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Raise Your Own Clone

You are about to uncover four twisted tales of misadventure surrounding people connected, in some way, by the late Dr. Cyrus Stansfield's cloning machine. Within these stories you must face the ethical dilemmas and possible fortune while guiding each character to their own end.

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Steam User 1798STEAMRecommended

Raise Your Own Clone, developed by Tenth&Hess Games and published by CoaguCo Industries, is an experimental narrative adventure that explores the moral, psychological, and personal implications of human cloning through a series of interconnected stories. Rather than relying on flashy visuals or complex mechanics, the game focuses almost entirely on its writing and decision-making system, offering players a text-based experience that challenges them to consider how their choices shape the characters and world around them. The result is an unusual and ambitious title that feels more like a collection of short interactive novellas than a traditional game, bound together by a dark, cohesive theme and a branching structure that emphasizes cause and effect.

The story unfolds across four linked narratives, each told from a different perspective and timeline, all orbiting around Dr. Cyrus Stansfield’s cloning experiments. In the opening chapter, players take on the role of Marsch, the troubled nephew of the late doctor, who inherits both the estate and the secrets his uncle left behind. As Marsch explores the lab and grapples with the moral weight of continuing the cloning research, the game begins to hint at the broader consequences of human replication—how it affects identity, memory, and humanity itself. Subsequent chapters shift perspectives to reveal new sides of the story: the doctor’s own descent into obsession, a neighbor’s strange involvement, and the experiences of one of the clones as it attempts to make sense of existence and selfhood. Each segment builds upon the last, with decisions and discoveries carrying across chapters, allowing the narrative to evolve in subtle and unexpected ways.

What makes Raise Your Own Clone compelling is its commitment to moral ambiguity. It doesn’t offer clean distinctions between right and wrong, success or failure. The player’s choices shape the tone and direction of the story, but they also blur ethical boundaries. Should cloning be used for the sake of progress, or is it an act of hubris destined to destroy the people it touches? The writing delves deeply into these questions without lecturing, instead allowing the player to experience the tension firsthand. The interconnected storytelling gives the impression that every action ripples outward, affecting not just individual characters but the broader moral universe of the game. This structure creates a sense of continuity and consequence rare in such a minimalist presentation, rewarding those who pay close attention to the narrative details and recurring symbols that tie everything together.

While the premise and writing carry much of the experience, the game’s simplicity is both a strength and a limitation. The interface is spare and functional—black text on a plain background, punctuated by decision prompts that move the story forward. There are no elaborate animations or sound effects, only occasional still images or atmospheric cues to break up the text. For players accustomed to visually rich storytelling or fast-paced interaction, this can feel bare and slow. Yet for those who appreciate interactive fiction, the restraint allows the writing to shine without distraction. Every description and line of dialogue carries weight, and moments of quiet reflection have room to breathe. At its best, the presentation evokes the feeling of reading an eerie science fiction novel that reacts to your decisions rather than a static text.

That said, Raise Your Own Clone struggles with pacing and branching logic. Some sections flow naturally, with choices that feel impactful and thematically consistent, while others can stall with long stretches of exposition and limited interactivity. A few story branches lead to similar outcomes regardless of earlier decisions, which can dilute the illusion of agency. The randomness built into certain results also introduces frustration when it feels like the player’s reasoning has been overridden by chance. These issues don’t break the experience, but they can occasionally pull the player out of immersion, making the structure feel uneven. Additionally, the user interface, while serviceable, sometimes suffers from small technical quirks such as unresponsive buttons or transition delays that disrupt the story’s rhythm.

Despite its flaws, the emotional and intellectual depth of Raise Your Own Clone elevates it beyond its limitations. The game thrives on introspection rather than spectacle, drawing strength from its exploration of humanity’s most haunting questions: what defines individuality, what separates a creator from their creation, and whether science can ever be separated from morality. The writing is often somber but sincere, and its tone oscillates between melancholy and philosophical curiosity. Even when the narrative veers into darkness, there is a constant sense of empathy—a recognition that every choice, no matter how misguided, stems from human desire and fear.

In the end, Raise Your Own Clone is not a game for everyone, but for those who enjoy narrative-driven experiences and philosophical storytelling, it offers something genuinely thought-provoking. It invites players to slow down, to reflect, and to engage with its ideas rather than simply react to them. While the technical roughness and pacing issues prevent it from reaching its full potential, its ambition and atmosphere give it lasting value. It’s a small, imperfect experiment that lingers in the mind long after the final page turns—a story about identity, guilt, and the fragile boundary between life and creation, told with more heart than many games with ten times its budget.

Rating: 5/10

Oct 9, 2025·12h·1·Verified