Papers, Please is weaponized monotony. Endless lines of hard-faced immigrants, labyrinthine regulations governing who is permitted to enter the glorious republic of Arstotzka, and a ticking clock counting down the seconds until the end of your shift and your inevitable confrontation with the icy fingers and empty bellies of the loving family your inattention to detail has failed.

It’s spot-the-difference at an obsessive level; every passport you approve is accompanied by the fear that you’ve erred, that after five seconds of holding your breath that accursed printer will whir into action, spitting its damning citations across your already-crowded desk. So absorbing are the minutiae that the stories creep up on you: lovers separated by barbed wire and high walls; separatists and their conspiracies; the ever-present threat of your neighbors and superiors rooting out corruption and disloyalty in the ranks; and morning newspapers full of murderers, attempted coups and the chaotic detritus of a crumbling regime.

Papers, Please is at its best when it forces you to face the human cost of your petty compromises, and instead of being defined by their documents, the grim masses queuing at the border resolve once more into people.