I completely lost it about midway through. Flat out stopped, unable to muster the will to carry on. Prior to that, I was already so mentally distraught I could barely register 30 consecutive minutes of playtime. Yet, I later managed to push through to the end. Barely. In a way, I became addicted to the thrill, somehow finding myself enjoying that debilitating feeling of dread, the overwhelming anxiety. I knew what was coming, and couldn't bear the thought of opening one more door, or walking down another hallway. Still, I found myself exploring deeper and deeper, in sewers, through dilapidated buildings, outside in the dead of night, uncovering the horrifying mysteries of Mount Massive Asylum. My mental state deteriorating right alongside Miles'. I'm not a horror game expert by any means — my experience only extends to the first two Silent Hill games, as well as Condemned on Xbox 360. (I purchased Amnesia, but have yet to play it.) That said, with my limited exposure, Outlast for me is a special kind of experience. The kind where you scare yourself as much as the game scares you. Granted, Outlast isn't perfect, and many people complained that it became repetitive and predictable. All valid criticisms. But in the five short hours I spent enduring Outlast's terror, never have I played such an engrossing and immersive experience—horror or otherwise.

The Thrill of Being Chased

The part that got me, the reason I had to (briefly) stop, was when I met Dr. Richard "Rick" Trager, one of the Asylum's psychotic doctors who, naturally, was a collector of body parts. After narrowly escaping his imprisonment, I was hiding in a ventilation shaft above a hallway, watching as he scoured for my whereabouts. He had shears of some sort (used earlier to cut off two of my fingers), and was madly muttering to himself, and to me, intent on taking my life. Someone has to lose here, he said. I don't make the rules. After waiting a few moments, thinking the coast was clear, I made my move. In need of an elevator key to progress, I dropped down and ran, my heart pounding through my chest—and that's when the music kicked in, a crescendo of stabbing violins to indicate I was being chased. I looked back, and saw Trager in pursuit, screaming. As I reached the end of the hall, I was blocked by a metal shelving unit, which I had to push aside in order to escape—all the while the good doctor was quickly advancing behind me. I could hear him getting closer as the music continued to swirl. This was the moment, more than any other in Outlast, that I found to be the most tense. It's one thing to face up to your fears, to see a murderous maniac run right toward you. But when your back is turned and you're slowed by a nearly-immoveable object, that's when the game is at its best. You don't know how close your pursuer is—fifteen, ten, five yards. But you can almost feel them closing in. Outlast has an uncanny ability to keep you uncomfortable, from the first moment to the last. The psychology of being chased taps into a very primal human fear. By using darkness and exceptional sound design, Outlast manages to be truly unique and frightening—probably among the scariest. You have no Fight response, just Flight. And that's why meeting the doctor in particular stood out, even more so than the other inmates, or even the game's titular threat, Chris Walker, who looks more like an ex-linebacker/monster from hell.

Improving on the Formula