You’re flipping a burger. Outside, the world is literally ending. Most games would hand you a shotgun and tell you to go save the day, but While We Wait Here asks you to just finish the order. It’s weird. It’s stressful. Honestly, it’s one of the most unsettling psychological horror experiences released by Bad Vices Games.
The premise is simple: you run a diner. A mountain is exploding or something equally catastrophic is happening in the background, and people are flocking to your counter because, well, where else are they going to go? It’s a "kitchen manager" sim mashed together with a dialogue-heavy narrative that feels like a fever dream.
The Mundanity of the Apocalypse
Most horror games rely on jump scares. While We Wait Here relies on the slow, agonizing realization that nothing you do actually matters, yet you still have to scrub the floors. It’s that contrast between the mundane and the monumental that makes it stick in your brain.
Think about the last time you felt true dread. It usually isn't when a monster is chasing you; it's when you're waiting for news you know is going to be bad. This game captures that "waiting room" energy perfectly. You’re trapped in this greasy spoon with a handful of strangers, each reacting to the impending doom in their own messy, human way. Some are in denial. Some are angry. Some just want a grilled cheese.
The developers, the same team behind Ravenous Devils, have a knack for making chores feel meaningful. In their previous hit, you were literally grinding people into sausages. Here, the stakes are more internal. The mechanics of cooking—flipping patties, pouring coffee, washing dishes—serve as a grounding wire. It keeps your hands busy while your mind spirals along with the customers' dialogue.
Why the "Wait" Matters
People keep asking if the game is actually a simulator or a visual novel. It’s both, but neither label fits quite right. If you go in expecting Overcooked, you’re going to be bored out of your mind. If you go in expecting a pure movie, you’ll be frustrated by the grease traps.
The "waiting" part of the title isn't a suggestion. It's the core mechanic.
We live in a culture of "doing." We solve puzzles, we kill bosses, we level up. While We Wait Here strips that away. It forces a level of passivity that feels almost offensive to a traditional gamer. But that’s the point. When the world ends, most of us aren't the hero in the cockpit of a fighter jet. We’re the guy at the diner wondering if we should still pay our tab.
Narrative Nodes and Choices That Actually Hurt
There are multiple endings. Usually, in games with "choices," you can see the strings. You know that picking Option A makes you a saint and Option B makes you a jerk. Here, the choices are muddier. They’re based on how you interact with people who are losing their grip on reality.
- Do you offer a drink to the guy who's clearly spiraling?
- Do you stay professional, or do you let the mask slip?
- Does the burger even need cheese at a time like this?
These interactions feel real because they are localized. You aren't deciding the fate of the planet; you're deciding the vibe of a room. It reminds me of the film The Mist, where the real threat isn't the monsters outside, but the people trapped together inside.
The Technical Grime
Visually, the game uses a low-poly, slightly "dirty" aesthetic that fits the mood. It’s not trying to be photorealistic. It’s trying to be evocative. The lighting is harsh. The diner feels cramped. You can almost smell the old fry oil and the ozone from the approaching storm.
One thing most people get wrong about this game is the difficulty. It’s not "hard" in the sense of twitch reflexes. It’s hard because it’s emotionally draining. Listening to a couple argue about their wasted lives while you're trying to remember if the customer wanted medium or well-done is a specific kind of mental tax.
Real-World Parallels
It’s hard not to look at a game like this and think about the last few years of global history. We’ve all spent a lot of time "waiting" for the next catastrophe. Whether it's climate change, pandemics, or economic shifts, that feeling of "I'm just doing my job while the news ticker in the background gets scarier" is a universal modern experience.
Bad Vices Games tapped into a very specific zeitgeist here. They took the "cozy game" trend—where you farm or cook to relax—and poisoned it. It’s anti-cozy. It’s a subversion of the genre that makes you question why we find these loops satisfying in the first place.
The Mechanics of Dread
Let’s talk about the cooking for a second. It’s clunky. On purpose.
If the controls were too smooth, you’d go into autopilot. Because they require just a bit too much clicking and dragging, you’re forced to stay present in the environment. You can’t just tune out the dialogue. You’re fumbling with a spatula while someone is pouring their heart out about their estranged daughter. It creates a friction that mirrors the internal state of the characters.
The sound design also deserves a shoutout. The sizzle of the grill is constant. It’s a rhythmic, domestic sound that competes with the low rumble of the apocalypse happening just out of sight. It’s a brilliant use of audio to create cognitive dissonance.
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What Most Players Miss
There’s a subset of players who complain that the game is "too short." It’s true, a single playthrough isn't going to take you twenty hours. But treating this like a "content per dollar" calculation misses the entire artistic intent. This is a condensed, potent experience designed to be replayed to see how different conversational paths change the atmosphere.
It’s about the nuances. The way a character reacts differently if you’ve been attentive versus if you’ve been a rude host. It’s a character study masquerading as a service industry sim.
Actionable Insights for Players
If you’re diving into While We Wait Here, don’t try to "win." You can’t win the apocalypse. Instead, focus on these approaches to get the most out of the experience:
- Stop rushing the orders. The game won't fail you for being a few seconds late on a burger. Listen to the dialogue. The real "game" is happening in the speech bubbles, not the frying pan.
- Experiment with your persona. On your first run, maybe be the "perfect host." On your second, be the cynic. See how the strangers in your diner shift their tone based on your energy.
- Watch the background. There are small visual cues outside the diner windows and in the television broadcasts that fill in the lore of what’s actually happening to the world.
- Pay attention to the chores. The optional tasks—like cleaning the bathroom—aren't just filler. They change your character's internal monologue and can influence the ending you receive.
- Turn off your distractions. This isn't a game to play while watching a YouTube video on a second monitor. It requires your full attention to feel the mounting tension.
The game is a grim reminder that even when everything is falling apart, we still have to exist in the "now." We still have to eat. We still have to talk. We still have to wait. It’s a heavy, beautiful, and deeply uncomfortable game that proves horror doesn't need a monster in the closet to be effective—it just needs a clock ticking down and a grill that needs scraping.
Whether you’re a fan of indie horror or just someone who’s worked a shift they hated, this game hits a nerve. It’s not about the end of the world; it’s about what we do with the time we have left while we wait here.