10 years later, there’s still nothing like Journey’s multiplayer

theverge.com:

I’ll never forget the first time I played Journey.

Throughout the game, real-life players can join you on your quest toward a mountain on the horizon. Players can fade in and out of your adventure — maybe they want to go faster than you, maybe they just quit — but in the latter half of my game, I had found somebody who stuck with me. Journey has no voice or text chat and no names identifying other players you meet. The only way we could communicate was through our movements, sticking close together to refill each other’s energy, and singsong chirps. Despite those limitations, we built a rapport.

Near the end of Journey, you have to scale the mountain, and as you approach the peak, you get caught in a storm. Much of the game is filled with sunlight, flight, and joyful music, but the mountain is gray, winds buffet your character, and the music is, at times, uncomfortable. Even though the level was draining, I was happy that I had my companion, and we huddled together as we marched toward the peak.

Eventually, the music fades out, and you can only hear your footsteps trudging ever more slowly through the elements. Then, as the game grew silent, my friend collapsed into the snow. I actually cried out in dismay. Then my character fell over, too, and the screen faded to white.

In many video games, you die a lot. That was the only time a virtual death has made me feel like I had actually lost a friend.

Fortunately, that’s not actually the end. In a cutscene, I was revived soon after I fell, and then, in an exuberant celebration of color and music that’s perhaps my favorite video game “level” of all time, soared toward the top of the mountain — with my once-fallen friend flying alongside me.

Journey turns 10 years old today,