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It’s indicative of the game’s clear messaging that despite multiple car crashes, a delirious dream sequence, a high-stakes infiltration, and more, the moment that most stands out is a relatively quiet one: Trevor sitting at a piano, playing an original piece that he’s composed. For all the time spent controlling him up to that point, this is the first time where Angela, and by extension the player, can see him as an independent person, one capable of making his own decisions (in this case, his art). That glimpse of his humanity is a moving little flourish that attests to American Arcadia’s belief that we all deserve freedom from coercion and an unreal life.

The game’s eeriest moment is attuned to the politics of denial and unresolved emotions. The final boss, a manifestation of the existential crisis that faces the planet, is extremely hard. It’s far easier to accept The Knight Witch’s offer for Rayne to just walk away from this battle and enjoy the next few years, hoping that maybe one of her allies can stop the world from ending. But that leads to an unsatisfying ending, with Rayne haunted by the question: “Was there more that I could have done?” This narrative beat is a bleak and brutal reminder that if we all keep blithely enjoying our lives instead of fighting the toughest of battles, we may come to regret it.

rossing Souls will offer you the basic elements to solve a puzzle but not enough context for the solution to make any sense. You may scratch your head, wondering how you even solved a puzzle, only to not care much and continue trudging forward, hoping for the game to flip the script in other ways toward the end of its short campaign. But, unfortunately, it never does, as almost everything here only exists, coherently or not, to serve up empty nostalgia for its own sake.

Despite its winning concept, all the comic homages, and the solidly executed gameplay, Rise & Shine goes out on a decidedly abrupt and anticlimactic note. In a way, it seems as if the developers got up and stretched but ultimately decided to go back to sleep.

Still, even with a few chapter-reset-necessitating bugs scattered here and there (to be expected of a one-man project, really), there's nothing game-breaking in Mind. Instead, there's just an ever-surprising and scintillating series of mind-breaking visuals, from illusory architecture (in which the shadows never lie) to jagged frozen ponds, waves frozen mid-crest, and haunting hospitals that jut into the cloudy sky like an infinite middle finger. If this is what the protagonist's world looks like, no wonder he hasn't yet woken up from his coma.