Sorry We're Closed

My first impression of Sorry We're Closed was that someone had left a PS1 memory card inside a queer zine and let the two fuse overnight. That impression held for every hour I spent with it. à la mode games is literally two people, C.B. and Tom Bedford, working out of Bournemouth, and their debut title does something that polished, committee-built horror games rarely manage: it feels handmade in every seam, every dialogue line, every crackling low-poly corridor. The care is visible. The setup sounds deceptively modest. Michelle is a convenience store clerk in London, fresh out of a long-term breakup, who gets cursed by the Duchess, a towering archdemon with a leather-wrapped obsession and exactly zero sense of personal space. Michelle has three days to break the curse or die. Each night splits into two distinct phases: a social stretch on her street where you talk to residents, pick up sidequests, and make dialogue choices that quietly ripple toward the ending you eventually land on; and then a dungeon push through fixed-camera environments that ask you to fight, puzzle-solve, and survive a boss. The structure is classic early Resident Evil, but the world breathing inside it belongs to nobody else. The Third Eye mechanic earns its place. Toggle it and the world inverts, grimy abandoned spaces become pristine, pristine demon zones reveal their rot underneath, and some enemies only move when you are looking at them in that state. It is puzzle design that also functions as metaphor, and the game knows it. Combat is where the honest reviewer has to pump the brakes slightly. Exploration runs in a third-person fixed-camera view, but the moment you raise a weapon, the camera snaps into an immobile first-person perspective. You plant your feet, line up a shot on an enemy's heart or weak point, and manage an axe, pistol, or shotgun across a small, upgradable arsenal. Shoot well and a combo meter builds toward a super attack. The rhythm is learnable, and boss fights in particular stage the mechanics into something genuinely thrilling. Everyday enemies, though, respawn as you backtrack, and the stop-rooted shooting stance can tip from tense into frustrating when a boss demands fast repositioning. The developers included aim assist, optional tank controls, and an infinite healing accessibility mode, which softens the friction considerably. Go in knowing this is 1990s-flavored design, not a twitch shooter, and the friction mostly makes sense. What nobody should undersell is the writing and the sound. Michelle's street is full of characters with their own arcs, demons and angels with motivations that feed sideways into the main story rather than just pointing at it. Dialogue branches open sidequests that genuinely alter the ending, and the LGBTQIA+ representation across the cast is woven into the narrative rather than bolted on. The soundtrack mixes atmospheric horror textures with original rap compositions and choir arrangements, and it is the kind of score you will look up on Bandcamp after the credits. Eurogamer named it one of the best games of 2024. On Steam, where over 1,500 players have left reviews, the score sits at 98 percent positive. The Metacritic critic consensus lands at 83. Those numbers are consistent. New Game+ carries over upgrades and collectibles for players who want to chase alternate paths, and a Time Attack mode adds a score-chasing layer for anyone who wants to revisit the combat after clearing the story. If the fixed-camera survival horror genre has felt dormant to you, this is the game that justifies the revival. The opening hour is quiet and slow on purpose. Stay with it. Kai, Scout Team

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