The game I played was Cube Escape: Paradox, a point-and-click mystery game developed by Rusty Lake. I played on my iPad, though the game is also available on smartphone, PC, and Mac through Steam. The mobile version was the most accessible platform for me, and playing on a tablet definitely shaped how I engaged with the game. As I was playing, I appreciated the larger screen since I felt it made the puzzles more manageable as I didn’t have to squint to spot clues or struggle with finicky tapping. Every object interaction felt tactile and intentional, which really matters in a game built entirely around observation and precision. That bigger keyboard also helped when it came to entering codes and notes (and yes, I needed to jot things down, so having GoodNotes by my side screen was a plus. Is that cheating?).
The target audience seems geared toward casual mystery lovers and escape room fans, especially those who enjoy surreal, narrative-heavy experiences. It’s approachable and self-contained, but also rich enough to reward thoughtful exploration. When I first joined the game, I assumed I had missed something as there’s no guiding hand, tutorial, or hint system. You’re just plopped into a locked room and a creeping sense that nothing is what it seems.
Paradox uses its confined architecture and object puzzles to both challenge players and slowly drip-feed a surreal narrative in a way that definitely feels earned. I enjoyed how the room isn’t just the setting, but acts as the storyteller. Using environmental cues, symbolic visuals, and the act of solving puzzles, players uncover the mystery but literally living it, step by disorienting step. I had only played one other mystery game (it was a physical file game where you read through and tried to figure out who-dun-it), and although in both I acted as an investigator, the game here felt much more immersive due to the interaction with the space itself (rather than reading facts on a file).
What feels genuine about Paradox is how little it explains. There’s no exposition dump or any kind of narrator. Like the character in the game, you feel this sense of disorientation as it is just you and the room. The mystery unfolds through what you do as you go through opening drawers, rearranging portraits, discovering strange keys in even stranger places. Every puzzle is an opportunity to advance both the gameplay and your understanding of the story.
Take the mirror, for instance. I interacted with it early on, and while it first seems like just another object, it eventually reveals another version of the protagonist (maybe a memory, maybe a hallucination). Suddenly, I’m not just solving a room, I’m confronting some lore about myself (or the room?). Throughout game plays with reflection, repetition, and distortion as both visual motifs and narrative signals.
One of the first signs the room is lying to you.
Based on the “Narrative Architecture reading,” this mirror section is an example of embedded narrative. The story is tucked into the environment and unfolds through my interactions with it. I’m not just reading a story (like I did in the physical file mystery), I’m assembling one through exploration.
As mentioned in the reading, designers aren’t just storytellers, they’re narrative architects, and the developers of Paradox completely lean into this concept. The room is compact, but it evolves over time. Things shift subtly. New drawers appear, and paintings start to bleed. You’re never quite sure if these shifting details of the room are meant to help you or mess with you. Here, this is environmental design doing the heavy lifting. The game uses constraint (you can’t leave the room), concealment (you must search deeply and revisit old areas), and exploration (the whole story is spatially distributed) throughout. I wasn’t just playing in the room, but had to adapt to learn its language and the pattern of how puzzles are presented in the game.
The architecture controls what you can access and when. Your progression is gated by your awareness and curiosity, not by dialogue or cutscenes, and so the order in which you discover a few details may be out-of-order of the game’s intentions. Accounting for this, entirely new sections of puzzles (e.g. opening locks) can not be done until a “set” of puzzles are completed, so it’s alright if you’re a little scattered with these clumps, as the game still accounts for pacing and progress as intended. To make up for the lack of a hint system, you’re constrained enough that you know what you need to continue is within the minimalist 4-5 rooms. The story comes at you sideways, always through action, never spoon-fed, which makes each puzzle solved incredibly satisfying as you feel as if it’s earned. It also reinforces the core of the story when you get stuck for much longer than you intend- you aren’t watching someone else solve a mystery, you’re trapped inside one.
The game hits several formal elements well, especially surrounding narrative and challenge. Its mechanics (clicking, combining, and revealing) are deeply tied to its dynamics (confusion, discovery, and tension). According to the MDA framework, the aesthetics come alive not because of flashy effects but because of the psychological weight behind each interaction.
Accessibility-wise, there are some strengths and definite gaps. On mobile, the touch interface is relatively friendly as tapping to interact is intuitive, and I love how there’s no time pressure. But for players with visual impairments, this game might be a challenge. There’s no colorblind mode, no zoom feature, and some clues rely heavily on tiny visual details.
Also, the game doesn’t offer any voiceover or screen reader compatibility, and some sound-based puzzles could be barriers for deaf or hard-of-hearing players. While the minimalist UI avoids clutter, it doesn’t make space for accessibility customization. Some players have filled the gap with community guides and YouTube walk-throughs (which, admittedly for some sections were crucial to me), but those supports exist outside the game, not within it.
