The island in co-op walking simulator Big Walk is home to lots of puzzles, and those puzzles can't be completed by a single player. This is a co-op game in the truest sense of the word: you can't get anywhere alone.

Some puzzles involve flipping switches in unison, others require communicating over long distances or through sound-proof glass, some need one player to describe a sequence of symbols only they can see to their teammates, who then have to replicate the sequence somewhere else. Solving a puzzle releases a prize, an object that can be used to explore further into the world and access more puzzles.

But the most vexing puzzle in Big Walk isn't really a puzzle, strictly. It's got a prize: you can see it immediately when you find the puzzle. But to solve it, you don't really have to do anything. And that's what's so devious about it.

PLEASE NOTE: SPOILERS BELOW!!!

This puzzle we came across about six hours into Big Walk doesn't look particularly dastardly. It's just a small room with a door, a couple of windows, a couch and a chair, and a table where the prize sits, waiting to be unlocked.

Hanging on the wall is what appears to be a large digital clock, reading: 00:00.

There are three of us (me, Morgan, and Tyler) and three buttons on the wall. We all press the buttons at the same time and the door to the room shuts, trapping us inside. On the wall, the clock sets itself to 05:00 and begins counting down. It's not a clock. It's a timer.

"We're gonna die. We're all gonna die!" I yell. Morgan feigns panic and begins running around with his hands over his head. But Big Walk isn't a game where things explode or you get dropped into a pit of spikes or the room begins filling up with water. This puzzle is a trap, yes, but it won't kill us.

After looking around for other puzzle elements and finding nothing, we slowly realize the grim truth of what this room wants from us, and it's far worse than spikes or drowning.

"Maybe we should just sit down and watch," Tyler says. "Maybe we just have to wait for five minutes."

OK… fine? We all sit on the couch together. We do nothing. That lasts for 10 whole seconds before Tyler gets restless, stands up, and sits in the chair opposite the couch.

"So, tell me about your feelings," he says. It does feel like a therapy session, in a way. I think that's maybe the point. You're stuck together for five minutes, why not talk to each other about something other than the solution to the next puzzle?

Instead, we all begin looking around the room for something else to do. A mere minute after the timer starts counting down, we decide to try pressing all three buttons together again.

The door doesn't open, but the timer resets to 05:00 again. We simply can't leave until we spend five minutes together in this little room.

"Ah, fuck, fuck," Morgan says.

"Fuck," Tyler agrees. "We just have to wait. And not press anything."

We all sit down again, reluctantly accepting our fates. Here's how the next five minutes goes.

04:45: Morgan discusses his dinner plans.

04:35: Tyler begins flipping the lightswitch in the room on and off. We discuss how he is able to reach the lightswitch while still sitting on the couch because his arm is very stretchy.

04:25: Tyler steals the flashlight I was carrying from my hands and I take it back. I begin impatiently flicking the flashlight on and off. Tyler: "This is what happens when you're forced to just sit for five minutes." Me: "It's the worst puzzle ever."

04:00: Morgan: "Oh my god, only a minute has passed?" I kick the flashlight behind the table. Tyler picks me up over his head.

03:40: I look out the window. Perfectly framed is another nearby building, probably containing a puzzle that is less damaging to our psyches than staying still for a few minutes.

03:30: We've all restlessly changed positions on the couch and chairs again. We've picked each other up and dropped each other several times. Me: "I think this is a test, and we're failing."

03:10: We discuss how each player has a different sitting pose. One of us lounges with an arm resting over the back of the chair. Another stretches their legs out and elegantly crosses their ankles. One of us sits with one foot up. It's cool and ensures we don't all look like identical Big Walkbots. More importantly, it blessedly gives us something to talk about for a few seconds.

02:40: Morgan: "I just had the thought of pressing all the buttons again to see what it does even though I know what it does."

02:15: No one is sitting. The flashlight is being kicked around the room. Morgan is staring at the button next to the door. Morgan: "What about… we could open the door." Tyler: "Don't do it!"

02:00: Me: "Two minutes left? Are you shitting me?" We're milling around, jumping from table to couch to floor, literally bouncing off the walls. Tyler is deliberately trying to kick the flashlight onto the crossbeam of the ceiling. Tyler: "I'm already losing my mind."

01:15: Something wonderfully distracting happens. Morgan kicks the flashlight and it lands on a ledge high up in the corner of the room. We're delighted to have something to do. We stack ourselves three tall to complete the quest we invented ourselves: kill a few agonizing seconds by retrieving the flashlight.

01:00: We all sit on the couch again, defeated, and stare at the timer. Morgan: "I feel like a hyper child. I'm turning 30 this year and I can't sit still for five minutes." Tyler: "Whoa. Big year."

That's about as close to a genuine reflection as we get. Maybe when we pressed the buttons for a second time, the timer should have reset to 10:00. Then we might have had a real breakthrough. Or we would have ragequit. Or more likely, scrolled on our phones for 10 minutes.

00:10: We count down the final 10 seconds along with the timer like it's New Year's Eve. It certainly feels like we have cause to celebrate. Our interminable prison sentence is ending.

00:00: The door opens. The prize is released. The puzzle is solved. We are free to continue not reflecting on the fact that having five minutes of quiet contemplation is akin to torture, and there's probably something wrong with that! Well played, Big Walk. Well played.

Chris started playing PC games in the 1980s, started writing about them in the early 2000s, and (finally) started getting paid to write about them in the late 2000s. Following a few years as a regular freelancer, PC Gamer hired him in 2014, probably so he'd stop emailing them asking for more work. Chris has a love-hate relationship with survival games and an unhealthy fascination with the inner lives of NPCs. He's also a fan of offbeat simulation games, mods, and ignoring storylines in RPGs so he can make up his own.