of this is like this.

Olivier Deriviere’s orchestral soundtrack provides effective cover for most of Vampyr’s shortcomings. The strings and piano issued when returning to Pembroke Hospital provide a warm welcome from a hostile night away. On the other side, the stirring moans and desperate chanting that come alive with Reid’s bloodlust make his greed feel wretched and deplorable. The West End, Vampyr’s wealthy district, comes with a surprise injection of synths to complement its opulent affluence. Deriviere’s work with Dontnod on Remember Me and Life is Strange cast him as one of the more prolific and diversely talented artists in the business.

It’s as easy to understand someone pledging their undying affection for Vampyr as it is another person throwing it out the window. Its take on combat and narrative feel dangerous in a time when many of its peers are playing it safe, and its shortcomings feel like acceptable sacrifices to its lofty objectives. Depending on your admiration (and patience) for its rampant ambition, Vampyr is either an unassuming action game or a garrulous gothic network of austere vampire folklore.