Consider this a spoiler warning. If you haven’t already played Firewatch, I give it my recommendation and suggest knowing as little about it as possible when you start.

There’s a moment about halfway through Firewatch where the game clicked for me. I was sitting in my tower one night, watching a controlled blaze off in the distance, and chatting away with my only companion in the wilderness, Delilah. Only, Delilah’s not there, she’s talking to me through a radio from her own distant fire tower watching that same inferno. She and I have gotten close as the summer dragged on, chatting away about anything we saw, be it significant or otherwise. I’ve grown fond of her. We even make plans to finally meet in person once the summer is over and maybe share a drink or two. And then she casually mentions that every fire is given a name by the firewatchers, and suggests that I do the honors for this one. For a brief moment I consider naming the fire “Delilah”. It’s a gorgeous summer night, with the sky full of stars, and a fire that made it feel like Delilah and I were nestled together at a campsite. Naming the fire after her would have felt right. Sweet, but not saccharine. But then I notice the wedding ring on my finger.

Firewatch puts players in the role of Henry, a man who has come out to the Wyoming wilderness to escape his problems. His wife of many years, Julia, has been suffering from early onset Alzheimer’s. As they are a couple in their late 30s/early 40s, this was an unexpected development that put tremendous strain on their relationship. Things come to a head when Henry is arrested for drunk driving during one of his many late night coping visits to the local bar. Julia’s family whisks her away, feeling that Henry cannot take care of her on his own. But rather than follow and be by his wife’s side, he takes a job as a firewatcher in Shoshone National Forest, far away from anyone.

So, on that beautiful night, secluded away in the majesty that is nature, I had a decision to make. Do I embrace the moment, acknowledging how wonderful it is to spend the summer with Delilah, or do I steadfastly stay true to my wife? The guilt gets to me and I name the fire “Flapjack” after an inside joke that Delilah and I share. It’s friendly and funny, but signals no romantic interest. Crisis averted.

Beneath the gorgeous Olly Moss directed setting and the ultimately underwhelming conspiracy subplot, Firewatch is about a man working through his guilt. Like many of us, he took his vows, promising to be always be there for the person he loved so dearly. And now, he reflects back on his decisions and the impossible scenario he was put in. It’s easy to dismiss Henry as a coward for what he did. What kind of man abandons his partner? How can he be so selfish? But dementia forces us to answer questions we’d rather not confront. It’s a disease that robs people of themselves, of their essence. It’s simpler to think about caring for a spouse who is dying of something like cancer. It’s not easy, but for the most part that person you love is still there with their mind intact throughout. You both are in it together. But with the late stages of dementia, that person is essentially gone. I’d imagine for most long term partners this is a nightmare scenario that they hope will not befall them. But for Henry and Julia, it’s happened, and at a fairly young age to boot. It’s an absolutely hellish fate.

Firewatch’s most brilliant decision was to give the player control only after Henry has made his fateful choice. It firmly establishes that he is a distinct person rather than a simple player avatar. Despite the first person view, stoic Master Chief he is not, and Henry is never shy to assert his opinions. One of the unstated rules in games is that first person is used for player avatars (i.e. Skyrim, Call of Duty, Gone Home) and third person is used for characters (i.e. The Witcher, Max Payne, Mario). This isn’t a hard-and-fast rule, as you can occasionally have chatty first person protagonists. However, they tend not to be as well drawn out as Henry. A good example of this is the fact that Henry is white. Admittedly, as a person of color I tend to notice race in games a fair bit, but for the most part I gloss over the ethnicity of characters. Sure, Gordon Freeman is a white dude on the box cover, but in-game I never see his face and his body is covered in a hazmat suit. It’s easy for me to just picture myself as that character. Alternatively, Lara Croft is white, but she’s her own sketched out character and presented in a third person perspective, so there’s some distance between me and her. But Henry is presented in a first person view, is clearly white from simply looking down, and Delilah even makes a comment on how white he is. To be clear, his race itself doesn’t matter, but what does matter is Campo Santo has crafted him to be a very specific person with his own needs and desires. By doing so, the line between me as the player and Henry as the protagonist becomes wonderfully complex.

As I reflect on that night with Delilah, and how I struggled to decide on a name for the fire, I can’t help but second guess myself. Was my decision to name the fire Flapjack the same one that Henry would have made? When I saw his wedding ring, was I really just looking at my own? Should I even be considering Henry’s wants in this situation, or should I play the angel of his better nature, reminding him of his commitments? The game passes no judgement either way, and it doesn’t seem like the choices made have much effect on the plot. Instead, Firewatch simply gave me a breathtaking view to sit and think. I can’t imagine a better way to spend a summer.