No one will hear you scream on the moon
Routine begins as mundane as possible and even a bit old-fashioned for a science fiction horror. A nameless and voiceless hero wakes up in a cramped, peeling cabin on the \"Union Plaza\" lunar station and learns along with the player that he is a software engineer sent to audit the automated security system. Formally, this is a planned visit: the station has been waiting for an inspection for a long time, and the management politely thanks him for his willingness to \"put the complex in order.\"
It soon becomes obvious that either the audit didn't go according to plan, or it was initially a cover. In internal correspondence, employees mention voltage surges, emergency door locks, and strange symptoms, which they attribute to the effects of a recent moonquake.
Many rooms look abandoned in a hurry: someone complains of headaches, someone reports a missing colleague from the technical department. Messages about a find that should not have been brought to the base look much more alarming. As a result, we have an almost perfect reconstruction of a science fiction horror from the late seventies and early eighties.
This should not be considered spoilers. All this information is revealed in the early stages, but the player will have to figure out the details and look for the real reasons for what happened on their own. The plot balances between successful finds and outright sagging.
The story is collected from letters, diaries and video recordings in the spirit of the \"found footage,\" but among the science fiction clichés and biblical allusions, key answers are often lost. The ending seems to draw a line with the words \"decide for yourself,\" and this presentation is sure to upset those who do not tolerate arthouse pretentiousness. I can't say that the ending is disappointing, but I honestly admit that it doesn't bring satisfaction either.
However, before reaching the final, the player will have to thoroughly comb the station, survive clashes with its new \"residents\" and solve a good dozen tasks and puzzles. Routine relies not so much on the plot as on the atmosphere and immersion, and it is the exploration that becomes the basis of the gaming experience.
Immersive Approach To Interaction
The first available zone serves as a compact training space. Routine does not use a marker system, does not highlight the necessary objects, and is limited to only basic control tips. The player is invited to inspect the room, open the electronic panel, read letters, stand on tiptoes to reach the top shelf, or bend over for a badge under the closet. These simple actions form an understanding of how the game interacts with the player, relying on attention to the environment, working with objects and small practical tasks.
From the threshold, Routine reminded me of the domestic Hail to the Rainbow, which I completed literally the day before. There, the first minutes also became a kind of exam for attentiveness, allowing you to naturally assimilate the principles of interaction with the world. However, here the main tool for \"communication\" with the environment is the IPC, the astronaut's individual assistant.
Externally, it resembles a futuristic pistol, but in essence it is a set of applied tools and a central element of the diegetic interface. With its help, the hero connects to terminals wirelessly, saves, views tasks and notes.
As you progress, the player finds modules that expand the functionality of the device. The basic one allows you to send a pulse, temporarily disabling robots and activating electrical panels; ultraviolet highlights hidden symbols and prints; the interface opens access to closed security systems. Switching between modes does not occur through the menu. You need to stop, raise the IPC, point to the desired button and only then activate the function.
Working with terminals is subject to the same logic. The game does not display a separate interface, the screen remains part of the environment. To scroll through a message or switch a tab, you have to point the sight at the desired element and press the button on the device. Thus, Routine strives to make every action tangible, although not all conceived techniques work equally convincingly.
The ability to crouch, peek around a corner, or stand on your toes is demonstrated in the training segment and is hardly used afterwards, except perhaps once or twice. The same applies to the IPC demagnetization function. Interference periodically appears on the screen, preventing you from aiming, for example, when trying to activate an electrical panel or highlight the \"invisible\" with ultraviolet light, but in practice I used this feature exactly once, and even then during training.
This feels especially strange in the second half of the game, where an invisible enemy appears that can kill with one blow. It would seem that it is he who should fuel the constant tension, but my only meeting with him ended with us simply exchanging glances through the muddy IPC screen and parting ways. It's hard to say whether this is a bug or a feature. But, perhaps, it's better this way than repeating the mistakes of the first half of the game.
The main opponents here are robots that resemble a parody of the T-800. There are only a few of them at each station, but only one is usually active at any given moment. The enemy reacts to the player only at a short distance, easily loses sight of him if you hide behind cover or under the table, and kills only with the second blow. Formally, it can be immobilized by a shot from the IPC, but I personally didn't even need it.
And it's not at all about saving charges, of which there are only three. This limitation quickly ceases to matter, as mountains of batteries are scattered everywhere. The problem is different. It's easy to run away from robots, and frequent save points minimize the risk. As a result, such meetings do not frighten or increase tension, but only slow down the investigation and are therefore more annoying.
The only time Routine really managed to scare me was in the fifth chapter, where the developers finally decided on a couple of screamers. Otherwise, the atmosphere and sound design are responsible for all the tension here. And if Routine deserves loud epithets, it is precisely for these components.
The superiority of form over content
From the first minutes, Routine impresses with its visual accuracy. This is not an abstract lunar base, but a carefully assembled fragment of the retrofuturistic past — as if it had come from the screens of science fiction films of the last century. Narrow corridors, cold metal, flickering lamps and VHS stylization form a convincing image of the \"future from the past.\" Attention to detail emphasizes that people lived here not so long ago — up to a shopping corner with arcade machines and video cassette rentals.
This visual authenticity is supported by the sound environment. Industrial noise, the hum of ventilation, ringing footsteps echoing in empty corridors, moans and wheezing — including those belonging to monsters — are organically integrated into the logic of space and create a dense sound environment that maintains tension even in the absence of a real threat. They say that Mick Gordon managed to work on the project, but I, perhaps, even under torture, would not undertake to assert what exactly.
The situation is similar with puzzles. Most of them are organically integrated into the world and are solved naturally — if you think not as a \"player,\" but as a software engineer who is instructed to restart equipment, supply power or gain access to closed sections. There are not many truly complex tasks: searching for symbols using photographs and ultraviolet light and deciphering them, as well as mixing a chemical solution according to notes. It is impossible to get stuck here for a long time — a complete walkthrough will take about five to seven hours, depending on attentiveness.
As a result, Routine leaves the feeling of a project in which there were many ideas, but some of them remained at the level of concept — as if there was not enough time or determination to bring the conceived to the end. Therefore, when the final credits appear on the screen, two questions remain in my head: \"Is that all?\" and \"What took thirteen years?\"
Diagnosis
Routine is a clear example of how long development does not guarantee a proportional result. Lunar Software positions itself as a small team of three people, but the credits list more than two dozen specialists — designers, animators, modelers, sound designers. Among them, by the way, is the \"not to be mentioned at night\" Mick Gordon. Against this background, thirteen years of development is a solid period even by indie standards. And in 2025, when the small size of the team is less and less an excuse for protracted production, the contrast between expectations and reality feels especially acute.
Routine impresses with its visual integrity, attention to detail and high quality sound design. The diegetic interface, the atmosphere of retrofuturism and puzzles are carefully integrated into the logic of the world and provide a level of immersion that even larger studios rarely manage to achieve.
At the same time, the game suffers from obvious problems: one-time mechanics, uneven pace, useless opponents who are more annoying than scary. The plot is able to both please and disappoint — depending on the player's expectations — but its overall duration and rhythm clearly do not correlate with the time spent on development.
Given all the advantages, I would not call Routine a failed game. However, it is difficult for me to recommend it at full price. Fortunately, the project is available on Xbox Game Pass and is able to brighten up a couple of evenings for those who are satisfied with its status — a love letter to science fiction horrors of the 70-80s, which after thirteen years remained unfinished.