By Khloe Wilkerson

Note: Spoilers Ahead!

If Tape 1: Bloom was about the fire of youth, Tape 2: Rage is about the ashes–what’s left after the storm, after the promises, after the truth refuses to stay buried. In this second and final chapter, Lost Records: Bloom & Rage, developed by Don’t Nod, shifts from nostalgia to reckoning. What begins as a slow-burning reunion becomes a chaotic dive into trauma, loss, and the supernatural forces that have been hiding in plain sight all along. 

After the emotional cliffhanger of Tape 1, Tape 2 wastes no time pulling us back into the heart of Velvet Cove. Swann, Autumn, and Nora reunite—this time older, more worn down by life, but still deeply tied to their past. The story picks up right where it left off, with Kat collapsing after the band concert, and immediately throws us into a space that blends memory and mystery, trauma and supernatural forces. 

What stands out most in this second half is the way it plays with time. The present-day story, where the girls open a long-forgotten box marked with their band name, mirrors their teenage past in powerful ways. These aren’t just flashbacks for the sake of nostalgia. They feel like puzzle pieces, clues to why this “little friend group” and the curse they once joked about still linger in their lives 20 years later. You start to realize: this story was never just about friendship—it’s about how some bonds, even the broken ones, never truly let go.

Kat, more than anyone, sits at the center of everything. In Tape 1, she was the wild, passionate soul of the group. But in Tape 2, we see the truth behind that energy: Kat was sick. Her disease was quietly eating away at her life, and her friends had no idea. Her illness adds a new layer to the summer of ‘95, turning what seemed like a fun, rebellious teen adventure into a desperate attempt to make every moment count. Her isolation, the way her family locked her away, and Corey’s constant surveillance make her feel more like a prisoner than a kid. And it’s through Kat’s pain that the game explores its darkest supernatural element: The Abyss.

The Abyss becomes more prominent in Tape 2. It’s no longer just a strange myth. It’s a presence. A force. Possibly even a protector. When Corey—Kat’s sister’s abusive boyfriend tries to force himself into control, it’s the Abyss that responds. Whether intentionally or as a reflection of Kat’s deepest wish, he’s pulled into the portal and attacked by a swarm of ravens. And yet the game never fully explains how Kat and the Abyss are connected. Was she chosen? Possessed? Did her pain give her power? These questions never get answered, and while mystery can be compelling, this time it left me wanting more clarity.

What’s also left vague, but intriguing, is the presence of the ravens. In moments of emotional intensity—especially near Kat’s death and in the final scenes—ravens appear, almost like they’re watching over the group. It makes you wonder: was Kat somehow spiritually connected to them? Could they be a symbol of her soul lingering near the people she loved? The final shot of the raven perched on the windowsill, right as Swann opens the box alone, feels intentional—like Kat is still there, guiding or witnessing the truth finally come to light.

There’s also a shift in how the game handles its characters emotionally. One of the most memorable moments is Autumn’s panic attack. Heavy breathing, distorted vision, that sense of losing control. And the game lets you be there in it. Whether it’s Swann trying to calm her, or small distractions like word games or old videos that only halfway help, the scene feels raw. For a game so focused on memory and trauma, this was a standout, especially showing people the realism of anxiety. It also gave Autumn a voice, showing how left out and forgotten she felt after the group fell apart.

Gameplay in Lost Records: Bloom & Rage – Tape 2 is noticeably more streamlined compared to Tape 1, with less emphasis on exploration and more focus on narrative progression. The camcorder mechanic from Tape 1 returns briefly but is far less central, and that could be due to Corey having stolen it, which feels like a missed opportunity for deeper immersion. One standout moment involves when Swann and Nora were sneaking into Kat’s house, and they had to use the flashlight feature to get Kat’s attention from her bedroom window–a small but effective stealth sequence that adds tension. There’s also a replay-style memory mechanic, letting players “re-do” a critical moment, trying to jog back what happened at a specific instance. However, beyond that, most of the gameplay consists of walking, interacting with objects, and choosing dialogue options. That decision on the parts of game makers, maintains the focus on storytelling but might leave players wanting more engaging or interactive elements.

This game continues to impress with its moody, cinematic style that captures the emotional weight of the story. Velvet Cove is rendered with a soft, hazy palette that reflects both the nostalgia of youth and the melancholy of adulthood. The game shifts seamlessly between the vibrant warmth of 1995–lush forests, golden sunsets, colorful posters–and the colder, muted tones of 2022, visually representing the emotional distance the characters have developed over time. Lighting plays a big role, especially during supernatural scenes involving the Abyss, where shadows and deep blues and purples create a sense of unease and secrets. Small visual details, like the worn look of the box or the blazing fire when the cabin is crumbling down, make the environments feel lived–in and personal.

By the time the credits rolled, I was left sitting in silence. Not because everything felt wrapped up, but because so much wasn’t. Swann is the only one left in the room when the box is finally opened. It feels symbolic—like she’s the last one still willing to face the past fully, no matter how painful. Inside the box are fragments of Kat: letters, personal items, and a tape that brings her voice back one last time. It’s not just a goodbye—it’s a message from beyond, a final gift to Swann. And as the raven watches from the window, you feel Kat’s presence in the room, not as a ghost, but as something more spiritual, more eternal.

We never get clear answers about Kat’s true link to the Abyss. We’re not told what really happened after the portal closed. We don’t even know if the group will ever see each other again. The story seems to suggest that some things are better left unsaid, better left buried. But after spending so much time with these characters, it’s hard not to want closure.

In the end, Tape 2 is shorter, heavier, and more emotionally charged than its predecessor. It doesn’t try to recapture the same energy, it leans into something darker and more complex. While I loved the depth and emotional stakes, the lack of explanation and quick pacing in the final moments left me a little unsatisfied. Still, Swann’s journey–especially through the lens of loss, responsibility, and love–makes this a game I won’t forget anytime soon.

Bronx native Khloe Wilkerson is in her second year of high school. In Middle School, she won our college scholarship twice in a row after completing our games journalism and narrative classes. 

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