You’re seated at the kitchen table, chatting with your mother, sister, and a classmate between bites of spaghetti when a gunshot rings out from somewhere near your house. Are you in danger? It’s possible, but you’ve lived in Englewood all your life and now that you’re 18 years old, you’re relatively used to the disruptive sound of random gunfire. And so you remain seated. “I’m so tired of all these shootings,” your ten-year-old sister, Taylor, says. “It’s like we’re prisoners in our own houses!” “We hear shots all the time,” your mom says, “but we don’t hear police sirens half as much.” Eventually dinner continues as usual, though the mood of the room has darkened considerably.
“Most gamers will say, ‘I need more violence and more action and more things happening,’ but we are trying to go a different direction. To me the interesting stuff comes out of experiencing the discussions people are having [in the game],” Block says. “I think if people are questioning whether or not your game is a game, you’re probably doing something right because you’re pushing boundaries.”
The game’s stark realism also dictates that witnessing acts of violence is a rarity, although the threat of a shooting or other turbulence hangs over the community like a dark cloud. A gun is fired only twice in the four hours it takes to complete We Are Chicago, and the player isn’t directly involved in either instance—though he is jumped and held at gunpoint briefly. Much of the game feels like regular life, which is to say, it’s mostly a chore: Aaron walking his sister to and from school, taking math tests, helping his overworked single mother with chores. A significant portion is devoted to the teen’s time behind the counter of a fast-food restaurant—taking orders, completing transactions at a cash register, and delivering food to customers.
“We have these deep, complex characters instead of stereotypes—it helps to break down the idea that everyone on the south side is violent, a criminal, or lazy and not getting a job,” Block says. “I think putting privileged people in this space makes you identify more and not just say, ‘Hey, why join a gang? Why wouldn’t you just go out and get a job or go to school?’ ”
Proof of video games’ influence on our minds is scant perhaps because walking in someone else’s shoes in a game means pushing a control stick to move a character’s pixelated feet rather than identifying with their attitudes and emotional state. The emotional response evoked by a game is usually more physical than psychological, the result of some kind of a simple external thrill: the giddy rush while leaping across rooftops in Assassin’s Creed or the white-knuckled anxiety that comes from navigating a sharp turn at high speed while behind the wheel of a sports car in Gran Turismo.
