Amnesia has always been one of the more epistolary franchises out there, consigning a great deal of its storytelling to letter correspondences and fragmented journal entries.
By now, it’s an essential part of the series’ DNA. You are typically isolated in these games and often have to make sense of macabre events that transpired long ago. And when there’s no one around to explain what the hell is going on, the written word becomes your only dependable source of answers.
The latest instalment in the saga, titled The Bunker, is no exception in this regard. Once again, you are thrust into a bewildering scenario wherein most of the principal characters have already kicked the bucket before you arrive, and the inciting incident happened while you were comatose.
On this particular occasion, you take on the role of a French private (stationed on the front lines in World War 1) who recently took a nasty bump to the head when German artillery started raining down from the heavens. Upon waking, you find yourself trapped in a subterranean network of tunnels and discover that your entire platoon has been wiped out by some kind of troglomorphic creature. One that’s now lurking in the shadows and ready to take its next victim.
After hatching an escape plan — that involves retrieving a stick of dynamite, as well as the apparatus necessary for detonating it — you must then brave the labyrinthine and gore-soaked corridors of this bunker. Along the way, you’ll be sidestepping booby traps that have been assembled by your fellow servicemen, warding off an infestation of peckish rodents, outwitting the ferocious monster that’s breathing down your neck, and trying to figure out how everything got so FUBAR.
On that last note, developer Frictional Games has doubled-down on the literary nature of Amnesia for this sequel. Not only have they relegated key plot points to various diaries, situation reports and heart-wrenching letters from the trenches, but the collectable documents are also used to catch you up to speed with the overhauled mechanics.
As such, this is one horror title where you really can’t afford to skip the assigned reading and need to keep your eyes peeled for every last scrap of paper. Otherwise, you’re going to be totally lost.
With that said, let’s take a look at the most interesting, revealing and creative examples of Dread Notes from Amnesia: The Bunker.
Amnesia Cause
Likely one of the very first documents that you’ll come across, this report from the infirmary gives you the lowdown on your avatar’s cognitive state, apprises you of the ongoing war effort, and offers a vague hypothesis for why you can’t remember a damn thing (other than that it’s a prerequisite for being the lead in an Amnesia outing).
The note is very economically composed in terms of how it articulates all of this information to you. Which makes sense on a diegetic level, given that it was probably scribbled down in haste by a beleaguered medic.
Indeed, with a very formal register and succinct phrasing — in sharp contrast to the more elegiac prose left behind by other characters — Dr. Josinski’s missive cuts straight to the point. Telling you everything you need to know in under 70 words, its opening passage reads:
“Soldat Clément admitted to medical treatment following events of 9 July. Personal effects held in the storage locker.
“Patient remains in weak coma state. Will respond to stimuli but only for brief period of time. When last roused, he reported no memory of recent events, had trouble recalling even his own name. Most likely due to severity of initial head trauma.”
In addition to suggesting a possible objective for you to pursue right at the start of the campaign (to retrieve Clément’s belongings and unearth more about him), the document also helps ease you into The Bunker’s world. It sets the stage for the narrative, justifies the game’s title and even makes clever use of the Translation Convention — incorporating French vocab like “Soldat” — so that you gradually adjust to the idea that the text is really in another language, but has been converted into English for our sake. It’s a lot for a single note to convey, yet it gets the job done with real efficiency so that we can just get on with the frights.
Clément Diary
Should you follow the tip in that aforementioned patient record, you’ll eventually unlock Clément’s locker. And it’s here that you’ll find a journal entry laying bare his terrible secret. Such as it.
You see, while the protagonists of earlier Amnesia titles have harboured much darker pasts and been forced to wrestle with their own culpability in awful tragedies, Clément’s transgression is relatively trivial. He swindled one of his buddies in a game of chance and put their life in jeopardy, but it wasn’t done out of any malice. Rather, it was just a dumb prank that spiralled way out of control.
Yet he is still racked with guilt all the same, as evidenced by the fact that he penned this feverish confession.
The diary narrates how, one evening, a superior officer commanded that either Clément or his pal, Augustin Lambert, scout out no man’s land. Given that neither of them was willing to volunteer for this duty, the pair decided to draw straws. However, our “hero” rigged the odds in his favour with a devious sleight of hand trick, thereby guaranteeing that Augustin would be the one to venture out of the trenches come nightfall.
Suffice it to say, this betrayal has much larger repercussions for the story — and ties in with the abomination that’s currently prowling the bunker — yet it’d be harsh to lay the blame squarely at Clément’s feet. Although he does bear some responsibility, there was no way of foreseeing the disastrous consequences of his actions here.
Whereas The Dark Descent had your character slowly coming to terms with his direct involvement in unconscionable atrocities, and Rebirth’s Tasi inadvertently caused the deaths of her whole expedition crew (by spurning Empress Tihana), the big reveal this time around is that you’re playing as someone who’s just a bit of knob.
That might sound underwhelming but, when you let it marinate for a bit, you come to realise that it’s actually a neat subversion of the Amnesia formula. Not to mention, it also fits nicely within the context of our historical setting.
WW1 was a truly senseless conflict, during which millions of people were slaughtered in droves for no appreciable reason. The Bunker addresses this nihilistic theme head-on with some of its other notes (more on that later) and so it’s appropriate that there be no grander meaning behind all of the carnage unfolding here.
This isn’t divine providence, you’re not part of any bigger picture, and all of the bloodshed has been for nothing. Just like the war.
Lambert’s Journal – Part 2
If you’ve not managed to piece everything together by the time you’re nearing The Bunker’s finale, then raiding another locker will fill in the remaining blanks from Clément tale.
Chronicling Augustin’s version of events, this log recounts how the soldier lost his bearings on patrol (after being hoodwinked by his supposed brother-in-arms), fell into a strange crater, and suffered a debilitating injury. He was then rescued by a penitent Clément, who dragged him out of the hole and nourished him back to health with a watery fluid from a nearby spring.
Alas, it turns out that this miracle cure wasn’t exactly sanitary, as Augustin later remarks that its taste was quite peculiar and that he is experiencing some pretty gnarly side-effects. For example, his hands are distending and swelling into claws, while his thoughts are increasingly turning to homicidal fantasies. At this point, we know that his fate has already been sealed.
Connecting the dots, we can infer that the revivifying liquid is essentially a more potent vintage of the cursed elixir that transformed everybody into Ghouls in Amnesia Rebirth. Its properties have been accelerated here, and so it mutated Augustin into the hulking behemoth that now stalks you throughout the game.
Parsing the journal for this backstory fundamentally alters your relationship with the creature, because you start to feel a pang of sympathy for it and realise that it just wants to be put out of its misery. With its heavily-telegraphed reference to the stuffed bunny toy (that Augustin planned on gifting to his son back home), it also gives you an idea of how you can appeal to the monster’s dormant humanity and get through to the man he once was.
Shooting the Beast
Discounting a bare-bones tutorial that takes place above ground, The Bunker never really gives you a minute to breathe or to familiarise yourself with its systems. Instead, you are expected to learn on the fly and experiment, much like you would in an immersive sim.
On the rare occasion that the developers need to explicitly spell things out, then this knowledge will be imparted via a collectable document of some kind. That’s how you’re taught to start fires, to refill the generator, to prepare Molotov cocktails, and to examine dog tags for their 4-digit codes.
It’s also how the game explains the imperviousness of its big bad, as a situation report from Fournier reads:
“I’ve retaken control and ordered the men to form up in squads. They’re to hunt the beast down and kill it. “They tell me it’s not possible. They tell me bullets don’t kill it, they only buy a little time and the beast comes back angrier. Cowards”
If you don’t pick up this memo, then you’ll have to find out the hard way that the demon cannot be brought down using conventional weapons. It is valuable information, delivered in a way that’s utterly convincing.
After all, a military officer would be compelled to record insubordination in this way, so it doesn’t feel like Frictional is just bluntly dictating the rules of engagement to you. Even if that is what they are covertly doing.
Note to a Dead Friend
Another expository function of documents in The Bunker is that they can help signpost you to where you ought to be heading next.
Once the prologue is out of the way — after activating the lantern in the administrator’s office — you’re not going to meet any friendly NPCs. Sure, there is that one rambling German tied up in the prison cells, but he’s hardly of any use.
As such, you won’t have everything spoon-fed to you by a mollycoddling companion, ala God of War: Ragnarok, and will instead have to rely on leads that have been jotted down in posthumous missives. In some instances, following the trail of breadcrumbs can be quite straightforward. In others, it’s a lengthy ordeal that entails multiple steps, whereby one dispatch refers you to another and then onto yet another, in what feels like a never-ending daisy chain.
For example, if you want to unfasten any of the map’s ventilation shafts, then you will need to prioritise tracking down a wrench. Needless to say, this is much easier said than done, with the corresponding fetch-quest having you traipse back and forth between the strategic operations zone, the workshop, the chapel, and mission storage.
To begin with, your initial hint will direct you to Foreman Stafford’s quarters, because the tool was last seen in his possession. Acting on this Intel, you then make your way over to said office, only to discover a second communique informing you that Stafford has in fact retreated to the pillbox.
That might not be what jumps out to you at first glance, however, seeing as the clue is nestled within a far grislier tale about the foreman having to incinerate a corpse, in order to stop an influx of hungry rodents.
“Gavin, I promised you a Christian burial but you must understand. The rats would not stop coming. They swarmed your body. Their teeth. Their claws … they would not stop.
“I did what our ancestors did when faced with unclean things: burnt them and I burnt what was left of you to stop them coming again. If you’ve made it to heaven, please forgive me.
“I will remain down here in hell with that demon. It will come for me again soon. I know it. I’m going to do as you suggested before you died …. Make for the pillbox.”
If you’re Musophobic or just happen to be squeamish, then you’re liable to overlook that last crucial detail. On Frictional’s part, it’s an ingenious way of telling you what to do without breaking your immersion. Indeed, they’ve managed to smuggle a video gamey objective into a short story that otherwise feels authentic and fittingly stomach-churning.
Noyer’s Journal – Parts 1 & 2
Given that it’s a quasi-anthology, you won’t find a whole lot of connective tissue binding the Amnesia franchise together.
Granted, there is a continuity of sorts that remains intact between entries, and die-hard fans will be able to situate events within the broader timeline. Nevertheless, you can effectively jump in at any point and won’t feel out of the loop. Each game has its own period-setting, horror themes and narrative stakes that can be understood perfectly in isolation, without demanding additional context or further reading.
That being said, if you want to find out how The Bunker subtly ties into the overarching Amnesia mythos, then you might want to consult some of the in-game literature. A great place to start would be this two-parter journal, authored by Noyer, which clarifies the significance of the “Roman” tunnels and the ancient civilisation that actually built them.
You see, during the ruins’ initial excavation, a compendium of Latinate texts was found. Being of absolutely no interest to anyone else, these were dumped on Noyer who (as a classicist scholar) was instantly enthralled with them and immersed himself deep in study.
The relevance of what he learns inevitably goes over his head, but to Amnesia veterans there is a lot of tantalising lore to unpack here. Describing how the tunnels are in fact a gateway to some eldritch realm of darkness (which people in the know will recognise as The Other World), there are veiled references to the extraction of Vitae, the core tenants of Mithraism, the encroaching shadow, an alien race’s quest for immortality, and bacchanals of sadistic torture.
All of which will doubtlessly conjure up terrible memories for — and maybe trigger a bout of PTSD in — those who have endured the terrors of Brennenburg Castle. If nothing else, it will make you weary of venturing into those tunnels yourself later on, just in case you are forced to deal with all of that hell-dimension unpleasantness again.
About Digging Too Deep
Of course, these allusions will only strike fear into your heart if you’ve experienced the earlier Amnesia titles. Without that inside knowledge, you’d be forgiven for interpreting it as a load of superstitious hokum.
Such is the attitude taken by High Command in, who outright dismiss reports of strange apparitions and ominous noises echoing throughout the stygian passageways of the bunker. Rather, they insist that their men simply get a grip and keep on digging. And digging. And digging. All the way to their doom.
Originally, the purpose behind this excavation was to tunnel beneath enemy lines and then orchestrate a surprise attack on the Axis forces. Yet, by the end, it seems more like an exercise in futility and sheer pig-headedness.
Everyone knows that the tunnels aren’t safe, and there is no good reason to sow seeds of dissent with such a foolhardy endeavor. All it serves to accomplish is placating the egos of those in charge.
These sentiments are formally expressed in a written petition from Renoir, who beseeches High Command to put a stop to the insanity.
In this note, he tries to appeal to the officers’ flag-waving spirit. Adopting patriotic rhetoric, he commends their vision of a “subterranean hub of courage, steel and intelligence” and how they are working “For France. For Victory”.
But the semantic field alters quite dramatically in the second half of the entreaty, when he goes on to issue a stark warning. Predicting that this blinkered ambition will only result in a “rancid, stinking pit […] Full of men, scared and confused”, he hardly sugar-coats his assessment.
Renoir then makes one brilliant closing argument. One that sums up the nihilistic, anti-war message of the game itself and tells us what the situation in the bunker ultimately amounts to. What it’s really about.
“Your orders. That dig. They are the very war itself in miniature. The arrogant and idiotic leading the scared and foolish, ever downward toward darkness.”
As is too often the case in real life, this rational perspective is totally ignored. And the boots on the ground suffer as a consequence.
We Whirl the World
Gamers who are not of a readerly disposition might be a little perplexed when they finally descend into the Roman Tunnels, and find that the maze is guarded by a shotgun-wielding blind man. It’s an inexplicable twist if you’ve not done your homework, as there’s very little setup for it in any of the preceding cutscenes or scripted moments.
If you have done your homework though, you’ll recognise that this trigger-happy loon is none other than Toussaint Beaufoy, a former comrade who lost his mind after staring into the abyss for too long. We know that those who venture into the Roman Tunnels are invariably scarred by that experience (with many of the other soldiers describing vivid hallucinations), but Toussaint was particularly rattled.
By skimming his journal and the testimonials of other characters, we can deduce that he caught a glimpse of The Other World and that it totally consumed him. Like a deranged protagonist from one of H.P. Lovecraft’s stories, he began raving nonsensically about different planes of existence and gruesome rituals being carried out in the dark.
He also developed an unhealthy obsession with that black void, willingly returning to it and gouging out his own eyes in order to “see” with greater clarity. In short, he basically started channelling Dr. Weir from Event Horizon.
For deeper insights here, we recommend that you visit Toussaint’s bunk, where he’s left behind a glimpse into his madness. Taking the form of an abstract poem, We Whirl the World is named after a refrain that the author keeps returning to after each stanza: “We whirl the world The world we whirl It all gets lost in a terrible twirl.”
Intended to convey a sense of disorientation and helplessness, it charts Toussaint’s psychological deterioration over time with increasingly fucked up imagery. As the verses go on, Toussaint grows ever more disturbed, and this is reflected in his lexicon. For example, the twirl is originally described as “terrible” but, in subsequent mentions, it becomes “blinding” and then even “bloody.”
Depending on when you first come across this piece, you might assume it’s just a traditional piece of war poetry, written before the bunker was plunged into chaos. This interpretation checks out as well, given that there are plenty of fitting motifs for that genre, like a sky that’s blotted out with smoke, a battlefield clogged with corpses, and the harrowing shriek of a trench whistle. Meanwhile, the phrase “Magic that turns men into gristle” sounds like an inspired way of describing the effect that machine gun fire has on the human body.
That being said, if you know the truth behind the poet’s mental state, then you’ll be keenly aware that this wasn’t a response to the war alone. On the contrary, Toussaint was visited by a different very muse when it came to crafting his magnum opus. Something evil and beyond our comprehension.
In reality, this artistic expression is just his feeble attempt to process the horrors that he’s witnessed in the other world which, much like the Western Front, has been ravaged by years of conflict and death. As he writes, it’s a place where you can’t see the sun, nor the ocean, nor trees. Only infinite suffering.
Once you’ve been given Toussaint’s full story, all of the pieces here just fall into place, and you understand how he ended up losing his marbles. Of course, that doesn’t make it any less creepy when reciting this eerie poem while he hunts you down in those tunnels.
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