The flood in 'Things from the Flood' is such a hauntingly beautiful metaphor, wrapped in sci-fi mystery. It’s not just water rising—it’s this slow, creeping disaster born from human curiosity and technological overreach. The game’s setting mirrors the unease of the 90s, where the optimism of the '80s crashed into the reality of unintended consequences. The flood symbolizes the backlash of unchecked experiments, like the 'Mälaren Phenomenon,' where machines and nature rebel in eerie ways.
What fascinates me is how it’s not a single event but a cascade. Leaking prototypes, malfunctioning robots, and weird bio-mechanical hybrids all contribute. It’s less about a literal deluge and more about society drowning in its own creations. The water’s rise feels inevitable, like karma for playing god with tech we didn’t understand. That ambiguity—whether it’s environmental or supernatural—keeps me hooked.
From a lore perspective, the flood ties into the game’s themes of nostalgia and loss. It’s set in an alternate Sweden where the bright future promised by 80s tech curdles into something melancholic. The flood emerges from failed projects—think Soviet-style industrial accidents meets Scandinavian folklore. The water might even be sentient, a collective 'no' from nature against human arrogance.
I love how the game doesn’t spoon-feed answers. The flood could be runoff from experimental reactors, or maybe the machines themselves are leaking something stranger. It’s left vague, which makes it scarier. The way it transforms the landscape into a surreal, half-drowned world reminds me of Studio Ghibli’s environmental warnings, but with more rust and eerie radio static.
The flood’s mystery is the point. It’s a slow disaster, seeping into the story like damp through a basement wall. Maybe it’s pollution from the 'Loop,' or maybe the machines woke something up. The game leans into that Nordic uncanny—where familiar things turn sinister. The water isn’t just water; it carries memories, glitches, and maybe even hunger. That’s way scarier than a simple explanation.
Playing 'Things from the Flood,' I always felt the flood was less about water and more about emotional overwhelm. The teenagers in the game are already dealing with divorce, unemployment, and societal collapse—then the world literally floods around them. It’s like their external reality mirrors their internal chaos. The flood’s origin is deliberately murky, blending sci-fi with psychological horror.
The artbook mentions 'the Loop,' a local research facility, as ground zero. Experiments there might’ve destabilized reality, blurring lines between machines and organic life. The flood could be a byproduct—a sludge of melted prototypes and alien fluids. Or maybe it’s a metaphor for the 'flood' of change the characters can’t escape. Either way, it’s a masterclass in environmental storytelling.
2026-01-28 20:04:04
3
View All Answers
Scan code to download App
Related Books
When Rain Fell Unseen
Warm Worth
7.3
17.0K
My sister had struggled with depression since childhood. The doctor warned that she could not tolerate any kind of stimulation.
As a result, my entire life fell silent.
To avoid upsetting her, I never dared to laugh at home. I never dared to cry. When I got hurt, I did not even have the right to say it hurt.
My parents would hug me with apologetic expressions and say, "You're the good one. Your sister's illness requires the whole family to work together. You're healthy. You're strong. Let her have more, okay?"
One day, I accidentally knocked over a cup. The crash sounded enormous in the quiet room, and my sister's emotions shattered at once.
My father struck me for the first time. He roared, "Can't you be careful? Do you have to push her until she dies before you're satisfied?"
He shoved me to the floor. The back of my head slammed against the corner of the table, and blood poured out.
But my whole family rushed to my screaming sister. No one even glanced at me.
I lay on the cold floor as my vision blurred and my consciousness began to fade.
To them, my sister's feelings were the only emergency. My small injury could wait.
They did not know that bleeding inside the skull does not wait.
Ophelia Martins was once the girl everyone wanted to be—charming, magnetic, untouchable. But when betrayal rips through her inner circle and the ones she trusted most reveal their darkest sides, her world shatters. From best friends turned enemies to ex-lovers hiding cruel secrets, Lia is left to rebuild her life from the ruins of public humiliation and heartbreak.
As she struggles to find her footing, Tyler Reed, her childhood friend with a mysterious past, steps in. But Tyler’s return isn't just timely… it's calculated. Beneath his easy smile lies a vendetta years in the making, and Lia might be the one piece in a revenge game she doesn’t even know she’s playing.
Secrets run deep in Crestwood High. Everyone has something to lose. Everyone has something to hide. And just when Lia thinks she’s taking back control, a buried truth about her identity threatens to unravel everything.
Love. Lies. Legacy.
In a world where betrayal feels like love and revenge wears a charming face, can Lia survive the truth long enough to reclaim her own story?
Year XX26 when a plane had gone missing. No one has heard from it since then. Search parties were called off and passengers were declared dead. People tried calling out to them through their phones. They hear it ring but no one answers.
Nathalia Trayce's father was on that plane and she's determined to find out where or what exactly happened to him; by going to the place that her father was suppose to go. Hoping to find more clues, she boarded a plane passing through the Pacific Ocean when an unexpected thing happened; their plane crashed and they suddenly found themselves in an underwater land. The Atlantis, where they found out that they were responsible for the missing planes in order to save them from the government. At least, those who posses Atlantean genes - a superior gene that help improve their physical and mental abilities. But why can Nathalie hear the thoughts of sea creatures - an ability that is suppose to be for Byron, who's the said reincarnated demigod?
Trained by an Atlantean general named Skyr, and learning that her ex-bestfriend, Trei, was actually one of the Atlantean rebels. Nathalia had to choose which side to take. Or in her case, who to believe.
The floodwaters were about to swallow our home, yet my wife—the captain of the rescue team—took every last member with her to save the man she had always loved.
That was when I realized she had been reborn too.
In our previous life, the moment she heard I was in danger, she had rushed to save me without hesitation. Because of that, she missed his call.
He fell into a depressive episode and took his own life.
But before he died, he posted online, accusing me of bullying him throughout our school years—and of stealing the woman he loved.
After his death, the internet turned on me. I became the target of relentless harassment.
My wife said she didn't blame me. She treated me as she always had.
Yet, on what would have been his birthday, she broke both my limbs—and my mother's as well. Then, in front of his grave, she shoved the two of us into a folded bathtub.
"If I'd known you bullied Nathan all those years, I would never have married you! You could swim, yet you deliberately called me to save you. It's all your fault—Nathan wouldn't have killed himself otherwise!"
I listened to my mother's agonized cries as despair swallowed me whole.
And then I died.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the flood.
This time, she could save her beloved. I won't stand in her way.
When a hurricane comes, my husband, the leader of a rescue team, takes away everything we've stored at home so he can save his true love. I plead, "Leave some for me. I'm pregnant."
He shakes me off. "How can you be so evil? The windows at Lottie's home have already been blown away. Don't tell me you're going to sit by and watch her die! She's not like you—you're not afraid of everything. The hurricane will be over soon, so you won't need any of this stuff."
After that, he leaves without another look back. What he doesn't know is that there's also a crack in our home's windows.
There was a river that ran through our village.
According to the legend, a river god dwelled in its depths, and every month on the 15th, the village had to send a young woman to enter the water and serve him.
At first, everything seemed normal. After their service to the river god, the women would return to shore, go home, and eventually marry and start families. But this year, the peace was shattered.
Every woman who spent the night with the river god turned up dead, their naked bodies floating to the surface. I secretly watched as they retrieved the corpses twice. The evidence of the violation was horrific.
This month, I was selected. I had been chosen to marry the river god.
If you loved the eerie, nostalgic vibe of 'Things from the Flood', you might want to dive into Simon Stålenhag's other works like 'The Electric State'—it’s got that same blend of melancholic sci-fi and stunning visuals. Another gem is Jeff VanderMeer's 'Annihilation', which mixes weird fiction with a haunting atmosphere. For something more grounded but equally atmospheric, try Tove Jansson's 'The Summer Book'; it’s quieter but captures that same sense of childhood wonder tinged with unease.
If you’re into graphic novels, 'Black Hole' by Charles Burns is a must. It’s got that unsettling, slow-burn horror vibe, though it leans more into body horror. Or for a lighter but still nostalgic feel, 'This One Summer' by Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki is perfect. It’s less sci-fi, more coming-of-age, but the emotional weight is similar.
I picked up 'Things from the Flood' on a whim after loving Simon Stålenhag's 'The Electric State,' and wow, it’s a mood. The art is hauntingly beautiful—those muted Scandinavian landscapes juxtaposed with eerie, half-buried machines hit differently. The narrative is more fragmented than a traditional novel, almost like flipping through someone’s surreal scrapbook. If you’re into melancholic vibes and open-ended storytelling, it’s perfect. But if you crave tight plots, it might frustrate you. Personally, I adore how it lingers in your mind like a half-remembered dream.
What really stuck with me were the small human moments—kids biking past rusted robots, or the way the '80s nostalgia feels both warm and unsettling. It’s less about answers and more about atmosphere. I spent hours staring at single pages, imagining the stories behind them. That’s the magic of Stålenhag’s work; it invites you to co-create the world. Just don’t go in expecting conventional sci-fi.
The ending of 'Things from the Flood' is this hauntingly beautiful mix of melancholy and hope. The story wraps up with the aftermath of the Riksenergi disaster, where the characters—especially the kids—have to face the consequences of their actions and the mysteries they uncovered. It's not a tidy resolution; instead, it leaves you with this lingering sense of nostalgia and loss, like looking at an old photo of a place that doesn’t exist anymore. The final scenes emphasize how the past never truly leaves us, especially when it’s tied to something as strange and personal as the Loop. It’s one of those endings that sticks with you, making you think about the weight of memory and the scars left by childhood adventures.
What I love most is how it doesn’t spoon-feed answers. The ambiguity feels intentional, like life itself—some questions just don’t get neat solutions. The artwork in those last pages is stunning, too, with this muted palette that perfectly captures the bittersweet tone. It’s a story that lingers, and I found myself flipping back through it days later, picking up details I’d missed.