Fear and babysitting in the future
ChatGPT. Elon Musk. AI superintelligente e fine dell’umanità alla Terminator. Siamo nel pieno boom dell’IA ed è lecito chiedersi “che succederà dopo?”, “le macchine ci rimpiazzeranno?”.
Channel37, the developer and publisher of “The Last Caretaker” (“l’ultimo custode”, in italiano, also abbreviated as TLC from now on), wants to present us with a peaceful, at times melancholic future in which machines have remained the best friend of humanity, on a Earth that no longer sees any humans.
When you start the game, you find yourself in the role of an android awakened in an aquatic world at the “Waterworld”: an immense ocean in which cities lie in ruin dozens of metres below the water level, and your directive remains to assist the humans who, meanwhile, no longer seem to inhabit the planet (even more) blue. How? (It’s not a spoiler because it’s revealed quickly) By collecting “seeds” (probably genetic material), accelerating their evolution within the mysterious “Lazarus Complex”, and finally launching them onto a rocket heading into orbit.
A simple premise but rich with poetry.
Build, cultivate, preserve
Although the Lazarus Complex is the central hub of the gaming experience, getting there is far from easy (and even less so launching the rockets).
What emerges is a massive post-human waste dump: rubble, debris, industrial ruins. Every scrap, from mattresses to the carcasses of other automata, can be recycled or dismantled to recover resources, to repair technological systems or build vital infrastructure, the most important of which will be your boat, which will become your floating home and which, at least, the undersigned has outfitted with all possible and imaginable machinery.
The crafting is modular and deep and, at least at the beginning, resources are limited and every decision matters: repair the generator or build a more efficient engine? Use organic material to create diesel, or recycle it to extract nutrients for humans in the evolution module? How do I tap into energy sources? This continuing scarcity lays the foundation for the gameplay and makes every progress feel extremely earned.
Human seed care is no trivial matter: once recovered, they must be inserted into a Lazarus module and implanted into the evolution machine. Then, you must monitor energy supply, desalinated water flow, nutrients (to be added as specially designed capsules), and mnemonic data integration (which you will insert as particular objects – from encyclopedias to guitars). The combination of different objects across categories will have a probability of generating a person with a certain profile (which I still need to understand exactly how it works, though). You are thus a techno-temple keeper, tasked with a duty that oscillates between emotional gravity and compulsive obsession, transforming human cultivation into a near-sacred act via dense networks of cables and multiple power sockets.
The Art of “The End”
Navigate from one point to another with your vessel (which becomes your mobile base) and feel a sense of discovery and melancholy. As spectacular sunrises reflect on the waves, nights follow days and calm gives way to storm, you wonder what has happened and whether anyone else is out there. The spectral peace characteristic of this world is interrupted only by the roar of the boat’s engine and the hum of mechanical creatures who often do nothing but observe.
But exploration isn’t just peace and melancholy: you’ll have to deal with deranged machines, parasites, hostile environmental conditions, sea storms. Survival is never guaranteed, especially when you also have to constantly replenish vital resources like electricity — the lifeblood — as well as other supplies such as pistol bullets or fuel for the flamethrower, etc…
The strength of TLC isn’t the technical spectacle (although at high settings, the graphics are truly beautiful), but rather the peaceful yet melancholic atmosphere, one could say “suspended”. The lighting (but especially the darkness), the industrial corridors, the colour palette, the decay… It feels as if you’re living in a dreamlike dystopia where desolation does most of the work.
The sound is subtle but effective: a single voice of the voice assistant (a kind of narrator), no grandiose dialogue, no epic music, just ambient noises: engines humming, metal creaking, rain hitting a bridge, waves crashing. A minimalist background score that nevertheless amplifies the feeling of isolation and vulnerability. Silence itself contributes to the tension.
When it rains, when the sea churns, when night falls: the atmosphere shifts, becomes heavier, more dangerous. TLC is an open-world that gently draws you in, and lets you savor the fragile beauty of a world to be redeemed.
The creaking of metal
TLC is currently available on Steam for €29.99 in early access, and unfortunately there are visible cracks in what otherwise could be an exceptional title.
There are several performance issues even on powerful machines: severe frame drops, textures struggling, effects not always smooth.
The combat is “raw”, with a shaky aiming system, imprecise hit-registration, and unsatisfactory feedback: after hours spent in silent, tense environments, the action feels almost like a fallback. The worst enemies are the swarms of vermin that will keep bothering you, even as they move incredibly fast, crawl across rooftops, and leap onto your back… Not to mention that even the “worst” enemies won’t do much damage, and you can simply shoot while under enemy fire.
The game’s management aspect is appreciated and fun as a “Factorio”, but can become tedious and at times repetitive with a grinding mechanic that may appeal or not, but the quality of life can be greatly improved: in various situations, you’ll be forced to carry all the materials needed to build things on the platforms you’ll land on, and the weight of the materials will allow you to move extremely slowly. There is no system (or at least only partially) in which you can organically choose what to carry, and the journey from raw material to solar panel, for example, is very tedious. The materials, meanwhile, are practically impossible to store in containers. At some point, you’ll have so much available (except for the cursed plastic!) that you’ll fill the hold (with frame drops due to the calculation of a mountain of objects).
There are often moments of waiting during which, frankly, you can explore corners you haven’t visited, defeat all enemies, etc… but at times I’ve had to try to fill in some “game gaps” by optimising the systems I’d already set up.
The narrative at the mid-end game is vague: once I’ve launched a human being, then what? Yes, it’s fine, there are others, but is the game all here?
The level progression, in the end, might be worth reconsidering. Perhaps it would be better to unlock machine and object projects through exploration, but unlocking them simply by leveling… I’m not sure, Rick. As for the characteristics: vitality is completely useless, so is the transportable weight. In the end, having a mountain of gear, I take it all and am done — I don’t bother picking through a pile of copper from the wild heap.
Conclusion: a poetic experiment but fragile
In its early access version, TLC is like an old film: it doesn’t try to shock with blood and explosions, it aims to make you think about preserving an inheritance — and perhaps even about how renewable energy might save a world in ruins. It’s the idea that matters: saving humanity not with a flamethrower, but with patience, recycling, care, and memory.
Not perfect: it has moments of technical sluggishness, battles that don’t convince, and a QoL that can be heavy. But it has its own soul that invites you to slow down… And if you love titles like “Subnautica” or other contemplative survival and introspective adventures, TLC deserves a spot in your Steam library.
I reserve the right not to give TLC a rating due to its current state and hope to see improvements in the coming months.
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