Platform(s): PC (version reviewed), PS5, Xbox Series, PS4, Xbox One
Genre: Roguelite Beat-em Up

Over the past few years, the roguelite genre has gone through what can only be described as a second puberty—awkward at times, but surprisingly powerful. Born from the loins of classic RPGs, it’s now known for a very specific cocktail of suffering: procedurally generated levels, permadeath, and that classic “one step forward, two steps into a lava pit” progression system. You die, you lose (almost) everything, and yet you keep coming back for another kick in the teeth—because somehow, it’s fun.

Games like The Binding of Isaac, Returnal, and Dead Cells didn’t just put roguelites on the map—they practically set the map on fire. These titles pushed the genre to new, experimental heights, demanding players adapt, improve, and occasionally scream at their monitors like a Victorian ghost.

And now, stepping into this chaotic arena of masochistic joy, is KIBORG—a new contender from Russian devs Sobaka Studio. It’s a game that promises fast-paced action, a bit of brawling, a bit of blasting, and a whole lot of dying.

But here’s the real question: can KIBORG actually stand out in a genre that’s already bursting at the seams with pixelated punishment? Or is it just another entry in the ever-growing list of roguelites that are “perfectly fine” and also completely forgettable?

Let’s break it down and see what this cyborg-flavoured chaos machine actually brings to the table.

Wrongfully Jailed, Repeatedly Resurrected, & Probably Regretting Everything

KIBORG kicks off with you playing as Morgan Lee—basically a space-age Jean Valjean, if Jean Valjean had been sentenced to 1,300 years in prison for war crimes he didn’t commit. He’s been chucked onto a galactic prison planet, which is exactly as cheerful as it sounds. But unlike your average dystopian jail, death isn’t an escape plan here. Oh no—every time Morgan dies, he’s promptly revived to continue serving out his ludicrously long sentence. It’s like being stuck in a cosmic version of jury duty… forever.

The only get-out-of-jail card? A gladiatorial game show called The Last Ticket—which, naturally, involves lots of guns, gore, and people cheering while you’re repeatedly turned into cybernetic soup. The goal is to survive, win the show, and earn your freedom. Simple enough, if your definition of “simple” includes bullet hells and certain death.

Now, let’s not pretend the story is doing backflips to surprise anyone. It’s a pretty bare-bones setup—a convenient excuse to justify why you keep coming back from the dead like a particularly stubborn cockroach. But to its credit, as you slog through run after run, the game does drip-feed bits of lore about Morgan’s past and the grim place he’s trapped in. It’s nothing groundbreaking, but it adds just enough intrigue to stop you from completely switching off during the loading screens.

Welcome to the Cyborg Gym

When it comes to gameplay, KIBORG wears its inspirations on its bloodstained sleeve. It’s a third-person action roguelite where every run begins with a few key decisions: Which path do you take? Which room full of maniacs will you fight? And which temporary power-up will you cling to like a drowning man to a pool noodle? Survive the room, get some buffs and in-game currency, then spend it back at the hub to unlock permanent upgrades—classic roguelite foreplay.

This structure will feel painfully familiar to anyone who’s played Hades. In fact, KIBORG practically begs to be compared to Supergiant’s magnum opus… and then immediately loses that comparison. It simply doesn’t have the same slick level design or the knockout visual flair. But credit where due—the actual combat? Surprisingly solid. The arenas are tightly built for chaos, and if you know what you’re doing (or at least pretend convincingly), the flow of dodging, smacking, and occasionally shooting feels meaty and responsive.

Speaking of smacking: Morgan’s got three basic melee attacks mapped to three different buttons—light, heavy, and the classic “spin like a beyblade and hope for the best” 360 attack. Whether you’re bare-knuckle brawling or swinging one of the game’s many melee weapons, you’ll be using these to clear out enemies and maintain your precious momentum.

Opt for guns, though, and things get… limp. Firing a weapon in KIBORG feels more like you’re flicking rubber bands at your enemies. The gunplay lacks punch, the feedback’s mushy, and the whole affair feels like it’s there because someone, somewhere, thought “Well, it’s the future. There should be guns.”

At least dodging works as advertised—and you’ll be doing a lot of it. Attacks are colour-coded: some you can parry, some you can’t, and some will just flatten you regardless. Timing, as always, is everything.

The game also spices things up by letting you mutate Morgan with temporary upgrades after every battle. These don’t just tweak stats—they visually kit him out with new armour bits like you’re slowly assembling a cyborg Power Ranger. You can boost physical defence, crank up damage, and piece together a build that suits your playstyle—or, more realistically, the least awful of your options. Just don’t expect too much depth here—it’s more peanut butter than peanut parfait.

And in true roguelite fashion, when (not if) you die, it’s back to square one. The only thing you keep is whatever permanent currency you managed to scrape together before being turned into a smear on the floor. But weirdly enough, this is where KIBORG shines. The upgrade trees for skills and gear are well-designed and give a real sense of progress. You actually feel like you’re improving—mechanically and statistically—which is more than I can say for most mornings.

That said, after a few hours, the shine wears off. The game’s thin art direction and bland enemy variety start to drag it down. Fights blur together, levels start to feel copy-pasted, and that ever-dangerous question pops into your head: Do I really want to do another run?

And sadly, more often than not, the answer is “eh… maybe later.”

Looks Functional, Sounds Forgettable, Feels… Fine

Visually, KIBORG isn’t going to melt your graphics card or win any art awards, but it’s passable. Think “generic sci-fi prison” meets “we had a week and a Unity asset store coupon.” It’s clean, functional, and just polished enough to avoid being labelled ugly—but that’s about where the compliments end. The art direction is, frankly, about as deep as a puddle in a heatwave. You’ll forget what this game looks like the moment you close it.

And the soundtrack? If it were any more generic, it’d be on hold music for a space-themed customer service line. Tracks are uninspired and barely noticeable—when they even bother to show up. It’s like the audio team collectively said, “Eh, explosions make noise, right?”

On the technical front, though, KIBORG deserves a polite round of applause. It runs buttery smooth at a consistent 60 frames per second, even during the most chaotic cyber-brawls. No stuttering, no crashes, no drama. It’s refreshing to play an indie game that doesn’t explode on launch.

In the end, KIBORG is like a surprisingly well-built treadmill—it works fine, it’ll keep you busy, but after a while, you’ll start wondering if there’s a better machine next door. It’s not a disaster, it’s not a triumph—it’s just another face in the roguelite crowd. Fun, for a bit. Memorable? Not quite.

Pros

• Combat is responsive and satisfying, especially in melee.
• Runs consistently at 60FPS with no technical issues.
• Upgrade trees offer tangible long-term progression.
• Character upgrades visually change Morgan, adding flair to builds.
• Dodging and parry mechanics are clear and effective.
• Gameplay loop is immediately engaging and easy to grasp.

Cons

• Gunplay feels weak and lacks impact.
• Visual and art direction is bland and forgettable.
• Music is generic and barely present.
• Enemy variety is poor, leading to repetitive encounters.
• Game lacks long-term replay appeal despite its roguelite design.
• Story is basic and mostly serves as functional background noise.

Final Score: 60/100

Review code provided by publisher.