RELENTLESS STRESS
Can a game be too successful at what it sets out to do? That’s the question I found myself asking after finishing this near-perfect experience, still waiting for the spark of joy that never quite arrived. Make no mistake: this game is brilliant. It is also, quite simply, torture to play.
Every hour of Resident Evil 2 felt uneasy. I constantly sensed that I was on the brink of making an irreversible mistake—that one wrong decision could render the entire run unwinnable. And yet, that sensation is precisely what the developers are aiming for. The problem, if it can be called that, is that they succeed all too well.
When it was finally over, what I felt was relief rather than euphoria. I was deeply impressed by the craftsmanship, but emotionally exhausted by the ordeal.
Capcom’s reimagining of its classic zombie horror abandons fixed camera angles in favor of a close third-person perspective. Much like Resident Evil 4, it places the full responsibility of aiming on the player. Unlike earlier entries, where you simply pointed and fired, precision now matters—especially when lining up headshots against enemies that stagger unpredictably. The result is a relentlessly taxing experience.
The game provides only a finite amount of ammunition and healing items against enemies that feel practically endless. With extremely limited inventory space, every decision becomes a calculation. Do I kill this zombie now, or risk running past it? Can I afford to take a hit? Will I regret leaving this corridor uncleared when I inevitably have to return?
These questions never stop circulating in your mind. And while that anxiety is the point, it doesn’t exactly translate into what one might call a pleasant time.
I haven’t played many Resident Evil games—this is only my third—but I’m well aware that I’m describing the very foundation of survival horror. In the more action-oriented Resident Evil 4—still my favorite—the game quietly adjusted its difficulty behind the scenes, feeding you just enough resources to stay afloat. Here, that safety net is gone. This remake behaves much more like the punishing early entries, and it does not apologize for it.
The opening stretch, set almost entirely within the zombie-infested Raccoon City Police Department, never allows your nerves to settle. From there, the tension only escalates. The horror works on multiple levels: sudden shocks, sustained dread, and the constant awareness that there is no true escape. You either push forward and finish the game—or you stop playing altogether.
You take on the role of either Leon Kennedy, a rookie cop reporting for his first day, or Claire Redfield, searching for her missing brother. Each character follows a slightly different route through the same nightmare. For this review, I chose Leon’s campaign and skipped Claire’s, as the two narratives reportedly clash in ways that undermine the overall experience, if played back-to-back. That second path will have to wait.
After a brief but harrowing opening, Leon arrives in Raccoon City to find it in ruins: burning cars, blocked roads, and zombies roaming freely. He barely makes it into the police station—only to discover that it, too, has fallen. A wounded survivor explains the situation and hints at an escape route through the sewers. Leon might still make it out. First, he has to uncover the way.
The police station is a masterclass in level design. It unfolds gradually, allowing you to explore offices and narrow corridors piece by piece, solving puzzles, uncovering story fragments, and opening shortcuts that loop back to central safe rooms. The map is excellent, clearly marking unexplored areas and unresolved tasks. It creates a sense of structure amid the chaos—until the game’s most terrifying element arrives.
Enter the Tyrant.
Clad in a trench coat and fedora, this towering mutant stalks you relentlessly through the station. His almost civilized appearance only heightens the terror, especially when paired with his dead stare and heavy, deliberate footsteps. He does not follow a script so much as his own AI logic. If you run, he hears you. If you fire your weapon, he comes.
He is not fast. He is unstoppable.
The Tyrant is the game’s defining moment—and the point at which I nearly quit. His presence transforms the police station from a tense puzzle box into a panic-inducing maze. One punch leaves you critically wounded. Two kill you. The way he ducks through doorways, never breaking eye contact, is pure nightmare fuel. I have no hesitation calling him one of the most frightening enemies in video game history.
It’s difficult to identify any objective design flaws. Everything—the puzzles, combat, exploration—fits together with almost surgical precision. My only real point of friction is the inventory system. While limited space is a genre staple, I’m not fond of puzzle items competing with weapons and healing supplies. A separate inventory for keys and quest items would have reduced some unnecessary backtracking.
That said, the moment the game tells you a key item has served its purpose and can be discarded is genuinely satisfying. Few things feel as good as reclaiming precious inventory slots.
I played slowly and deliberately. Each meaningful step forward took roughly thirty minutes, after which I would save, quit, and take a break just to steady my nerves. Item combination puzzles feel nostalgically old-school, even if their design is a little dated. Still, it wouldn’t feel like Resident Evil 2 without them.
The story itself is classic B-movie schlock, and that’s perfectly fine—it’s the least important aspect here. The presentation elevates it regardless. Character models are eerily lifelike, the voice acting is solid, and the animation conveys real physical weight. The sound design, especially once the Tyrant is on the hunt, is oppressive and unforgettable.
This is not a game that lends itself to screenshots. It is too dark, too stressful, too punishing. Every second spent lining up a shot is a risk. On higher difficulties, even saving becomes a limited resource. On lower settings you can save freely, but the spacing between safe rooms still keeps the tension alive.
Do you see the pattern? Stress is the throughline. It permeates everything.
Resident Evil 2 is not escapism. It offers no power fantasy. It is an oppressive, demanding commitment—best tackled during long, uninterrupted sessions, preferably in the darkest months of the year. For seasoned players willing to endure it, the reward can be one of the most cohesive and masterfully crafted horror experiences gaming has to offer.
It almost was that for me.
I can only lament that it might have been too perfect for its own good.
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