Against the Storm

Let me be clear upfront: this is not a bad game. It's just not the game I thought I was buying. I'm a city-builder veteran — Anno, Cities: Skylines. My joy comes from the slow pride of watching a town I planned grow into a permanent metropolis. Against the Storm's gorgeous art and moody atmosphere pulled me in instantly. But thirty hours in, I've reached a conclusion: this is a roguelite wearing a city builder's skin. Every run follows the same script: chop wood, open glades, fill orders, survive the storm — and then, win or lose, your city is gone. The finest moment in any builder is when the supply chain finally clicks, the town takes shape, and you start dreaming about what comes next. Against the Storm picks exactly that moment to take it all away. Next run? Back to planks and firewood. There's a running joke that players don't even bother with screenshots — why capture something that vanishes in ninety minutes? And yes, the Citadel's permanent upgrades tick upward in the background, but a few percentage points of production speed is no substitute for the feeling that my city is still standing. What frustrates me even more is how thoroughly randomness tramples planning. The joy loop of a city builder is plan → execute → reap. Here, it's draw → improvise → accept. Blueprints arrive as random three-way picks, fertile soil is scattered at random, traders haul random stock. One run hands you a farm blueprint on a map with no fertile soil; the next, you commit to a trade economy and the merchants stock nothing but junk. You're not planning a city — you're working for the RNG. Long-term strategy simply doesn't exist here; forest events and bad blueprint draws will shred a carefully laid route without apology. For a genre built on planning, that feels fundamentally wrong. I can see why roguelike fans adore this loop: fast cycles, constant adaptation, climbing the Prestige ladder. The production values are genuinely high, and this review isn't written for them. It's for players who love city builders for accumulation and permanence. There are no cities here, only wave after wave of disposable settlements. No legacy, only resets. I don't want a hundred fresh starts. I want one city I can call my own. Not recommended — not because it's bad, but because it takes away the very thing city-builder players treasure most: the sense of belonging that only time can build. This game hands you sandcastles, and the tide always wins.