Four Short Filipino Indie Games!

The Philippines is a country that's almost impossible to love. It is perhaps the embodiment of wasted potential; worms ate the country inside-out, and now it's exiting the global sphincter as a massive piece of shit.

 

This can be seen in the country's gaming ""industry"". Despite brimming with talent, the nation as of yet still sees 'gaming' as equivalent to 'gambling sites' and 'offshore' or 'outsourced work'. As the country's potential economic growth gets continuously squandered by political powers, the potential of the country as an artistic forefront is squandered by the overwhelming cultural powers brought by the globalized world. The path that a creative must walk in this nation hangs in the balance. It is our imperative to pull ourselves forward by the bootstraps. Therefore, as a Filipino game developer myself, it is my prime mission to seek out, participate with, and contribute to the local gaming scene, one so underrepresented and undervalued.

 

You will notice a common theme, of sorts, with the four games I shall recommend today. In some ways, they all grapple or play with Filipino identity. Unlike the gaming titans of the 'developed' world, who can afford to remove any trace of identity to maraud a globalized audience, works from the countries who own smaller pieces of the global pie tend to keep and even highlight their local/cultural identity. The Philippines is a prime example of this. Filipino artists and creators are almost behooved to be assertively Filipino; in part to scream into the world of our existence, and in part to understand our identity in the first place, a problem still unsolved by a nation still colonized. I will highlight how Filipino identity manifests in the four games. But I like to view this Filipino-ness not as weakness, but as opportunity, and importantly, beauty.

 

This is really why I want to show off local games: I think they're beautiful. They tug my heart in ways that are feverishly close. Somehow, it's like these games are not stranger to me, like I could freely let them into my home. Because they are my home. Because despite the shittiness of it all, art remains. We remain. I hope I can convince you to love what remains. 

 

If you've been craving a bit of the Pinoy taste, these are short titles with lots of variety and could be good places to start. Combined, they'll take barely an hour to finish. Without further ado, here are four short Filipino games that I've played throughout the week which I quite liked.

goodbye by artsybarrels

CW: Depression, Suicide

 

 

This one hurt. This one really, really hurt. Playing goodbye does not take much time, but as I'm sure you could piece together, it's about a young person on their way to commit suicide. Tread lightly with this one, please, and stay safe out there.

 

I've read a few stories like this one in the past, but this is the first time it's ever hit like this. Being told that I am loved in my mother tongue—by a fictional mother—is a spear chucked right into my soul. 

 

To understand this short game, one must understand the state of mental health awareness in the Philippines. Here, mental and emotional health are still severely underdiscussed and misunderstood. The largely conservative and 'resilience'-centric culture does not recognize depression. From my experience, depressed friends and peers are viewed as the problem rather than the ones facing a problem; they are 'lazy' and 'lacking in willpower'.

 

As well, institutions lack the capability to handle or address psychoemotional problems. Academic institutions, for instance, uphold rigid laws not designed to handle challenges in well-being, so 'support' or 'assistance' systems merely end up becoming apathetic apparatuses whose existence likely only comes from compliance. In-campus 'guidance' clinics or counselors—if they exist—may not be well-trained or funded. Top-down, the whole thing is a societal and structural nightmare. Those who suffer from mental health issues must go through hoops to get the assistance that they need, that is, if they hadn't yet been demonized by people around them. The fact that the mother and father of goodbye's main character are responsive to them is important, but it's too little too late, which really sadly is quite often the case.

 

There is an alternate route in the game, if the player may choose it, which is to break down and open up to the mother at the beginning before attempting. This underlines the importance of having support systems who are willing to listen to you, hug you and help you in times of need. If you are struggling through a mental health problem/crisis, try to find people you can trust. Try to consider contacting key hotlines. For now, know that you're not alone. 

 

If you want more lighthearted games which still pull your heartstrings, artsybarrel's other games are definitely worth checking out. I recommend pauwi sa amin, which barely takes two minutes. 

You can play goodbye here: https://artsybarrels.itch.io/goodbye

  

DOT (Tuldok) by Murushii Studios

 

DOT describes itself as a "short existential dread horror game that was made in one day" and it certainly fits that entire bill. It is a 5-10 minute long game where you click on dots that appear randomly on the screen. As you click on the dots, the gray background gets enveloped by black streak marks until your whole screen becomes black, at which point Filipino-dubbed narration occurs, telling you that you have become the dot. After this narration ends, the game cuts to a first person 3D platforming section through a long, dark corridor, which ultimately ends with you going into a gray screen: the same gray screen that greets you at the start of the game.

 

Murushii Studios has a knack for 3D, low-poly horror games. I had half a mind to include one of their most popular games, Christmas in our Fears, which features a twisted caricature of Philippines' very own Jose Mari Chan. It even parodies the title of one of Jose Mari Chan's albums, Christmas in our Hearts. What I liked about Christmas in our Fears is how it showcases the uniquely local art of caricature, which in gaming blends perfectly with the mascot horror genre. 

 

But I chose to higlight DOT because it spoke to me in different ways. The first reason is that it is rather unique. Its premise moves away from the primarily 3D/mascot horror that would fit in Murushii's wheelhouse. DOT's concept and its narration are gripping, and the limited use of 3D in the end, I find, does not take away from its simplicity, but rather complements the game's abstract nature and cosmic dread. There is someone, something out there who is looking for you, hovering over you, waiting to click on you, the dot that you have become. The only way out is through. For the narration portion, though, might I recommend putting the narration along with the dot-clicking section? Interweaving it with the clicks? See Daniel Foutz's Video Tennis for prime inspiration on what I'm talking about.

 

The second reason I chose DOT is quite funny. The first section of the game, where one clicks on dots on the screen, reminded me of an analog horror video I made titled Follow the Red Dot. In that video, the viewer must look for an ever-shrinking red dot on the screen, before coming to a jumpscare when the red dot is so small it's practically invisible. It's a stupid video, yet it's my most liked video. I just thought the resemblance was funny. There really is no such thing as an 'original idea', huh? 

You can play DOT (Tuldok) here: https://murushii.itch.io/dot

 

CRINGR by Kulam Studio

 

What happens when you combine 2010s meme humor, contemporary 'brain rot' humor, and Filipino memes and kanal humor, and package them in a Tinder-style game? You get... whatever the fuck this is. CRINGR is the stupidest and worst game I've ever played. It's amazing. I was laughing crying for ten minutes after I finished.

 

I love this game and the way it encapsulates Filipino meme culture. Pinoy humor is a thing hard to describe, but you'll know it when you see it. Slapstick, absurd, full of references, slightly unhinged, but most importantly, Filipino meme culture is incredibly vibrant and staunchly political—a beautiful resonance with the nation at large. CRINGR embodies most of this in its never-ending stream of meme dating profiles, killing you not in one punchline but by death of a thousand cuts. Right when you think it stops, the laughter just keeps on going. Perhaps the only thing missing in CRINGR is the political nature of Filipino meme culture. Photos of Kitty Duterte's wake-and-bake or Senator Bato dela Rosa's attempted escape from an ICC warrant would have been cherries on top.

 

Notable, too, that CRINGR was made for the Manila-based Bad Game Jam. I got the amazing opportunity to listen to one of the founders(?) of Bad Game Jam, Agustin Crisostomo (@agooseteen), who was invited to speak at Ateneo de Manila University. His talk piqued my interest to the jam. The Bad Game Jam focuses not on making good games for players, but on cultivating a fun creating experience for the developers, even if the end result is a 'bad game'. It appraises video game development as an artistic process and a communally shared experience rather than a production of commodity, which is something I can get behind. If you're interested in more games like CRINGR, where the developer/s clearly had fun in making the game, definitely peep the Bad Game Jam and its submissions. I'd love to throw my hat in the ring and join the jam this year myself.

 

You can play CRINGR here: https://tokwalover666.itch.io/cringr

 

Biyaya Baybay by SpiralDaisies

Biyaya is a Tagalog word that means 'blessing', and this small yet home-like game is just that. In Biyaya Baybay, you play as Biyaya who goes out with her friend Himig (melody) to the beach. On the beach, you interact with booths, buy Himig some flowers, collect some shells, then end the hang-out by going home. This game feels down-to-earth. Its soothing chiptune music, pastel colors, and quaint slice-of-life story paints a simple picture in a way quite reminiscent to home.

 

I like Biyaya Baybay for three reasons. The first is that it's a girly game—notably, it's a submission for the Girly Game Jam #2—in a tropical setting, but it silently does away with the typical exoticization prevalent with works of such kind. Biyaya Baybay treats its Filipino beach as home, as yet another place for commerce or activity, than something of a tourist destination. Likewise, its 'girliness' is depicted as status quo, virtually normalized in a local context that would normally delimit or ostracize it. 

 

Secondly, if I'm not mistaken, Baybay is a GB Studio game! We don't see this particular style very often, especially where I'm from. As a pixel artist myself, I love seeing works in the Gameboy graphics style.

 

Thirdly, I like the way it plays with language. If the proud translations of "biyaya" and "himig" in the game's description are not proof enough, its "Filipino first" (translation second) approach to dialogue puts the local tongue front and center, making it the primary language of the text. This is an especially important decision to have made in a global, mostly Western game jam context. It is thus quite proudly Filipino.

 

With all that being said, the creator of Biyaya Baybay admits that the game is unfinished due to game jam-related time constraints, and it shows. The runtime is rather short, plus the bugs and lack of signposting make it abundantly clear that there were more planned for this game initially. In the future, I would love a game in this style that is more fleshed out, polished, and complete.

 

You can play Biyaya Baybay here: https://spiraldaisies.itch.io/biyaya-baybay

 

A Surprise Fifth Game?! Ligayang Litrato by team 'Peanut Butter and Bread'

 

Wait, what?! A fifth game?

 

Actually, this article was originally meant to have five games, the fifth one being Ligayang Litrato by team 'Peanut Butter and Bread', made for the UP Computer Science Guild (UPCSG) 2026 game jam. Problem is, I couldn't complete the game! You'll see why in a moment.

 

Ligayang Litrato is a simple game about restoring lost images. To do so, you must cast a spell using the red amulet (see image above) and say the three necessary requirements: (a) the nature of the restoration you're attempting to make (is it restoring something lost or removing something added?); (b) the type of damage done to the picture (was it a coffee stain, was the image torn? etc.); and (c) what is the name of the subject in the photo? I got to Lola's third photo (see image above), but unfortunately I could not figure out who the man in the photo is! I don't think Lola says his name. I'm supposed to listen to what Lola is saying, but there's no way to reread her dialogue after she's finished talking. Worse yet, I have to redo the previous two photos to get a chance at the third one every time I mess up. Am I missing something?

 

I liked Ligayang Litrato because of its charming artstyle, its assertively Cebuano roots, and its cozy, picturesque vibe that reminded me of Strange Horticulture. But I don't feel quite right including it in the list if I can't even complete it. Perhaps you could give it a shot and try it? If you get past the third photo, scroll down to the "Contact Me!" section of this article and let me know!

 

You can play Ligayang Litrato here: https://moomewie.itch.io/ligayang-litrato 

Some Upcoming Filipino Games I Look Forward To

I realize that all of the recommendations I've given here are short games from one creator or small teams. Most importantly, these games are fairly lo-fi and small in scope, not the types of long-form, fleshed out content one might expect. You can reasonably finish these four or five games within an hour or so. Truth is, we don't have that many 'big, sprawling' video games as of the moment; that's the nature of game development here. Still, some are making upcoming, big strides, and I'm so excited. I'd like to share some stuff I look forward to.

 

 

 

ShaggyBearGames' Lost and Found is a Gumball-style mystery-adventure game that seems to be set in the Philippines. It won GameDev.TV's $500 Indie Fund which makes me happy, because it looks so cool and may just be the 'spiritual successor' to the equally beautiful Until Then. And it's solo-developed! What the hell! Very excited for this one.

Team Soleil's Dogwood is a "cooking action RPG where battlefield is the wilderness and home is the restaurant you built from nothing." I'm pulling from the Steam description because I can't even describe the game. It looks so gorgeous! Not to mention, Team Soleil is a team of siblings who proudly exclaim Dogwood being a Filipino-made game. Super excited.

 

 

Good Knight Collective's Keyboard Warrior Stickman - Typing Beat 'Em Up is a, well, fighting typing game. A "fighting typing game." I have no words. Still, though, this looks tons of fun. 

 

Outside of the medium of gaming, Filipino artists and creators continue to cook, too. A Filipino animated film titled THE LOVERS, which seems to me about lesbian yearning between a chef and a sirena, is planned to premiere at the 2026 Annecy Festival. Of course, I must also mention Forgotten Island, which got quite a bit of buzz when it was first announced. A whole DreamWorks/Universal 3D animated film about Filipino folklore and culture! I find it really, truly incredible. I hope that we can get this level of budget and representation in the gaming space in the future. 

 

As I hope you can see, Filipino games are quite diverse, beautiful, and creative. In my effort of discovering these games, I've come to appreciate more the sheer amount of 'diamonds' that lie in the very big 'rough' that is this country. I hope that you, Filipino or not, can see just how much potential we have and how much we are capable of. This journey of exploration and creation, in a medium and industry still undersupported locally, is truly a matter of national importance. But I want to take it one game at a time. Highlight, talk about, and share one game at a time. Make one game at a time. One story at a time. One artwork at a time. One at a time, this is how we can make change. It's not game over! No, the game is just getting started.

Contact Me!

By the way, if you're one of the creators of the games I've listed here and you want something added, changed, or removed; if you have suggestions for locally produced games I should check out; or if you've some-freaking-how figured out that aforementioned puzzling photo, contact me!

 

My email is arddelacruz@gmail.com, and my discord is @cookiejar2025.

Planescape: Torment - Review and Analysis

NOTE: This review contains minor spoilers, but torment is best experienced blind.

 

The college semester is over, and I can finally start writing again. Let me tell you all of a game I'd been playing over the past two weeks.

 

1. The game logo on Steam.

 

Black Isle Studio's, Interplay's, and later Beamdog's[1] Planescape: Torment is a 1999 CRPG "cult classic." It was published during the so-called 'golden age' of CRPGs, primarily isometric CRPGs. It runs on the same Infinity Engine that powered Larian's Baldur's Gate, and it, too, is a DND-based game, set in the obscure campaign setting of Planescape. However, unlike BG1, Torment is far more story-driven. In it I played as an immortal man, The Nameless One (TNO), who woke up alive in a mortuary for the dead. Throughout the game, I spent my time figuring out everything I could about TNO's nature. Why is TNO immortal? What was his life before his first death? How could he become mortal once more?

 

How can I sell you on this game? Perhaps the premise of an 'immortal amnesiac' may be of prime interest? Yes... the premise alone implies two things of great deal. I shall discuss both as starting points for broader analyses.

 

Philosophical, Full Writing 

For one, the 'immortal amnesiac' implies that Torment would delve into the philosophies, of life, of death, of legions, of the planes beyond. And that it did. On this front, Torment did not disappoint.

 

An example of its exploration of, say, death, would be the faction of the Dustmen, who run the mortuary in which you start the game. They believe that life on the "Material Plane"[2] is fake life, and everyone's true purpose is to achieve "True Death." They celebrate and manage deaths and believe it to be the ultimate end for which people prepare their whole lives. For the 'dusties', death is their god, the central source of meaning which creates the road on which they shall walk. A grim belief system, reflected indeed on the colorless gray-brown of the members' long robes, and the gothic, dark-floral interior of the mortuary. 

 

 

2. The slab in the Mortuary on which TNO awakens. 

 

Starting the game with the Dustmen and their "True Death" serves as a notable backdrop for the main character, TNO, and his central conflict of immortality. I love TNO. He is quite unlike any other RPG main character that I've played. See, this particular main character is far from the first TNO. Every time TNO dies, he reincarnates but forgets everything. Thus, he finds throughout the story that he is but one in a long line of many past versions of him.

 

With this take on immortality, Torment implants unto the main character the conflict of the split self. TNO, in all his incarnations, never quite feels like 'himself'. Everything that he is, possibly he had been before. And his past selves? Oh, they hate him. They need him. They help him and stop him, for he is not 'The Nameless One', yet he would say the same to them, to his pasts. And in writing him in such a manner, TNO becomes every character in one. He was thrice evil, once prude, twice good, once shrewd. And, really, what better character is there than all? The splitting of the self reminds me somewhat of the show Severance—outie Mark and innie Mark both know of the other's existence, but individually they claim their self as the 'real' Mark. My TNO, the 'real' TNO. But why should it? Why should none of the previous TNOs, the ones we don't play, be the real one? And in one fell swoop, you and I are thinking about the nature of reality and agency. Philosophy: a great lure.

 

Beyond just its philosophical breadth, Torment's quality shows, of a broader sense, in its writing. I like to describe this game's writing as 'full'. Full not that it's quantifiably sizeable; in fact, it's relatively short for a CRPG (and we may see part of why, later). No, the writing is full in that it leaves no page, no character, no dialogue behind. Full in that everyone had been transcribed soul. Full in that your heart is left full after an hour of play. And it does so with utmost conciseness, wasting as few words as possible, or rather, treating each with equal importance.

 

In writing side characters, for instance, Torment gives you just enough—all that you need—to care. Let me give some of my favorite examples of side characters who appear for no more than a few minutes. A Dustman by the name of Sere, the oldest member of the faction, can be found in a bar. She had grown skeptic of the Dustmen faction when, on the day she had grazed death, everyone around her cheered for her to perish. Likewise, a 'Doubtful Skeleton', seeing the dullness of the catacombs and having been persuaded by a Dustman to die, had regretted clinging onto life. These two characters are two sides of the same coin. They, who individually have little impact on the game on the mechanical level, graciously show cracks in their individual beliefs, and both, when put together, show a haunting sense of alienation from their community and peers. What's more, they are intentionally sitting on the edge of their belief, leaving the choice to you, the player, to give them the advice that may tip them toward one direction or another. Convincing the Skeleton to die or Sere to live will not affect your journey, but it will underline its trajectory.

 

3. Sere the Skeptic, in the Gathering Dust bar. 

Choice matters here. In online discussions that included Torment, I have seen it compared to, or be called the 'spiritual precursor' of, Disco Elysium. That comparison is apt, for the stories and characters of the two are largely shaped by actively made, constant, trickling choices. Your character—your TNO—has a DND-based alignment (Lawful Good–Chaotic Evil) that is affected by dialogue choices, and these choices are neither few nor far between. Even your combat class (Mage, Fighter, Thief, or Priest) is dictated by dialogue, not by a character creation menu. Therefore, abiding by the rules or telling a harmless lie may make or break your Lawful alignment, which in turn may affect the availability of future opportunities. 

 

 

 4. The icon for the 'Neutral Good' alignment.

 

In practice, the differences in what one may experience from each alignment or class are not as diverse as other CRPGs (like Disco Elysium) may allow. Still, I confess that there are many fresh experiences that can be had from repeat playthroughs. Furthermore, it is the dynamic shifting and molding of self through active choice that really set Torment apart. Much like its very multiverse[3]: through choice, you can shift, and through your shift, beliefs can shift, and through the movement of beliefs, the planes can shift.

"If enough people cared... if enough people truly believed that the trees should live, they would."  – Mourns-for-Trees 

Torment's writing is, in many respects, impeccable. It is philosophical, concise, and breathless. It is dark, like the darkness of the manufactured sky that envelops Sigil. But the 'dark' of the matter—the truth—is despite the harrowing torment in the planes, Torment is still wonderfully soulful. It gives even those on the margins of runtime a-plenty time of day, with not a word wasted, not a soul ungiven. 

 

But what of the game's, well, gameplay?

 

Gameplay of Death

The other implication of an 'immortal amnesiac' is that death may play a unique role in the play experience. And it does so in interesting ways.

 

Death in Torment is a way of explaining the all-too-ubiquitous respawn mechanic. When TNO dies, he doesn't inexplicably return to a 'previous checkpoint' as if by ludic magic. The concept of immortality provides answers for this typical mechanical oddity in a manner satisfactory and self-explanatory. Furthermore, special interactions with companions, who stay with you through death and resurrection, can be unlocked postmortem. Oddly, though, Chris Avellone's (lead designer's) manual for Torment states that "death serves to advance the plot," even if there is only one major instance where death is required, per se. In that climactic instance which I won't spoil, death is executed well, but it would've been great to have more moments of "required death," especially for such a thematically tight game.

5. An example of a tattoo.

Indeed, the writing and gameplay of Torment are commendably on the same wavelength. Death is a narrative device and a mechanic. Choice leads to alignment, which allows certain equipment or items to be used. The recurring element of bodily mutilation and desecration manifests in the abundance of tattoos as the 'armor equivalent' which focus on symbolic stat buffs rather than defensive capability. Also, the game's extensive acceptance of violent or nonviolent approaches means, depending on what you want to do, you'll either be doing a lotta talkin'... or a lotta swingin'.

 

And how could I forget the quality that inextricably ties Torment's gameplay and narrative? Their genre subversiveness! Torment does its damnedest to set itself apart. It avoids tropes as if the idea of 'trope' disgusts it. Writing-wise? It has a reviled hag that's neither pure evil nor misunderstood good; a waning religious preacher as a warrior whose blade depends on the strength of his false faith; a 'brothel' not for sexual lusts, but for debate and intellectual discussion; and a reprehensible main character, physically and morally 'ugly', unlike the vibrant sunshine characters in more popular titles that embody the word 'good'. Gameplay-wise? It has a floating, wimpy skull for a damage-soaking tank; a final chapter that is too hard to complete via any form of combat; and a semi-hidden area that explains in-universe fast travel and features a loving parody of the old, cuboid dungeon crawler style of game. The darkness and chaos seen throughout Torment's through-line taint its every corner. As a result, narrative and mechanical motifs emerge which, while different, all work toward one cohesive picture. Through its incessant uniqueness, Torment becomes an iconoclast of CRPGs.

Of course, gameplay cracks show throughout Torment, and I fear they are my most prominent critique. I'd be remiss not to point out the two major difficulty spikes that appear throughout, three if you count the final area which is so hard I start to think it's intentionally designed that way because I just ran around the swarms of enemies there. The words "gameplay of death" take on a different meaning when I reached the penultimate area and was greeted by: a fetch quest that's about as snooze-inducing as that new Drake triple-album, a poorly communicated 'point of no return' (which I had mistakenly entered...), all in a town smaller than even the beginning area (how's THAT for trope subversion). Turned out, the penultimate area was rushed and bigger plans were once drawn before schedule constraints required it to be shortened and shipped off to a different designer, who may or may not have misunderstood what Avellone meant by "torment." Thus, there is a remarkable decrease in quality at that point, which at least thankfully picks up again near the end. 

6. A key art for the game.

You know what else about the game is killing me? It is lowkey misogynistic. This isn't so much a "prominent" critique as much as it is a subtle and pervading feeling. Of course, such an argument is hard to wrestle with. One may reasonably contend that since Torment's world is one deeply rooted in all manners of evil, the placement of dozens of prostitutes throughout the streets, and the appearance of such quotes like "Women were the reason I became a monk," and "Women have always walked our path with us...and they have suffered, and it is always their choice," which fascinatingly pairs well with, "When you feel, instead of think, there is little room for choice," are all chalked up to 'reflections' of 'yet another evil'. Of course, this 'mirror to society' surely must also explain why the two female companions, one a smart succubus and the other a silver-tongued street girl, strong women in their own right, are both suddenly head-over-heels for TNO, with the latter even carnally desiring him upon first conversation. Certainly, this explains why these two female companions, who are with you for almost half the story, stand at the back of one of the game's key art (see above) while an armored 'Mercykiller', with spikes that protrude so ridiculously far they look like the teeth of FNAF nightmare animatronics, takes up as much of the image as the main character despite having only an hour of screen time. By this point, this 'mirror of society' becomes a 'degrading parody', and, suddenly, in fear of critiquing such an otherwise amazing game, which I too dearly love, we start to treat it like how we would a Murakami novel; we just ignore all of this, at which point the misogyny evolves into 'remnant of its time'.

I'm being harsh to prove a point, but I understand why some may not see this, or me, eye-to-eye. The "misogyny" I say here is not prevalent or visibly oppressive. Rather, it exists under the breath, in the letters of the words. Gender power structures inform this game's idea of 'love'. At least two, and arguably four, female characters would kill themselves for TNO, despite one of them having been manipulated all her life to love him, and the other only knowing him for barely a month. Perhaps it is in that sense where Torment is tormentingly 'real'? I love Planescape: Torment so much which is why I point this out in the first place. For a work of art that hails as 'subversive', could it not have at least done something different in this manner, too? Women are allowed to be their own characters with their own lives and motivations, so we're not failing the Bechdel test or anything. The 'brothel for debate' alone is a great counterexample to what I'm criticizing. Just that when I look at the full picture, I remain somewhat disappointed.

But let me now center myself and give the closing words, for, truly, given all that I have described, Torment remains one-of-a-kind, and for what it's accomplished deserves love and respect all the same.

 

Final Remarks

Planescape: Torment is a special game in the midst of the 'golden era' of isometric CRPGs. It is about an immortal amnesiac who journeys to find his mortality once more, and through it, he learns of the world, the philosophies of life and death, and the nature of belief. Torment avoids the combat-heaviness typical to the genre, allowing one to enact their decision-making to solve problems primarily by dialogue or not. Being story-driven, the game is breathlessly concise, thematically cohesive, and delightfully unique. 

 

It does, however, has its cracks. Sections rush through without depth or substance, the difficulty falters, and a lowkey misogyny stains the dialogue box. In some ways, it is torment in a literal degree.

 

I say these, though, because I love this game. I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry a tear or two while playing. It really is one of my favorite RPGs to date. And while it may not be considered a 'monument' of the genre, it is a notable exception to the classic RPG formula, an iconoclastic sui generis. I hope that when I die, I may be reborn having forgotten everything just so I could experience the planes all over again.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Beamdog produced the Enhanced Edition, which is actually the version that I played.

[2] The "Material Plane" is the plane that contains all life and matter.

[3] The planes—well, specifically the "Outer Planes"—are shaped and formed by beliefs in the Material Plane. When beliefs change, the Outer Planes move with. 

A Thief of Joy

"My game is like Animal Crossing and Stardew Valley!"

Like.

"This new release is Balatro but with guns!"

But with.

"It's like Fortnite meets Tetris!"

Meets. 

"If you enjoy Deus Ex and System Shock, this game is for you!"

For you.

The digital commerce constantly twists its heads, the flesh of markets pulsate, and with these escapades come rapid change. New trends emerge, new tactics constantly schemed.

Today, indie marketing strategists have seemingly latched onto a new, widespread modus operandi: to take their game and explicitly compare it to more popular titles, often from which inspirations are borrowed. This nascent comparative strategy in indie game marketing serves an effort to reach larger audiences by invoking experiences familiar, and by attracting players who enjoy a similar formula. In its essence, the comparative strategy of marketing is a symbiotic handshake of convenience between players and developers. The latter even sometimes argues that comparison is a necessary strategy to survive in today's landscape. But I implore developers to stay careful on what is now an almost instinctive urge to describe your works. Comparison is but a duplicitous act—a cogent argument, a thief of joy. What you think could give your game a chance may kill any it could have ever dreamed of having.

 

Consider supporting the game, Infinicrypt, from the post above. 

It's important to differentiate the practice of comparing games in a pure descriptive sense from its related but somewhat separate practice in marketing, wherein comparison acts as a hook, of sorts, for consumers. While the former is a normal, rhetorical practice in the description of anything, it would seem that its sudden surge in usage as a hook is one of relatively modern conception. I explore the latter here, but it may well be that the two forms of comparison within the industry ricochet influence off each other.

As to why anyone would utilize a comparative marketing strategy, grabbing of attention and establishment of familiarity are the two main reasons I could see. Popularity demands focus—any title that is popular stops consumers in their scrolling, they need to see what's up. There seems to be a learned association occurring in the mind of a person whenever they see a highly popular game being compared to an indie title. In the example post for Infinicrypt above, a scrolling person may see such titles like Risk of Rain and The Binding of Isaac and proceed to feel a sense of importance—urging them to discover more about Infinicrypt. Furthermore, the strategy naturally and concisely develops familiarity among possible consumers, leading those who were already fans of the mentioned titles to feel intrigued. Fewer words are thus needed to describe and understand a game's essence; convenient references are always within reach.

  

Consider supporting the game, Windswept, from the post above.

Comparing games to bigger games seems to be a working strategy in driving engagement in social media, where it is most often seen. The social media account for Windswept (as shown in the photo above) echoes the sentiment: "familiarity goes a long way with hooking people in." They go on to contrast two of their posts to portray the difference in reach with and without this strategy. Without, they were able to attain 600 likes, but with it, 9,000. These results, plus the prominence of these kinds of viral marketing tactics, more-or-less displays the effectiveness of the comparative strategy in generating social media engagement. 

But do they sell? If I were to see, solely, that a game is "like Donkey Kong Country", would I want to buy it from that alone?

 

Ultimately, what the comparative marketing strategy cannot accomplish is crucial to successful marketing: giving the product a selling point and a name. Engagement is but one metric of marketing; sold units is another. Getting engagements is arguably the easier part. However, a game noticed is not necessarily a game sold.

A product's selling point is derived from its unique existence within its competitive space. In the realm of entertainment where quality is value, the average consumer has little to no reason to purchase a product that is simply an equivalent or lower quality version of another (and, no, you must not argue that your product is somehow overall better than what you compare it with). Perhaps the most effective piece of information that would give consumers reason for purchase is some sort of uniqueness factor. In an already highly competitive market, it may be more reasonable to sell a game not on what makes it better than the rest, but what makes it different. In this manner, consumers are given reasons as to why they ought to purchase the marketed product: they are promised an experience that is new.

Comparison, however, strips uniqueness. It calls into mind other products, which gives people reason to compare, which often leads to them thinking it's a "worse" version of the other games. Through comparison, one defines oneself in the basis of others, in the language of others. Regardless of the independent quality of the product, consumers will view it through a filtered lens, seeing it not for its own merits, but for the merits of the other games referenced. Consumers may be intrigued, but if they're not hooked into buying the game (chances are they're not), they will scroll away, leaving with the impression that the game they had just witnessed is, in some effect, a collage of others, or worse, perhaps an unoriginal collage of others. Faulty associations are made; the game loses its legs. And when these faulty associations dominate the mind of the consumer, they latch, thus removing any and all unique impression the game could've possibly had.

In some more fortunate cases, indies are marketed comparatively to contrasting games, and here uniqueness could exude from the inherent "genre-mashing" (Balatro with guns?!). This lessens the problem of lacking a selling point, as the contrast of genres or tropes itself produces subversion, it is itself the selling point. But this variety of comparison still risks the game being labeled as a "rip-off" or "unoriginal", even if it is wholly unique in concept and execution. Once again, the impression made on the consumer will be defined not in the terms of the game itself, but that of others.

 

Consider supporting the game, Scraps of the Machine, from the post above. 

It's also a matter of name. Names are identification. When we first meet somebody, we search for their name. Names guide us; they give our memories a starting point, and it is only after we remember a name do we recall its associated markers and identities. Question: what will consumers remember after scrolling past something like the tweet above? Is it the name of the comparandum or its comparans? Subject or its reference? In recollection, I surmise many consumers would remember the product loosely and in terms of the more popular games it's compared to. Worst case is consumers fail to even remember the name of the marketed game at all, probably because many of these posts fail to include the title in the first place.

 

https://x.com/Zingus5/status/2013353859020738654?s=20Image is from this post.

Having established the pitfalls of this strategy, let's remind ourselves of the situation's reality. Indie creators look to trends like these because the gaming industry has become hypercompetitive and overtly commercialized—as capitalist industries tend to do. It's not entirely the developers' and marketers' fault for relying on comparison to drive engagement. After all, numbers don't lie. Such trends drive (or at least promise to drive) consumer engagement, particularly from and within the crucial area of social media. However, because of the nature of social media, where everything is consumed and forgotten within seconds, engagement within it is only loosely retained, if not entirely superficial. View counts are not necessarily greater, just inflated. Comparison has its value, and it certainly pierces the algorithm, just not necessarily the people seeing the game.

There's no definitive "right way" to sell one's game, but there are ways to improve what's seen in the status quo. For instance, one thing that probably best be done is to name the game in the post. Include its title, for crying out loud. Establishing a name is establishing, too, an anchor in one's mind to associate with, to keep. Similarly, if comparison is needed, don't let it be the first thing that is attached to the game, as attention shifts too much to the comparison, burying the game's identity and selling point. Remove that unneeded filter. First impressions are long-lasting impressions.

Some of the more interesting things to result from this marketing trend are the posts exemplifying its contrary: tweets about games that take the comparison format, but twist it to focus simply on the product itself. An example would be the counter-trend of developers/marketers tweeting: "This game is for you!" as an indirect response to the comparative marketing strategy, which would normally say, "This game is for people who have played [other game]!"

 

Consider supporting the game, Nonu, from this post above. 

Or, if this isn't enough, some go balls out and directly target the trend instead, as did the team behind UNBEATABLE, who said, "[W]e don't need the algorithm to put our games in the eyes of fans of other things."

https://x.com/dcellgames/status/199153540841643959?s=20

Marketing plays a critical role in the success of any indie game. In the hostile and competitive scene of social media marketing, where attention seems to equal profit, reaching people's feeds and grabbing their focus thus seems to be key. A trend has emerged recently, among indie creators, to compare their games to others, invoking familiarity and interest with target audiences. However, the discarding of the game's name and selling point, plus the disposability of social media posts for consumers, means that even if engagement increases through using comparison, it will not necessarily convert engagement into players. In this day and age, the consumer wants to hear new voices. Comparison on its own steals more than it gives. It may be high time for this marketing strategy to adapt, or for us to give games space to breathe and let them speak.

My Favorite Games I Played in 2025

What to you has been a year, for me is but a second and a lifetime. 2025 is wrapped finally in festive jolly and acute melancholy, so sit with me by the chimney fire as I make my annual lamentations and ludic recommendations.

 

This year had been, like a coaster, fit with the twists and loop-de-loops of occurrences. Even in my final year of high school, I had managed to slot myself into multiple friend groups, get rejected, be confessed to, fall in love, enter the college of my preference, get all my shit robbed and stolen, and have my body almost give out on me on two occasions. "No rest for the wicked," so said this year, and on this front it afforded me little. 

But you do not read on to hear my life story, interesting and chaotic as it had been, nor are you here to wallow with me in my regrets, celebrate my joys, and listen to my wishful desires for the next revolution of this Earth. No, you're interested in what I—Big Gaming's Greatest Slave!—have been up to all this time, for it's true I had spent a significant portion of my life clacking at my keys and wasting away with the medium. Indeed, all throughout the year I played video games. A lot of them. 

 

Believe me when I claim that 2025 has granted me my most exposure to the highest quality titles yet, mostly facilitated by a new and stronger laptop that had been so graciously gifted to me by my college's scholarship. My eyes were gazed with releases ranging from the unabashedly Unreal Engine look of Palworld; to the ear-creaming music of Persona; and the winding court cases of Phoenix Wright. Among them all, listed here are my absolute favorites and high recommendations.

 

Disco Elysium (2019)

 

 

Disco Elysium is a truly special literary and artistic accomplishment to such a point where calling it merely a "game" feels almost insulting to its stature. I can agree that Disco Elysium is a fine role-playing game in its mechanical sense, but let me not deceive my dear readers: I love this "game" truly for its ability to paint a picture, through its visuals and writing, putting into my mind the great appearance of Revachol, replete with its mind-splitting insanities and pastel-color pétanque. This "game" is a dive into the psyche of a depressed, substance abusing, amnesiac, and dissociative detective as he messily handles not only the lynching case before him, but the greater world as a whole; its truths and sociopolitics. Victory in Disco Elysium lay not through the defeat of some greater evil, but of the chaos in oneself, as one allows themselves to achieve foregone closures, and through these they realize, there is accomplishment in letting the bottle go; there is sweetness in stability.

 

The writing particularly speaks to me, as someone who takes enjoyment in reading the classics. Disco Elysium, put simply, is written like a classic. Dialogue is wrapped in layered and nuanced minutiae. 

The mask of humanity fall from capital. It has to take it off to kill everyone — everything you love; all the hope and tenderness in the world.

Sentences ooze powerful, metaphoric imagery.  

The limbed and headed machine of pain and undignified suffering is firing up again. It wants to walk the desert. Hurting. Longing. Dancing to disco music.

And, of course, the narration does not do away with sassy humor. 

I think this racist is better than the last, but the next racist will be the really good one. That will be our lucky racist.

It is not often that a piece of literature astounds me to such great degree, and even now I feel overwhelmed by Disco Elysium. Unless I devote years of my life to dissecting this madness in literature form, I cannot possibly see every angle of the untamed beast, from which, for now, I've chosen to take one or a few things: the confrontation of the self, the difficult act of letting go, and the even more difficult act of being okay again. There is more, so much more. And I feel almost pitiful in the eagerness with which I ask you this: play Disco Elysium for yourself, and aid me. See this text from a different angle, for we may be able to complete this beautiful picture someday. 

 

In Stars and Time (2023)

 

Do not talk to me about In Stars and Time. I will cry upon its first mention.

 

I'd always known to not want to be stuck in a time loop, but In Stars and Time elevates that dread until such point that it becomes overwhelming. Timelines starts to blend together, events unrecognizable. This game broke my heart again and again and again.

 

Apathy. Learned apathy, from playing pretend. Insanity, from seeing the same thing, over and over. The universe is meaningless, and you're alone; so, so alone.

 ...Change is destruction, you know? The person I was before... I made them disappear. Killed them with my bare hands.

But worry not. This game will heal you. It will cut you with scars and apply its band-aids too. You will know the feeling, past the hours of painful posturing, of being heard. Of being felt. How weird!, indeed it is, to be noticed and known.

(In this moment, you are loved.)

If you want to try In Stars and Time for yourself, ready some tears. I myself only attempted this experience by curiosity and the recommendation of a few trusted friends. There is little I can say that won't spoil the experience; it's one you'll have to mostly trust me about its quality. In Stars and Time was, is, and will be, a timeless time loop story. 

 

The Stanley Parable (2013)

 

 

What Don Quixote is to chivalric romances, or Deadpool to superhero comics, The Stanley Parable is to video games. 

 

When I first watched Jacksepticeye's playthrough of The Stanley Parable back in—my God, has it been seven years?! I had been around the age of 13, and while I played games, I wasn't yet the intimately familiar, enthusiastic venturer that I am now, not less one who's acquainted enough in the medium to know The Stanley Parable's hilarious satire. Now understanding its quips and japes, I'm stunned! The Stanley Parable's sharp understanding of the medium, its narrative tropes and status quos, bring a fresh sass and ironic sincerity that eludes much of the industry's homogeneity. I'd love to write about this piece and, as though a surgeon, view its organs top to bottom; its themes and how these intertwine. Out-of-bounds, collectathons, RPGs, inanimate companions, and everything else: it all culminates to one hell of a love letter for gaming.

 

Which does make me wonder, why can't we have more games like The Stanley Parable?! I mean, seriously?! The Stanley Parable, and especially its re-release The Stanley Parable: Ultra Deluxe, while funny, are serious works of art, with meaningful and thought-provoking philosophical insight into the nature of gaming and how we, the audiences, relate with it as a medium! While many others are busy shooting down soldiers in wars and faffing about in their Fantasy-lands, masterpieces like The Stanley Parable, and not to mention its masterful 2022 re-release The Stanley Parable: Ultra Deluxe, are the few which remain to actually utilize gaming's interactivity to create a compelling experience that no other yet has been able to accomplish or replicate! Everyone else is busy twiddling their thumbs, jumping up and down, racking up numbers in the game "Rack Up Your Number", in which all players do is rack up their numbers, and gamble for cosmetics from the Super Evil Lottery Machine That Will Eat You Alive™, all just so these pretend gamers can obtain their quick and easy dopamine fixes, meanwhile excellent works such as The Stanley Parable, not to mention its re-release The Stanley Parable: Ultra Deluxe, gather nothing but dirt, only to be ever touched by the niche few gamephiles! Whatever happened to real games? Whatever happened to, oh I don't know, being patient, taking one's time as they immerse themselves in a beautifully hand-crafted world, trusting the gamauteur (game auteur) in the experience that they are about to behold?! Whatever happened to art?! Back in my day—

Oh, it seems the next section of the article has arrived. Go on, Stanley. 

 

Hollow Knight: Silksong (2025)

 

 

For a certain period of time I was honestly convinced Silksong was a genuine social experiment. Hollow Knight's sequel was the first of its kind to cause mass hysteria among impatient fans, and when the public finally got their grubby little hands on this seven year concoction, their sanity only worsened from its soul-crushing difficulty. Was Silksong worth the wait? Yes. Yes it was.

 

I'd watched Pluribus recently and, if you may forgive such a loose, "Boss Baby vibes"-esque comparison, Silksong's reception, along with its other such meritorious, though cherry picked, traits, when compared to that of Vince Gilligan's show, swim well in some similarity. Both feature luscious, stunningly composed and themed environments, a plot where the main character watches as everyone around them is ensnared by an all-consuming entity, a surprisingly mixed reception from creators with highly praised pedigrees, whose work was considered to have a high barrier of entry (whether by skill or by patience); and, if you believe in Lacenet, a story with a lesbian as the lead—sure, why not.

 

Casting this semi-dubious comparison aside, Silksong is a special, one-of-a-kind indie game. Rare it is for an independently created game to contain and maintain a grandiose, larger-than-life, breath-snatching feel, all while being flourished with details down to the every explorable canal. I felt, at times, out of breath witnessing this behemoth; a monument impossible to fully behold, yet still architecturally textured with a fine comb. As a developer myself, I think: how the hell am I to make anything like this?!

 

Mechanically, while the spread of items and curios are a little imbalanced, Hornet's moveset makes me drool. I remember when I first got the ability to run, and it was so delicately fine-tuned, expressed, and adjusted, posturing as though it had crossed twenty hells of iteration, that I had simply wanted to sit there and stop time as I ran back and forth with the wind, with the delusion that nothing could ever stop me then. I felt so nimble! I felt impossible to hit! Oh, but many things stopped me. Many hit me indeed.

 

But don't let Silksong's intimidating aura as having a tough difficulty scare you from such a wonderful experience. If anything, Silksong has taught me, as I hope it teaches others, not to grow afraid of discomfort from gaming, but instead to embrace it. Let the mastery frustrate you, let difficulty harsh your grit until it pushes you to seek higher, for in an oppressive place such as Pharloom, the truth lies beneath you, and freedom watches you from above.

The Witness (2016)

 

 

If there's anything I hate more than Jonathan Blow and his absolutely insane politics, it's that The Witness is unfortunately good. Liking The Witness makes me feel like a Kanye West fan but for puzzle games. This is the only inclusion here I would not recommend supporting, lest you risk stroking the ego of a transphobe and a radical MAGA, and supporting policies of nazism, immigrant deportation, and ethnic cleansing. There are no buzzwords, no verbal jabs, and no humor I can provide that could give solace to the anger with which Trump's presidence and the existence of the politics which he and Blow embody, in which the circumstances of man engender judgment, and their advantages decide their fate. I wish I had known any of these things before undertaking The Witness, so its placement here reflects poorly on me in retrospect. 

 

I include The Witness, against even my own inclinations, for it had some of my favorite puzzles and "a-ha!" moments of this year, not to mention my experiencing it with friends; four of us having played the game at the same time, and I, in examining our differences in cognitive processes and playstyles, obtained great interest and profound insight. The Witness holds a special place in my heart for how it connected me with others and myself. Learning upon its backdrop re-contextualizes its themes and messages, and while I enjoyed the journey through which it put me and my friends, perhaps I'd prefer to leave this behind in the year 2025.

 

Chants of Sennaar (2023)

 

 

Information-scouring games—say, detective games—sometimes utilize systems of cross-checking gathered known variables to test the player's grasp of their situation. Making use of such mechanics in a language acquisition game, as well as executing that blend of flavors well, is what gives Chants of Sennaar its exciting, selling uniqueness. 

 

Some features and structures of language learning are put on display excellently here. As my partner, the main provocateur who'd die by his recommendation of this game, points out, language is learned accurately, as the process is represented in the form of careful environmental immersion and observation: listening to passing conversations, perusing a society's various writings and murals, and participating in their culture and entertainment. Personally, I first learned English through 2010's era Minecraft videos; I'd say learning the language of the bards through their theatre productions is apt, actually. 

 

How does one design a language acquisition game while excluding the facts that it's often a monotonous, dedicated, and long process? Molding it into an investigative experience is, certainly, one hell of an answer. While, yes, you do "learn languages" in Chants of Sennaar, it is not really the same as it is in real life. Many of the game's layers, each with its own society, are contrived and laid out onto their very blueprints in such ways that players receive exactly all they need to learn the language, but in return, they acquire enough information to learn everything about that language. Whereas, in real life, one could probably realistically learn three to four words or phrases every day, Chants of Sennaar's gauntlets of trials and tribulations, along with a wide variety of events and set-pieces, ensure that, by the end of your stay in any one such society, you'd have all you need to map all of its cryptic symbols to familiar words.

 

It's funny: I have a bit of a problematic history with this game, which this article of mine may inform you about, though beware of its many spoilers. In short, because of a needless vocal battle on the blithering blue bird a few years back, I had grown apprehensive to anything Chants of Sennaar related. It's a bout of immaturity from both parties, but I'm thankful to have kept an open mind. Despite my few qualms and nitpicks, Chants of Sennaar was fun, and it stands now as one of my high recommendations.

  

Gravity Circuit (2023)

So far, the six games previously listed shine in having a one-of-a-kind, unique premise and design. Gravity Circuit, on the other hand, is a Mega Man-style game through and through, taking close inspiration from predecessors, and while it features an all-new cast of droids and mechas, it's a generally nostalgia-inducing adventure. It may not win awards in distinctiveness, sure, but damn is Gravity Circuit electrically fun.

 

Gravity Circuit is standing proof that one can take a well-established formula and simply fine-tune it to nigh perfection. Levels are rich with treasures and ideas in every corner; player movement incites an endlessly satisfying sense of momentum; bosses have been sagaciously designed; and the game is all-in-all an eye and ear candy.

 

My only criticism is that enemies are mostly bullet sponges meant to be bulldozed, at least in the base difficulty, so the campaign may not be for those looking a significant challenge like in the old Mega Man titles. But if you want to feel cool? Go play this.

Iron Lung (2022)

Deep beneath a blood ocean, coagulated from this earth's once inhabitants, you dredge all alone. In your makeshift submarine, you have no windows and no defense mechanisms. You have no worth. The metal beams lodged in the sub's walls rust, the oxygen meter complains, the pipes burst under pressure, but no one will come to save you. Nothing will save you; naught but imminent death.

I am not big into horror games—my heart is too weak to handle them—but Iron Lung reminds me of Five Nights at Freddy's in how it gives so stressful dread from stripping the player of any agency. With nothing else to do but move this God-forsaken submarine, I moved, moved, and I moved, visiting the points of interest marked on my map by those up there, who I'd never seen, and whom will never see me again. My heart whirred and roared throughout my entire Iron Lung playthrough notwithstanding its hour length. I am no horror game aficionado, but even I can tell that this is a truly special game in the genre.

Iron Lung, its premise, and its execution, fascinates me to no end, and reminds me of the specialty of the human mind. We, and only we, can conjure the most amazing inventions, and the most abject horrors such as this.  

They will get their execution. I will get my freedom.

 

Honorable Mentions

Here are some games that couldn't make the list, either because I haven't played them to completion (indicated by *), or because they just fall short of the threshold of a favorite (indicated by †), but are nonetheless great enough that I feel compelled to recommend them.

• † ANIMAL WELL - A scintillating fusion between game and ARG—and a love letter to secrets and mystery.
• † Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - OBJECTION!
• † Turmoil - A really addicting, oil-dousing-syphoning-selling tycoon! One of the few games I played for almost whole days.
• † Human Resource Machine - Assembly!
• † 112 Operator - Dime a dozen, I know, but this is maybe the most stressed I've ever been in playing a game. Do be wary when going into this, it'll spike your blood pressure. 

 

• * Deltarune: Chapters 3 + 4 - I'll write about Deltarune separately when all of its chapters release, but it should go without saying that I adored my time playing this.
• * Persona 3 Reload - I have not finished this, but I am in love.
• * Infinifactory - This puzzle game hurts my mind, but it is so, so good. I have not finished it either.
• * Katamari Damacy - This is the most aggressively Japanese game I've played. It's a free acid trip. Unfinished.
• * UNBEATABLE - I've only played the demo, but MAN this rhythm-narrative game looks pretty.

 

• [Ongoing] Pokemon: Trading Card Game Pocket - Despite its sheer simplicity, I started playing TCGP on January of 2025, and I still play it a year after. It's a simple but effective collectathon.
• [DLC] Risk of Rain 2: Alloyed Collective - This is a DLC, but hey. I know I had a lot of tough words for Gearbox's first attempt at a ROR2 DLC, and considering this, I'm happy they produced something much more satisfactory with this one. 

 

Final Words

As we head into a new year, new opportunities await us. 2025 has been a year of chaos and novelty for me as I rode through the rollercoaster of new experiences and wrote many a solemn journal entries. It is my wish that 2026 continues to be a year of learning, and a year of hope, for me, for those I love, and for the many in the world. I am deeply excited to live 2026 with my friends, my loved ones, and my partner, whom to me means the whole world. To you, who reads this article, thank you for sticking with me through these ~3,000 words, and thanks especially to the people who have stuck with me for hundreds of thousands more. I appreciate you all—here's to a good '26.

Universe for Sale: A Conflicted Critique

 

Make your own universe with two ingredients.

You add a cup of coffee.

Your universe is warm. Steamy and calm, it is a perfect heater for a rainy day. The cup is not to be drunk in one fell swoop. Rather, it is to be sipped slowly. You let the vast expanse wash over your tongue.

You add a twisted vine.

The vine has been cut from a larger specimen. It is writhing and entangled. Climbing down your throat, its pin pricks you with excitement at first, but it quickly chafes and scrapes your airways. Thorns and shoots stay within. You are left voiceless, perturbed.

 

The mad (and possibly confused) alchemist that you now are, you may have just concocted Tmesis Studio's Universe for Sale (2023). The sci-fi, cozy, dystopian visual novel follows the journeys of Lila and Master, as the former struggles to stay alive under the immensity of a tyranny that disallows her space to grieve—only getting by via selling universes of her own creation—and Master, a renowned cultist traveler, looks to correct Lila's doomed fate.

The Tmesis team made an astonishing effort to bring Universe for Sale to life. The orange, rusty air circling the squalid but bustling alleyways of Jupiter, paired with the hum of faulty bots and market-goers, they all make for an audiovisually believable world. Even the first scene makes its immediate impact: the children's bedroom pasted with slow-dancing star lights and Guglielmo Diana's sonorous jukebox melody—it brings one to a time of youth and innocence, matching the scene's tale-telling curio. Make no mistake, Universe for Sale is not alive. But its art breathes.

The warm, detailed world of Universe for Sale gives it its uniquely inviting entry, a coffee-like taste, but its story is what makes it, at first, captivating. The visual novel is mostly told non-linearly, with timelines jumbled and scrambled. What could happen first may have been the third sequence, and what could happen last may have been the first in the chronology. It's useful to think of the plot's chapters as if they were temporally rearranged. As a result, much of the early sections of the plot induce a sense of mystery, with the characters not entirely understanding their situation, and us discovering it with them.

 

Having given all this praise, it frustrates me to say that Universe for Sale suffers from, I believe, some major narrative flaws. These are the "twisted vines", of which many could be synthesized with the idea of inadequate functional mechanism, leading to contrived and poorly developed plot points throughout the story. Points that do not work on the surface, but conflictingly and perhaps tragically, do present depth when their meaning and metaphor is pondered. I will be detailing these plot points below, which will contain minor to semi-major spoilers.

1.)

Lila's 'doomed fate' (that Master intends to correct) works on a metaphorical level, but is inadequately explained on a functional level. To give you a semi-major spoiler, Lila is stuck in a time loop due to her and Master's timelines diverging in the past. It turns out that the two had been closely linked before, but a cosmic event meant that Lila had died in Master's timeline, and Master had perished in Lila's. Their goal? To converge timelines, creating one 'correct' timeline, even if it means one of them must truly meet their end.

The game explicitly states that, due to Lila's time looping, the very dimension of time has become meaningless for her. It is why she claims to only "feel alive" around Master's presence, for besides her subconscious attachment with him, he is also the key to a correct timeline.

The cosmic horror of time, by its looping made meaningless, presents a powerful analogue to the debilitating nature of grief. Having lost important people in her life (Master being one of them), Lila expresses herself as an enervated, temperamental gal; she whose sole goal is to exist despite existence. She gets by with her power to create and sell universes—a power she gained as a byproduct of the timeline divergence—yet she finds no meaning in this act. For her, there is no life here on Jupiter, not after losing those close to her.

Metaphorically, Lila's time loop represents her loss in sense of self, and the loss of drive to keep on going. Depicting one's soul detaching from one's body, time loop is misery.

Functionally, however, Lila being in a time loop is not consequentially seen in her character, her actions, or, indeed, in any of the game's events. Time is jumbled, sure, but it's not as though time was ever looping. Lila's depression wasn't portrayed as if it were caused (or explained) by the time loop, and the more sensible explanation of grief worked well enough prior to the time loop's reveal. If we were to accept that the time loop exacerbated her senselessness, she certainly makes no comment of it. And even if we were to believe that she is not aware of her time loop, as it seems to be the case, the gravity of an endlessly repeating universe is hardly if at all felt.

I understand that the time loop was contrived as a mere way to drive Lila and Master to return to their past; to depict retrospection and confrontation with survivor's guilt. This is further cemented by the act of literal meditation being the means for time travel, as our two main characters dig into their consciousnesses.

However, I stand that the ramifications of a time loop were neither displayed nor explored. Like an asterisk or a footnote, the time loop serves little purpose other than to make the metaphor of retrospection by way of time travel work. It is integrated into neither the gameplay nor the storytelling. Time loop is mentioned once, near the end, as an introduction of an abstract evil to be taken down, long after the rules of the universe had already been established. There's nothing wrong with the time loop per se, but it simply induces more questions than answers, especially with everything else in the climax that had already been thrown at the wall. Speaking of other such contrivances in the climax...

2.)

The surprise appearance of the evil archbishop in the climax makes sense on a thematic level, but is again inadequately developed on a concrete level.

Thematically, the archbishop represents Jupiter's theo/autocratic tyranny that assumed all sovereignty over the planet. Being depicted as a greedy, power-hungry elite, he was first seen (out of two appearances) rallying people to follow the Church's orders, as well as shoo'ing away Master for being part of the cult. The archbishop's second appearance half a game later sees him interrupting Lila's and Master's meditation into the past, as he attempts to coerce Lila into following him, luring her to do his bidding so that he could "steal Lila's powers".

Again, thematically, the archbishop's appearance in the climax is a sort of closing ribbon that wraps the whole "evil institution" part of the game, which probably would have been left hanging had it not played a role in the end. It's a tying of a loose end, I suppose.

But seen through a concrete lens, the archbishop was simply not featured or developed enough for his reappearance to make any sort of meaningful impact. Even in his first scene, he was not the focal point, as arguably Master (and the Church's relationship with the cult) was. His character was so fleeting, in fact, that I had to remind myself who he was when he mysteriously appeared again in the climax. He also had no explicitly displayed powers and nothing to make the player believe he could steal Lila's. 

There is nothing wrong with a symbol of institutional evil playing an important role in Universe for Sale's story, but his meager recurrences in the story makes his role questionable and confusing. In fairness, it's not as though his appearance was entirely 'surprising', as the Church and its loyal servants as a whole had been mostly depicted as diligent oppressors throughout the story, so the archbishop's final act of decadence is like a natural conclusion to that fact. However, his appearance draws the question of why he had appeared personally, how he had reached into their meditation, and what exactly he wants from the two main characters, and why they, in particular, attract his utmost interest. Other than "stealing Lila's powers"—however loose and powerless that statement is—the archbishop fails to be explained, or to be explainable, any further.

Finally, the archbishop and his villainous plan eliminates a possibly heart-wrenching dilemma that could've made its way into the game's climax, and his inclusion processes that dilemma down into a much shallower choice. Recall that Lila and Master had to return to the past to converge and correct their timelines, though in doing so, one of them must die. The dilemma being set-up is clear: you choose to save either Lila or Master, with an ending dedicated to either choice. But because the archbishop interrupted their time travels, the choice that ended up being presented to the player was whether to trust the archbishop or not. The thing is, he is cartoonishly evil, and, again, he's only ever appeared once, so it's clear not to trust him. In the end, what could have been a difficult decision between saving one of the two main characters was all but superseded by a simple "are you gullible?" question.

3.) 

The third and final point is less so a 'major' flaw (I suspect most won't even notice it), but it's a discrepancy in detail that underlines the messiness of the plot's mechanisms. 

The visual novel's denouement sees Lila wake up late into the 'corrected' timeline, as she proceeds to comment how she has to stop running her business of selling universes.

 

Here's the thing... she should not have a universe-selling business to begin with in this timeline. Recall that Lila gained the power to create universes as a byproduct of the timelines diverging. If, in the true ending, Lila and Master's timelines had already converged, then there would have been no reason for her to start a universe-creating shop. And she is not simply commenting on her experiences post-climax; even in the corrected timeline, she still has her shop intact. Why would Lila act like she stopped being able to make universes just after she wakes up in a time long after the converging point that would incite this inability? Why does she still have her shop in this timeline?

These three points, along with a few others I did not mention here, blueprint the holes in Universe for Sale's foundation. Many of these plot points serve a deeper meaning, and were written for a purpose or another, though their contrived and undeveloped nature make them feel questionable or, worse, disengaging. On a functional level, these plot points fail to be reasonably believable, and they introduce more questions than answers.

 

Stories do have the liberty to be contrived. Sometimes, events can simply happen because the narrative calls for it, and, when done well, is more than acceptable. If the story of Universe for Sale necessitated a time loop to corroborate Lila's apathetic, mindless state through a profound, abstract cosmic fact, then the story may incorporate this.

The keyword there is incorporate. When the execution of such contrivances feel rushed, abrupt, like bandages covering emergent wounds, the player or reader is not thrown for a loop: they're thrown for a whirl, flinging them across the air and, in their eternal spin, causing them to miss the deeper imagery. There is some depth here—that's the tragic part. The mezzo-soprano is prickled by thorns in the throat; she has meaningful ideas, but without enough voice to sing all her notes. The sad part is I think these supposed 'flaws' could've worked well had the story been given more time to simmer, and had concepts more room to develop.

I was not entirely convinced of the time loop, I just went along with it. I was not compelled by the archbishop's appearance, I just went along with it. I never understood why Lila made a universe creating business when she no longer had powers, for I simply went along with that too. With all this going along, my role in the story transformed from a curious mystery-solver to a passive observer, accepting whatever that came. It was the only way I could stay engaged by the end.

So I'm conflicted. In awe, I adore Universe for Sale's audiovisuals, thesis and mystery, and its hook drew me in to completion. In confusion, its story and telling left some unoccupied room. Many ideas were clearly had during its conceptualization, but they all fought for time in a game that couldn't give much of it.

For what it's worth, Universe for Sale is a beautifully styled, captivating piece. It simply had potential to deliver more.

Might I recommend tea?