Mouthwashing

As I delved into Mouthwashing, I found myself reeling, questioning the depths of human depravity and the consequences of failed leadership. This PS1-inspired indie title, developed by Wrong Organ, transported me into a world where good intentions pave the road to hell and complicity enables the most horrific of behaviours.

Mouthwashing takes place aboard the Tulpar, a long-haul space freighter operated by the fictional Pony Express company. Just as the original Pony Express pushed the boundaries of mail delivery in the 19th century, often at great human cost, this futuristic counterpart seems equally willing to sacrifice its employees for profit. The premise—transporting mouthwash across the vastness of space—struck me as a biting commentary on the absurdities of capitalist pursuits.

The story revolves around five crew members on their final mission before being laid off. This setup immediately created a pressure cooker environment, ripe for exploring themes of job insecurity, isolation, and the psychological toll of space travel. The non-linear storytelling, jumping between different time periods, mirrored the fractured mental states of the characters and kept me constantly on edge.

As I progressed through the game, I found myself deeply invested in the fates of these five crew members. Captain Curly, the protagonist, initially seemed like a well-meaning leader, but his flaws became increasingly apparent. Anya, the ship’s medic, is a character whose quiet suffering became a central element of the narrative for me. Her interactions with Curly revealed a deep-seated unease and a cry for help that went tragically unheard. Jimmy, the co-pilot, emerged as a deeply disturbing presence; Daisuke, whose name implies “big helper,” served as a counterpoint to Jimmy’s destructive behaviour; and Swansea’s name’s connection to alcoholism represented another form of escape or coping mechanism in the face of dire circumstances.

One of the most compelling aspects for me was its unflinching examination of leadership failure. Curly’s inability to recognise and address the dangers within his own crew served as a cautionary tale. His relationship with Jimmy, which I lovingly describe as a “bromance,” highlighted how personal connections can blind us to obvious red flags. The game forced me to grapple with questions of responsibility and complicity, and it was a stark reminder of how silence and wilful ignorance can enable abuse. It also delves into the darkest recesses of the human psyche through the confined space of the ship, and it turns into a metaphor for the limitations of our own minds when faced with extreme stress and isolation. With heavy themes boldly hinted at, including sexual assault, mental breakdown, and the capacity for violence that lurks within seemingly ordinary people. 

Beyond its character-driven horror, you’ll find a scathing critique of corporate culture and capitalist excess. The very premise of the mission serves as a darkly comic indictment of profit-driven enterprises that prioritise shareholder value over human life. The game drew parallels between the historical Pony Express and its fictional space-faring counterpart, highlighting how little has changed in terms of worker exploitation. The company’s willingness to put its employees in high-risk situations for trivial gain was a chilling reflection of real-world corporate practices still taking place today. The recurring motif of the Pony Express mascot throughout the game served as a haunting reminder of the corporate entity that had abandoned the crew. 

The gameplay is primarily focused on narrative exploration and puzzle-solving with minimal combat. As I navigated through the game, I found myself piecing together the story through environmental storytelling and character interactions and found documents and memories or dreams. The non-linear narrative structure was one of the game’s most distinctive features. By jumping between different time periods, it kept me off-balance and mirrored the fractured mental states of its characters. This approach allowed for a gradual unveiling of the story, with each new piece of information recontextualising previous events. This aspect could potentially be a hit-or-miss element if players aren’t given sufficient opportunity to grasp its significance.

From the moment I started, I was struck by its distinctive visual style. The low-poly graphics created an uncanny valley effect that perfectly complemented those psychological horror elements. Far from being a limitation, this retro aesthetic enhanced the surreal atmosphere, blurring the lines between reality and hallucination. The sound design was equally effective in building tension. The use of unsettling audio cues—wet, fleshy sounds, distant moans, and a baby’s cries—coupled with strategic silences kept me in a constant state of unease. Glitchy transitions between time periods added to the disorienting experience, making me question the reliability of what I was seeing and hearing, and this occurred on more than one occasion. As I reached the game’s conclusion, I found myself haunted by the experience. Its strength lies not in jump scares or gore, but in its ability to get under your skin, forcing you to confront uncomfortable truths about human nature, leadership, and the cost of remaining silent in the face of wrongdoing.

For mature gamers looking for a psychological horror experience that goes beyond surface-level scares, Mouthwashing offers a deeply unsettling yet thought-provoking journey. Its exploration of themes like guilt, responsibility, and the human capacity for both compassion and cruelty makes it a standout title in the indie horror genre, and while it may not be for everyone due to its disturbing content and unconventional storytelling, those who appreciate narratively rich, psychologically complex games will find much to dissect and discuss. It’s a game that doesn’t just aim to frighten, but to make players question their own capacity for moral failure and the often-blurry line between complicity and culpability, and one that will linger in your mind long after the credits roll.