I audibly gasped. My small community of Pokemon friends had been steadily growing in the first hour or so of Pokemon Pokopia, and now Professor Tangrowth asked me to build a house and mark it as my own. I could even invite another Pokemon to live there with me, he said. You mean I can have a Squirtle roommate?! I built my new house as quickly as I could and invited Squirtle to come live in it, and he happily agreed. Childhood dream fulfilled.

A few days later, Squirtle told me he wanted to move out.

Heartbroken and with nothing to do to change Squirtle's mind, I pressed on. I was determined to learn more, earn more, and do more, so that, one day, Squirtle will come back. Someday I'll make a new house and I'll invite Squirtle to live with me again. Maybe he just wanted his own bedroom? Admittedly, the leaf hut is not a lot of space. Maybe he didn't like my decor at the time--a few items I had arranged slapdash to fulfill the housing requirements.

The Resident Evil series has a long history of struggling to find the right balance of horror and action, sometimes becoming massively successful and influential in either genre, and sometimes completely faceplanting after leaning too far one way. Resident Evil Requiem, the ninth mainline game in the series, sees Capcom dialing in the combination of those elements better than ever, though in a somewhat inelegant way. Rather than try to blend different elements of two different genres into a single experience, it just staples together two distinct experiences that each capture the best parts of Resident Evil--to the point where it is almost two separate games running in parallel.

One game is a slow, frightening, gory haunted house story following an everyday person as its protagonist, hewing close to the horror-first approach of Resident Evil 7: Biohazard. The other is a fast-paced, panic-inducing experience starring an action-hero badass that draws directly from Resident Evil 4. Requiem even lets you set different points of view for the separate protagonists, recommending RE7's first-person approach for horror and RE4's third-person camera for action, though you can use either for both.

Disparate as they may be, though, both halves are extremely compelling. Requiem feels like Resident Evil's developers, for the most part, recognizing what they do well and leaning in all the way. The result is a game that's unwilling to leave the track set by its predecessors, but one that still provides an intense, often exciting ride.

I first heard about Hytale a few years ago. My son, a huge Minecraft fan, told me how the Hypixel server on Minecraft was a major landing spot for some dedicated players. He added that the team running that server, today known as Hypixel Studios, was making its own game, Hytale, and it had already spent years in development. It was to be a new Minecraft competitor, building on what players loved about the Hypixel server while establishing ways to stand out as an experience that even Minecraft diehards could not deny. In January 2026, Hytale is certainly not that. Instead, it's a Minecraft clone that rarely justifies its existence. Presumably, it's going to change a lot over the next several years, but for now, it's best left to players who are so dedicated that they're compelled to get in on the game's ground floor.

Starting out in Hytale, you'll drop into a procedurally generated world full of trees, rivers, a few villages and ruins, and mines, of course. The blocky, voxel art style is a bit less pixelated than Mojang's titan of the genre, but in most other ways, the early moments of Hytale are remarkably familiar to anyone who has played Minecraft.

You'll collect a few basic resources so you can craft a pickaxe and a hatchet, use those to chop down trees and smash small boulders, thereby crafting things like workbenches, which quickly open up the world to many more craftable items, from target dummies and beds to teleporters and various meals. It's not long before you've built yourself a humble abode, both stylish and sturdy in the face of enemy "mobs" that roam the land, like rats, skeletons, and rock golems.

"I'll remember you, even after I die."

This quote, delivered half-way through Lost Records: Rage and Bloom's first "tape," is perhaps the most concise and poignant way to convey what Don't Nod's latest title is about. Lost Records is a game that revels in the melodrama and contradictory nature of adolescence. It understands the yearning we all once had to be completely unknowable and one-of-a-kind while also being fully-understood, accepted, and loved. Within its eight or so hours, insecurity and conviction walk hand-in-hand while the assumed invincibility of youth is stretched to its breaking point. How can one summer--how can life--feel so everlasting yet utterly fragile? Such is the magic of our teenage years.

Lost Records captures this phenomenon stunningly, yet doesn't settle for being a game merely driven entirely by nostalgia or reminders of what it felt like to be young in the '90s. At its core is an eerie, supernatural mystery that spans nearly three decades and threatens to consume the four women involved in it--one that promises violence and the reemergence of events perhaps better left forgotten. This intense, slow-burning narrative provides an excellent framework for an empathetic exploration into girlhood, friendship, sexuality, individuality, expression, and the transition from youth to middle age. All this combined with dynamic characters, cinematic visuals, beautifully-rendered character models, and keen sense of atmosphere makes Lost Records one of Don't Nod's best games to date.