
The narrative in AI War wasn’t written first. It came from a design problem: how do four humans survive against overwhelming AI forces without breaking suspension of disbelief? The answer: the AI doesn’t care. Humanity is beneath notice while it’s busy with bigger wars. That framing made asymmetry believable and gave players the Ender Wiggin/Rambo vibe Chris wanted.

Instead of hostile aggression, the AI channels the Borg—threatening because it barely notices you. That indifference creates tension. You’re free to poke at it, but every move risks drawing its overwhelming attention. It’s insult and opportunity rolled into one, which players instinctively turn into their own stories.

Chris argues that abstraction lets players build richer stories than hyper-realism. He cites Luigi’s “death stare” in Mario Kart: nothing is coded, yet players invent motive and personality. Strategy AI works the same way. When it surprises you, you supply the intent—tactical brilliance, cunning, even pettiness.

From 2009–2014, YouTube critics like Total Biscuit gave indie games unprecedented reach. His WTF Is… series became a pipeline to sustainable sales. Chris contrasts TB’s professional distance with Tom Chick’s more personal style: both had integrity, but TB helped invent a new influencer ethics model that shaped modern coverage.

Total Biscuit’s animated Biscuit Federation shorts (based on The Last Federation) became Chris’s “Boat Murdered moment”—when players make stories so strong they spread beyond the game. That kind of emergent storytelling can’t be manufactured; it’s the side effect of good systemic design.

Early on, Chris guarded his games like proof of competence. Over time he shifted to a collaborative model, with community members not just suggesting ideas but contributing fixes, features, even code. The challenge is filtering input: keep what strengthens the vision, reject what changes the project into something else.

He points to Factorio as an example of deep community integration—opening code access to trusted contributors while maintaining developer authority. It’s a balance: invite expertise without losing coherence.

Every player’s run is canon—just in a different branch of the multiverse. This solves the problem of conflicting story outcomes while justifying wildly different playthroughs. It also opens doors for continuity across games: like the immortal hydra character who spans The Last Federation and Starward Rogue.

Interactive fiction needs tighter logic than books or movies. Players test systems relentlessly, so time travel in Heart of the Machine had to withstand edge-case probing. Technical and design limits don’t weaken stories—they force stronger narrative rules.

Chris describes the shift from insecure authorship to confident collaboration. Early defensiveness gives way to humility: knowing your core vision, but welcoming contributions that improve it. Too much control stifles; too little creates incoherence. The art is holding the line where it matters.

Instead of chasing blockbusters, Chris sees survival in cultivating loyal audiences and working with niche-focused publishers like Hooded Horse. Mainstream appeal isn’t the goal; consistent depth and community relationships are. That’s the foundation for long-term indie viability.
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