31 Days of Horror: SOMA Brings Body Horror on Another Level, and It'll Haunt You Forever

Horror isn’t just a genre; it’s an amalgamation of pop culture, cozy traditions, and things that go bump in the night. This year, we're taking our 31 Days of Horror across the entire cultural spectrum. We’ll be taking a look at movies that scare us, games that kept us paranoid, scary books we cozy up with under blankets, music that sets that spooky tone and seasonal food we’re craving–or strange food you’d have to tie us up and force feed us. Whether you’re looking for something truly terrifying or a cozy autumn haunt,

come back every day this month for a new bite-sized review or spooky adjacent list.

SOMA is Greek for “body” and while it’s an apt title, it’s also a bit ironic, as “body” is something SOMA plays fast and loose with. Taking the mechanics that made Penumbra: Overture and Amnesia: The Dark Descent hits, SOMA stays true to that formula while introducing a whole new level of body horror and existential dread. What makes a person a person? What happens when you copy consciousness? If you haven’t played SOMA, I highly recommend you just go and play it. Minor spoilers follow.

SOMA is a first-person survival horror game in the same vein as Frictional’s other games like Penumbra: Overture and Amnesia: The Dark Descent. There is no combat: you run and hide from enemies. There is also the famous “tactile” feel that Frictional adds. You don’t just open a door, you pull it open. This helps put the player into the world, and therefore, closer to the horror.

 I think that SOMA excels because it uses gameplay mechanics to tell its story and they’re used in a way that’s impactful as part of the story. I’m talking about body swapping–that is, when you have to swap your consciousness from one body to another to progress. Well, more like copy than swap.

In SOMA you play as Simon Jarrett. Dying in 2015, he scans a copy of his brain only to immediately wake up over a century later. Simon finds himself inside a strange, unfamiliar body, stuck on the bottom of the ocean in the ruins of Pathos-II, an underwater research laboratory–and the last remaining place on earth with humanity. At least what little is left of humanity. Simon has to navigate these new horrors while discovering the earth he knew is long destroyed, and his life under the ocean is full of confusing horrors. And to survive, ultimately, he has to choose to switch consciousness from one body to another.

Body swapping in SOMA is done in a way to trick the player. Simon is told by a researcher named Catherine that each swap is basically a 50/50 coin toss–you’ll either find yourself the one who is swapped, or you’ll be the one left behind in the old body. At one point, Simon must "transfer" into a heavy diving suit to survive the abyss.

When the new Simon wakes up, the player immediately takes control of him, leaving the old Simon asleep in the chair. Because the camera—the player's perspective—shifts to the new body, Frictional Games effectively tricks the player into believing the transfer worked. SOMA's mechanics deliberately gaslight the player into sharing Simon's blind denial. The true gut-punch comes moments later, when the game forces you to decide whether to euthanize the old Simon or leave him to eventually wake up completely alone in a locked room.

There are, of course, traditional horror moments in SOMA. But the real horror is knowing you’re just a copy acting out humanity while humans have been wiped out on the surface, while the complex’s AI tries its best to “preserve” humanity by uploading human consciousness into mechanical constructs and mutating corpses–making horrific biomechanical anomalies.

Add to that the crushing depth of the deep, dark ocean and I’ve never played a game that so isolates the player while taking away anything that can make them feel safe. It’s a masterclass in horror, and one of my absolute favorite games ever.

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