My partner has been growing increasingly concerned about the amount of time I’ve been spending on this game called Restory.
Just the other day, he came up to me when I was playing it, and sweetly suggested that if I felt this was my true calling, I should just set up my own repair shop. I wish I could — but those are not the times we live in anymore. This is what Restory tries to tell us, in its own very strange way.
What is this game about? Simply put, it’s a chill cosy game, set in a Japanese city in the early 2000s. I’m a technician with my own store and a slowly growing business repairing Walkmans, PlayStation controllers, radios, kettles, and flip phones. Basically any electronic equipment thrown in my way. My business grows as my reputation and reviews reach new heights.
The number one reason for loving this game is its perfect repairing mechanic. It’s hard to make a recurring gameplay mechanic feel satisfying, but there are a couple of reasons why I think Restory nails it.
We start with simple products, like a very old Nokia phone with six parts that can be easily taken apart and put together. As we progress, the equipment gets more complicated. There are tiny screws, small segments, multiple circuit boards... And they all need to be placed back together in exactly the right order after they’ve been picked apart.
You get to work with the same destroyed products enough times and get to fix them so many times that it almost feels like you’re gradually mastering the skill. There’s such incredible detail on the components within each of these items, and it has you truly believing the whole simulation. It has definitely deluded me into thinking that I can almost definitely fix a Motorola Razr right now. Go on, place it in front of me. Give me a screwdriver and a brush, and I’ll show you!
I think there’s also a small psychological aspect to the experience. Maybe it’s me romanticising this experience rather than picking up on the game’s actual intention; you can be the judge of this. But I felt very thrifty and sustainable as I kept fixing things.
I liked the idea that if the Xbox controller’s joystick needed fixing, I just had to source that particular joystick from the market. Or simply salvage it from another unused controller. It’s never actually like this these days. And fellow gamers can attest to this — if your Xbox controller ever has stick drift, you’ll probably chuck it in the bin.
There’s also something in the game that makes the little city and my workshop feel a bit more lived in. And those are the recurring customers.
There’s a small group of people constantly visiting my shop, and there’s this sort of unspoken link between their lives. The shop owner, for instance, has been heavily hinted at being involved in some shady business deals; there’s a sweet but nosy delivery agent who’s always prompt with his collection; a faceless person who drops their electronics into a bucket; and even a little kid who always looks lost.
While limited, the interactions somehow make them feel more real to me. There’s an overarching feeling of dread and doom, which is quite unexpected in a game like this, which is what makes it interesting.
There’s no real fun unless the main story makes you feel at least a little uneasy. You’re fixing electronics right now, but there’s no way to tell if the future holds the same thing!
I highly recommend playing the game if you’re a fan of simulators and are looking for something cosy. It’s not quite optimised for a controller experience, and is best played with a keyboard and mouse for now.
Available for Rs 466 on the Steam Store.