ROUTINE and Innovation in the Horror Genre

About an hour into my play-through of Routine, a body-cam style immersive horror experience set on a future version of Earth's moon, I realised my normally cynical and overly critical mind had yet to roll its eyes or sigh in disappointment at a single element of the game.

I was totally engrossed, completely invested in the world being presented to me, and constantly on the edge of my seat, equally anticipating either the next scare or the next lore reveal.

The game has no UI; all tools required for playing exist as buttons and switches on a handled device called the C.A.T. From an ultraviolet torch to a door opening system, to the very method used to save the game at certain interface points projected onto walls in the lunar facility.

It's not nearly the first game to implement a system like this, nor will it be the last. One thing I will say however, is that it might be the best. Not for any reason in particular mind you, merely because it embodies the culmination of what the immersive horror genre has become, tuned more precisely than a formula-one car.

I started to ponder whether further innovation is necessary in this space. The answer is unequivocally yes as I see it, but then why was Routine so perfect?

It did absolutely nothing new. The environmental theming represents the retro-futurism apparent in dozens-upon-dozens of IP's in gaming; the cat-and-mouse style of enemy interaction is featured in the majority of triple-A and indie titles through the years; even the method of scattered, disorganised storytelling through in-game notes and found-footage would remind anyone of several games from years gone by.

To be clear, this game definitely benefits from being a sub-8 hour experience. Not one aspect overstays its welcome, and if it had any more hours of gameplay, I'd have no choice but to expect something a little more original for fear of the game dragging.

And yet no complaints.

It feels like a science at this point, or alchemy, the act of perfectly assembling this assortment of pre-made ingredients and ideas to make a 'perfect' concoction. While I previously described the game as perfect, I use the term sparingly, as it is distinct from merely being faultless. If there's a takeaway from this game it's that you don't need to be innovative or revolutionary with even a single mechanic to create a masterpiece.

However I have another conclusion for you.

Whilst playing, I couldn't stop smiling at every detail, but after credits rolled I stopped to reflect. The most prominent feeling I had was anticipation - anticipation for what's next.

I can't wait for the next discovery, the next raw material that will one day be added to the mixing bowl purely to enhance its flavour.

I think Routine is my favourite horror game released in 2025, and I would play anything of its calibre time and time again without question. However each time I would leave with just an aftertaste of expectancy.

If you're looking for a conclusion I once again don't have one. I personally don't have the creativity to think of what might be next for horror, nor do I have any idea if and when the next innovation will be made. Of course virtual reality is making leaps and bounds but we'll have to wait and see on that one. Additionally I am aware that I've spoken about Routine as if it just appeared one day and hasn't gone through multiple development cycles over several years in the background, going back as far as its announcement in 2012, pre-dating the immersive horror titan that is Alien Isolation. So there might be the reason for its gluing together of everything that's been successful in the genre in the last decade.