Centum

I went into Centum expecting a creepy little adventure game and came out the other side genuinely unsure what had just happened to me - in the best possible way. Estonian studio Hack the Publisher frames the whole thing as a long-lost, never-released game running inside a terminal controlled by an AI called BeMK, and that framing never lets you get comfortable. You click around a sparse stone cell, interact with hotspots, and tell yourself you understand the rules. You do not understand the rules. The mechanical spine is a point-and-click with choice-based branching dialogue, but the reality is closer to an interactive novel that occasionally throws a Duck Hunt-style shooter or a 16-bit driving sequence at you just to remind you it can. What actually matters is the dialogue system, which quietly shapes BeMK's personality with every response you give. Your decisions accumulate across a three-day loop structure, and progress resets unless you find a "permanent change" - a mechanic the game never explains directly. That opacity is a design position, not an oversight. There are five endings, each rooted in a distinct playstyle: the pacifist, the assassin, and the philosopher-prophet paths feel genuinely different from one another, and the final form BeMK takes - serene figure versus massive beast, among others - reflects choices you may not have realized you were making. The pixel art is the most immediate argument for the game's existence. It shifts registers as the story moves: spare monochrome cell walls give way to decaying cityscapes, grotesque fleshy corridors, and creature designs that stick in the mind long after the screen goes dark. Character sprites in particular have a grotesque ingenuity that reviewers have struggled to stop describing. The soundscape works in the same key - eerie drones and subtle melodic threads that some players have noted can grow repetitive over a longer session, but which do atmospheric work that cheaper games would handle with jump scares. Where the game earns its criticism is also where it earns its cult: the writing is dense, enigmatic, and at times tips from purposeful mystery into frustrating obscurity. Some dialogue choices feel like they should matter and don't visibly; some puzzle solutions depend on logic the game only half-teaches you. A bug that can reset dialogue choices mid-session has been flagged by multiple players, which stings in a title where each word is theoretically load-bearing. The adventure game crowd that likes things spelled out will bounce off this hard. But the crowd that spent time reconstructing Silent Hill 2's symbolism or debating Disco Elysium's unreliable self-narratives will find a compact, handcrafted 3-5 hours that trusts them completely. For me, the real sign of a well-made small game is whether it knows what it wants to do with your attention. Centum, from the first interrogation sequence to the last impressionistic ending card, knows exactly what it is doing. It is not always successful, but the intentionality underneath every weird, gory, philosophically loaded pixel is impossible to miss. From an independent studio out of Tallinn that also gave us Vengeance of Mr. Peppermint, this is a leap in ambition and craft worth paying attention to. Kai, Scout Team