How Bioshock’s Storytelling Still Resonates in Chaotic Times
The world is on fire, but I needed to find some water. Between inflation, elections, and the general audacity of the world, I needed a mental break. When everything feels like it’s unraveling at the seams, sometimes the best thing to do is return to something familiar—something that once brought you joy. So, in these trying times, I decided to revisit Bioshock, one of my favorite games of all time.
Outside feels like Rapture post-Andrew Ryan, and I needed to go back to where the madness at least made sense. There’s something oddly comforting about a world where the dystopia is so well-crafted, so intentionally chaotic, that you can’t help but be captivated by its beauty and horror. Bioshock ain’t just a game—it’s a philosophy class wrapped in horror and gunfire.
The Art of Intelligent Storytelling
Every time I replay it, I find something new—like rewatching The Wire and catching a bar that flew over my head the first time. Bioshock is proof that video games, when done right, are Black Auntie-level storytellers—they know how to weave history, life lessons, and drama into something unforgettable. This game was ahead of its time, like a preacher dropping gems in the pulpit before the congregation even realizes they needed the message.
It starts with a plane crash, a desperate swim through flaming wreckage, and a lighthouse standing ominously in the middle of the ocean. From the moment you step inside and the doors close behind you, Bioshock does something few games can: it tells a story not just through dialogue, but through the environment itself. The descent into Rapture is baptismal, literally and metaphorically. As the bathysphere sinks below the waves, you’re met with the voice of Andrew Ryan—Rapture’s architect, dictator, and chief gaslighter—delivering his infamous monologue:
“Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? ‘No!’ says the man in Washington, ‘It belongs to the poor.’ ‘No!’ says the man in the Vatican, ‘It belongs to God.’ ‘No!’ says the man in Moscow, ‘It belongs to everyone.’ I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I chose… Rapture.”
And just like that, you’re in it. You’re locked into a world where the ideology of unchecked ambition has rotted into a nightmare.
From its political themes of unfettered capitalism to the illusion of free will, Bioshock delivers a layered narrative that still hits in 2025. The first time I played I was just trying to survive the Splicers, dodging their crazed rants, and swinging wrenches like my life depended on it (because it did). But replaying it now, with a different lens, I see so much more.
The entire game plays with agency and control—who really has power? Who is manipulating who? And of course, the game’s most famous twist: You were never free. Every action you took was under someone else’s command. “Would you kindly?” was never just a polite request. It was a leash.
And that? That’s why Bioshock is different. This ain’t just “bad guys versus good guys.” It’s about ideology, manipulation, and how easy it is to believe we’re in control when, in reality, we’re just following the script someone else wrote.
The Details: A Love Letter to the Little Things
The first time you enter Rapture you’re greeted by the remains of what was once an opulent utopia. The grand marble floors are cracked, the neon signs flicker with half-dead light, and water leaks through every crevice—reminders that this city, no matter how ambitious, was never built to last. Posters litter the walls, advertising Plasmids with the enthusiasm of ‘50s cigarette commercials. Statues of Andrew Ryan stand tall, cracked and crumbling under the weight of his own hubris.
But the real magic of Bioshock is in its storytelling beyond the main plot. You don’t just see Rapture’s decline—you hear it. Through scattered audio logs, the ghosts of Rapture’s past whisper their regrets, their warnings, their madness. You hear a mother crying over her baby, only to realize she’s holding a revolver. You hear a man descend into insanity as he realizes his fortune means nothing in a world with no structure.
Then there are the Splicers themselves—the terrifying, mask-wearing addicts of Adam, the genetic drug that destroyed Rapture. These aren’t just mindless enemies; they used to be people. If you listen closely, you’ll hear them muttering pieces of their past lives—scraps of old conversations, echoes of their former selves. A woman singing to a baby carriage that holds only a revolver. A man rehearsing a speech for a party that will never happen.
The way this game was crafted you know the devs weren’t just making a shooter—they were cooking.
And the Easter eggs? Next level. Did you know if you check Sander Cohen’s apartment after killing him you’ll find him watching a recording of you fighting him—because in his mind, you were just another piece of his “art”? Did you know there’s a secret room with the names of the developers hidden inside? This is the kind of detail that makes a game timeless.
There’s world-building, and then there’s this.
Netflix, Please Don’t Fumble This Bag
Of course, with great games come great Hollywood adaptations, and that’s where my anxiety kicks in. Netflix better put some respect on Bioshock’s name, because if they fumble this like they did Cowboy Bebop (Which I didn’t think was god-awful, but it wasn’t great), I’m writing a formal complaint.
(Editor’s Note: A BioShock movie from director Francis Lawrence was announced in February 2022, but very few updates have emerged since as reported by Collider back in 2023. A recent update from the director this year mentions “that although the budget for the film had been reduced due to restructuring at the company — it would get made.“)
I have one request: Would you kindly not mess this up? If this adaptation turns out bad, I’m packing my bags and heading to Rapture myself. They better not give us a “Budget Halloween City Big Daddy,” or I will riot. And I swear, if they turn this into some half-baked, “inspired by” nonsense with actors who look like they just showed up for the check, I will lose it. This better be a Lupita-in-Us-level performance, not some “I’m just happy to be here” acting.
Bioshock deserves better.
Returning to Rapture, Finding Joy
As I navigate this revisit to Bioshock, I realize it’s more than nostalgia—it’s a reminder of what great storytelling can do. It’s proof that games can be more than mindless entertainment. They can be philosophy, art, history, and warning signs all at once.
For now, I’ll keep revisiting Rapture where, even amidst chaos, there’s at least a sense of intention—something the real world could learn from, especially the powers that be. In a time when control, corruption, and uncertainty feel all too familiar, escaping to a city beneath the sea almost feels…grounding.
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