Resident Evil Requiem: The Best Zombie Game I've Ever Played (And I Still Won't Play It Again)

Let me take you back to 1998. I was a 9-year-old kid watching my stepdad play through Resident Evil: Director's Cut on the PlayStation, getting jump-scared so hard I'd abandon the controller and go play outside like kids were supposed to. Thirty years later, I never thought I'd find myself white-knuckling a handheld console at 1 AM, heart pounding, running from what I can confidently call the best damn zombie game I have ever played. Resident Evil Requiem got me, and it got me good.

Let's get the one gripe out of the way first. Playing as Grace Ashcroft damn near drove me up a wall. This woman whimpers through everything. The heavy breathing, the whispered internal monologues during stealth sections — I get it, you're scared, we're all scared, now shut up so I can hear the zombie shuffling above me. Her gameplay leans hard into stealth, limited resources, and psychological terror, and her "Blood Collector" mechanic — crafting medkits and hemolytic injectors from zombie plasma — is genuinely cool. But the constant audio whining tested my patience. That said, it does its job. You know you're supposed to be terrified. Now Leon? Leon is my guy. Balls-out action, shooting, dodging, jumping, always neck-deep in some new disaster. His gameplay mirrors the fast-paced combat of the RE4 Remake, complete with a new hand axe for melee and explosive set pieces including a motorcycle chase that had me grinning like an idiot. That's my style of Resident Evil right there.

What absolutely blew me away were the infected enemies. These zombies retain fragments of their human personalities — muttering phrases, performing old daily tasks — and it adds a layer of disturbing that most horror games only dream about. Then you've got Dr. Victor Gideon as the main antagonist, a former Umbrella researcher running the Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center as a front for absolutely deranged experiments. We're talking modified T-virus designed to transfer the memories of leaders into new bodies. He's assisted by Zeno from The Connections, and then there's Hunk, The Girl — who's a clone of Grace, spoiler alert — and Chunk, my favorite fat guy outside of Rosie O'Donnell. The villain roster alone kept me locked into every mission and puzzle.

I played this primarily on the Switch 2, about 65% docked and the rest in handheld, and let me tell you — this game is stunning. A fucking gorgeous game on a handheld, full stop. But here's the real talk: I played most of this passing the console back and forth between friends. When that heart rate spiked or you just needed a damn break, handing it off to a buddy for backup was half the experience. That's how intense this game gets.

The audio design deserves its own paragraph because it's that good. Advanced spatial audio makes Grace's segments absolutely terrifying — floorboards creaking exactly where an enemy stalks, wet thuds of zombies shuffling in the room above you. The game uses a "biometric" sound system that shifts music and environmental noise based on Grace's heart rate or Leon's combat intensity. Leon's audio is the polar opposite — classic action-hero grit with cheesy one-liners during firefights and more somber reflections exploring the ruins of Raccoon City. The contrast between the two is masterfully done.

Would I play this again? No. And I'm being honest about why. It's not my style of game, and I'm slow at puzzles. This game will not let you muscle your way through. It's in control — you figure out the puzzle, and maybe it lets you pass, assuming you found enough ammo, because that tall bitch is going to chase you into a room where you either solve the problem or hit the power button and pray the nightmares don't keep you up. But can I recognize this is an amazing game? Absolutely, hands down, no question.

Standard Edition: Available for approximately $69.99 at Best Buy or as a digital key for around $60. Deluxe Edition: Includes additional content and can be found with a steelbook for roughly $150 on eBay.