Did Ik think he was doing good, when he signed the hotel off to Sobbergritch’s ownership? It was years ago, when he had no idea what Sobbergritch’s true goals were. At what point did he realize and regret? What lies (or truths) was he told to hand the Inn over? He must’ve believed Sobbergritch’s presence would make people happier, safer! Sobbergritch snapped at the end of the game. His facade broke, and he spilled his intentions of killing death and ceasing existence, but that’s after the storm, after the Traveller had escaped death time and time again. But we’ll get into Sobbergritch’s morality and perspective later. Point is, Ik signed himself into the world’s worst business partnership. 11 million guests, he stated, and did that number even hold meaning to him anymore? Day after day signing in guests, telling them their room number. It must’ve gotten mechanical in nature at some point. Could he even wrap his head around how many guests have been transmogrified into monsters or glass?

    And then the Traveller came along. After years of never being given a break, of never socializing, of never having normal human interaction, after never speaking to someone outside of formalities, someone comes along. And this Traveller was a quiet little man! He never initiated conversations, and was a man of few words, but he listened. Did Ik feel joy, genuine excitement when the elevator broke again and again? A true excuse to ramble to someone and form human connection! And maybe he felt guilty, or maybe he was too excited to care. No other guests came in; he had all the time in the world to chatter about his hobbies and past. To feel less alone.

    No matter how rude they were to him, Ik cherished them and considered him a friend! He always assumed the best in him. They may listen to his music. Ikabod prided himself on his work, and he beamed when the Traveller paid attention to something he put effort into! He considered the Upturned In a great thing; perhaps he was reminiscing, or nostalgic, when he spoke about the greatness of the aquarium, or the ingenuity of the power grid. He went to the Traveller when the storm scared him. Did Ik ever feel close to Sobbergritch? Doubtful. He considered the Traveller would be a source of comfort in a time of fear, and that says something.

    At what point did Ikabod fully realize that Sobbergritch was going to take away his newfound only friend? This bond with a near-stranger is what drove him to break the cycle of sitting around, turning a blind eye. There is a true, true chance that Ikabod was behind the health packs that fell when the fire cannons malfunctioned. That it was him trying, desperately, to help his only friend in whatever way he could.

    In his own words, he hid for all his life. For a time, perhaps, he enjoyed the Afterlife experience and truly lived, hosting the Upturned Inn and making people happy, giving people relief, safety, and community. But then Sobbergritch came, and he had to lie to himself and others, and hide all over again. He metaphorically shoved himself into a shoebox and took all the punches thrown at him. He had his dream ripped away from him, but couldn’t stand to have his only friend taken, too. Waiting until it was too late, if anything, shows how conditioned he was to Sobbergritch’s torment of others, and how used he was to sitting back and watching.

    His decision to not hide in the face of the Morning, in the face of this unknown force barreling at him, was a sign of his growth as a character, refusing to back down from change and let greater forces control him.

    Ikabod Kee was an optimistic beacon of joy and delight in an otherwise desolate situation.

2. The Traveller

    The Traveller had a good life, at some point. He grew up in a post-pandemic world and firsthand witnessed world peace. Wouldn’t it make sense for him to have a spark of admiration for the human race? Some deep, heartfelt urge to do good in the world and help people drove him to be on the frontlines of aiding evacuation efforts. What was he before? Surely in a position of helping others. They share this trait with Ikabod: kindness and compassion.

    Even if the world broke most of it out of the Traveller. It was great, until the first domino fell, and he was helpless to watch the world crumble. Lady Luck spat in the Traveller’s face and left him to rot.

    Imagine, if you will: An empty bunker system. It was built to hold millions, if not more. But the ravaged outside world clawed their way inside in a storm of hooves and tusks. One by one, lives are snuffed out. Resources are devoured by things sturdier than the birds that won the Great Emu War. And now the bunkers are hollow and silent, save for the sound of wind, electronics never turned off, and the distant, omnipresent sniffling of hogs.

    Did the Traveller ever give up hope? One of the last things he remembered doing was listening to a radio. Music, perhaps. But for a man perhaps all alone in an underground bunker, he could’ve been listening. Calling out, even, for others. He couldn’t have known he was the last soul remaining in the bunkers. Did he go out in search of survivors? Did he already own a shotgun, or did he steal it from some armory, sparsely-stocked because everything was great, why would people need guns? Did he find half-eaten corpses? Did he bury them? How much crippling survivor’s guilt filled their being?

    One of the Traveller’s core traits was persistence. They refused to die, to give up, to fail. He was one durable little man, to the point the only way he could die was to literally explode.

    Given the state of things, he could be bitter toward Ik. Ik, who called at the most inopportune times as he ran for his life. But Ikabod was a golden retriever of a man, and even if persistent with lines of questioning, he was ultimately a trusting individual who didn’t push that much. Even if spoken down to, Ik always came back and offered company and friendship.

    That being said, the Traveller’s level of cruelty or lack thereof is dictated by the player’s actions. How they speak to Ik and how they treat Shrimp. Does he call Ikabod sergeant and play along with the unspoken game, or does he throw furniture at an (at the time) harmless Shrimp? Because of the range of possibilities, the statements “the Traveller is selfish” and “the Traveller cares for Ik” could coexist. The range is there, and it offers a wider view to the Traveller’s personality and demeanor, encompassing all the roads his exhaustion could take him.

    But still, even acting kindly towards the characters, the Traveller was cynical, bitter, as a result of their last days. They stand as a stark contrast to Ik’s optimism, despite how chance ripped away both their lives. Sampling another user’s words and interpretations, “there’s always this underlying sense of exhaustion and childlike scolding in the dialogue we’re given, and when you put that into the context of the travelers existential cynicism and ik’s unfinished life, you begin to understand why the upturned inn exists. what does the upturned inn means to these characters.” [Source: lkabod on Tumblr]

    Sobbergritch’s final spiel about the Traveller’s issues with chance and surprise were spot-on. Every single natural disaster, the elevator failing over and over, was all pure luck. The Traveller was tired, above all. The main drive for them in the Inn was the promise of rest, and perhaps deep down, static. A situation unchanging, calm, safe. A place they could control and know. Which makes it all the most unfortunate that a cramped, poorly furnished room at the end of a long hall is in fact a very dull and predictable thing.

    The Traveller did not want that. If he wanted something so dull, he wouldn’t have left the Inn. They can show worry over Ikabod’s location and safety, and a desire to find him. They were opposites but so achingly similar. Sheer bad luck did them both in, and neither lived a full life. Ik continued with optimism unhindered by 40 years of forced customer service and dealing with Sobbergritch, while the Traveller became exhausted from all the world’s troubles.

    The Traveller wanted control over his destiny, and he took that by leaving the Inn and making the decision to go elsewhere, where grandiose forces couldn’t direct him to his fate. Even though, unknowingly, his fate was already galloping toward him. Is fate a chance? Is fate a surprise, something unexpected? Would he have it in him to be upset, if he knew what those lights led him to? 

3. Sobbergritch

    Sobbergritch was this oppressive, selfish entity that beamed his own issues and desires onto others. He saw death as a scam, he was sick of existing, so everybody else must’ve been sick of it, too. He was doing a service by trying to kill death.

    Whether or not he had a hand in Ik not leaving the end isn’t a question. It is unstated, but it’s safe to assume he played a role in Ikabod not stepping foot outside in years. He monitored the calls, listened in on all Ik and the Traveller spoke of, and took pride in this power he held over everyone else. He believed himself to be so correct and clever by trying to snuff out life and trust. His sense of righteousness drowned out any common sense or attention to anyone else’s opinions.

    Sobbergritch tried to call Ik untrustworthy for calling the Traveller by his last name. However, Ik had immediately tried to assert himself as a friendly face by introducing himself with a nickname—it’s entirely possible to miss his last name! Years of lying to himself and others about the Inn’s safety led to a constant underlying sense of professionalism, being polite in naming and assuring the Inn was the height of luxury. On the other hand, half the time Sobbergritch never used the Traveller’s name, and instead addressed him as cockroach, which (especially when paired with the traps in certain levels) suggests he’d been trying to kill him for a long time, and the Traveller was very very good at evading death.

    Sobbergritch’s past is unknown, but his usage of the word “alow,” with an archaic definition meaning “below,” combined with his particularly skeletal appearance, suggests he was older than Ikabod. Maybe he roamed the Afterlife, growing sick of its endlessness, experimenting at random, and finding the Upturned Inn was striking gold. There’s also the chance he died after Ik, and decided he wanted it to be over in a short span of time. Either way, he felt cheated, and made it everybody’s problem. Unlike Ik and the Traveller, who never got to live, he felt he’d lived too much.

    His well of test subjects ran dry with time, and maybe that’s why he took the time to speak with the Traveller directly. He lorded his power over this stranger, taunted him at every turn, and did his best to sow the seeds of doubt and distrust between him and Ik.

    At the very end, when he had one more toy to break, he spent it mocking the Traveller for having choice ripped from their hands one last time. Maybe Sobbergritch had a right to be angry, to be tired and sick of being, but he spent this energy harming others and dragging everybody into his personal beliefs.

4. The Inn & the Afterlife

    The Inn, ultimately, was an escape. At first the Inn was meant to be a sanctuary. Sobbergritch, in his drive to cease existing, created a limbo that ripped away the autonomy Ikabod aimed to give his guests. In the beginning, the Inn was an escape from isolation and loneliness, but then it became an attempted escape from death itself.

    The Inn-goers attempted to find closure. Ikabod found joy and contentment in aiding others. For a time, he was fulfilled. Sobbergritch used the Inn as a means to an end, a supply of all the resources he’d ever need to get rid of the light in people’s eyes. The Traveller wanted to have autonomy, a say in their own life, and for a time they thought they’d get that by fighting through hell to get some rest.

5. Trains

    The Traveller was dumped into the Afterlife by a train. Ikabod referred to the Morning as a train. Trains! Heavily based in Ik’s words, trains represent a colossal, unstoppable force that has been moving since the beginning.

    The train that deposited the Traveller represented dying. It served as a psychopomp transporting him from the realm of the living to that of the dead, or limbo. It roared by, faintly filled with people, and then it was gone. This reflects how humanity is leaving, how soon there will be no more passengers. The beginning of the end.

    Whether or not the Traveller ending up at the Inn was sheer luck depends on the view of the Inn as an object of change and autonomy, as well as the intelligence of the train or its driver. Was he shoved out by the crowds of people? Did he step out willingly? The vagueness of the beginning of the game leads to various possible interpretations.

    No matter that, the train at the beginning of a game was an inevitability, representing death. Everybody dies.

    The train at the end of the game is the Morning, the Horseman, the Death of All. In the context of the Afterlife, humanity barreled toward its end in a blaze of glory, and the Morning waited to rise at the end of it. The end waited for nobody, and as soon as the last human on earth cracked her head open and died, the Morning ran. There was nothing anybody could do about it. It took its passengers, the souls of not just the Inn but of everywhere, and ran singing into the ether, never to be known again.

6. The Morning

    The Morning is the End. Perhaps the Morning is God, or the horseman of Death, or an angel. But no matter which it is, it is essentially rapturing the souls. It is taking them elsewhere, or making them cease to be.

    With no more humanity, what’s the point of an Afterlife? Is there such a thing as a destination when there’s nobody left to travel there?

    Could the Morning be called luck? Chance? It is an ending, and everything ends at some point, but the characters were unaware of its approach. Even at the end of it all, Ik could only guess that it was something big and unstoppable. Perhaps the Traveller would’ve viewed that as a slap in the face of trying to take his fate into his own hands, if he knew what the horseman staring him down truly was. Is that another strike of bad luck, if it is an inevitability?

    Knowing what impassable force is barreling towards the beloved characters, the Upturned becomes a tragedy. Neither the Traveller nor Ikabod got to live full lives, because bad luck ripped that opportunity from them. In their own way, they attempted to find closure at the Inn. Ikabod makes a choice for himself, to escape the job pushed onto him by another person. Meanwhile the Traveller takes his fate into his own hands and crawls out of the Inn, away from the destiny Sobbergritch attempted to drag him towards. The mere steps toward a wanted change is closure, goal reached or not.

    But, in the Traveller’s case, he never quite got what he wanted, which was for a say in the matter. But the Morning, being a train of finality, does not wait, now that humanity is dead, and the train takes its passengers because everyone has a ticket. They all moved on away from the Afterlife, toward an unknowable future.

    The Upturned is a game about finality and chance.

    It is a good game.

    It is tragic.