While We Wait Here

While We Wait Here is a psychological horror simulation game set in a seemingly ordinary diner that serves as a surreal limbo amid an apocalyptic world crumbling outside. Players take on the role of a manager in this first-person visual novel, handling business tasks like preparing dishes and serving eccentric customers, while unraveling a strange, eerie narrative filled with surprises, moral ambiguities, and multiple endings that blend addictive management gameplay with unsettling storytelling and old-school visuals.

While We Wait Here: Review

Introduction

In a world teetering on the brink of apocalypse, where the sizzle of a grill and the clink of coffee mugs mask the chaos outside, While We Wait Here invites players to confront not just the end of days, but the fragile threads of human connection that hold us together—or tear us apart. Released in late 2024 by the tiny Italian indie studio Bad Vices Games, this psychological horror restaurant simulator arrives like a fever dream from a roadside diner in the American Southwest, blending mundane labor with existential dread. As a game historian, I’ve seen countless titles grapple with mortality— from Majora’s Mask‘s ticking clock to The Last of Us‘s quiet reflections—but few do so through the lens of flipping burgers while advising strangers on their personal demons. Bad Vices’ sophomore effort builds on their cult hit Ravenous Devils to craft a meditative, morally ambiguous experience that prioritizes emotional intimacy over spectacle. My thesis: While We Wait Here is a daring, if imperfect, evolution of narrative-driven indies, proving that even in the shadow of oblivion, the smallest choices can redefine legacy, though its brevity and mechanical simplicity prevent it from fully realizing its ambitious fusion of sim and horror.

Development History & Context

Bad Vices Games, founded in 2017 by Eleonora Vecchi and Cristian Gambadori, embodies the scrappy spirit of modern indie development: a two-person Italian team bootstrapping their passion into polished, constraint-driven gems. Vecchi, with her background in 3D graphics from a specialized course, and Gambadori, a self-taught programmer with roots in computer science high school, met through shared obsessions with game design. Their debut, Ravenous Devils (2023)—a grotesque cooking sim inspired by Sweeney Todd—was self-funded via revenue from prior prototypes, earning critical acclaim and console ports through Troglobytes Games. This success funded While We Wait Here, completed without external backing beyond an Epic MegaGrant, highlighting the duo’s philosophy: “production constraints are the most useful tool we have, enabling us to create innovative experiences.”

The game’s vision crystallized from a simple “fantasy”: a deserted diner during an apocalypse, populated by strangers unburdening their souls. Gambadori has described starting with the setting—a liminal space evoking isolation—then layering mechanics around it, drawing from indie darlings like What Remains of Edith Finch, Firewatch, Life is Strange, and Road 96. These influences shaped the blend of walking sim introspection and choice-driven narratives, but Bad Vices iterated through a 2023 demo, refining twists based on player reactions to avoid spoilers. Technological constraints were key: Built in Unreal Engine 5 for PC and consoles (Windows, Mac, PS4/5, Xbox One/Series, Switch), the team embraced PS1-era visuals to sidestep high-fidelity demands, focusing on atmospheric lighting and interactions. Released amid a 2024 indie boom—flanked by narrative-heavy titles like Indika and sims like Balatro—While We Wait Here entered a landscape saturated with short-form experiences, where its $4.99 price and 2-3 hour runtime positioned it as a budget-friendly palate cleanser. Yet, the gaming industry’s post-pandemic shift toward emotional, replayable stories (e.g., Celeste‘s influence on mental health themes) provided fertile ground, though console porting delays via Troglobytes tested the small team’s limits, ensuring a simultaneous multi-platform launch on October 23, 2024.

Narrative & Thematic Deep Dive

At its core, While We Wait Here is a tapestry of interrupted lives woven against an unraveling world, where the diner’s fluorescent hum becomes a confessional booth for the damned. Players embody either Cliff or Nora—co-owners of a remote mountain-range diner—depending on prologue choices that set the tone for a trauma-fueled journey. The plot unfolds in real-time over a single, storm-ravaged shift: An ordinary day shatters with emergency broadcasts heralding an unspecified catastrophe, urging evacuation to the enigmatic Mount K shelters. Outside, the sky darkens with apocalyptic fury—flashes of disaster glimpsed through rain-streaked windows—while inside, four core patrons arrive, each a vessel for moral quandaries that eclipse the global doom.

The ensemble is richly drawn, their dialogues crackling with authenticity thanks to full voice acting from talents like Grant Corvin (Cliff), Abigail Turner (Nora), and guests including Art Brown (Hank) and Jeran Ugokwe (Eddie). Hank, a workaholic unraveling from familial neglect, embodies regret; his arc probes the cost of ambition, forcing players to weigh reconciliation against denial. Eddie, the UFO-obsessed conspiracy theorist, injects paranoia, his story twisting into a hallucinatory vignette of loss and delusion. Alex and Lisa, a young couple entangled in betrayal, highlight relational fragility, their dilemmas culminating in a heart-wrenching choice of forgiveness or fracture. Finally, the enigmatic Stranger weaves meta-threads, blurring reality with the protagonist’s visions of past trauma—an incident involving Nora’s death that haunts Cliff (or vice versa), revealed through fragmented flashbacks.

Thematically, the game dissects indecision and human dynamics in extremis: Indecision as paralysis, where personal baggage blinds characters to apocalypse, mirroring real-life denial (climate anxiety, anyone?). Moral choices—five storylines branching into ten endings—demand nuance; advising consistency yields epilogues of redemption or ruin, but flip-flopping breeds confusion, stranding souls in limbo. Dialogue is economical yet poignant, laced with Gambadori’s intent to spark co-op debates (“like playing with a friend beside you”), evoking The Simpsons‘ horror episodes for accessible unease. Underlying motifs of isolation versus connection critique modern alienation—patrons “blinded by their own thoughts”—while the diner’s limbo symbolizes purgatory, where players, as impartial arbiters, confront their own regrets. Twists, like the demo’s unspoiled reveals, build to a hallucinatory climax tying personal apocalypses to the external one, though the abrupt finale leaves interpretive voids, inviting replays. It’s a narrative triumph in microcosm, distilling Life is Strange-esque branching into bite-sized existentialism, but its rushed epilogues (mere seconds) occasionally undercut the emotional payoff.

Gameplay Mechanics & Systems

While We Wait Here eschews traditional progression for a hypnotic loop of service and salvation, where burger-flipping funds fleeting therapy sessions. Core gameplay alternates between diner management and vignette interludes, all in first-person for tactile immersion. The sim element shines in its kitchen rhythm: Take orders via point-and-select interactions, then scavenge a four-slot inventory from fridges and racks. Cook manually—grill patties, fry chips, blend sodas, flip pancakes—with dozens of unique animations emphasizing physicality (no QTEs, just deliberate drags and drops). Serve, ring up payments, clean up—washing dishes and dumping trash consumes slots, adding light resource juggling. No failure states: No burning food, no timers, no game overs. This meditative design suits the 2-3 hour runtime, turning drudgery into ASMR-like catharsis, but critics decry its basics—no mood-influenced tips, no depth in recipes—as missed opportunities for strategy.

Character progression ties to dialogue trees: Chat to uncover backstories, then advise on dilemmas, unlocking vignettes (e.g., smashing a car in rage or exploring caves for a lost cow). These side segments vary wildly—some are surreal walking sims with symbolic mechanics (painting a nursery while ignoring a letter), others intrusive (camera yanks during exploration)—serving as palate cleansers but pacing killers, with canned animations stripping control. UI is clean yet janky: Phasing through geometry for positioning, counterintuitive pours (click patrons, not cups), and mid-air conversations betray Switch-era roots. Innovations include choice-consequence without punishment—endings stem from NPC fates, not diner success—fostering replayability (switch protagonists for altered visions). Flaws abound: Jank in interactions, forced sequences, and vignette bloat dilute tension; jump scares land awkwardly amid cooking. No combat or deep RPG elements, but the loop’s addictiveness (per TheXboxHub) elevates it beyond busywork, innovating sim-horror hybrids like Cooking Mama meets Firewatch. Achievements gate “good” endings, encouraging moral consistency, though blind runs lock out content, frustrating newcomers.

World-Building, Art & Sound

The diner’s world is a pressure cooker of isolation, its sparse mountain-range locale—evoking desolate highways from Fears to Fathom—amplifying dread through what’s omitted. Outside, the apocalypse manifests subtly: Rumbling storms, flickering broadcasts, shadowy figures in the rain, building to visceral vignettes of societal collapse. Inside, the setting pulses with lived-in detail—greasy counters, humming fridges, personal mementos hinting at Cliff and Nora’s fractured bond—creating a microcosm where global ruin fades behind interpersonal storms. Atmosphere thrives on contrast: Mundane tasks ground the surreal, turning the diner into a confessional ark amid deluge.

Visually, Bad Vices opts for deliberate lo-fi: PS1-inspired pixelation and grain (even on ultra settings) evokes retro horror like Silent Hill, masking Unreal Engine 5’s power for stylized unease—atmospheric fog, dynamic lighting casting long shadows. Animations are wooden (stiff walks, untracking faces), adding uncanny charm, but cooking props pop with fluid detail, from sizzling fats to steam rising. Subtle horrors—visions bleeding into reality—enhance immersion, though jank (clipping, static NPCs) undercuts polish.

Sound design elevates the unease: Federico Manuppella’s score blends diner jazz with dissonant swells, punctuated by storm howls and radio static. Fully voiced performances (13 actors total) deliver raw emotion—Hank’s weary drawl, Eddie’s frantic rants—grounding themes, with ambient clatters (plates clinking, grills hissing) forming an ASMR symphony. These elements synergize for oppressive intimacy: The diner’s hum cocoons vulnerability, making external chaos a creeping whisper, contributing to a holistic experience that’s more psychological itch than blockbuster scare.

Reception & Legacy

Upon its October 23, 2024 launch, While We Wait Here garnered solid but polarized reception, averaging 72% on MobyGames (7.1/10 overall) from outlets like Thumb Culture (100%, “must-buy psychological horror”) and TheXboxHub (80%, praising “exemplary storytelling” and addictive loops). Italian press like Games Machine (75%) lauded dubbing and atmospheres, dubbing it a “piacevolissima” tale of pancake-flipping amid doom. Lower scores from Multiplayer.it (65%) and Nindie Spotlight (61%) cited “scontata” narratives and undercooked sim depth, with Review Geek (60%) and Gameluster (60%) noting rushed pacing and jank as barriers to satisfaction. Player sentiment echoes this: Steam discussions highlight replay value for endings but gripe about inconsistent choices yielding “no resolution.” Commercially, its $4.99 tag drove modest sales (8 collectors on MobyGames), bolstered by Epic/Steam day-one availability and console ports, though its brevity limits longevity.

Legacy-wise, as a 2024 release, its influence is nascent but promising. Bad Vices cements their niche in “constraint-crafted” indies, evolving Ravenous Devils‘ cannibalistic sim to moral horror, inspiring micro-narratives in a post-Hades II era of replayable shorts. It nods to visual novel sims like while True: learn(), potentially paving for “apocalypse ASMR” hybrids, though flaws (abrupt ends, vignette pacing) temper its canon status. Evolving reputation favors cult appeal—praised for affordability and co-op vibes—positioning it as a footnote in indie’s existential wave, akin to Iron Lung‘s claustrophobic impact, with potential mods (e.g., endless mode) extending life.

Conclusion

While We Wait Here distills the apocalypse into a diner’s grease-stained confessional, masterfully blending sim tedium with thematic depth to probe indecision’s toll, bolstered by evocative art, sound, and voice work that punch above its indie weight. Yet, mechanical jank, vignette inconsistencies, and a hurried finale hobble its ambitions, leaving players sated but wanting deeper customization and resolution. In video game history, it carves a modest niche as Bad Vices’ bold pivot—innovative for small teams, essential for horror fans craving introspection over explosions. Verdict: 7.5/10. A worthwhile wait for introspective indies, best savored with a friend, pondering what you’d choose when the end knocks.