This is a genre I thought we would never see again — not because of a lack of general audience interest, but mainly because the company behind it went down in one of the biggest gaming disasters of the 2010s (a disaster that, sadly, was topped years later). Telltale Games were the main force behind the resurgence of adventure point-and-click titles in the early to mid-2010s, with early hits like Back to the Future and Jurassic Park. But they truly came onto everyone’s radar in 2012 with the first season of The Walking Dead, which I’ll say now is still one of my favorite games of all time — as close to a perfect story as the medium has ever produced. That success led them to grab the rights to nearly everything, even Minecraft. They continued to expand until 2018, when the table finally collapsed under its own weight, and the company shut down. Several former developers decided to form their own spiritual successor studio, AdHoc, and eventually began working on a game called Dispatch. Which is how we ended up here today.
Dispatch can best be described as a superhero version of The Office, or, for a deep cut, something in the vein of the DC sitcom Powerless. The hook is simple but brilliant: instead of playing as a superhero, you play as Robert Robertson III — formerly Mecha Man — a washed-up crime-fighter whose suit is destroyed early on, leaving him to take a desk job at the Superhero Dispatch Network. Instead of saving the world with punches and lasers, you’re saving the world with phone calls, schedule coordination, crisis routing, and the occasional existential meltdown. It’s a premise so mundane and so absurd that it feels fresh immediately. True to the Telltale formula, Dispatch rolls out across episodes — eight in total — released over a month-long period. Now that they’re all out, I went through the full season, and I genuinely didn’t expect what I found. I never thought anything would stand on par with Season One of The Walking Dead, but here we are. Dispatch is easily the best point-and-click adventure game since 2012.
What makes it work so well is how confidently it blends comedy, pathos, and world-building. Telltale always walked a fine line between emotional storytelling and bombastic IP-driven spectacle, but Dispatch feels far more cohesive. Because it’s an original world, AdHoc doesn’t rely on recognizable characters to carry the emotional load. They built everything themselves: the lore, the tone, the office dynamics, the washed-out heroes, the ex-villains trying to rebuild their lives, the broken bureaucracy designed to “support” them. The result is a story that feels fully owned, not borrowed. Robert is a surprisingly strong protagonist. He’s not a chosen one or a world-saving legend. He’s a guy who had power, lost it, and is now dealing with the very relatable question: “What am I supposed to be without the thing that defined me?” His coworkers range from hilarious to tragic — burnout specialists, hopeful rookie dispatchers, and former supervillains now working customer support. It’s a workplace comedy wrapped in a redemption arc, all set against a commentary on hero culture.
Gameplay is what you expect from the genre, but refined. You choose dialogue, make moral calls, balance emergencies, and occasionally send heroes into danger based on limited information. The new “dispatch grid” system, where crises appear simultaneously and you must decide which calls get priority, adds a strategic element missing from classic Telltale titles. It isn’t difficult in a traditional sense, but the pressure of having to choose between equally awful situations adds emotional weight. Some episodes end with you genuinely wondering if you made the right call — not because of arbitrary punishment, but because the writing sells the consequences. What really elevates Dispatch is its willingness to slow down. Some of the best scenes aren’t catastrophic emergencies but quiet character beats: Robert talking to a defeated hero about self-worth, or two coworkers bonding over their shared sense of inadequacy, or a tense exchange about whether the system they serve is actually helping the world. The game trusts players enough to let the emotional moments breathe.
The production quality is also a significant improvement over Telltale’s old tech. Built on Unreal Engine 4, Dispatch has smoother animation, expressive faces, and more cinematic staging. It’s still stylized — these games have never aimed for realism — but it finally feels like the visuals match the ambition of the storytelling. The voice acting is excellent across the board, with the cast nailing the balance between comedic dryness and genuine sincerity. There are several standout episodes, including one mid-season moral decision that immediately joins the pantheon of great narrative-game moments. Like all the best choices, it forces you to decide not between good and evil, but between two forms of responsibility. It’s the kind of moment that sticks long after the credits roll. By the time the finale lands, Dispatch becomes a story not about saving the world but about showing up for people — the ones who fell, the ones who rose, and the ones who never got the chance to do either. It’s about the emotional labor behind heroism, the invisible work behind big moments, and the messy, personal cost of trying to be “good” in a broken system.
In a gaming landscape overloaded with giant open worlds, sequels, remakes, and service titles begging for endless attention, Dispatch feels refreshing simply for being what it is: a tightly written, character-driven, heartfelt narrative game that respects the player’s time and intelligence. It’s a reminder that the point-and-click genre still has life — and still has something to say. Dispatch isn’t just a comeback for the style of game Telltale pioneered. It’s the moment the formula finally evolved.
Score: 10 out of 10
Reviewed on PlayStation 5