Before clocking on at Uncle Chop’s Rocket Shop, the new rocket-repair roguelike from Beard Envy, I recommend that you ask yourself one very important question: how do you feel about building Ikea furniture?
If you tangibly puckered at the thought, maybe scroll on. If, like me, you were the kind of kid who really liked your Fisher Price tool bench and, like me, secretly get a bit of a kick knocking together a BESTÅ or two on the weekend, then do I have the game for you.
Can we fix it? Yes, we can…
Welcome to Uncle Chop’s, a strange little rocket ship repair shop somewhere in space. You arrive on Day One as Wilbur, a four-eyed fox-man mechanic, on your first day at work. Your workmate, a mysterious and rotund chef, helps you yeet the corpse of your predecessor into space, and from there, all there is to do is clock in and work your mechanical magic.
Don’t worry about the fact that you haven’t ever done this before – you are issued a manual, known as The Grimoire; a rag-tag collection of notes, pictorial instructions and vague warnings. Everything you need to know is in here, you are assured. Anything you need can be purchased from the small shop, manned by the ever-enigmatic Meatball. Just fix stuff as it comes in, and you’ll be able to make the reasonable-sounding R.E.N.T. Sounds simple enough, right?
My boss is a pig
Wrong.
Uncle Chop, the giant holographic hog head who oversees your operation (and, despite being your boss, routinely shows up to relieve you of all your hard-earned cash), is no ordinary CEO. He’s grumpy. His demands are ridiculous and increasingly difficult to meet. He’s never actually there in person… wait a minute.
He’s exactly like a real CEO. He’s merciless, and he’s not here to employ slackers. Before you know it, you find yourself filling fuel tanks, putting out fires, and committing the odd act of thievery (just don’t get caught, OK?). From soothing emotionally-unstable AI units to unclogging toilets, Wilbur (and you) will have to learn to do it all.
Fail is a four-letter word
Failure to mend something correctly, or identify all its faults (or worse, making it more fucked-up than it originally was) results in fines and a lack of income for poor Wilbur. As you dodge meteors, murderous customers and the tick-tock of the occasional bomb, Wilbur just wants to get to the end of his working day alive and go home to his trailer for some sleep. Sadly for him (but lucky for you, the player), things are rarely that simple.
Make it to the end of the R.E.N.T period and pay your dues, and you get to carry on clocking in. Miss the payment, and, well, sorry, but it’s death for poor Wilbur. This being a roguelite, however, death is only the beginning of the game, and upon arrival in Limbo you are dispatched back to Uncle Chop’s for another go.
The clock is reset at Day One, the R.E.N.T is due again, and Wilbur can start afresh. Clock in, fix things, don’t get murdered. And round and round you go. But don’t be fooled… nothing here is completely what it seems, and the farther you progress into the game, the more you find out about what’s really going on at Uncle Chop’s.
Whistle while you work, do-do-do-do-do-do
As you progress, you get to explore (and “unfuck”) more and more procedurally-generated space craft, delivered to you by a weird and wonderful band of space customers. Some are slimeballs (in the sense that they will hit on you). Some are slimeballs (in the sense that they are, well, slimy). Some are both. Some clients tip well, and some will blow your head off if you don’t put all the screws back correctly or upset their snails, so choose your jobs with care.
Each new unit brings its own series of things that can be wrong with it, and before you know it, you start to become an expert. I kept catching myself muttering “well, let’s get the hood off this thing” and “there’s your problem, love; you’ve got a cracked heat sink”. At one point, I tucked a pencil behind my ear, drew my breath through my teeth, and tutted. For a mild-mannered writer who doesn’t even drive a car, this was quite the experience.
Job satisfaction on a nuclear level
Uncle Chop’s Rocket Shop is brilliant. The humour is dry, the visuals are adorable, the crew is motley and the whole thing is delightfully weird. The Grimoire is not only a great in-game device, but its design is excellent, with sections that look like coffee-stained notes, and others that wouldn’t look out of place in a Haynes manual. The Adventure Time/Rick and Morty vibes are strong with this one, if a bit more violent and sweary, and if you like the cute/creepy aesthetic of Cult of the Lamb, you’ll like this. In short: it’s fucking adorable.
And it’s fun. Really, really fun. Several times I caught myself experiencing something akin to actual job satisfaction; a rare thing in these difficult times. Why I was having so much fun essentially working Wilbur’s flabby, tattooed ass off in order to, well, pay my own pig of a boss, I couldn’t fully understand… but I couldn’t put it down.
Choose your own stress levels
There are two modes to choose from – Frantic Fixing and Focused Fixing. In Focused mode, Wilbur has a certain number of jobs to complete in a working day, but you can take your time (with most of them, anyway), methodically working though the relevant sections of the Grimoire to solve the puzzles. Said puzzles are a mix of skill, lateral and logical thinking, and memory, and each one is a new challenge.
There is a huge variety of things to do, armed as you are with a simple set of satisfyingly-clicky tools and your ever-increasing expertise. As you earn money (and “omen” tokens from more discerning customers), you can upgrade your workshop, add in-game advantages, change Wilbur’s costumes, and expand your workshop and machinery. A never-ending stream of space weirdos turn up to make things interesting, and while some will blow you to smithereens, others will give you buffs (some even tip). Just don’t die, or you’ll lose it all…
Frantic mode adds a bit of extra stress to the proceedings by giving Wilbur a time limit. In this mode, Wilbur is working against the clock, so speed and efficiency are suddenly more important. Customer satisfaction now relies on your speed as well as the quality of your work, and your pay will increase or decrease accordingly.
I recommend starting in focussed mode while you learn the ropes, then move into Frantic mode if you want a bigger challenge, but hey, speed freaks – if you learn fast, you do you. Specific boons help you increase customer turnaround and work more quickly as you race to fit as many jobs as possible into Wilbur’s working day. Failure to make R.E.N.T ends in death at the hands of your pixelated porcine overlord. It’s not for the faint of heart, but if you are looking for a bit of additional work-related adrenaline in your life, this is the mode you need.
A job worth doing
There’s a lot to do here, and a lot to like. The attention to detail is superb, the variety seemingly-endless, and the weirdness is perfectly-judged. I loved how quickly I could get the hang of things, and progress was satisfyingly challenging, yet tantalisingly possible. You’ll only leave a few screws loose (and forfeit a day’s pay as a result) once.
The learning curve is steep enough to require effort, but not so steep it felt Sisyphean. If it wasn’t so fucking sweary, my kids would love it – but never mind; that means I get it all to myself. Now, pass me the ratchet, crack open the reactor core, and hand me a can of blood (yes, blood)… can’t keep my customers waiting.
Uncle Chop’s Rocket Shop is out now on PC (Win), PS5, Switch, and Xbox. I played the game via access provided by the developers and their publishing friends – thanks!
