First of all, can you tell us about your journey as a game developer and how you did yourself working at Rogue Factor as the lead writer of Hell is Us?
I started my career as a game designer at a small company called Microids Canada. Like many indie studios, it was a place where you wore multiple hats, which turned out to be an incredible learning experience. I was exposed to nearly every part of development, and that breadth of responsibility helped me build a strong foundation. My first true writing experience came while working on a small adventure game called Still Life, where I served as both lead designer and writer.
After seven years at Microids, I transitioned into the world of triple-A, first with Ubisoft and then later at Eidos Montreal. At Ubisoft, I continued as a game designer, but it was at Eidos where I made a definitive shift into writing. I took on the role of narrative designer and realized very quickly that writing, not design, was where I belonged. It felt like a much more natural fit. Even outside of work, I was always writing screenplays, worldbuilding, and characters, so making that switch professionally just made sense.
Eventually, after several years in the big studio system, I joined Rogue Factor, a smaller studio that was starting work on a fascinating new project. It felt like the right time to return to a more agile environment where creative voices could be heard clearly, and where I could bring everything I’d learned to a role focused entirely on narrative.
Joining Rogue Factor as the lead writer on Hell is Us was a return to form. It was the first time I felt that level of creative trust from day one. I wasn’t just brought in to “write the words”. I was part of shaping the world, the lore, the characters, and the narrative systems themselves. It was a long project, and like any long project, there were highs and lows. But the level of collaboration across departments, the openness to dialogue, and the shared belief in the game we were creating made it deeply rewarding.
Hell is Us challenged me, stretched me, and gave me space to grow, not just as a writer, but as a creative partner. It’s a project I’m proud of, not only for what we built on screen, but for how we built it behind the scenes.
Hell is Us is a pretty dark game in terms of setting and themes. Hadea being in a middle of a vicious civil war; there are of course themes of genocide, religious conflict, war crimes, propaganda, etc.
Did you research specific historical events?
Yes, absolutely. You can’t write about civil war, systemic violence, or propaganda without grounding yourself in the real-world history of those things. While Hell is Us is a fictional world, many of the themes are genocide, occupation, repression, and information warfare. They are drawn from patterns we’ve seen repeated throughout history.
I didn’t focus on one single historical event, but instead cast a wide net across different conflicts and periods: the American Civil War, the French Revolution, Yugoslavia in the 1990s, Rwanda in the 1990s, occupied France during WWII, and even more recent global events. It wasn’t about replicating any one situation, but understanding the mechanisms: how societies break down, how ideologies harden, how people justify the unjustifiable.
That context gave depth to the world of Hadea, and, hopefully, gave players something to think about beyond just the gameplay.
Was it hard to address themes that have been so present in current world events?
Yes, and it should be hard. You don’t write about war crimes, genocide, or authoritarian regimes lightly, especially when echoes of those realities are happening right now. There were moments where it hit a little too close to home, when real-world headlines mirrored the themes we were writing about.
That said, the goal was never to exploit those themes for shock value. It was about using fiction to explore the emotional and psychological weight of those experiences, and to ask: What happens to people living in broken systems? How do they adapt, justify, survive, or resist?
I think the challenge is to approach that material with humility. You’re not trying to provide answers—you’re creating space for reflection, tension, and ambiguity. And if any of that sticks with the player after they put the controller down, then I think we’ve done our job.
What do you do when you need to take your mind off these themes?
Honestly, you have to. When you’re spending months immersed in subject matter like war, trauma, and human cruelty, you need a way to come up for air. For me, it’s usually about switching gears, reading fiction that has nothing to do with darkness or violence, playing games that are purely about joy or exploration (Stellar Blade and an absurd amount of The First Descendant), spending time with friends and family, or just walking the dogs to reset.
Writing something heavy doesn’t mean you have to live in that emotional space 24/7. I think stepping away once in a while helps you write it better, with more perspective, more balance, and more humanity. The worst thing you can do is let the darkness numb you.
Hell is Us has also a lot of science-fiction, even fantastical, elements. What was your approach to organically combine the socio-political themes and the sci-fi parts?
The key was to make sure the science-fiction elements didn’t feel like an escape hatch, but a lens, something that amplified the real-world themes rather than distracting from them. For me, the fantastical parts of Hell is Us were never there just for spectacle. They were metaphorical, symbolic. The Calamity and the Hollow Walkers, for instance, aren’t just monsters. They’re manifestations of human emotions.
The idea was to take real socio-political issues like the civil war, genocide, propaganda, and filter them through a speculative world that lets us explore them in a heightened, sometimes surreal way. That gives the player enough distance to reflect, but not so much distance that the emotional weight is lost.
In short, the sci-fi parts aren’t a departure from the political themes. They’re an extension of them. They let us go deeper by making the invisible visible.
When looking for inspiration, where do you look for it? Other games, movies, books? Are there specific works, documentary or fiction, that inspired your writing in Hell is Us?
I cast a wide net when it comes to inspiration. Of course, I look at games, but also books, films, documentaries, even music or visual art. Sometimes a mood or tone from a photograph or a melody can say more than a thousand words.
For Hell is Us, I was particularly drawn to works that explore broken societies and existential conflict. I revisited war documentaries, read historical accounts of civil unrest and regime collapse, and looked at fiction that delves into the psychological weight of violence and authoritarianism. Orwell was a key influence, 1984 in particular, for its unflinching portrayal of manipulation, control, and the fragility of truth. That novel continues to resonate, especially in a world where information is increasingly weaponized.
I also looked at films like Children of Men, Fury, and No Man’s Land. Not because we were trying to imitate them, but because they showed how you can tackle bleak, complex subjects with honesty and restraint.
In terms of games, titles like Spec Ops: The Line (inspired by Heart of Darkness), Bloodborne, and S.T.A.L.K.E.R. stood out. They’re not afraid to be uncomfortable or ambiguous, and they trust the player to engage with something more profound. For me, inspiration isn’t about borrowing. It’s about asking, Why did this resonate? What emotional truth did it tap into? And then finding your answer to that through the world you’re building.
Now for some more fun questions:
In your career, what are you the most proud of?
I’d have to say Still Life, even though I cringe a little every time I look back at it. It was the first project where I created everything from scratch: the story, the world, the characters, the tone. It was raw, imperfect, and very much a product of its time, but it was mine. And despite all its flaws, it still holds a special place as the best thing I’ve ever done. You never really forget your first full creative leap like that.
A very close second would be Hell is Us. It was a different kind of pride, more mature, more collaborative. I had the chance to work with an incredibly talented team, and together we tackled some complex, weighty themes. It was the first time I had that level of narrative ownership on a large-scale game, and I’m proud of the risks we took and the emotional depth we reached.
What do you think is the best written game of all-time?
That’s a brutal question. I’d have to go with a three-way tie between Bloodborne, The Last of Us, and Bioshock.
Bloodborne is a masterclass in atmospheric storytelling. It trusts the player to work for the narrative, to uncover its dense lore through item descriptions, cryptic dialogue, and world design. There’s almost no fat in the writing. It’s sharp, unsettling, and minimalist in the best way.
The Last of Us sits on the other end of the spectrum: structured, emotional, and deeply character-driven. The relationship between Joel and Ellie is full of tension, conflict, and quiet moments of vulnerability. The way the story ties into gameplay mechanics, pacing, and emotional payoff, especially that ending, is still unmatched.
And then there’s Bioshock. That game floored me when I first played it. Its integration of philosophy, player agency, and narrative design was groundbreaking. The world of Rapture, the use of unreliable narration, and the twist showed just how smart and subversive game writing could be.
Each of these games approaches storytelling differently, but all three left a lasting impression and pushed the boundaries of what narrative in games can do.
What kind of gamer are you? Is there a game that you always go back to?
I used to be the kind of gamer who played one game and played it hard. World of Warcraft was my go-to for years. It had this way of pulling you in completely, and before I knew it, I’d spent a huge chunk of my gaming time inside Azeroth. I quit about two years ago, and since then, it’s felt like I’ve been playing catch-up with everything I missed.
These days, I’m drawn to the Eastern gaming experience. There’s something compelling about the aesthetics, tone, and pacing in games like Black Myth: Wukong, Wuchang: Fallen Feathers, Stellar Blade, The First Descendant, and the upcoming Tides of Annihilation. They blend precision, beauty, and worldbuilding in a way that clicks with me.
So, I guess now I’d say I’m an explorer. I want to see what other developers and cultures are doing with storytelling and design. I’m still catching up, but I’m enjoying every minute of it.
