The first impression with Easy Delivery Co., a game developed by Sam C.,, is almost enchanting, like a faded postcard that yet retains its charm. Roads wind through blocky mountains and forests reduced to essentials, carved with a deliberately retro graphics style that has no intention of hiding its edges — quite the opposite: it proudly displays them, turning them into a stylistic feature. It’s an aesthetic that evokes nights spent in front of an old PlayStation, when polygons weren’t a limit, but the alphabet with which our adventures were written.
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A ghost city and a truck to love
The game begins, I climb into the little truck, my faithful travel companion, a classic Japanese keitora that responds with surprising precision to my commands: a bit clumsy on climbs, uncertain in deep snow, but never frustrating. Every curve becomes a small ritual, amplified by the rearview mirror that reflects the deserted roads behind me. Then there’s the radio (when it’s on), which isn’t just a superficial gimmick but a true travel companion: blasting jungle and lo-fi tracks through the headphones, capable of adding colour even to the most mundane journey.
And what makes everything even more surreal are the protagonists of this story. We ourselves have the appearance of a cat, and the inhabitants we encounter along our journey are equally anthropomorphic animals: grumpy rabbits at petrol stations, melancholic foxes in desolate cafés. This aesthetic choice pushes the title in a peculiar direction, an unlikely fusion between Death Stranding and Animal Crossing: on one side, isolation, the struggle of delivering packages in a hostile and rarified world; on the other, the tenderness and oddity of zoomorphic characters living suspended in a microcosm halfway between fairy tale and decay.
What strikes is the invisible care, that which is felt only by playing. There’s no bustling metropolis or special effects, yet every small detail, from the engine’s hum to the NPC’s tossed dialogue, adds depth and warmth to a world that, on paper, could have seemed empty. It’s as if beneath those raw polygons lies a soul, fragile but sincere, ready to emerge with every delivery.
The spell lasts only a short time
Then, inevitably, comes the routine. Deliver, return, deliver again. At first you call it “relaxing”: the act of driving through jagged mountains, listening to the radio and swapping a few words with a fox or another kitten, seems almost therapeutic. But after a couple of hours, the same loop becomes an hypnotic mantra that borders on repetitive, and by the third hour you start to genuinely ask yourself why you’re still there, with feline paws on the steering wheel, burning kilometres without a destination. Meanwhile, the story unfolds slowly, the truck is upgraded to adapt to new types of challenges posed by treacherous and slippery terrain, and there are even some “side quests”.
The final blow comes with the latest upgrade, a 300 virtual dollars boost that seems to have come straight out of a ludic sadism manual. To reach it, you must spend an entire hour grinding, an hour during which there’s no narrative progression, no new mechanics, no surprises lurking around the corner. Just back and forth along the same roads, loading packages you could probably deliver blindfolded. It’s pure grind, but not the wholesome kind that gives you a sense of growth or reward. It’s the sterile grind, making you feel like a clerk at a time clock: only here, no one pays you for overtime, and at best, your reward is a slightly less battered truck.
The game constantly flirted with the idea of hiding a mystery, as if something dark stirred beneath its cozy veneer (just the Steam store page is enough to cast doubt ndr.). Small clues are scattered here and there: a dialogue left unfinished, an architectural detail out of place, the strangely resigned behavior of the animal inhabitants who seem to live in an eternal present, with no past or future. It’s that slightly unsettling atmosphere that accompanies you during deliveries: not strong enough to scare you, but enough to make you think “something doesn’t add up”. Yet, this tension remains suspended, never finding a real release. The twist arrives, yes, but when it finally reveals itself it neither surprises nor shocks, but extracts the maximum amount of bitter amusement.
It’s a wasted opportunity, because that air of mystery could have added depth to an experience that, as it is, swings between contemplative and empty. A bit like a letter delivered to a recipient who will never read it: the anticipation is there, the promise too, but the conclusion is missing.
Perfect for portability
There’s a context in which Easy Delivery Co. truly shines: portability. Played entirely on Steam Deck, the title finds its natural balance, as if designed for short, sporadic sessions. It’s the perfect experience for twenty minutes on the sofa, while it rains outside and the real world seems just as grey and jagged as the low-poly world on screen. In this compact format, grinding loses its oppressive weight and repetition becomes a soothing mantra, a sort of zen meditation on four wheels.
What really makes a difference, though, is the soundtrack. Lo-fi, jungle, breakcore, blend into a surprisingly fresh and varied playlist: it doesn’t just accompany the journeys, it transforms them. Every mundane trip becomes a small psychedelic escape, an impromptu DJ set while you drive with your feline paws clamped on the wheel. Without this soundtrack, Easy Delivery Co. would be much harder to digest, almost indigestible in its monotony. With it, however, you find yourself smiling anyway, while delivering a package to an NPC, fully aware that they’ll probably never open it.
Music becomes the game’s secret soul, the true glue holding together graphics, atmosphere and gameplay. It’s a curious paradox: you’re not pushing the van toward the next delivery, it’s the radio’s rhythm dragging you forward. And at that point, it hardly matters if the destination is always the same: after all, in life as here, often it’s the journey that matters more than the destination.
In conclusion
Easy Delivery Co. is a paradoxical game: welcoming yet monotonous, captivating but unfinished. It succeeds in evoking a unique atmosphere thanks to its graphics and soundtrack, but falters when it comes to adding variety and depth to its gameplay.
It’s not a bad title, in fact: there’s a genuine warmth that sets it apart from the crowd. But it’s also the classic game that reminds you that atmosphere alone isn’t always enough to carry the weight of boredom.
“Working is tiring, but grinding harder”.
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