Prequels run the risk of diminishing the magic of the stories they lead into, but The Inpatient is a rare exception that entirely manages to avoid that. As opposed to its jumpscare-obsessed peers on PSVR--even in opposition to the game from which it spun off, Until Dawn--The Inpatient relies less on the element of surprise, instead utilizing the far more diabolical and harder-won asset of dread.
You play as an amnesiac--the gender and skin color of whom you can choose at the outset--at the illustrious Blackwood Sanitorium and Hotel. You wake in a wheelchair on a snowy February day in 1952, a doctor gently but ominously grilling you about your fleeting scraps of memory. After the first session leaves your curiosity hanging with more questions than answers, you're carted off to your room. There, nothing but your paranoid roommate, a hard-looking bed, and a steady supply of flimsy sandwiches awaits you each day, and vicious, gory, absinthe green-tinted nightmares await every night.
You'll be shuffling your way through The Inpatient's various unpleasantries using either a DualShock 4 or two Playstation Move controllers. Unlike playing with a DualShock, Move controllers enhance your immersion--giving you two functional onscreen hands to use--but collision detection is on the buggy side, where the hands can get very easily stuck on random objects while trying to interact with them and twist in weird ways. In addition, movement is a bit clunky; the quick-turning radius makes it far too easy to get stuck in a doorway because your virtual shoulder happens to be at a strange angle, which is especially awkward when you're not able to step out of the way of a scripted event in time. Lastly, no matter which control scheme you pick, the game is in desperate need of the ability to walk backwards.
You have ample time to pace around your dingy room getting used to the controls, but just as you begin to settle into your new routine, the day comes when the nurse stops paying a visit, the food stops arriving, and a chilling daily chorus of ungodly shrieks and screams from deep in the sanitorium starts taking the place of actual human conversations.
Survivors of Until Dawn can already take a wild guess at what's happening outside the door, but The Inpatient isn't so quick to jump to that conclusion. Instead of introducing its antagonist upfront, half the game is spent dealing with a far more human monster: starvation. The slow decay of sanity is executed with a steady hand; every time you wake up from an extended slumber brings a new level of deterioration to the room and your roommate. Add in the amnesia, and you're trapped in your own personal hell long before the physical devils actually start showing up.
Eventually, of course, they do, and The Inpatient's second half settles into a familiar, exploratory groove of wandering the pitch black hallways of an asylum, waiting for just about anything to come for your blood. The game loses some of its intrigue around this point, but certainly not all. A more deep-seated terror gives way to external horror, as The Inpatient's incredible, all-encompassing soundscape echoes all sorts of grisly happenings from god-knows-where in the sanitorium. It's chilling enough until you realize the sounds are happening closer than you thought, and then it's maddening. It all culminates in a specific setpiece involving a careful, pins-and-needles walk from the sanitorium to a nearby chapel. A certain red-light-green-light challenge from Until Dawn gets a retread here, but the addition of VR to the mix makes an already pulse-raising situation even more frightening.
The game does lose a bit of steam as it glides towards the ending, but its short length--around two hours if you're not thoroughly looking for secrets--means the less interesting bits don't overstay their welcome. Where The Inpatient gains depth isn't necessarily from the endgame, but the replayability. It's possible to plow through the entire game, get a perfectly satisfactory ending, and have multiple questions still dangling in the air by the end, answered only by the second or third go round. Until Dawn's Butterfly Effect branching path system makes a return here, with the added bonus of an option to use voice recognition, to literally speak for your in-game character. It comes off at the outset as a neat gimmick, but it's hard not to find yourself getting deep into character, following the onscreen emotional cues, bitterly spitting dialogue at NPCs, and making deeply personal choices. By proxy, much of what you get from the game stems less from "what does this choice do?" than "how do I play this role to get the answers I want?"
The Inpatient doesn't just do right by Until Dawn, but stands right alongside it as one of the strongest horror experiences on PlayStation 4. It's a game far less concerned with pushing you towards what's lurking down every corridor than feeding you the worst ideas of what could be.
Iconoclasts' Metroidvania-inspired style and structure is deceptively simple at first. The vibrant 2D-pixelated world you inhabit is alluring and the action is quick and snappy. But if you've played games like this before, it'd be easy to dismiss Iconoclasts as trite and rudimentary considering the number of similar experiences available nowadays. Yet as you push through the game's myriad twists and turns, it matures before your very eyes, unfurling to reveal complex puzzles and a heart wrenching narrative.
Iconoclasts is a fantastic looking game with an impressive level of detail on display, a prime example being the unique animations and sounds each character exhibits. The presentation and catchy retro music elevates the personality of the world, making the game more captivating as a whole. However, judging Iconoclasts simply on the visuals undersells what's buried under the surface. There's much to love about this adventure: it's brimming with nuanced characters, riveting drama, sharp wit, and a host of well-crafted action set-pieces. Iconoclasts leverages its storytelling and presentation to pull you in. These elements distinguish the game from the old-school adventures it recalls, making the experience worth checking out even if you're not traditionally a fan of retro games.
The adventure begins with little fanfare, putting you in control of mute protagonist Robin, an unlicensed mechanic in a world where technology is considered sacred due to its link to a dwindling magical resource that powers all things. This effectively renders her chosen profession illegal in the eyes of One Concern, a corrupt theocracy that rules the world with an iron fist. When Robin's actions inevitably provoke One Concern to hunt down everyone she loves, she becomes embroiled in a conflict that threatens not only the safety of her family but the entire world.
The strength of Iconoclasts' narrative isn't in the broader story beats, but the smaller emotional arcs of its characters. While the people you meet in your journey are inherently charming and likable, they're also broken individuals, consumed by their own inadequacies and traumatized by the crimes One Concern has inflicted upon them. Iconoclasts' depiction of grief is realistic and powerful; it doesn't hesitate to explore the cast's emotional issues, often resulting in moments that fundamentally alter their identities in unexpected ways. There's a real sense of growth, with each character transcending their wit-laced dialogue and evolving into people with affecting, relatable plights.
Iconoclasts doesn't hesitate to explore the emotional issues of its cast, often resulting in moments that fundamentally alter their identities in unexpected ways.
Unsettling events occur throughout, so it helps that Robin is such an uplifting presence. Her unspoken optimism and willingness to help those in need makes her an incredibly endearing hero. Robin's endless strength and kindness in the face of a world permeated with religious and political corruption--not to mention her own emotional issues--serve as rays of hope in an otherwise dark journey. In the multitude of disasters that befall your allies, you're always compelled to keep pushing further, if only to see how Robin may hope to fix the world's atrocities.
As Robin, it's a joy to move and engage in combat. With her trusty stun gun and wrench, you'll navigate various biomes and industrial complexes where all manner of foes await, from rampaging deer and purple slimes to One Concern guards and deformed mutants. Combat is primarily focused on running 'n gunning, but there's some added nuance thanks to an upgrade system driven by collecting materials to craft Tweaks, which are special items that alter Robin's abilities. The effect of Tweaks are subtle, mostly altering physical characteristics such as running speed, the strength of your wrench attack, or how long you can hold your breath underwater.
Areas are packed with puzzles where you're often pushed to think critically about how you can use your arsenal to clear a path.
While tweaks are handy, they feel underutilized as there's rarely any urgency to rely on them to succeed. Their effects aren't all that noticeable, so they do little to change combat and exploration, which is disappointing. This can be somewhat remedied by crafting three of the same tweak to maximize their effects as opposed to diversifying the types you have equipped. Still, combat remains gratifying even with the less-than-impactful tweaks as the game relies on skill and precision over an excessively complicated upgrade system.
Rather than emulate Metroidvania games that favor open-ended exploration, Iconoclasts focuses on environmental puzzle solving. Areas are packed with brain-teaser-like trials where you're often pushed to think critically about how you can use your arsenal to clear a path towards the objective. For example, there are puzzles that involve moving platforms using a concussive bomb launcher. This sounds simple in theory, but it's far more involved when you have to consider how a bomb can only move a platform when the concussive force hits from a specific direction. This is further complicated by the fact that when you charge up the launcher, it fires a missile that can only push platforms after picking up enough speed. Iconoclasts' puzzle design encourages you to consider the smallest details, which can occasionally be overwhelming. But when you put in the time to work out a difficult solution, it's incredibly satisfying.
The emphasis on puzzle-solving even bleeds into boss fights, which are intense screen-filling battles that test your intellect as much as your reflexes. One boss has you switching between Robin and another playable character in order to work through a series of specific steps to reveal its weak point. While the game is quick to surprise you (and even make you laugh) with its bombastic boss fights, there's surprisingly more tactical complexity than simply shooting at them until they're dead. As a result, you're often challenged to completely revise your strategy at a moment's notice in case a boss becomes invulnerable to your attacks.
Iconoclasts is a sincere and compelling adventure that anyone with respect for fantastic storytelling and 2D-action can enjoy.
When Iconoclasts' end credits begin to roll, it's bittersweet to see the journey come to a close. After solving every puzzle and witnessing the finale of its poignant narrative, you can't help but reflect on the growth of its characters and your impact onto the world. The game will shock and surprise you with how gripping its story is, and it's likely to do so again in subsequent playthroughs of New Game+ with your expanded knowledge of character histories and events. Iconoclasts may be a callback to the style and mechanics of old-school games, but it's also a sincere and compelling adventure that anyone with respect for fantastic storytelling and 2D-action can enjoy.
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