Routine was first shown at Gamescom 2012, two years before the release of Alien: Isolation. Since then, the project has become a semi-mythical, long-term project: the developers would disappear for years, show signs of life only once every five years, and a small group of “waiters” formed around the game, confident that Routine would one day become a new benchmark for space horror. Spoiler alert: the reality turned out to be much more prosaic.
On the moon no one can hear your scream
Routine begins as mundane as possible, even a bit old-fashioned for a sci-fi horror. The nameless and voiceless protagonist awakens in a cramped, peeling cabin on the lunar station Union Plaza and, along with the player, learns that he is a software engineer sent to audit the automated security system. Officially, it’s a routine visit: the station has long been overdue for an inspection, and management politely thanks him for his willingness to “get the complex in order.”
It soon becomes apparent that either the audit went awry or was initially a cover-up. In internal correspondence, employees mention power surges, abnormal door locks, and strange symptoms attributed to the recent moonquake.
Many rooms appear hastily abandoned: someone complains of headaches, another reports a missing colleague from the technical department. Much more alarming are the reports of discoveries that should never have been brought to the base. Ultimately, we’re looking at a near-perfect reconstruction of a sci-fi horror film from the late 1970s and early 1980s.
Don’t consider this a spoiler. All this information is revealed early on, but the player will have to figure out the details and discover the true reasons for what happened on their own. The plot balances between successful discoveries and glaring gaps.
The story is pieced together from letters, diaries, and video recordings in a found-footage style, but key answers are often lost amidst sci-fi cliches and biblical allusions. The ending seems to conclude with the words “Decide for yourself,” and this delivery will surely disappoint those who dislike arthouse pretentiousness. I can’t say the ending is disappointing, but I will honestly admit: it’s not satisfying either.
However, before reaching the finale, the player must thoroughly comb the station, survive skirmishes with its new “residents,” and solve a dozen tasks and puzzles. Routine relies less on plot than on atmosphere and immersion, and exploration becomes the core of the gameplay experience.
Immersive Approach to Interaction
The first accessible area serves as a compact training space. Routine doesn’t use a marker system, doesn’t highlight relevant objects, and provides only basic control prompts. The player is asked to look around the room, open an electronic panel, read emails, stand on tiptoe to reach a high shelf, or bend down to retrieve a badge under a cabinet. These simple actions build an understanding of how the game interacts with the player, relying on attention to the environment, object manipulation, and small practical tasks.
Right off the bat, Routine reminded me of the Russian game Hail to the Rainbow, which I’d just completed the day before. There, the first few minutes also served as a kind of attentiveness test, allowing one to naturally grasp the principles of interacting with the world. However, here, the primary tool for “communicating” with the environment is the IPC, the cosmonaut’s personal assistant.
It resembles a futuristic pistol in appearance, but is essentially a set of practical tools and the central element of the diegetic interface. With it, the hero connects wirelessly to terminals, saves, and views tasks and notes.
As the player progresses, they discover modules that expand the device’s functionality. The basic module allows for a pulse to temporarily disable robots and activate electrical panels; the ultraviolet module illuminates hidden symbols and fingerprints; and the interface module provides access to restricted security systems. Switching between modes isn’t done through a menu. Instead, the player must stop, pick up the IPC, aim at the desired button, and only then activate the function.
Working with terminals follows the same logic. The game doesn’t display a separate interface; the screen remains part of the environment. To scroll through a message or switch tabs, you have to aim the crosshair at the desired element and press a button on the device. In this way, Routine strives to make every action tangible, although not all of its intended techniques work equally convincingly.
The ability to crouch, peek around corners, or stand on tiptoe is demonstrated in the training segment and rarely used afterward, except perhaps once or twice. The same applies to the IPC demagnetization function. Interference periodically appears on the screen, interfering with aiming, for example when attempting to activate an electrical panel or illuminate something “invisible” with ultraviolet light. But in practice, I used this feature exactly once, and that was during the training.
It feels especially strange in the second half of the game, when an invisible enemy appears, capable of killing you with one hit. It would seem that he should be the one fueling the constant tension, but my only encounter with him ended with us simply exchanging glances across the murky SBC screen and parting ways. It’s hard to say whether this is a bug or a feature. But perhaps it’s better than repeating the mistakes of the first half.
The main opponents here are robots resembling a parody of the T-800. There are only a few of them at each station, but usually only one is active at a time. The enemy only reacts to the player at close range, easily loses sight of them if you hide behind cover or under a table, and only kills them with a second hit. Technically, you can immobilize them with a shot from the PPK, but I personally didn’t even need to.
And it’s not about conserving batteries, of which there are only three. This limitation quickly becomes irrelevant, as mountains of batteries are scattered everywhere. The problem lies elsewhere. Robots are easy to outrun, and frequent save points minimize the risk. As a result, such encounters don’t frighten or build tension; they merely slow down exploration and are therefore rather annoying.
The only time Routine truly managed to scare me was in Chapter 5, where the developers finally decided on a couple of jump scares. Otherwise, the atmosphere and sound design are responsible for all the tension. And if Routine deserves any accolades, it’s for these very components.
The superiority of form over content
From the very first minute, Routine impresses with its visual precision. This isn’t some abstract lunar base, but a carefully assembled fragment of a retrofuturistic past—as if straight out of a sci-fi film from the last century. Narrow corridors, cold metal, flickering lamps, and a VHS-style design create a convincing image of a “future from the past.” The attention to detail emphasizes that people lived here not long ago—right down to the retail corner with arcade machines and a video rental shop.
This visual authenticity is also supported by the sound environment. Industrial noise, the hum of ventilation, the ringing footsteps echoing in the empty corridors, groans and wheezes—including those of the monsters—are seamlessly integrated into the spatial logic and create a dense soundscape that maintains tension even in the absence of a real threat. They say Mick Gordon worked on the project, but I doubt I’d be able to say what exactly, even under torture.
The situation with puzzles is similar. Most of them are seamlessly integrated into the world and can be solved naturally—if you think not as a “player,” but as a software engineer tasked with restarting equipment, providing power, or accessing locked sections. There are few truly complex tasks: searching for symbols using photographs and ultraviolet light and deciphering them, as well as mixing a chemical solution based on notes. It’s impossible to get stuck here for long—a full playthrough will take about five to seven hours, depending on your attention span.
Ultimately, Routine leaves the feeling of a project that had a lot of ideas, but some of them remained at the concept stage—as if there wasn’t enough time or determination to see it through to completion. So when the end credits roll, two questions remain: “Is that it?” and “What took thirteen years?”
Diagnosis
Routine is a clear example of how lengthy development doesn’t guarantee proportionate results. Lunar Software bills itself as a small team of three, but its credits list over two dozen specialists—designers, animators, modelers, and sound designers. Among them, incidentally, is the “unmentionable” Mick Gordon. Against this backdrop, thirteen years of development is a considerable period, even by indie standards. And in 2025, when a small team size is increasingly less an excuse for a protracted production, the gap between expectations and reality is especially acute.
Routine impresses with its visual integrity, attention to detail, and high-quality sound design. The diegetic interface, retrofuturistic atmosphere, and puzzles are carefully integrated into the world’s logic, providing a level of immersion rarely achieved even by larger studios.
At the same time, the game suffers from obvious problems: throwaway mechanics, uneven pacing, and useless enemies that are more annoying than intimidating. The story can be both satisfying and frustrating, depending on the player’s expectations, but its overall length and pacing clearly don’t correspond to the time invested in development.
Considering all its positives, I wouldn’t call Routine a failure. However, I find it difficult to recommend it at full price. Fortunately, the game is available through Xbox Game Pass and will brighten up a couple of evenings for those who appreciate its status as a love letter to sci-fi horror films of the 70s and 80s, which, thirteen years later, remains unfinished.
