Adios is currently free to keep on Epic Games Store until February 2, 2023.
Potentially triggering content and major spoilers ahead.
The trope “does exactly what it says on the tin” exists for a reason. When I sat down to play Adios, a walking sim from game developer Mischief, I decided to go into it without reading the description — no prior knowledge, no reviews, nothing at all except the name of the game. Still, I should have known from the name alone that Adios was going to tug at my heart strings. I definitely wasn’t prepared for the gut-wrenching tale of love and loss that lay before me.
For the uninitiated, here’s a rundown: In Adios, you play as a pig farmer who’s decided he’s tired of working for the mob. Throughout the course of the game, the farmer has long conversations with his old friend, the hitman who delivers the meat for his pigs each week — sourced, of course, from the dismembered body of one of their victims.
The hitman follows you, the farmer, as you go about your daily chores. The two throw horseshoes, shovel manure, and milk goats. All the while, the hitman tries to convince his old friend not to quit; after all, there’s no “getting out” of the mob. They can’t just let the people who know their inner workings retire and walk free. The protagonist has been working with the mob for years. He already knows that nobody just walks away; it’s a calculated part of his plan. It’s something he has accounted for.
The game eases you into its devastation. You learn bits and pieces at a time, each more heartbreaking than the last, There’s the farmer’s dead dog, buried under one of the last American Chestnut Trees in existence; his status as a Vietnam War vet, and the work he did afterwards to atone for his killings; his wife who waited for him to come home so they could be married, secreted away in a nursing home in her old age just in case she let sensitive info slip; his son’s illness, the reason the farmer took the job in the first place; the distance between the two, caused by the secret that once saved his child’s life.
The story is immaculate, each new piece of information playing its part beautifully in the construction of just why this tragic man makes the decision to die. We learn from a neighbor that he’s been attending church again – the final attempt of a desperate man to get right with his god. He wants nothing more than to see his wife one last time in heaven — and he truly believes that the only way to achieve that is to make a last-ditch attempt at righting all the wrongs he’s done. He speaks of his belief in ghosts, since energy is neither created nor lost, and the necessity of love in any meaningful thing in life, whether it’s a relationship or a hobby.
The environmental storytelling is even better. The only food left in the fridge is the ingredients for his final meal, which you select and cook yourself. His son’s belongings have been packed up for easy removal from the home. There’s no mirror left in the upstairs bathroom; sure, that could be a technique to avoid rendering reflections, but the mirror’s actual hanging brackets are still in place, hinting that it holds greater significance. Several times, you are presented with dialogue options that provide further detail into the farmer’s life, giving us information only he would know about his motives and past events; if you try to select those options, words fail him.
The game wraps up with one of the most devastating sequences of events I can recall in my recent gaming experience: The farmer sits at his dinner table and eats his final meal, his shotgun sitting beside him. He finishes eating, then waits. And waits. And waits some more. The passing time is excruciating, emphasized by the several cuts in the otherwise motionless scene. Finally, his old friend arrives and makes good on his promise; all the while, the shotgun sits on the table, untouched, a reminder that the farmer made the conscious decision to let his life be taken. And, after all that, you’re left there thinking about everything that just happened — because, though the farmer is gone, you yourself still remain.
Adios is a fascinating thought experiment on two parallel experiences: What it’s like to be someone who’s ready to die, and what it’s like to be the person left behind after all is said and done. The game lays out both experiences beautifully in its execution and its aftermath, resulting in complicated feelings that better tie you to human experiences in the real world. Adios’ beauty isn’t in flashy graphics or complicated mechanics; it’s in the way the game invites you to think about the people you love, the secrets they may hide, and why you should love them regardless.
