The Alters Review: Split Personality Survival

I’ve played a fair share of survival games for years. I’ve micromanaged food rations in Frostpunk, kept astronauts sane in Oxygen Not Included, and died more times than I can count in Don’t Starve. But The Alters did something no other game has: it made me question who I could have been. I wasn’t expecting to have an existential crisis while building power modules, but here we are. This isn’t just a survival game. It’s a conversation with yourself, through yourself, against yourself. And it’s brilliant.

Stranded on a Rolling Deathtrap

You play as Jan Dolski, a blue-collar space miner stranded on a planet that wants you dead. The sun on this world is a nuclear executioner. If you’re not in the planet’s shadow when dawn hits, you’re toast literally. So you live inside a massive, lumbering crawler base that you must keep moving to stay alive. Sounds simple. It isn’t. You’re not building a base to last. You’re building a base to keep running. It’s a different flavour of survival than what most games offer. Resources are tight. Time is tighter. The constant push forward adds pressure without feeling gimmicky. Every choice has weight because time isn’t on your side.

The Twist

The real hook is the “Alters.” Jan isn’t alone at least, not for long. Using a material called Rapidium, you can clone alternate versions of yourself. These aren’t blank slates. Each Alter is Jan, but different versions of him that made other life choices. The one who stayed in school and became a scientist. The one who joined the military. The one who failed as a musician. Each has unique skills, and more importantly, unique perspectives. Creating your first Alter feels strange, like splitting your character sheet in a tabletop RPG and watching the fragments come to life. But it quickly becomes essential. You can’t maintain the base alone. You’ll need a technician to fix equipment, a botanist to grow food, and a psychologist to manage stress. Every job needs a Jan, but not this Jan. What I didn’t expect was how personal it would feel.

The Game Made Me Uncomfortable and That’s a Compliment

Here’s the thing: these Alters remember their lives. They know they’re different versions of you. Some are cooperative. Some are bitter. One of mine- the engineer was furious that I’d wasted his potential. He worked, but he hated me for it. Another was quiet and withdrawn, clearly traumatized by the path he’d lived. And the worst part? I understood them. Each conversation chipped away at the illusion that this was “just” a survival sim. You’re not just collecting bodies to throw at problems. You’re facing yourself, over and over, through every decision you didn’t make. It’s not subtle, but it is effective. Managing these Alters is like being a therapist, boss, and roommate all at once. They can burn out, argue, or shut down. Ignore their needs, and your fragile chain of survival crumbles

Base Management: Tense, Tight, and Sometimes Clunky

Mechanically, The Alters plays like a hybrid of Frostpunk and Fallout Shelter. You build vertical and horizontal modules inside your rolling base workshops, dormitories, kitchens, and social rooms. Every module needs energy, maintenance, and staff. Every Alter has limited stamina and emotional needs. And everything takes time. The time system is ruthless. One real-world second equals one in-game minute. That means a five-minute walk down a hallway eats up five minutes of your day. This creates a constant low-level tension. Should I wait for the cook to finish eating, or assign the other Jan to food duty now, knowing he’s not trained and might mess it up? These small decisions snowball. That’s where the brilliance lies. That said, the base’s layout can be a bit of a pain. It’s easy to get lost in the multi-floor corridors. The UI doesn’t always make it clear where someone is or what they’re doing. And yes, you’ll get sick of the elevator animations. But these are minor gripes in an otherwise engaging loop.

The Tree of Life: A Narrative Backbone

The game’s “Tree of Life” is where you decide which Alter to create next. It’s a web of branching choices from Jan’s past, whether he pursued art, forgave his father, stayed in school, or moved cities. These aren’t just cosmetic backstories. They influence what skills and traits the Alter has, and how they relate to others. It’s a narrative device disguised as a gameplay mechanic, and it works. You’re not just choosing abilities. You’re exploring regrets. And while the writing isn’t Oscar-level, it’s honest. Dialogue feels real, especially during quiet conversations in the social module. I had two Alters bond over a shared love of model trains. Another confessed he didn’t want to go back into the reactor room because it reminded him of a past accident. These moments give the game a soul.

Survival, Strategy, and Sentiment

Beyond the personal drama, there’s still a survival game to manage. You’ll need to mine for resources, balance energy consumption, keep your base moving, and research tech upgrades. It’s complex, but not overwhelming—unless you ignore your crew. And it’s here where the game nails its pacing. Early hours are all about putting out fires. Mid-game, you feel like you’re finally gaining control. Late game? The challenge ramps up, and you realize survival is still not guaranteed.

Real Talk

The Alters isn’t for everyone. If you prefer fast-paced action or streamlined resource management, this might feel slow or cumbersome. But if you’re the kind of player who appreciates narrative weight, moral ambiguity, and gameplay that reflects character, this one hits hard. A survival game rarely feels this human. Every decision echoes. Every Alter adds a new layer to the question: “Who are you, really?”

FINAL SCORE: 90/100