Which Games Include 'Forced To Be The' Protagonist Storyline?

One game that really stuck with me for its raw portrayal of illness is 'That Dragon, Cancer'. It's an indie title inspired by the developers' real-life experience with their son's battle against cancer. The game isn't about winning or losing; it's a narrative-driven experience that immerses you in the emotional turmoil of watching a child suffer. The sound design alone—whispers of prayers, hospital beeps—made my chest ache. What's powerful is how it doesn't romanticize sickness but shows the mundane horrors: waiting rooms, false hope, and helplessness. Another example is 'Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice', which delves into psychosis. Ninja Theory worked with neuroscientists to depict mental illness accurately. Senua's hallucinations aren't just visual effects; they warp gameplay mechanics, making you question what's real. It's unsettling but important—I finished it feeling like I'd glimpsed someone else's fractured reality. These games don't use illness as cheap drama but as a lens to explore human fragility.

Exploring games with female-led narratives always gets me excited—there's such a rich variety out there! One standout is 'Horizon Zero Dawn,' where Aloy's journey as a hunter in a post-apocalyptic world dominated by robotic creatures is both gripping and emotionally layered. The way her story intertwines with uncovering the mysteries of her own origins feels fresh and empowering. Another gem is 'Life is Strange,' which centers around Max Caulfield's time-manipulation abilities and her bond with Chloe. The game tackles themes like friendship, loss, and choice with a raw authenticity that stays with you long after the credits roll. Then there's 'Bayonetta,' a wild ride of over-the-top action and cheeky humor, with the titular witch owning every scene with her confidence and flair. For something more introspective, 'Gris' offers a wordless, painterly adventure about a girl navigating grief—its artistry alone is worth the experience. And let's not forget classics like 'Metroid,' where Samus Aran set the standard for badass female protagonists decades ago. Each of these games proves that female-driven stories can be as diverse as they are compelling, whether they're about saving the world or finding yourself.

One of my favorite tropes is when a character gets dragged into heroism kicking and screaming—it feels so relatable! 'Shrek' is a classic example; he just wants to live alone in his swamp, but ends up rescuing Fiona and dealing with all that fairy-tale chaos. Then there's 'Megamind,' where the villain accidentally becomes the hero after defeating his rival. It's hilarious how he fumbles through the role at first. Another great pick is 'Kick-Ass.' Dave Lizewski literally decides to become a superhero on a whim, despite having zero training or powers. The movie doesn’t shy away from how brutal and messy that would actually be. And who could forget 'Bruce Almighty'? Jim Carrey’s character is given godly powers as a test, not because he’s chosen for greatness. These stories hit different because they show heroism as something messy, reluctant, or even accidental—not just destiny.

It's fascinating how video games have started to explore more nuanced and diverse character experiences, including those related to ADHD and autism (often referred to as AUDHD in some communities). One game that comes to mind is 'Celeste,' which isn't explicitly about ADHD but resonates deeply with players who struggle with anxiety, self-doubt, and mental health challenges. The protagonist, Madeline, battles her inner demons—literally, in the form of a doppelgänger named 'Badeline'—while climbing a treacherous mountain. The game's themes of perseverance, self-acceptance, and overcoming obstacles strike a chord with many neurodivergent players, even if it wasn't intentionally designed as an ADHD narrative. Another standout is 'Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice,' which delves into psychosis but also touches on sensory overload and altered perception, experiences familiar to many with ADHD or autism. The game's use of binaural audio to simulate intrusive voices creates an immersive, sometimes overwhelming experience that mirrors the hypersensitivity some neurodivergent folks face daily. While not a perfect analogue, it's a bold attempt to portray mental health struggles in a way that feels visceral and real. I’ve heard from friends in the community who found it cathartic, even if it wasn’t labeled as an 'AUDHD story.' Then there’s 'Night in the Woods,' a slice-of-life adventure that follows Mae, a college dropout returning to her hometown. Mae’s erratic behavior, impulsivity, and difficulty focusing hint at possible neurodivergence, though the game never slaps a diagnosis on her. Her struggles with routine, social interactions, and existential dread feel incredibly relatable to those of us who’ve wrestled with similar issues. The writing nails the messy, nonlinear thought processes that can come with ADHD, all wrapped in a cozy, autumnal vibe. Indie games seem to be leading the charge here, maybe because they’re often more personal projects. I’d love to see more AAA titles take on neurodivergent narratives with the same care—imagine an open-world game where the protagonist’s ADHD isn’t a 'flaw' but just part of their lived experience, affecting gameplay in creative ways. Until then, these smaller gems feel like stepping stones toward better representation. Playing them always leaves me with this hopeful itch, like we’re on the cusp of something bigger.

One of the most intense games I've played with a pregnant survival storyline is 'The Last of Us Part II'. Ellie's journey is brutal and emotional, but there's also a subplot involving Mel, a pregnant character who fights alongside the WLF. The game doesn't shy away from the risks and moral dilemmas of pregnancy in a post-apocalyptic world—every decision feels heavy. Another title worth mentioning is 'Frostpunk', where societal survival includes managing pregnant women in a frozen wasteland. The game forces you to make grim choices about resources, and the pregnant population adds another layer of ethical weight. It's not the main focus, but it amplifies the desperation of survival scenarios. I still think about how these games handle vulnerability and resilience in such raw ways.

It's fascinating how video games explore the full spectrum of human emotions, including the darker, more taboo aspects. Some titles deliberately delve into morally ambiguous or even grotesque themes to provoke thought or simply shock the player. Take 'The Witcher 3,' for instance—its world isn’t just about slaying monsters; it’s filled with gritty, uncomfortable choices that reflect humanity’s baser instincts. Then there’s 'Spec Ops: The Line,' which starts as a standard military shooter but gradually peels back layers to reveal the horror of war and the player’s own complicity. Of course, not all games handle these themes with nuance. Some indie titles or horror games like 'Manhunt' or 'Outlast' lean into extreme violence or psychological torment purely for visceral impact. Even mainstream franchises like 'Grand Theft Auto' flirt with excess, satirizing everything from consumerism to criminality. Whether these narratives are 'dirty' depends on perspective—they’re often more about holding a mirror to society than glorifying depravity. Still, it’s wild how games can make you confront things you’d rather ignore.

Betrayal hits differently in games where the protagonist rises from the ashes, and few do it as viscerally as 'The Last of Us Part II'. Ellie's journey isn't just about revenge—it's about grappling with trust shattered by people she once loved. The way the story flips perspectives forces you to confront the gray areas of betrayal, making every fight feel personal. Naughty Dog doesn’t shy away from raw emotion, and Ellie’s resilience, even when she’s emotionally wrecked, sticks with you long after the credits roll. Another gem is 'Nier: Automata'. 2B and 9S’s bond fractures in ways that redefine player empathy. The game’s existential themes amplify the sting of betrayal, but what’s fascinating is how it transforms into something almost poetic. The multiple playthroughs reveal layers of deception, and by the final ending, you’re left questioning who was really wronged. It’s a masterclass in turning pain into narrative fuel without losing the characters’ core strength.

Man, I love stumbling across stories where the protagonist gets shoved into the villain role against their will—it’s such a juicy twist on the usual hero’s journey. One that immediately comes to mind is 'Vicious' by V.E. Schwab, where two former friends end up on opposite sides of morality, but the lines blur so beautifully. Another gem is 'The Young Elites' by Marie Lu, where Adelina’s powers literally mark her as a ‘villain’ in society’s eyes, forcing her down a dark path. It’s fascinating how these narratives explore the idea of choice versus circumstance, making you question who’s really at fault when the system corners someone. Then there’s 'Worm' by Wildbow, a web serial that’s become a cult favorite. Taylor Hebert tries to be a hero but keeps getting misinterpreted or manipulated into villainy, and the way her actions spiral out of control is both heartbreaking and exhilarating. These stories hit different because they’re not about mustache-twirling evil—they’re about people wrestling with labels thrust upon them. Makes me wonder how many ‘villains’ in real life are just folks who never got a fair shot at being anything else.

Games with queer narratives, especially those featuring older gay male characters, are still a niche but growing space. 'Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator' is probably the most famous example—it’s a lighthearted visual novel where you play as a single dad romancing other dads. The writing is witty, and the characters range from sweet to hilariously dramatic. I love how it balances humor with genuine emotional moments, like the subplot about reconciling with your ex. Another one worth checking out is 'The Arcana,' though it’s more of a fantasy romance visual novel. One of the routes involves a charming, older magician named Asra, who has this mysterious, paternal vibe. It’s not explicitly a 'daddy' storyline, but the dynamic might appeal to fans of that trope. For something grittier, 'The Last of Us Part II' has a minor but well-written gay couple, though they’re not central to the plot. I’d kill for more games exploring mature queer relationships with depth.

One of my favorite examples of games with separated protagonists is 'The Last of Us Part II'. The way it shifts between Ellie and Abby creates such a raw, emotional tension that sticks with you long after the credits roll. Ellie's journey is fueled by revenge, while Abby's perspective forces you to confront the gray areas of morality. The dual narratives aren't just a gimmick—they make you question who the real 'villain' is, if there even is one. Another standout is 'Octopath Traveler', where eight distinct characters each have their own storylines that occasionally intersect. It’s like playing through a collection of short stories, each with unique motivations and gameplay quirks. The separation makes their eventual alliances feel earned, though some players wish for deeper crossover moments. Still, the variety keeps the 80-hour journey fresh.