BioShock is a FPS video game that came out in 2007, set in an underwater city called Rapture. It was supposed to be a Utopia, a place free from any form of control / regulation, but by the time you (the player) arrive, the whole thing has collapsed into chaos. The game blends action with strong narrative and philosophical themes, especially around free will, power, and the illusion of choice.
It’s my absolute favourite game of all time.
It starts with autonomy, rewards progression, and delivers feedback fast enough to make you feel like you’re the one making moves.
You’re not.
You’re just moving through a pre-written path. Carrying out a mission authored by someone else.
The phrase was simple: “Would you kindly…”
That’s it. The entire illusion hidden in a single line.
Andrew Ryan built Rapture to escape systems.
No oversight.
Just a city of radical individualism, optimized for greatness. But what he created wasn’t freedom, it was entropy, erosion. Even the most brilliant architecture collapses under the weight of its own idealism when there’s no counterbalance, no friction built in
What happens in Rapture is predictable. System degradation masked as self-actualization. People turn into products, and no one stops it, because no one’s accountable.
There’s no one left to say: no.
That’s the risk of a system with no tension. It doesn’t improve. It degrades.
And then there are the Little Sisters.
They’re re-engineered to collect ADAM (it’s a complicated plotline, you can read more about it or play the game yourself). You can rescue them or not, the choice is framed as moral. However, you face a dilemma: optimize or slow yourself down.
This is what happens when people become mechanisms. When care and compassion is removed from the blueprint. When systems are so elegant in their incentives, they make you forget to ask: at what cost?
In Bioshock, no one is evil. They’re just following orders to its logical conclusion.
But here’s the part I hold onto, almost two decades later.
The player notices.
You saw the illusion, felt the tension. You paused, even when the game kept going.
The ones who can see the pattern, and still choose to move with integrity, still choose to protect, those are the ones reshaping what the future can be.
Not by tearing everything down, but by asking better questions. By staying human.
If that’s you, if you’ve felt the weight of broken systems and still choose care, you’re necessary.
The future isn’t built by the loudest voice or the fastest code.
It’s built by the ones who notice, and stay kind anyway.
And that’s the real game now.
“You were born to do great things.” – Bioshock, 2007
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Home » Notes to Self » “Would You Kindly” – A reflection on Bioshock (2007)
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“Would You Kindly” – A reflection on Bioshock (2007)
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We think we’re in control, the system in Bioshock (the video game) lets us believe that.
BioShock is a FPS video game that came out in 2007, set in an underwater city called Rapture. It was supposed to be a Utopia, a place free from any form of control / regulation, but by the time you (the player) arrive, the whole thing has collapsed into chaos. The game blends action with strong narrative and philosophical themes, especially around free will, power, and the illusion of choice.
It’s my absolute favourite game of all time.
It starts with autonomy, rewards progression, and delivers feedback fast enough to make you feel like you’re the one making moves.
You’re not.
You’re just moving through a pre-written path. Carrying out a mission authored by someone else.
The phrase was simple:
“Would you kindly…”
That’s it. The entire illusion hidden in a single line.
Andrew Ryan built Rapture to escape systems.
No oversight.
Just a city of radical individualism, optimized for greatness. But what he created wasn’t freedom, it was entropy, erosion. Even the most brilliant architecture collapses under the weight of its own idealism when there’s no counterbalance, no friction built in
What happens in Rapture is predictable. System degradation masked as self-actualization. People turn into products, and no one stops it, because no one’s accountable.
There’s no one left to say: no.
That’s the risk of a system with no tension. It doesn’t improve. It degrades.
And then there are the Little Sisters.
They’re re-engineered to collect ADAM (it’s a complicated plotline, you can read more about it or play the game yourself). You can rescue them or not, the choice is framed as moral. However, you face a dilemma: optimize or slow yourself down.
This is what happens when people become mechanisms. When care and compassion is removed from the blueprint. When systems are so elegant in their incentives, they make you forget to ask: at what cost?
In Bioshock, no one is evil. They’re just following orders to its logical conclusion.
But here’s the part I hold onto, almost two decades later.
The player notices.
You saw the illusion, felt the tension. You paused, even when the game kept going.
The ones who can see the pattern, and still choose to move with integrity, still choose to protect, those are the ones reshaping what the future can be.
Not by tearing everything down, but by asking better questions. By staying human.
If that’s you, if you’ve felt the weight of broken systems and still choose care, you’re necessary.
The future isn’t built by the loudest voice or the fastest code.
It’s built by the ones who notice, and stay kind anyway.
And that’s the real game now.
“You were born to do great things.” – Bioshock, 2007
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