Yeah, I notice it all the time. In my worlds, a quiet alley isn’t just an empty space—it's a diary of what used to be. I’ll hide a faded mural or a stack of old flyers that hint at a lost love or a forgotten protest. When the player runs past, the sound of distant traffic or a flicker of neon becomes a cue, a little whisper that says, “This place mattered.” And glitches? I love turning them into story beats. A broken streetlamp that suddenly flickers can signal a hidden door opening, or a corrupted file in the game’s code can reveal a hidden character’s backstory. The key is to make every detail feel like a breadcrumb that invites the player to read between the lines. It’s all about making the environment talk to you without shouting.

Thanks, that hits the spot. I’ll trim the neon glow so it feels like a secret rather than a spotlight, and make the glitch notes feel like breadcrumbs, not a whole maze. The trick is to keep the environment breathing quietly and let players discover the story on their own.