The sound of your partner’s breathing offers no comfort, because she’s going to die one day too.
#Release of tank mechanic simulator simulator
Tank Mechanic Simulator is the video game equivalent of lying awake at 3am, consumed by the knowledge that you are going to die one day. Instead, I sit here holding down the A-button to remove virtual rust from a virtual part of a virtual tank owned by the kind of virtual person who owns a goddamn virtual tank. My partner keeps asking me to do it, and I say I will, but I just don’t. I’ll never get on the property ladder, and I still haven’t mopped up the small pool of water that has gathered in the bottom of my fridge. I don’t have children or a stable career yet. I don’t know the reason why this game should be the thing to provoke a severe attack of The Fear within me, only that it was preordained. In three months at the time of writing, I turn thirty years old. At the risk of sounding like the worst case of main character syndrome you’ve ever encountered, I think Tank Mechanic Simulator was conceived, designed, and released specifically to find me and trigger something of a crisis. Tank Mechanic Simulator is a video game shaped bullet with my name on it. For now, let’s get back to who this bilge is for.
It’s clunky, ugly, and as far from what any rational person could sincerely describe as “fun” as it’s possible to be. It’s not for a wider audience, either, because it lacks any kind of mainstream appeal. This begs the question: who is this for? It’s not for a particular fan base-it lacks any of the gameplay or functionality that simulator audiences enjoy. Upon researching this and adjacent genres, I found that this particular title lacks any of the intricate and involved tinkering that fans of the genre look for. This is the best part of the game, and it suggests that the faceless protagonist and I would get on reasonably well. I own this very same mug, though it’s far more dishwasher worn than this one.
My only respite was the mug to the right of the office PC, which is reminiscent of Twin Peaks’ famous Red Room. I don’t even do things I enjoy for this long. Gameplay-wise, it’s all the same, in that there is none. You can also salvage abandoned tanks, or something. Your eventual reward, should you have managed to keep sharp objects out of your ear thus far, is a short trundle around the most depressing-looking wasteland since Burnley, England before it’s time to start the process over again and request that the doctor up my dosage. It’s never for very long-a matter of seconds, really-but it feels like an eternity. This is followed by navigating hideous menus clearly designed with a mouse and keyboard in mind, and then more waiting.īetween each gun-in-mouth level of tedious action, you must wait a certain amount of time before you can move on to the next one.
Repair and restoration, regardless of the task, takes the form of holding down a button in a particular spot, and waiting for a few seconds. You are to take over the family business of fixing up a variety of historical death machines for clients, who communicate with you via email. Playing as an unseen protagonist, whom I named “BLIMBO, ” you inherit a tank repair workshop from your late father, who presumably died of boredom.
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