Or, more accurately, their echoes are there. You may not see any people in Everybody’s Gone To The Rapture, but they’re there. Of course, neither the music nor the rare ambient noises have anything on the dialogue. For me, at least, it didn’t become long before my responses became almost Pavlovian: the music would begin to swell, and instantly I’d start feeling tense and getting a little choked up because I knew what was coming. Because Everybody’s Gone To The Rapture is such a quiet game, when the orchestral hymns start getting louder, you know you’re about to experience one of the game’s truly affecting moments. There’s something deeply unnerving about walking into an abandoned house and hearing a hum that gets louder the closer you get.Īnd then there’s the music. The few TVs and radios scattered throughout the game’s world are instantly noticeable, of course as soon as one of them is nearby, you’ll know because of the crackling static and that weird, disembodied voice repeating numbers over and over again.
This means, of course, that when you do hear sounds, they tend to stick with you. There aren’t even any birds chirping, because they’ve all died. There are none of the noises you associate with modern life, none of the sounds that most of us unthinkingly relegate to background noise: no cars, no computers, not even any buzzing lights.
That’s the thing that first hits you when you start playing Everybody’s Gone To The Rapture: it’s so quiet. After the last spasm of humanity, after that whimper, the world is silent. Packed suitcases sitting on beds, waiting for…someone. The world ends with a whimper, sure, but there’s more to it than that. Eliot had it partly wrong, at least if you’re going by Everybody’s Gone To The Rapture. Developer: The Chinese Room/SCE Santa Monica Studio
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