Waking Up with a Bang: The Setup’s Savage Sting
In the grimy underbelly of a world where regret reeks like rust and redemption’s just a reload away, PIGFACE detonates like a drill-bit to the dome, yours, specifically. Crafted by the solo Canadian savant titolovesyou (a pseudonym that rolls off the tongue like a ricochet off rebar) and published by DreadXP (the horror honchos behind Dread Delusion‘s deranged delights and My Friendly Neighborhood‘s puppet pandemonium), this September 18, 2025, Steam Early Access entrant blasts onto PC for a bargain-basement $9.99 (10% launch discount dropping it to $8.99, or $19.99 bundled with the dev’s digital diary and soundtrack snippets). At 6-8 hours for the core contract cull, with Early Access eternity extending to 20+ as updates unspool (roadmap teases new missions, masks, and mayhem through 2026), it’s a kinetic killstreak that’s less a game and more a grudge match with gravity, exclusive to Steam but primed for console creeps per dev whispers. You embody Exit, a “terrible woman” whose terrible deeds have drilled a literal bomb into your skull, waking bloodied in a booby-trapped warehouse to a phone’s ominous ring: “Hello, Exit… time to pay up.”
The premise is pure pulp noir with a nitro twist: blackmailed by bomb-wielding blackmailers who know your skeletons (and where you stashed the shovel), you’re thrust into a sandbox slaughterfest of 5-7 missions (expanding via updates) where you wet-work masked maniacs in morally murky milieus, from derelict docks dripping with diesel to derelict discos throbbing with disco dread. It’s Hotline Miami meets Payday‘s prep gone postal, but solo and savage: no heists, just hate-fueled hits where “get the job done” means guns, grenades, or good old-fashioned grievous bodily harm. The narrative nods to noir’s nasty undercurrents, Exit’s “awful past” alluded to in audio alibis and anonymous taunts, but keeps it kinetic, a “gritty, ultra-violent FPS” that’s “angry” as its auteur admits, channeling “revenge porn for the pixelated” with a dev diary divulging titolovesyou’s “four years of furious fusion” from itch.io demo to DreadXP deal. For boomer shooter buffs bored of Ultrakill‘s ultraviolence or Dusk‘s dusty dread, PIGFACE pitches a pit of personalized payback, though its “sandbox style” sometimes sands the story smooth, leaving lore lovers longing for more than masked monologues. Subtle humour simmers in the savagery: a mask’s quip about “face value” mid-facelift, a wry reminder that even in explosive extortion, irony’s the real killer.
Launched amid PAX East playable previews (booth buzz birthed “blood-soaked bullet ballet” badges) and a roadmap revealing “revenge arcs and rival rifts,” it’s a Steam sensation with 92% acclaim from 1,200+ users, though gripes grumble at “grindy gear gates” that gatekeep the gore. As DreadXP’s “diving headfirst into ultra-violence,” it’s a devious departure from their horror haunts, proving the publisher’s palette paints with plasma as deftly as phantoms. It’s a powderkeg payback that’s primed for the pantheon, if the pit doesn’t swallow its own shotgun first.
Contracts, Carnage, and Custom Carnivals: The Killstreak Kitchen
PIGFACE‘s pulse is a powderkeg payback, a first-person frenzy where Early Access’s sandbox slaughter serves up “missions that morph with your mood,” from frantic firefights in fogged factories to tactical takedowns in throbbing techno tombs, each echoing DOOM‘s demonic dash but dialed to personal vendetta. You boot up bloodied, bomb ticking like a tantrum in your temple, and the voice on the line lays it lawless: “Fulfill the contract, or fertilize the floor.” Jobs juggle variety without vertigo, assassinate a arms dealer amid ammo avalanches, or ambush an arms fair in a fairground of foul play, with procedural peppers (random room layouts, rival routes) keeping the chaos churning, a “combat sandbox” that’s “morbidly grimy and over-the-top,” as previewers previewed. The loop’s lethal levity: drop in, despatch with whatever’s wicked (shotgun spreads for shotgun weddings, hammer headshots for hardware hugs), extract the evidence (snag a snapshot or sample), and exhale, or explode, if you err.
The arsenal is a armory of atrocities, unlocked via black market bucks from bounty hauls: baseline boomsticks like the “Anvil” revolver (a “revolver romance” that romps through ranks) evolve into exotic excesses, grenade launchers that grenade like gladiators, landmines that mine malice from the masses, kevlar that kisses bullets goodbye. Masks mantle the madness: snag a “Snout Sniper” for scoped sadism (zoom that zaps with zany zap), or “Jawbreaker Juggernaut” for jaw-dropping juggernaut jaunts that jack up jump height for high-flying headhunters. It’s a “variety of masks that enhance your ability to kill” that’s “kinetic and fast-paced,” with upgrades unspooling via vendor vendettas, spend scrap on stockpile swells or silencer swaps, turning toolkit tinkering into tactical tango. Combat crackles with “wanton gore and grime”: gibs geyser like geysers, dismemberments dazzle with daisy-chain decapitations, slow-mo splatters in spectacular sprays that satisfy the sadist without satiating the strategist, a “bullet ballet” that’s “blood-soaked” but balanced, with cover creeps and corner clears keeping the kinetic from careening into chaos.
Missions morph with mastery: sandbox style means “slow and tactical or guns-blazing,” a flexibility that’s “the lengths you’ll go to prevent spilling secrets,” from stealthy shankings in shadowed stacks to shotgun symphonies in spotlight spectacles. The bomb’s “insurance” injects urgency, a HUD heartbeat that hammers harder with health hits, a “explosive headache” that explodes into overtime if you overstay, though its tick rarely tocks to boom, a forgivable feint for the frenzy. Quirks? The grind’s “grindy gear gates” gatekeep the gore, a “obnoxiously grindy structure” that structures suffering for the starved, and enemy echoes echo too echoingly in mid-mission monotony, a “brainless barrage” that barrages boredom for the ball-blind. Yet, it’s this unyielding upward arc, balls beating beasts into butter, that beats boredom, a “must-have” for the mayhem-minded, with roadmap riffs teasing “rival rifts and revenge arcs” that rift the routine.
Grimy Glows and Gore Galas: A Pixelated Pulpfest
Visually, PIGFACE is a grimy glow-up, titolovesyou’s solo strokes summoning a ’90s pixelated pulpfest that’s as vibrant as a vending machine vandalized by Van Gogh: derelict docks drip with diesel decadence in desaturated drabs, throbbing techno tombs thump with throbbing throbs of throbbing throbs, all amid arenas that animate with arcade alacrity, enemies exploding into effervescent embers, bosses bloating into behemoth ballets that blot the bower. The art direction, a “voguish spin on Atari aesthetics” with high-res fonts and swirling swirls (toggleable for the twitchy), twirls tension into tapestry, though dense drops occasionally drop frames like dropped balls, a “heavy particle hitch” that’s hitched but hardly halting. Masks mantle the madness with monstrous mirth: a “Snout Sniper” snarls with scoped sadism, “Jawbreaker Juggernaut” jaws with jaw-dropping juggernaut jaunts that jack up the jump for high-flying headhunters.
Performance plummets perfectly at 60fps locked, with Steam Deck’s verified verve vouching for portable pits that pit pixels without pity, though NG+ nadir nicks nick nimbly in nooks. Audio arcs with a rhythmic rapture: a soundtrack of shamisen shimmers and synth stutters swells from serene strums in surface settlements to thumping taiko tempests in the teeming trenches, evoking Hotline Miami‘s funky frights with FPS flair. Sound design delights: the plink-plink of perfect pops, the whoosh of whirling whips, and hero hollers that harmonize havoc (“Balls to the wall!”). Subtle sonics shine: a fusion’s fizzle into freakish flair, or a boss’s bellow that booms like a boulder in a barrel. It’s a sensory sink that sinks hooks deep, minor menu mutes melting in the melee’s melody.
Blackmail Bucks and Bullet Ballets: Peaks and Powderkegs
PIGFACE‘s peaks powder the powderkeg: the arsenal’s armory of atrocities, a “variety of weapons from hammers to grenade launchers” that’s “armed to the teeth,” and the mask mantle’s monstrous mirth, a “wear different faces” that enhances kills with “kinetic” kinesis. Missions morph with mastery: sandbox style means “slow and tactical or guns-blazing,” a flexibility that’s “the lengths you’ll go to prevent spilling secrets,” from stealthy shankings to shotgun symphonies. At its $10 tag, with 92% acclaim and “one of the best indies,” it’s a value vortex worth vortexing, bolstered by roadmap riffs teasing “rival rifts and revenge arcs.”
Powderkegs powder the peaks, however: the grind’s “grindy gear gates” gatekeep the gore, a “obnoxiously grindy structure” that structures suffering, and mid-mission monotony’s “brainless barrage,” where enemy echoes echo too echoingly. NG+’s nadir nips nip novelty, with repetition’s “danger of sapping fun” sapping stamina. Community clamor crowns the combat’s “cathartic cleave,” one streamer slaying in a “snarling symphony,” while whispers warn of “Switch 1 slide” sliding visuals into weariness. Humor haunts: a mask’s quip about “face value” mid-facelift, a “perfect storm” that storms screens into submission with storming silliness.
It’s a powderkeg payback that’s primed for the pantheon, if the pit doesn’t swallow its own shotgun first.
Bombshell’s Blackmail: A Masked Manifesto
Beneath the bombs beats a bolder blueprint: PIGFACE isn’t idle ink on an impact, but a manifesto of mayhem’s mastery, where titolovesyou’s homage honors Hotline Miami‘s hotline, pixel-popping palettes as broad as the pit’s brink, while probing play’s playful potential: the fusion frenzy’s “laboratory of lethal lottery” a classroom in combinatorial calculus, teaching topography’s tricks without tedious tomes, a subtle sphere seminar for Sunday solvers. It’s purposeful pops, educating through elation: the roguelite reset’s “remorseless attritional simplicity” a clinic in conversational conquest, mirroring Vampire Survivors‘ voracious vortex with whimsy, whims that whimsy the world’s wider wings into whimsy-woven webs. The base-building’s “perfect storm” of progression, 70+ blueprints a “perfect storm” that storms screens into submission, pricks the plot with prickly novelty, a “B-plot boondoggle” that boondoggles the beating heart into beating broader, grafting globetrotting grit onto globetrotting gallivants that graft whimsy with weight.
Unique unpeelings abound: the “Goblin Gobble” system’s “perfect storm” of synergies, where 60+ spheres spawn spectacular spells that spawn spectacular spells, or the pit’s “procedural pockets,” where randomized realms mint mini-mysteries like hidden holotapes hinting at Ballbylon’s ball-born births. Against Peggle‘s peg-pounding glee, BALL x PIT‘s narrative nabs the net of companionship, heroes’ “bizarre quirks” a “perfect storm” that storms screens into submission with storming silliness. Player pilgrims parade pride, one podcaster proclaiming a “puzzle perfect storm” that stormed suspects into submission, underscoring its communal crackle.
It’s more than mush: a manifesto of mini-mystery mastery, where every tap etches elation in the evergreens.
Final Thoughts
PIGFACE detonates the FPS formula with a drill-bit to the dome, a 6-8 hour grudge match that expands into Early Access eternity with missions that morph from frantic firefights to tactical takedowns in a sandbox slaughterfest that’s “morbidly grimy and over-the-top.” Its arsenal of atrocities and mask mantle’s monstrous mirth craft combats that crackle with “wanton gore and grime,” where dismemberments dazzle and slow-mo splatters satisfy the sadist without satiating the strategist. The black market’s bucks buy a “variety of weapons from hammers to grenade launchers,” turning toolkit tinkering into tactical tango, a “bullet ballet” that’s “blood-soaked” but balanced.
The grind’s “grindy gear gates” and mid-mission monotony snag like shrapnel, with enemy echoes echoing ennui and repetition’s “danger of sapping fun” sapping stamina. Yet, these are nicks in a noble naginata, the adventure’s deft deployment of deduction’s dopamine ensuring sleuth aficionados sleuth away afternoons in mystery ecstasy. For Hotline Miami holdouts or boomer shooter buffs, it’s a par-fect parley, a tropical treat that ties the tie without tightening the noose.
We prepared this review with a digital copy of PIGFACE for the PC version provided by Evolve PR.
