Hi, it’s me again - Maciej Dyjas, the creator of There’s a Gun in the Office. With the game’s release just around the corner on the 20th, I wanted to dive into a philosophy that has shaped not only this project but also the way I approach game development as a whole.


Game releases are constant - thousands come out every year. I won’t dwell on why or how, but the sheer volume of games creates a distinct challenge: standing out.

For many developers, the response to this oversaturation is overcompensation. Advice on how to differentiate your game tends to fall into two camps:

1. Be different - target a niche, make something weird.
   
2. Be better - polish everything to perfection, refine existing ideas.

Both are valid in theory, but in practice, they miss an important factor: feasibility. The reality is, every game has constraints—whether it's budget, time, or manpower. The key isn’t just about standing out; it’s about making something that’s actually finishable and true to its vision.


Many designers, especially early on, fall into the mindset that more = better. More mechanics, more content, more spectacle. It sounds great - why wouldn’t a game with an open world, branching choices, dynamic AI, customizable weapons, and a hundred side quests be incredible?

The problem is, executing all those ideas at a high level is almost impossible without a massive team and years of work. What often happens instead is a scattered, unfocused experience where individual mechanics don’t reinforce the game’s core themes.

I’ve fallen into this trap before - building without first understanding what I actually wanted the player to feel. Without that, complexity doesn’t serve the game.


On the other side of the scale is simplicity. A game can certainly be too simple, but it’s much easier to add depth to a minimal core than to trim excess from an overcomplicated design.

I’ve learned that distilling a game down to its essential elements is a skill that takes time to master. For There’s a Gun in the Office, I asked myself:

• What do I want players to feel? Stress, anxiety, fear - but also the satisfaction of overcoming obstacles under pressure.
  
• How can I create that experience as simply as possible? Time pressure isn’t just a number ticking down - it’s reinforced through increasing tension in the music, subtle visual distortions, and small but deliberate friction in controls (walking a little too slow, manually using keys, holding only one item at a time).

Even outside of gameplay, minimalism shaped the entire experience. Could I have added more dynamic music, scripted horror sequences, or flashy effects? Sure - but that might have diluted the core of the game: solitude, realism, and the inescapable presence of an unseen threat.


Uniqueness is subjective. If you’ve never played Tetris before, it’s the most original game in the world. To someone else, it’s just another block-stacking game.

This is why I believe that the idea of “it’s all been done before” is misleading. Yes, someone out there has played something similar to your game - but many others haven’t.

Early in There’s a Gun in the Office’s development, I was convinced the concept was entirely fresh. Then a friend sent me a video of a DLC from a major horror franchise that had a very similar core idea. At first, it stung. But then I realized:

• Their version had higher production values - character animations, cutscenes, spoken dialogue.
  
• Mine leaned into something different: silence, isolation, ambiguity, and realism.
  
• The underlying feeling of my game was still unique.

Execution matters more than raw originality. Even if two games share a concept, they can tell entirely different stories through how they feel.


Could I have made a higher-budget, content-rich version of There’s a Gun in the Office? Not alone. It wouldn’t even make sense to try.

Did I copy anyone? No - ideas naturally overlap. But do I think my game has something unique? Absolutely. Every decision was made in service of a focused experience, and that’s what gives it its identity.

Of course, minimalism has its limits. Strip away too much, and the game becomes empty. The best way to check? Playtesting. If players feel what you want them to feel, it’s enough. If they’re confused or disengaged, you may have gone too far and need to remove even more distractions.


Minimalism is an essential tool - not just for solo developers, but for any team trying to create a clear, impactful experience. Some games thrive on complexity, but many of the most memorable ones get there by focusing on what matters.

As a final thought, here’s a question for you:
What’s a game you’ve played for way too long despite its simplicity? What made it compelling?

I’d love to hear your thoughts - see you in the next post!

Maciej "ragir" Dyjas

[discord.gg]https://store.steampowered.com/app/3291220/Theres_a_Gun_in_the_Office/

This is Maciej, the creator of There’s a Gun in the Office. Last time, we talked about making a game by yourself. Today, I want to explore a challenge I faced throughout the game's development: making a stressful/scary game while keeping it as fun as possible.


When making a serious game, maintaining the weight of the story and gameplay can conflict with keeping the experience fun and engaging. The suspension of disbelief is far more fragile in this genre compared to others.

The illusion can easily shatter with potential bugs or strange game behaviors. In order to successfully scare — or in my case, stress out — the player, they need to believe in what's happening. Not in a literal sense, but just enough to be affected by it.

I knew this would be a challenge from the start, so I planned accordingly. My solution began with crafting a realistic environment to help immerse players.


Given that the core theme of the game is captivity, I wanted the world to feel ordinary — something players could subconsciously imagine happening to them. The setting is a simple apartment, a mundane space designed to feel real.

I aimed for photorealism and logical layout. Rooms have clear purposes, sizes make sense, and the decor reflects how someone might genuinely personalize their home.

By establishing this sense of normalcy, I could make elements that don’t quite fit stand out, prompting questions: Why is this here? Why would someone decorate like this? I want players to ask these questions and form their own answers.


The way players interact with the environment was also deliberate. I aimed for interactions that grounded them in the world rather than feeling like busy work.

This granularity serves to strengthen the player's connection to the protagonist and deepen immersion: I’m making you, the player, do all the small moves and actions to achieve your goal, it’s not the character doing it for you.


On paper, this design sounds promising. But there's a crucial element required for it to work: the player's willingness to engage with the story.

Without that willingness, it becomes easy to poke holes, dismiss the experience, or mock its elements. There’s a dialogue between the game and the player that’s essential for the game to hold meaning — and this is very much a two-way conversation.


Did I follow this principle perfectly? Definitely not.

When I conceived the game, I knew it would demand a lot from players. They needed to be sensitive, willing to be influenced by the game's tension, and determined — even stubborn — to persevere.

To make this conversation easier, I made deliberate design choices: realistic lighting, a first-person perspective, a silent protagonist, no mirrors in sightlines and many others. These decisions encourage players to project themselves into the experience rather than being reminded they're playing a game.

On my side of the conversation, I provide stress, tension, and the feeling of being trapped (like we talked before). The player’s response varies — some fold under pressure, others get frustrated and quit. Some stumble through while others focus and execute their plans with precision.

There's no right answer; it’s not a confrontation, but a dialogue.

During playtesting, I saw the conversation break down many times - phasing through doors, items that disappear, objectives that are unclear — a plethora of bugs and mistakes that needed to be fixed. These are the things that distract from the conversation, making the design weaker and the game less intentional.

But there was the other side as well: when the conversation happened. I saw people scared and stressed out, determined and defeated. I heard players theorize about what’s happening: What do the dreams mean? Who are we? Who are the captors? Why is there a calendar on the wall?

These conversations I saw were what I wanted to strengthen in the game and are ultimately responsible for what the game is today.

I look forward to having these conversations with you, the player, very soon!

Maciej "ragir" Dyjas

[discord.gg]https://store.steampowered.com/app/3291220/Theres_a_Gun_in_the_Office/