#Subnautica upgrade#

The pulsing beat of the Blood Kelp Zone told me exactly what I needed to know: mainly that I was going to need to Alt + Tab out and look at pictures of puppies for a while when it was done with me. Each biome has, in addition to a very strong visual identity, a music track that cements the mood. Positional audio eventually became my best friend in figuring out what types of creatures were around, and where they were located. Positional audio became my best friend in figuring out what types of creatures were around.All the while, the sense of being submerged is made so much more real by the excellent muted, watery sound effects. Building a scanning room at my seabase was a big help there.

#Subnautica upgrade#

The progression dragged in a couple spots - like when you first get the Seamoth but still can’t access most of the resources needed to upgrade its diving depth. The major turning points are when you unlock the Seamoth, and later the much larger Cyclops, which allow you to reach deeper biomes without being crushed like a tin can and thus access higher-tier resources. The crafting system is robust, if fairly straightforward: you gather resources from the ocean floor to build expansive, modular seabases and unlock new tools. Some of my most memorable moments were running my Cyclops submarine on silent while I tried to navigate a passageway without alerting the sea monster patrolling it.

Awareness, stealth, and distraction are your best tools for survival in the dangerous depths. Your survival knife or the industrial drill on the PRAWN exosuit can make short work of some of the smaller hostiles, but the ocean’s apex predators are practically unkillable. Subnautica further cements its horror credentials by sometimes making you helpless against enemies. One of the most unexpected things about Subnautica is that it’s legitimately terrifying. Wait - did that last one sound closer? As an absolute masochist when it comes to horror, I found these moments delightfully unsettling. Drifting in the open water by moonlight, knowing the sea floor may be hundreds of meters below me and safety is nowhere in sight, all while the echoing wails of massive, predatory leviathans resonate from somewhere in the inky black, never failed to make my heart rate rise.

I’m talking about the kind of fear I feel when playing Amnesia or Outlast. I don’t mean the tension of possibly losing my inventory when being chased by a shark. One of the most unexpected things about Subnautica, in comparison to other games in its genre, is that it’s legitimately terrifying.