Recent reviews by W A N D E R

The multiplayer beats like a living heart , a place where adrenaline and gunfire become one
War here isn’t about victory; it’s about presence , about being there when everything falls apart,
Teamwork, pride, fear, and madness blend into something strangely beautiful
It captures the pulse of chaos, the rhythm of survival, and the silence that follows both
Nothing here repeats itself; every battle writes its own story
and every death tastes different
Technically, it’s a masterpiece of destruction and atmosphere
Every explosion, every shadow, every echo feels crafted to pull you in, not just impress you
The flaws exist but they drown beneath the weight of everything that works
it’s a mirror of ourselves of our fears, our hopes, and that quiet will to stand, even when everything is falling apart

Power doesn’t always arrive with a roar
Sometimes it comes with a smirk with footsteps that walk over blood
with a sword that only sings when your silence finally breaks

This isn’t just a war against demons
It’s a war against yourself
Against your past
Against a name you’ve been trying to bury for years
and that voice whispering in your ear: “You’re one of them.”

And you?
You laugh
Loud. Unhinged
Not because anything’s funny
but because if you don’t laugh, you’ll collapse

Your sword isn’t a weapon. It’s an extension of your soul
Your guns? Just another way to speak
You talk in slashes. You argue in bullets. You scream in style
Every combo is a symphony
And your soundtrack?
A scream torn straight out of hell

But beneath the show, beneath all that power
something is buried
an old wound
A buried guilt
A connection that never truly healed
Maybe a brother
Maybe a father
Maybe just…
a version of yourself that used to be more human

Your enemies all have faces
Twisted, monstrous, unrecognizable
But most of them?
They’re mirrors
Dark reflections of what you could have become

You fight because you can
Because you must
Because if you don’t kill, you’ll be killed
But after every battle, there’s always a pause
A glance at your hands. At the blood
And a question that never fully goes away: “Am I moving forward…
or am I just dancing in circles through an endless hell?”

And maybe this isn’t the end
Maybe it’s just a breath between two wars
But that one breath
sometimes weighs more than a thousand screams

Sometimes life doesn’t start with one person , It starts with two
One with a voice, a body, with laughter and tears
And the other , silent just a presence

A weight on your shoulders that’s been with you since childhood
You don’t understand it
You can’t get rid of it
And that’s when everything becomes different from everyone else

While other kids play pretend
you talk to doors no one else can see
While others find comfort in their mother’s arms
you’re staring out the window of a quarantine room
with a kind of longing you don’t even know the name of

No one really understood
Not the scientists trying to find a reason
not the soldiers trying to turn you into a weapon
not even the ones who loved you… but were still afraid of you

And you?
You were only ever searching for one thing
Peace? No
Love? Maybe
But more than anything… to be understood

Your journey wasn’t a straight line
From homelessness to war, from love to escape
from being lost in the desert to being found in a stranger’s eyes

You lived
even when you didn’t know what it meant to be alive
You tried to end it more than once
but that silent companion
that invisible presence
never let you let go

And when you finally reached the end
that quiet choice…
between leaving or staying
between disappearing or enduring this world again

You realized… you were never alone
You were always two.
And maybe…
that’s the only reason you survived

There is no sound , Not because space is quiet
but because there’s nothing left to say
Only your footsteps remain, heavy against the cold metal floor…
and your breathing, turning shallow
as if even your own body wants to give up

The monsters may come from the dark
but the real terror doesn’t live in the shadows
it lives inside you
The fear of being alone
Of not being heard
Of dying in a place where no one even knows you’re still alive

Your body grows heavier
Your weapon is just a piece of metal that gives you a false sense of safety
Every time you open a door
you don’t know if you’ll find a way out
or if you’re about to be dragged deeper into a hell that tears you apart

The lights flicker
The power fails
And the sounds…
the sounds come from behind the walls
Screeches that don’t sound human anymore , if they ever were

And you…
You’re just a person
Not a hero. Not a soldier
Just a damn engineer who never thought he’d end up here
But now, you cut, burn
and tear your way through…
just to survive

But the question isn’t how you’ll survive , it’s how long

Every room you leave behind takes a piece of your sanity with it.
There is no such thing as safety.
Even silence doesn’t feel peaceful
it feels like something holding its breath…
waiting to strike

And when you finally reach the end
you’re not stronger
You’re not a savior
You’re just… empty

There’s no voice here to guide you. No light you can trust
Only darkness
The kind of darkness that lives in your childhood memories
when something shifted under the bed…
and you didn’t even dare to blink

This world isn’t made for you
It’s made to consume
The walls bend, the windows stare, even the floor beneath your feet feels unsure of itself
You’re not just small here
you’re invisible
A silent shadow in a distorted, broken world

But you’re not just a piece of cloth to be blown away by the wind
You’re searching. For safety. For answers
Maybe for yourself…
or maybe for the tiny hand that sometimes reaches for yours
No name, no words but always beside you

The monsters here don’t just have teeth or claws they look human.
A teacher whose neck stretches like nightmare logic,
a doctor who stitches what shouldn’t exist,
statues that turn deathly when touched by light.

And you... you must crawl, hide, move silently, and swallow pieces of fear each time just to move forward.

And just when you think the nightmare is ending
it begins again.
Because fear doesn’t visit once and leave
fear builds a home inside you

And when you stand before that final cursed door…
you’re left with a choice
Not to save the world
Not to slay a monster
Just to save yourself
even if it means being alone

Some nightmares don’t wake up because they were never dreams to begin with

Some journeys don’t begin on a map
Not in a sunken ship or a piece of gold buried beneath the dirt
They begin with a call. A voice from the past
In a moment when life finally feels calm and yet, one question cuts through the stillness like a splinter:
"What if I tried one more time?"

Adventure isn’t just about gunfights and leaping off cliffs
It’s hesitation in every decision
it’s the second before your grip slips on a ledge
it’s realizing that you’re not really running from danger
you’re running from memories

The places you visit aren’t just locations
A lost city isn’t marked only on a map it’s in your heart, in your past, in the relationships you’ve built… and broken
Every dialogue cracks a little deeper into the mask you've worn for years

And then, through the dust and wreckage, a golden ship finally gleams in the distance
But you don’t see it right away your brother’s in front of you
Your wife’s breath is behind you
And between treasure and the people who still stand by your side
you’ve got seconds to decide

In this journey, choices don’t come easy
Something always has to be sacrificed
Sometimes it’s peace
Sometimes it’s a bond
Sometimes… it’s yourself

And when the sun finally sets and there are no more bullets, no more screams, no more explosions
only the sound of waves against rock
you realize what an ending really means

Not the end of an adventure
but the end of that need to keep chasing something

And maybe…
maybe it’s finally time to accept that some treasures must be left behind
just so you can find yourself

Hope is a word people used to say here.
Now, it’s written on walls in faded paint, buried under layers of rust and grime. The city stands like a wounded beast, its towers jagged against a sky painted in ash and fire. Bridges hang half-fallen over streets choked with weeds and broken cars.
In daylight, there’s life. Children play on rooftops, laughter echoing across battered concrete. Merchants shout over the clink of metal parts and scraps. People dream of rebuilding — a garden here, a market there — as if pretending civilization can be reborn one rooftop at a time.
But the city keeps secrets.
Below the bright sun, alliances fracture. Factions plot. Gangs carve territories into blood and stone. Every favor owed is paid in betrayal. And no matter how high you climb, the streets below are full of monsters — some with fangs, some wearing human smiles.
Then night falls like a guillotine.
Neon lights flicker to life, casting the city in bruised purples and electric blues. The air grows cold and sharp. Tunnels seethe with predators whose eyes glow like dying stars. Time loses meaning. The longer you stay outside, the closer death breathes on your neck.
Yet you run anyway. You leap gaps between buildings, balance on steel beams swaying over yawning chasms. Parkour isn’t just a skill — it’s the difference between seeing dawn or dying alone in the dark.
Every decision tears at your conscience. Help the desperate? Spare the guilty? Take sides, or stay free? In this city, morality has no clear lines — only consequences.
But sometimes, as dawn spills over the skyline, you catch your breath. You look out over rooftops touched with gold, and for one trembling moment, you believe the city can rise again.
Because even here, in a world choked by the past, there’s always the chance that tomorrow might be better.

Some places were never meant to be seen from above.
But you’ve learned to see rooftops as salvation — the only space where the air isn’t filled with claws, screams, and rotting breath. Up here, the city stretches beneath you like a dying animal, its streets gasping under sun-bleached buildings and rusted wires swinging in hot wind.
Daylight is your only truce. Sunlight keeps the true monsters in the shadows, at least for a few hours. You scavenge for scraps, trade in whispered deals, patch wounds with dirty bandages. Every ounce of calm feels borrowed.
Below, the world waits to swallow you whole.
Cries echo from alleys where the infected pile like waves crashing against barricades. Shops are gutted, buses overturned like metal coffins. Everywhere you go, someone is screaming for help, and you have to choose who you can save — and who you’ll leave behind because you just don’t have time.
Then comes the dusk.
The sun bleeds out, and everything changes. The air grows colder, thicker, as if the city itself is holding its breath. Shadows stretch longer than they should. And somewhere behind you comes the first distant roar — not human, not animal, but something that knows your name without ever having met you.
Night is no longer part of time. It’s a predator.
Suddenly, the city isn’t your playground. It’s your execution chamber. You run, climb, leap over gaps that drop into darkness. You hear them gaining. You pray your stamina holds.
Because here, survival isn’t about killing the infected. It’s about outrunning the nightmares that hunt when the sun goes down. And discovering, in the flicker of neon lights, that the only thing faster than death is the will to keep moving.

It begins with fire. Not the kind that warms — the kind that devours.

The city screams in sirens and smoke. Ash sticks to your skin. Streets you once knew twist into something unrecognizable, swallowed by panic and rot. The world feels like it’s ending — not with silence, but with teeth.

People run, but not fast enough. Doors slam, barricades fall, voices fade. Infection spreads like a whisper passed from hand to hand, and suddenly everything familiar turns hostile.

But the worst part isn’t the chaos.
It’s the rhythm.
The sound that doesn’t stop.
The footsteps.

Measured. Heavy. Inevitable.

You run until your lungs burn, and still — it’s behind you. Not hunting for food. Not for revenge. Just… to end you.

Walls collapse. Creatures claw through the dark. Streets become labyrinths of debris and blood. You keep moving, not because you’re brave, but because stopping means becoming part of the rubble.

Weapons buy you seconds, not safety. Choices feel like coin flips made in fire. And through it all, that sound returns: those steps, like a countdown you can’t reset.

But something awakens inside you. A refusal. A flicker of fight buried beneath the fear. You slam a door. You fire a shot. You scream not because you’re afraid — but because you’re still alive.

And maybe, just maybe, survival isn’t about escaping what chases you.

Maybe it’s about proving that no matter how monstrous the world becomes — there’s still someone in the rubble who refuses to break.

It begins with a place that shouldn’t exist.

A space suspended between silence and static, where the air hums like a distant frequency only half-heard.

Walls shift when you’re not looking. Corridors fold in on themselves like paper, rewriting their own blueprints. Light flickers in staccato bursts, casting shadows that dance in shapes your mind refuses to name.

Here, questions multiply like echoes in an endless chamber. Each one heavier, stranger, more impossible than the last. Desks lie scattered with reports written in languages you half-understand. Files breathe secrets. Objects quiver with invisible purpose.

Reality fractures into shards of crimson light and floating debris. Time stretches thin, elastic, threatening to snap. And you keep moving, because standing still feels like sinking into quicksand woven from secrets and lies.

A voice calls to you—not loud, but certain. Like the center of a labyrinth whispering the way out… or deeper in.

Powers crackle in trembling hands. Forces once unimaginable ripple outward, bending the world to your will. Yet with each new gift comes the creeping dread that you’re not controlling anything at all—but merely being used.

You become the hunter and the hunted, the weapon and the wound. Each room a puzzle. Each object a story. The floor beneath you quakes as if alive, walls pulsing with hidden veins.

Yet even in chaos, there’s elegance.

Geometries align in impossible perfection. Floating concrete slabs hover with quiet grace. Blood-red light spills like velvet across sterile white walls, turning fear into something almost beautiful.

And you learn, piece by piece, that sometimes control is just the illusion we cling to while the unknown remakes us into something we no longer recognize.