You can knock out guards and use a putty mold to copy a key, shimmy down walls with a grappling hook, or even impersonate a guard. I haven't done it yet myself, but it can be accomplished, as the developer notes, with "a lot of rope." Taking favors earns you cash and puts you in a fellow inmate’s good graces.Īnd there are so many other possibilities. Gain enough followers, and it’s possible to take over a prison. If they like you enough, you can recruit them and create your very own chain gang to terrorize both prisoners and guards alike. Completing favors for inmates earns you some extra dough to line your pockets with, and-along with handing out gifts or cash-also raises their opinion of you. And just like that, you have an area to store tools and other materials, or even to start a tunnel, safe and secure from prying eyes. Disrupting him on his way to work gets him fired, allowing you to take the job, bust down the wall, and replace it with a poster. Or perhaps, as you walk the grounds during your work station as a gardener, you notice that if you take the job of the tailor (another inmate), you will gain access to a room that shares a wall with an enclosed, empty space. You could swipe plastic spoons and forks from the canteen and use them to dig a tunnel out of your cell. The beauty of The Escapists, however, is that there is no wrong way to go about it. But investigate you must, as every historic breakout needs to start with a plan and a keen understanding of your new home.Įscaping requires cunning, strategy, and proper equipment, and staying at least five steps ahead of your pursuers is essential to securing your freedom. If it reaches 90 percent or more, guards rush you at first sight, batons swinging, rewarding your tangential behavior with some bruises and a swift visit to the infirmary. "Stations, Cam!" The more you push their buttons, the higher the on-screen heat meter rises. "Get to it, Cam!" they shouted at me the moment I was caught meandering through the halls. Deviating from your rigid schedule, getting into fights, or getting caught snooping around another inmate's cell quickly earns the ire of the guards. From the moment the early morning sun touches the prison walls, until it leaves the sky, you are shuffled into your daily stations: roll call, breakfast, work, exercise block, shower, evening meal-all of which, save for roll calls and meals, vary between the game's six prisons. In The Escapists, your task as an inmate is to plot an escape route, all while under the watchful eyes of ever-suspicious prison guards. The guards of HMP Irongate wield short tempers and electric prods. It will take you hours to figure out how to escape your first prison, but if you're tough enough and clever enough to breach the walls, the feeling of triumph accompanying your newfound freedom will completely wash away all the blood, sweat, and tears that paved the way. The Escapists is challenging and tense, but also engaging and deeply enjoyable. But like a beam of hope shining through the damp dirt of an escape tunnel, the tribulation is worth it in the end. Much like the bygone era of video games from which it derives its colorful, pixelated aesthetic, The Escapists is tough and refuses to hold your hand, leading to many hours of trial-and-error experiments as you test the walls of your confines. And though it won't take you 19 years of tunneling through a wall with a rock hammer, The Escapists, a game about escaping prison, doesn't make the monumental task all that easy, either. If history and Hollywood have taught us anything, it's that breaking out of prison isn't exactly a cakewalk. I am a prisoner no longer I am an escapist. I reached that twelfth step, just beyond that accursed concrete barrier, readied a shovel crafted from a sheet of metal and duct tape, looked up, and began to dig-one month to walk 12 steps, but it was worth the wait. That night, as the guards patrolled the darkened corridors, I reached the end of an underground tunnel I spent the last two weeks digging. One, two, three, four…I can't afford to this screw up, not again. From the hole I dug in my cell, covered from sight the majority of the time by my storage desk, to under the prison wall and, at last-one, two, three, four, five, six, a dozen more times-to the fresh air, the singing birds. I must have counted those 12 paces a dozen times, but once more I rattle them off in my head: one, two, three, four, five, six….
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