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We've Got Hostiles.

trench coat bastard

Dutch, that's cringe.

Rats.
We're rats.
We're the rats.

We prey at night,
We stalk at night,
We're the rats.

I'm the giant rat that makes all of the rules.
Let's see what kind of trouble we can get ourselves into.

I played all the others before this one, because everyone says its bad.

Is it Resident Evil? Yes.

Is it survival-horror? Not really.

Is it fun? Yeah. Its really fun, honestly.

Leon: "Who is she?"
Claire: "She's Sherry."
Leon: "Okay."

Turn off evil grandma's life support

story of my life

A brilliant work of meta-fiction from the talented minds at Ice-Pick.

"Bravo, Bachelor... Or are you?
It's hard to tell who exactly talks to me from the other side of the glass... What a cumbersome mask."

When they say games are art, they mean this.

When you're playing, you experience the panic, distress, and general unease as the Town breathes its last. You come to understand the Town. You come to attune to the veins of its streets and back-alleyways. The same-faced people feel like extras, but you come to know them as your cause and plight. The spotlights are on the actors, of course. And the game insists on taking it all away from you, daring you to stop it. The charm and art in Pathologic lies in the fact that everything is a challenge, and you must set your own priorities. Do you save the Town? Do you save the people? Do you save it all? Do you challenge death itself? You realise almost immediately that this is a game that requires your undivided attention. You need to give it your all. You need to Trace the Lines, Khatanger. Mother Boddkho guide your step.