Walking through the neon-drenched streets of Redrock City in MindsEye, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd been here before. The towering skyscrapers, the flickering streetlights, the distant sound of traffic—it all felt eerily familiar, like a half-remembered dream of Los Santos. But then I tried to steal a car, and nothing happened. I drove through a crowd of pedestrians, and they just kept walking. The police didn't even blink. That's when it hit me: this wasn't a living, breathing world. It was a movie set where all the props were bolted to the floor, and I was the only actor who didn't know the script.
This rigid, almost authoritarian approach to game design reminds me of something completely different yet strangely parallel—the weekly ritual of checking the Super Lotto results here in the Philippines. Every Tuesday and Friday, millions of Filipinos, myself included, hold our breath as we scan those six numbers, hoping against hope that this time, we'll hit the jackpot. There's a peculiar similarity between the predetermined nature of lottery draws and the forced linearity of games like MindsEye. Both create an illusion of possibility while actually offering very little room for deviation. In MindsEye, you're stuck driving from point A to B in a designated vehicle; with the lottery, you're essentially hoping your randomly selected numbers match another set of randomly selected numbers. The outcome is just as predetermined, just as unchangeable.
Let me paint you a clearer picture of what playing MindsEye actually feels like. Remember that mission where you're supposed to chase a rival gang member through the industrial district? The game gives you a specific motorcycle—a sleek, black thing with red accents—and tells you to follow the GPS route. I decided to test the boundaries, as I often do in open-world games. Instead of taking the designated path, I veered off toward the waterfront, curious to see what secrets Redrock might be hiding. Within seconds, my screen started flashing red, and my character began receiving angry radio messages about leaving the mission area. When I ignored them, the mission failed. There was no exploring the docks, no discovering hidden collectibles, no emergent gameplay moments. Just failure. And the worst part? Even if I had managed to break free from the invisible walls, there would have been nothing waiting for me. No side quests, no interesting NPC interactions, not even any consequences for reckless driving. The world doesn't react when you crash into other vehicles or run over pedestrians. The police don't exist as a functioning mechanic. It's all smoke and mirrors.
This brings me back to that weekly anticipation of checking the latest Super Lotto result Philippines today. Much like how MindsEye presents itself as an open-world game while actually being remarkably rigid and linear, the lottery sells us dreams of financial freedom while statistically being nearly impossible to win. The odds of winning the Grand Lotto here in the Philippines are approximately 1 in 42 million, yet every draw, people across the country—from Manila to Mindanao—line up to buy their tickets. I'm no different; I've been playing the same combination of numbers for three years now, convinced that one day, the stars will align. But just as MindsEye's Redrock City is little more than a flimsy backdrop for boring missions, the lottery is often just a temporary escape from financial realities, a brief moment of "what if" before returning to the daily grind.
So what could game developers learn from this comparison? For starters, they should look at why people keep coming back to experiences that offer so little actual freedom. With the lottery, it's the thrill of possibility, however slim. With games like MindsEye, it might be the initial promise of an open world that keeps players engaged for the first few hours. The solution isn't to remove structure entirely but to create systems that reward player agency. Imagine if MindsEye had incorporated a police chase mechanic that escalated based on your actions, or if veering off course sometimes led to discovering hidden side missions that actually impacted the main story. These elements would make the world feel alive rather than like a film set where nothing's real.
From my perspective as someone who's played everything from classic RPGs to mobile gacha games, the most engaging experiences are those that find a balance between guidance and freedom. Games like The Witcher 3 or even the recent Elden Ring prove that you can have a strong narrative while still allowing players to explore and make their own choices. Similarly, while I'll probably keep checking the Super Lotto results every week—old habits die hard—I've started putting that same hopeful energy into more productive ventures, like learning new skills or investing small amounts in local businesses. The lottery might offer a 1 in 42 million chance at sudden wealth, but building something gradually through effort and smart choices? That's a game worth playing, both virtually and in real life. And who knows, maybe one Tuesday, while I'm sipping my morning coffee and scrolling through the latest numbers, fortune will finally smile. But until then, I'd rather spend my time in game worlds that respect my intelligence and reward my curiosity, not ones that force me down a single path with no room for discovery.