Films and video games that seek to disturb the consumer through the threat of space-age dangers are wildly popular. Aliens, monsters, robots, stranded spaceships, and a distinct lack of food and water are well-worn concepts in sci-fi media.

      Fortunately, Mouthwashing is a light in the darkness: pulling the rug out from under your feet, flipping the room upside-down, and turning those familiar tropes on their heads.

     This first-person indie horror video game released in September by the seven-member developer team Wrong Organ is the most memorable production in its genre I’ve ever had the pleasure of playing. There is no extraterrestrial threat on the Tulpar, an outdated freighter spaceship transporting cargo across the galaxy, nothing stalking the five crew members onboard, no mechanical force or paranormal entity that seeks to endanger their lives – here, the monster is you.

     In the opening scene, the player purposefully crashes the ship before the lights blink out, and the game abruptly jumps forward two months in time. Crew members are introduced: a nurse, a mechanic, an intern, and the captain, Curly. The latter, gravely injured as a result of the crash and unable to speak or move, is, supposedly, the one responsible for the collision. The aftermath of the disaster unfolds through the eyes of Jimmy, co-pilot of the ship, who has assumed the role of leader following the catastrophe.

     The whole thing feels more like watching a movie than playing a game. Since they mostly walk around and watch things happen, players don’t need to rely on skill to enjoy their experience – so Mouthwashing’s merit rests on its plot. 

      The storytelling is non-linear; the game flips rapidly back and forth between the past and the future. Through the eyes of both Jimmy and the captain, the player pieces together what exactly led to the crash, and watches as desperation on the ship looms – helpless to change anything.

      Rations, medical supplies, and basic necessities grow scarce. The alcohol in the cargo – mouthwash – aggravates tensions. Painkillers for the mutilated Curly run out, forcing the player to give him Tylenol instead. Jimmy’s true nature comes into the light as his desperate attempts to “take responsibility” gain more and more horrifying context. 

     The ship morphs and shifts repeatedly as the situation grows more dire. Key story beats are revealed through these vivid hallucinations, which crescendo in the last hour, manifesting as a haunting playable collage crafted from Jimmy’s crumbling psyche. The character is an unreliable narrator, and his waning stability is a poignant communication of the awful, selfish guilt that he embodies.

     Just as enthralling are the haunting, solemn conversations about the characters’ hopes, dreams, and desires interspersed throughout the most tense scenes – the contrast it creates with harsher, more hysterical material is completely on point. Everything feels unified as opposed to fragmented. While the gruesome fates of everyone on board the ship are far beyond the everyday worries of you and me, what Jimmy’s selfishness robs his fellow employees of is familiar, and their loss is all the more devastating as a result.

     The fear the game instills in me is not that of cheap jump-scares, rather, it comes from the horror of people’s choices when pushed to their worst. Throwing in the inconsistent nature of a declining psychological state with reprehensible actions is a powerful combination, and not one that is often done well. 

     Be warned: the themes in this game are heavy. You see the halls of a broken ship through the eyes of an abuser, someone who stops at nothing for personal gain or supposed redemption, and purposefully inflicts pain on others because he believes it is right. There is no happy ending; the deaths, traumas, and emotional burdens every character on the ship suffers from are hard to confront.

     However, unlike most games of a similarly depressing caliber, I would not describe Mouthwashing as pessimistic. The story heavily tests the belief that our worst moments don’t define us; it’s a mantra deeply etched into every facet of your playthrough, echoed repeatedly by the characters themselves. There’s beauty and rarity in the game’s affirmation that they don’t, provided you have something better to be defined by.