Fog as a Returning Character

The moment I arrived in Silent Hill f, I could tell the fog was back, and not just as eye candy, but as a choking and tangible entity. It is a character, and not a backdrop. It’s an impenetrable barrier, a veil that absorbs sound, muffles your footfalls, and time moves differently. There were moments where I caught myself standing still just watching the fog, convinced it was so painfully obvious, that I could see a figure or something ghastly moving just out of reach. The fog in this area is not meant as a simple decoration; it is the very essence of the terror, and it is something that truly works.

The feel of the sound is as important as the visual in the space. This part of the score might seem dissonant. In fact, it is jarring, static, and distortion corseted into some kind of rhythm, but certainly not something that you will want to hum. As you start playing it, the tune integrates into your body as if you are a puppet, every strung nerve maximally toned. And, finally, the silence comes—a thick silence, uncomfortable and constraining, and heavier than the sound ever could be. Every part of the space carries a threat, and, days later, I still remember going more slowly at the borders of the seats that day and, more than once, trying to decipher some shapes in the dim light. For me, this is precisely what Silent Hill should have been.

Return of a Veteran

I remember playing Silent Hill the moment it was released. Coming all the way to New Zealand, the first launch of Silent Hill was accompanied by a gag promotional item – a pair of underwear that was packed with the game. The reasoning was obvious, and trust me, I should have preserved it with the rest of my belongings for the latest sequel. I have to say, after the many sequel iterations and comparisons like the experimental misfires and genre offs, I have to say that Silent Hill f has emerged from the mist as the truest sequel. Homecoming and Downpour detours all, this is the bloodline the series was always meant to have. Appendices with the sound mixed to gnaw like a parasite – the steadfast fog once more is in position to the liege, and the narrative has found blasphemy in the lost, ravenous, cruel.

Language as a Layer of Dread

I put on the English voiceover at first, but switched to the Japanese audio and subtitles because I liked it better. This is perhaps the easiest, yet disquieting experience of the game. Each sentence in Japanese has a near ritualistic quality to it, as if the entire phrase is etched into stone or was whispered as a spell. It is not a matter of just listening to someone speak in a different language, it is all in the rhythm, the sharpness, the delivery, the breath. It is real and true dread that lies in these performances. When dubbed in English, part of that spellbinding quality is retained, but it is shrouded in something all too comfortable and all too clean. Each Japanese sentence, in its articulation, seems to be a blade cutting through the fog.

The Journal That Breathes

Within every game, even among PS5 horror games, there is a detail that is profound, tiny, and necessitates comment: the journal. It’s more than a menu, a script, or a set of notes. It is a relic, heavy in its binding, immersive in its design, and rests in a tactile silence. Each page turn tumbles more towards a violation. It is intricately woven with the anxiety of something confidential, something that should not be core sampled and brushed through, like a relic that contains more sinister than salubrious offerings.

Performances That Cut Through the Fog

Silent Hill f is a silent film which does not indulge in camp. No actors are making faces at the camera. No attempts at over-the-top drama that would soften the fear. The actors are silent and carry the horror through their intensity. They do not act out fear, but instead, dread. Their presence is enough to make sure the player does not escape from the experience. While most horror games emphasize caricature, Silent Hill focuses on real people, and the descent into horror becomes even more disturbing.

A Narrative Devoid of Clarification

Still lost, yet elated after a good ten hours of play, remains a joy in Silent Hill f. For the release of Silent Hill, the only time when I felt strongest was during the moments I was not able to understand the narrative of the game, mainly during the times of uncertainty. Every realization is another question.

There is no spoon feeding, there is no expository dumping to aid you. The narrative serves only as a construct maze, shrouded in fog, and I have yet to escape its confines. The fog is not purely a negative; it's a victory. It feels as though there is a story, and it functions as a story by resisting imagination, simulation, and interpretation.

Relentless Combat

Example, Silent Hill. On f, it is clear the game possesses real bite. It plays in a real, tangible, responsive world, pleasant to all players who buy PS5 games. Here, the combat is visceral. Automatically, there is no combat without complete precision. Every window of attack is small; the very rare double window of attack requires the enemy to be slightly in a precise position.

Every single encounter is less of a mash attack and feels more like a tactical puzzle of life. One particular boss, for every single encounter, a complete three hours of my life was devoted. In every aspect, every single attempt was another test of my patience and adaptability. Out of the countless dominations that it was able to withstand, each was like an individual lightning streak, a moment of mental alacrity.

You could say that on lower difficulties, the game nears a more pure horror rhythm, as the atmosphere does more of the work than the mechanics. But on Hard, the system shifts to a more punishment-duel system, nearly Soulslike in its relentlessness. It does have some issues; clunky moments do exist, but unlike any other game, it does reward mastery in a way that Silent Hill has rarely done before.

Tremors You Can’t Forget

The scarecrows take the trophy for the most terrifying. Their bodies are the most abstract of forms, with each of the movements bizarrely entrancing and terrifying. They do not just stalk you; rather, they inhabit the fog with grotesque elegance as they bend and contort. Then, there is the design element that is so obvious to everybody, they are the most horrid. It is a contradiction that you can’t take your eyes away from, pure horror mixed with pure lust, and pure disgust mixed with pure attraction. Silent Hill has never strayed from a contradiction, and in this scene, it strayed more than the others, with its creatures that disturb and distract in equal parts. Forget the first titles where nurses were overexposed; in Silent Hill f, it is the scarecrows that carry the real payload.

A Loop of Suffering and Mastery

Silent Hill f, at its core, is based on a loop of adaptation. The structure, much like Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice, is about mastery, but the spine-crushing atmosphere of Silent Hill alters the flavor. The dread, the atmosphere, is the first layer of punishment that one must peel off. The rest is a terrible bundle of collapse at the edge of which one must pay to find a shred of success. Exhausting it may be, but it is also a thrill.

On standard difficulty, the layer of punishment is lighter, and the dread is left to hover over the mechanical brutality. But in Hard mode, the game is a devotion asking for nothing less. Suffering, the loop of defeat and persistence, is, in a different way, easily submerged in the fog’s grasp.

A Resurrection, Not Just a Sequel

Silent Hill f is not just another entry in a series attempting to relive lost glory. It is a resurrection. The essence of the franchise has been rediscovered: the fog, the ambiguity, the intimate terror, all of which have been augmented with new designs, new performances, and new risks. It is not perfect. The combat can falter, the spikes in difficulty can be quite vexing, and the story will undoubtedly alienate most people.

It is not nostalgia. It is not imitation. It is a reclamation.

Final Reflection

Silent Hill f impressed me more than I had anticipated. It hit me differently, provoking not just fear, but something akin to inner pain, a discomfort that lingers after the controller has been set down. The fog feels alive again. The narrative is adamant in not explaining itself. The scarecrows disturb me with their paradox of horror and beauty. There is more than mere horror for the sake of horror. There is horror as the act of reflection, horror as the act of artistic expression, horror as the act of confronting something you wish you could turn away from but cannot. For the fans devoted to the series, those who like psychological horror that is more disturbing than startling, Silent Hill f is an intricate design of a nightmare to inhabit.

Is it possible that a three-minute promotional clip just put decades of Hollywood movies to shame? If you’ve seen the new live-action trailer for Resident Evil Requiem, you might be nodding your head. Capcom just dropped this short film, titled “Evil Has Always Had a Name,” and it hits on a level that the flashy,…

The post This Resident Evil Requiem Trailer Is Better Than Every Movie Combined appeared first on VGamerz.

The Fragility of Survival

There's something about a survival horror game that's supposed to make your palms sweat and your pulse race, right? You expect to feel like you're barely scraping by, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you limp toward your next objective. 'The Callisto Protocol' tries hard to deliver on that promise. It places you in the blood-streaked boots of Jacob Lee, a man whose only goal is to escape the hellish prison of Black Iron on Jupiter's moon, Callisto. But here's the thing: for all its spine-chilling aesthetics and brutal combat, this game isn't quite the nightmare fuel I wanted it to be.

Instead, it's more like a beautifully made haunted house where the scares never quite land, but the lights and set design keep you walking through anyway.

The Atmosphere: Chilling, Yet Not Quite Terrifying

If there's one thing The Callisto Protocol nails, it's the vibe. Every corner of Black Iron Prison feels suffocatingly oppressive. The air hangs heavy with tension, and the distant hum of malfunctioning machinery makes it clear you're trapped somewhere that's long past redemption. The snowy expanses outside are just as grim. Callisto itself seems to exhale an icy breath, with wind whipping around you as snow piles on dilapidated structures. The lighting deserves special mention—whether it's flickering fluorescents in a dark hallway or the faint glow of bioluminescent spores in an alien-infested tunnel, every scene feels meticulously crafted.

But for all its craftsmanship, I never truly felt afraid. Unsettled? Sure. Occasionally tense? Yeah. But scared? Not even once. And for a survival horror game, that's kind of a problem. Fear is the beating heart of this genre, and The Callisto Protocol's atmosphere, while gorgeous, feels more like a heavy blanket than a shocking jolt to the system.

Combat: A Bloody Grind

Now, let's talk about the combat—the meat and bones (sometimes literally) of the gameplay. Right off the bat, melee combat takes center stage here, which is unusual. Normally, melee is a last resort in survival horror, but The Callisto Protocol flips the script. You're constantly dodging and countering, feeling every swing and impact like you're actually there. And I'll admit, those first few encounters feel raw and visceral in a way that's hard to shake.

But then it starts to drag. The dodge mechanic, while intuitive at first, becomes predictable, almost mechanical. Most enemies telegraph their moves so obviously that fights turn into a rinse-and-repeat cycle of "step left, swing pipe, repeat." And don't get me started on the GRP, the telekinesis glove that's supposed to add depth to combat. Sure, it's fun at first to hurl enemies into strategically placed spike walls or industrial fans, but after the 20th time, it starts to feel like the game's designers just couldn't think of more interesting ways for me to use it.

Resources are scarce, and every encounter feels like a gamble. Do you spend your last few bullets now or save them for a bigger threat later?

The Story: Enough to Keep You Going (Even If Thin by My Standard)

Jacob's journey through Callisto isn't exactly a narrative masterpiece, but it gets the job done. The basic setup—a prison outbreak leads to horrifying mutations—is nothing new, but it's the grim atmosphere that keeps you invested. As Jacob, you're constantly scavenging for scraps of information about what caused the outbreak and why. Jacob himself is a pretty blank slate, and while the supporting cast tries to inject some emotion into the story, their arcs feel more like set dressing than meaningful threads. And honestly? Sometimes that's enough.

The Gore: A Matter of Taste

The Callisto Protocol doesn't shy away from violence. It's the kind of gore that makes you wince the first few times but eventually feels more like a gimmick than a genuine shock factor. Personally, I found it less horrifying and more gross, where I would have certainly preferred the other way around. While this observation is probably a matter of test that should not stop those who buy PS5 horror games, I believe that it doesn't really add to the atmosphere, and I couldn't help but feel like it was trying too hard to impress me with its blood-soaked brutality.

In the End, Does It Worth the Struggle?

Debatable. I prefer survival games more like Death Stranding 2: On the Beach, and horror games more like Resident Evil 4. The Callisto Protocol is not for everyone. Its visuals and atmosphere are top-notch, creating a world that's as stunning as it is oppressive. But the gameplay—especially the combat—starts to feel like a chore after a while. And without genuine scares to keep the tension high, the whole experience feels a bit hollow. Just don't expect to be looking over your shoulder when you turn the game off. Because for all its effort, The Callisto Protocol feels more like a chilling stroll than a heart-pounding sprint through the dark.

Alien Isolation has a rival for spookiest retro sci-fi survival horror in this impressively atmospheric thriller from a new indie studio.

Sci-fi horror game Routine was originally announced at Gamescom way back in 2012. Since then, it’s popped back up a couple of times, only to head back into the thick fog of development hell, its tiny team attempting, and failing, to get it into a state where they could aim for a final release. The breakthrough came after signing a deal with Raw Fury, a publisher renowned for their supportive and collaborative attitude towards the developers they work with.

With more focus and a little more budget to work with, and after an almost unbelievable 13-year gestation period, Routine is finally here and while it’s clearly a first person survival horror, its look, feel, and puzzles are unlike anything else in its genre. That starts with the setting, which is a deserted moonbase in the near future. However, unlike most sci-fi milieux, this one’s free of any hint of glamour.

At the beginning of the game, you wake up from a distressing nightmare to find yourself locked in a windowless room, the quiet hum of machinery accompanying your confusion. There’s an old monochrome monitor built into the wall, where you can access a couple of email messages, along with an austere looking bed and lavatory. It’s more like a cell than a bedroom, a sense heightened by the fact that you can’t get out.

The walls, ceiling, and floor are made of metal that’s seen better days. Scuffs, dents and missing flecks of paint make it look old and well used, and there’s a pile of bin bags in the corner. It perfectly nails the industrial space trucker aesthetic of Dark Star or the original Alien film, in its sense of being lived in but not cared for. That’s particularly important because you’re going to be seeing it from very close up.

The first thing you learn in your cell is how to stand on tip toe, crouch, lean, and lie completely flat. Each movement is accompanied by your character’s involuntary grunts as you make him stand, squat, and crawl about on the floor, the motion of your point of view and the stunning detail of the environment creating a gritty realism that extends to un-collected litter and detritus, that’s accumulated in the gap underneath the metallic wall-hanging cupboards and infrastructure.

As you find your way round the room, what initially appeared to be almost completely featureless actually turns out to be loaded with information. You’re an IT technician hired by Union Plaza’s lunar operation to debug their malfunctioning security system, and without further instruction you’ll need to work out what you have to do to find a way out of this claustrophobic little space. It’s perfect training for the rest of the game, which continues in its steadfast refusal to lead you by the hand.

If you’re weary of quest markers and HUD bloat, Routine is the antidote. Its entire overlay consists of a single tiny white circle that only appears when you’re pointing directly at something you can interact with. Apart from that, you’re on your own. Quite literally as it turns out, because other than a distorted, malfunctioning welcome message played over crackling speakers, the place is desolately empty.

Your only help comes from a C.A.T., or Cosmonaut Assistance Tool. It looks like a chunky plastic 1980s camcorder, complete with laggy analogue screen on the back that updates fractionally after you move it, delivering a flawless impression of dated technology. Initially it doesn’t seem to do much, but after a little experimentation you find out that it combines a PDA that’s only available near specific wireless access points, with the ability to short circuit electrical systems.

To make your way through the godforsaken depths of Union Plaza, you’ll need to pay extremely close attention to your surroundings, trying things out and extrapolating from subtle cues. In most games if you needed to find a fuse box to open a jammed bulkhead, you’d follow a waypoint to a brightly coloured box with a lightning symbol on it. That’s not how Routine works, making it feel far more like being stuck in an actual abandoned commercial facility. Progress feels hard earned and significant.

It’s also impeded by the security system you’re there to repair, which has erroneously gone into lockdown mode. Along with sealed doors and key code secured lifts, you’ll find the facility patrolled by Type-05s. They’re humanoid robots that look like the Terminator without its human skin, their aggressive metallic stomping signalling their approach and departure. They’ll often just stop and power down, sometimes facing a wall, before starting up again without warning and continuing their patrol.

If one spots you, they’ll walk towards you at that same brisk but relentless pace, leaving you to scurry away and try to find a hiding place. Pointing your C.A.T. at one and pulling the trigger stuns it, but only for a second or two, after which it simply resumes its pursuit. The other bad news is that at full charge your C.A.T. has three shots, and while you can find new batteries you have to search for them.

The atmosphere of dread it manages to create is enhanced by exceptional sound design. The clank of the Type-05s is accompanied by whining servos and humming clicks as they project laser grids on floors and walls, digitally scouring your last known location. Doors swish shut, their motorised travel accompanied by seals that lock into place, followed by a dampening of the soundscape in the newly constricted space you occupy. Along with your character’s ragged breathing, and the sensation of peeping around the weathered metal of a doorframe as you try and spot a pursuing robot, it evokes a real sense of being there.

Nervously making your way past the discarded VHS tapes, ‘Final price cut!’ banners, and tawdry ‘Megazone’ arcade in Union Plaza’s mall, you soon find out there’s far worse to come as you descend into the bowels of the facility. The elegiac email conversations you uncover reveal a spreading sickness amongst the staff and you wonder where everyone is, and why the head of security’s been drawing so many pictures of flowers. You soon come to yearn for the relative security of those early scenes.

Routine’s strength is the ambience its near photorealistic visuals and immaculately crafted sound design create. Its weakness is that the stubborn refusal to help can leave you stuck for longer than you might like. In a single room. with nothing trying to disembowel you, that’s an interesting conundrum but later on, in more open parts of the complex, it can be frustrating trying to figure out what tiny thing you’ve missed, and where exactly it might be.

Still, for a game so long in development this is a frightening, idiosyncratic, and impressively coherent slab of sci-fi survival horror. Announced just before Alien Isolation was released, you can see some of its inspiration here, but Routine’s more robust puzzles and multiple pursuers make it a more varied experience, while its mise en scène, glorious diegetic sound effects, and the humanistic motion of your character create an unsettlingly authentic sense of presence it in its terrifying world.

Formats: Xbox Series X/S (reviewed), Xbox One, and PC
Price: TBA
Publisher: Raw Fury
Developer: Lunar Software
Release Date: 4th December 2025
Age Rating: 16

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