NORTH YORK, ONTARIO – It is a quiet Thursday afternoon in the suburbs, or at least it would be if my grandson, Arthur, wasn’t such a disappointment in the kitchen. I asked him three hours ago, three!, to clarify the butter for my world-famous shortbread, and what do I find? The boy is gone to the “disc-golf” park, and the butter is sitting on the counter looking as cloudy as a Guelph morning after Silas Toot-Smythe breaks flatulence.

Naturally, as any sensible grandmother would do, I have commandeered his “gaming rig” to share my thoughts on his latest digital obsession. Apparently, it’s called Abiotic Factor, and let me tell you, it is the biggest load of codswallop I’ve seen since the EPA started putting chunks in the water.

A Game Review of the Most Poorly Managed Office in History

When I first clicked the little icon on the light-box, I thought I was looking at a documentary about the 1990s. It’s set in a place called the GATE Cascade Research Facility. Now, I’ve worked in offices before, whippersnappers. I spent twelve years filing for the Ministry of Teas and Biscuits, and we would never, never, allow the workplace to fall into such a state of disrepair.

In this game review, I must point out that the main character is a scientist. A scientist! You’d think someone with a PhD would know how to use a broom. Instead, you wake up in an underground bunker where everything has gone pear-shaped. There’s paper everywhere, the vending machines are leaking, and nobody has bothered to empty the bins. It’s total hogwash.

Arthur told me it’s a “survival crafting game,” which I think is just a fancy modern term for “being homeless in a basement.” You have to scrounge for food, drink water from the sinks (which I hope is cleaner than the chunky stuff the EPA is pushing), and find a place to nap. Honestly, it’s just like my retirement home, but with fewer complaints about the thermostat.

The Abiotic Factor Management Crisis: Where is HR?

The plot of Abiotic Factor involves some sort of “paranormal breach.” Back in my day, we called that “a draft from the window,” but these scientists act like the world is ending because some glowing green fellows decided to move in. These creatures are incredibly rude. They don’t knock, they don’t introduce themselves, and they have absolutely no respect for personal space.

I spoke (via the clicking-mouse) to a local expert on workplace safety, Dr. Eustace Mumblecore, a disgraced desk-organizer specialist currently living in a hollowed-out tree behind the North York IKEA.

“The GATE facility is a nightmare of litigation,” Dr. Mumblecore told me while eating a handful of dry oats. “You’ve got interdimensional entities roaming the halls, and not a single one of them has attended a mandatory sexual harassment seminar. It’s a recipe for a very expensive lawsuit, or at least a very sternly worded memo.”

I agree with the doctor. If I were the manager of GATE, I would have had those portals closed and the floors waxed before the lunch whistle blew. Instead, you have to run around with a flashlight that has the battery life of a cheap birthday candle. It’s bolderdash!

Crafting Nonsense and the Stapler Incident

One thing you have to do in this game is “craft” items. Now, I’m a fan of crafting. Give me a ball of premium mohair wool and I’ll knit you a tea cozy that can survive a nuclear winter. But the things they make you do in this facility are just plain silly.

I found myself instructed to build a weapon. Did I get a sturdy rolling pin? No. I had to combine a stapler, some rubber bands, and a bit of scrap metal. I’ve seen more intimidating weaponry at a church bake sale when the last lemon tart is on the line.

I tried to skoot past a blue-skinned gentleman who looked like he’d spent too much time in a damp cellar, and I fired my stapler at him. It did nothing but mildly annoy him. It didn’t even staple his shirt shut! If you’re going to give me a stapler, at least make sure it’s a Swingline. Those things have heft.

The game expects you to build beds out of old pizza boxes and benches. I haven’t slept on a pizza box since the World Peace Summit Brawl of ’98, and I don’t intend to start now. Where is the lumbar support? Where is the heated blanket? It’s a disgrace to the very concept of a midday nap.

Why Portals are No Excuse for Bad Filing

The whippersnappers who made this game (I believe they go by the name Deep Rock Galactic… wait, no, that’s another one Arthur plays… it’s “Deep Field Games”) seem to think that “portals” are very exciting. You go through these holes in reality to find materials.

Listen to me: if I have to travel to another dimension just to find a decent roll of duct tape, then your supply chain is broken. This reminds me of the time the Canada Goose Bird Passports were introduced: just a lot of bureaucratic jumping through hoops for something that should be simple.

I spent twenty minutes in the game just trying to find a working toilet. In Abiotic Factor, your character has “needs.” You get hungry, you get thirsty, and you need the powder room. It’s very realistic, I suppose, but I don’t go to the light-box to be reminded of my aging bladder. I go there to escape Arthur’s refusal to clarify butter.

Technical Bolderdash and the Clicking-Mouse Struggle

The visuals in this game are purposefully old-fashioned. They call it “low-poly,” which I think is just an excuse for not finishing the drawings. Everything looks a bit blocky, like a quilt made by someone who’s had one too many sherries. However, I will admit the atmosphere is quite thick. It feels damp. I could almost feel my joints aching just looking at the concrete walls of the facility.

The controls are a bit of a struggle for my arthritic hands. There are too many buttons! Why do I need a button to crouch? If I crouch in real life, I need a crane and three sturdy men to get me back up. And don’t get me started on the “sprint” button. I haven’t sprinted since the Great Butter Rationing of 1974.

I’ve heard rumors that some players have managed to find a way to make the game easier. Apparently, there’s a magical penny somewhere that grants wishes, but I suspect that’s just more internet lies.

Expert Opinion: Disgraced Scientist Weighs In

I managed to track down a former employee of a similar facility, a man who goes by the name “Bunglow Bill.” He was fired for trying to teach a lab rat how to play the spoons.

“The biggest issue with Abiotic Factor,” Bill shouted through a megaphone from his porch, “is the lack of proper breakroom snacks. You’re telling me I’m fighting aliens from the 4th dimension and all I get is a stale granola bar? Where are the lemon drops? Where is the mohair? It’s a hostile work environment, Gladys! A hostile work environment!”

The Gladys Verdict: 2 Out of 5 Lemon Drops

In conclusion, Abiotic Factor is a very stressful experience for a woman of my vintage. It captures the feeling of being trapped in a dead-end job perfectly: mostly because you spend half your time looking for a screwdriver and the other half wondering why the lights aren’t working.

It’s a bit too much “survival” and not enough “sitting quietly with a nice cup of Earl Grey.” If you like running away from monsters made of light while holding a broken chair, then this is the game for you. If you prefer things to be orderly, clean, and properly filed, you’re better off watching the grass grow or checking out that story about the local teen who won a doubles championship with a dead partner. At least they had the decency to keep it on the court.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear Arthur’s car in the driveway. I need to hide this “clicking-mouse” and pretend I’ve been staring at the wall in silent judgment for the last two hours. It’s the only way he’ll learn.

Pros:

• Accurately represents the frustration of 90s office equipment.
• The stapler looks almost real.
• No pigeons (thank goodness, I’m still wary of their unionization efforts).

Cons:

• Very poor floor maintenance.
• Entities are rude and do not offer tea.
• Not enough Mohair.
• Arthur still hasn’t clarified the butter.

Gladys Pepperstein is a contributing reviewer for The Real Fake Times. She is paid exclusively in lemon drops and high-quality yarn. Her previous reviews include “GTA 5: Why Is Everyone Driving on the Sidewalk?” and “The Internet: A Mistake?”