Review: Quarantine Zone: The Last Check - Mistakes Hurt and Experience is Brutal

Quarantine Zone: The Last Check is the new title from Devolver Digital that doesn't arrive kicking down doors with gunfire and explosions. It arrives silently, with a cramped booth, a table full of strange equipment, and a line of exhausted, injured, dirty, and desperate people. Instead of using a weapon, the game gives you responsibility. Here you’re not a hero, just a gatekeeper of the end of the world.

This gameplay choice almost defines everything. You're not the one who's going to save humanity; you're just another survivor trying to maintain a fragile order while the world crumbles outside. The apocalypse has already happened. What remains now is managing the rubble.

Living in a World That Has Already Lost

Our first impression is that the game strongly resembles Papers, Please. But instead of stamping passports, you decide destinies. Instead of political borders, we decide the line between life and death. Every person you encounter isn't just an NPC, they're a dilemma. The game doesn't want you to be good. It wants you to choose and face the consequences.

The premise is simple: the world has ended and organized societies no longer exist. Isolated zones remain, struggling to survive while an infection transforms people into something no longer human. You work at the last triage post before an area considered safe.

Outside, there’s only confusion, disorder, and chaos. Inside, a desperate attempt at order. This division perfectly reflects the spirit of the game. The player is caught between two worlds. Those who enter have a chance, and those who stay will probably not see the sunrise.

The game doesn't have long cutscenes or cinematic dialogues to build this scenario (and it doesn't need them). It relies on the environment, the looks, the gestures, and the way people speak. Some plead, others lie, try to appear strong, but are broken inside. The apocalypse depicted in the game isn’t beautiful. It's ugly, weary, and above all, human.

The Routine in the Midst of the End

The gameplay of Quarantine Zone is based on a simple loop: a person arrives, you examine them using tools like body scanners, visual observation, behavioral analysis, and decide whether they enter, go into quarantine, or are rejected.

At first, everything seems controllable. You learn the basic symptoms and how to use the equipment. You start to think you've got the game, and then... it starts playing tricks on you.

Ambiguous cases appear; some people seem too healthy, others clearly ill, but both with convincing stories. There are cases of people whose records don't match their own, others talk too much, and some simply hardly speak at all.

From that moment on, you start to question whether you're sure or not, and that changes everything. Every decision comes with a "what if?": "What if I'm wrong?", "What if this person is healthy?", "What if I let an infected person through?"

This constant doubt is the main motivation the game leaves us with. There’s no perfect choice, only a human being working to ensure that the least possible evil occurs at that moment.

Bureaucracy and Choices That Open Wounds

It's strange to say this, but Quarantine Zone transforms bureaucracy into "action." Filling out forms, observing, scanning, and comparing people. All of this becomes a mechanic followed by tension. Instead of quick reflexes, the game demands attention and the reading of subtle signs.

You start noticing details that would be irrelevant in other games. Red eyes, tremors, vague answers, and small inconsistencies in information. The game trains you to distrust everything, and when you realize it, you're already involved in an apocalyptic world, afraid to let infected people pass or condemn a healthy person. The idea isn't just to advance; the player tries their best not to feel like a monster because of their wrong decisions.

The best part of Quarantine Zone: The Last Check isn't its mechanics, but what it provokes within the player. Each decision seems small on paper, but enormous in your head. Sending someone away isn't just pressing the wrong button; it's imagining that person on the other side, surrounded by the dead, without food, without shelter, and without a chance.

It doesn't punish you with dramatic cutscenes; instead, it doesn't show what happens afterward, and that's what makes the game intense. The game lets you fill in the gaps with your own imagination, and you do fill them in... always fill them in.

Sometimes, we reject someone simply because something doesn't click, a strange look, a curt answer, or simply because of our instinct. Minutes later, we wonder if we didn't condemn a healthy person. Other times, we let someone who seemed harmless slip by… and we pay the price later.

This silent guilt is what makes the game special. It doesn't treat you like a hero, nor does it absolve you; it just moves on, as the world is, indifferent to your choices and intentions. And little by little, we realize that the game isn't about getting it right, but about carrying the weight of our mistakes.

Discomfort is the Purpose

Unlike many games that try to please all the time, Quarantine Zone brings us discomfort. It wants you to feel bad at certain moments, to doubt yourself, to realize that, in extreme situations, there’s no right choice.

Most games offer "good" and "bad" paths. Here, there’s almost never a "good" path, only the least bad. It's what's necessary at that moment. This experience may not seem fun in the "traditional" sense. But it ends up exciting and unsettling us.

Simple Visuals, Strong Atmosphere

Quarantine Zone doesn't impress graphically. The models are simple, with small environments. But all of this fits well with the universe it builds. Nothing seems permanent, everything is improvised and fragile. The feeling is that the foundation could crumble at any moment. This leaves the feeling that we are experiencing the remnants of a civilization that has already lost the war.

The lighting is cold, the environments cramped, the lack of color—everything contributes to creating a feeling of weariness. You don't feel like you're playing something made to have absurdly beautiful graphics; the idea is to be ugly, tired, and hopeless. The game doesn't need to be beautiful. It just needs to be honest. And it is.

Silence as a Tool for Survival

The sound is used very intelligently. There are no emotionally charged songs. There’s silence, dry noises, footsteps, tired voices, and the environment speaks little. The atmosphere is heavy; the silence between decisions creates an uncomfortable void. The game forces you to slow down in an era where games always demand haste. This choice of rhythm makes each interaction seem bigger than it actually is. A simple button becomes a sentence.

Beyond triage, you also need to take care of the base. Resources are scarce: food, energy, medicine, and defenses are like drinking water in the middle of the desert. You need to manage what little you have. This brings context to your choices: sometimes we want to help, but we simply can't because we don't have supplies or infrastructure.

At that moment, we realize that, often, we’re not rejecting someone out of distrust, but simply out of necessity because we cannot support that person. It’s at this point that the game ceases to be just a triage simulator and transforms into an experience about limits. "How far can you go without breaking?"

Even with the management aspect, which can often be complex, it works just as well as the act of deciding people's fate. But it serves as a backdrop for the gameplay.

The Game Experience

This isn't a game for those seeking constant action, shooting, explosions, and a fast pace. Those expecting a traditional survival game might find it strange, frustrating, and slow. But for those who enjoy experiences that challenge the mind more than reflexes, who use the game as a tool to evoke different sensations, Quarantine Zone is perfect and delivers something unique.

It doesn't entertain you in the classic sense. It envelops you, captivates you, and unsettles you. It's the kind of game you play in silence. It doesn't become a conversation about graphics or mechanics, but about choices.

Conclusion

Quarantine Zone: The Last Check isn’t a comfortable game. It's not about feeling like a hero, just feeling in control. The game shows us that we’re human in a world that has already lost almost all of its humanity.

Although it stumbles in some technical aspects, which can become tiring over time and may not appeal to those seeking constant adrenaline, it succeeds in one thing: transforming small choices into something enormous. Surviving without being a hero; making mistakes while trying to do the right thing; understanding that, in certain scenarios, there’s no happy ending, only continuing the path.

You don't leave it remembering levels, but you don't forget the people. And perhaps that’s the most beautiful and frightening thing of all.

And you, Quarantine Zone: The Last Check? Leave your opinion in the comments and until next time.