Routine is surprisingly respectful of your total time. Most adults can see credits in 6–9 hours, so you’re not signing up for a months-long project. The campaign is linear and finite with no big grind, which makes it easy to plan around: two or three focused evenings and you’re done. Each area has save terminals that create natural stopping points after major puzzles or new discoveries. Where it’s less friendly is flexibility inside a session. Because the game doesn’t truly pause and you can’t save on demand, unexpected interruptions can cost you progress. Coming back after a week or two is also rough, since there’s no map and puzzle states can be hard to reconstruct. This means Routine works best when you can carve out proper, uninterrupted chunks rather than nibbling at it in ten-minute bursts. There’s no need to coordinate with friends or commit to long-term play, though; once you finish a single run, you can comfortably move on without FOMO.

Routine asks for real, undivided attention. Most of your time is spent walking slowly through eerie hallways, reading notes, cross-referencing codes, and mentally mapping the base because there’s no map or waypoints. You’re also constantly listening for audio cues that hint where a patrolling robot might be. On top of that, the game doesn’t pause safely, so even menu time or reading terminals can be dangerous if you’re not in a secure spot. This creates a steady, medium-high mental workload: you’re thinking about puzzles, remembering door labels, tracking where you’ve seen locked panels, and staying aware of your surroundings. For a busy adult, this means Routine works best when you have a quiet block of time and enough mental energy to really sink in. It’s not ideal background noise or “TV on the second monitor” material. When you can give it that focus, though, the immersion is strong and very rewarding.

Routine doesn’t take long to understand at a basic level. Within the first couple of hours you’ll know how your handheld device works, what the common puzzle patterns look like, and roughly how stealth encounters play out. There are no complex combat systems, skill trees, or crafting webs to learn. Instead, the “skill” is reading environments, noticing small details, remembering spaces, and respecting sound cues. Improvement matters, but only up to a point. As you get comfortable, you’ll move more confidently, die less, and waste less time circling the same corridors. If you ever replay, that knowledge can cut your total time dramatically. However, because the game is short and tightly scripted, there isn’t a huge, ongoing mastery curve like you’d find in a competitive game or deep sim. For a busy adult, this balance is nice: you’re not punished for taking a day off, and you can feel yourself getting better without needing to “learn a new hobby” just to enjoy the game.

Routine is intense in a very specific way. It’s not about frantic button-mashing; it’s about being constantly on edge. Long, quiet walks through dark corridors are loaded with anticipation because you never feel safe. A strange noise around the corner, a flicker of light, or the whine of a robot’s servos can send your heart racing. When things go wrong, you’re usually powerless rather than powerful, which turns every mistake into a jolt of fear followed by frustration at the lost time. Challenge-wise, it sits in the upper-middle band. Enemies are dangerous, save points are spaced enough to make death sting, and objectives can be opaque. That punishes carelessness and can compound stress if you’re already tired. For many horror fans this is exactly the appeal: being wired, scared, and then basking in the relief afterward. If you’re looking to unwind after a bad day, though, Routine may be too much.