I love this game.
No, really love this game.
Love it enough that I immediately went, “Yes, hello, I’ll take all the DLCs, please,” without even pretending to be financially responsible.

Upload Labs is a game about waiting.
But not boring waiting. More like “I am actively watching numbers go up and feeling extremely smart about it” waiting.

Think Cookie Clicker, except instead of cookies, you’re dealing with something far more sinister: data. And somewhere deep beneath the hood of this game, I’m fairly certain there are cookies involved too—not the chocolate-chip kind, but the browser kind. The bitter kind. The kind that politely ask for consent while already knowing the answer. (Yes, you can blame the EU for that, but let’s not derail this review into international tech policy.)

Thankfully, Upload Labs does not simulate cookie pop-ups. If it did, the game would instantly become a horror title.

Instead of clicking cookies, you wire things together. Processors, networks, nodes, mysterious boxes that say “throughput” and make you nod knowingly. It’s very Factorio-adjacent in spirit: cascading systems, optimization puzzles, and the eternal struggle against bottlenecks.

Your network might be blazing fast.
Your pipeline might be elegant.
But one underpowered processor—one absolute potato—will bring your entire operation to its knees.

Just like real life.

There are multiple systems to juggle. You’ve got your standard uploads and downloads. You’ve got “coding” (and I put that in quotes because, no, you are not writing C#, Python, or your favorite cursed scripting language—you’re just connecting wires like a highly caffeinated IT gremlin). And then there are… other mechanics.

Let’s call them “morally flexible optimizations.”
The sort of things that, if attempted in real life, would cause the judicial system to raise an eyebrow, clear its throat, and say, “Sir, please step away from the keyboard.”

But hey—that’s what games are for, right?

And here’s the real fantasy element of Upload Labs—
You can do all of this without submitting a change request.
No ticket.
No CAB meeting.
No “can you justify this in a business impact document?”
No mysterious approver who’s been “out of office” since 2019.

You just… do the thing.

If you know what that means, I’m sorry.
You’ve seen things.

As for the DLCs: they’re mostly quality-of-life improvements. The base game is absolutely playable without them. Totally fine. Completely functional.
But if you decide to treat Upload Labs like a second job—you know, the fun kind where you voluntarily optimize imaginary infrastructure for hours—then the DLCs make life noticeably more pleasant.

I bought them all.
I regret nothing.

Is Upload Labs a “Game of the Year” contender? Probably not.
Is it the kind of game that makes trailers explode with cinematic drama? Also no.

But if you’re a techie who enjoys calmly perfecting a digital data-processing empire—without lifting heavy objects, attending meetings, or being asked to “just quickly look at this one thing”—then congratulations.

Your dream job exists.
It has no approval workflow.
And it runs at a very satisfying throughput.

I love this game. No, really love this game. Love it enough that I immediately went, “Yes, hello, I’ll take all the DLCs, please,” without even pretending to be financially responsible. Upload Labs is a game about waiting. But not boring waiting. More like “I am actively watching numbers go up and feeling extremely smart about it” waiting. Think Cookie Clicker, except instead of cookies, you’re dealing with something far more sinister: data. And somewhere deep beneath the hood of this game, I’m fairly certain there are cookies involved too—not the chocolate-chip kind, but the browser kind. The bitter kind. The kind that politely ask for consent while already knowing the answer. (Yes, you can blame the EU for that, but let’s not derail this review into international tech policy.) Thankfully, Upload Labs does not simulate cookie pop-ups. If it did, the game would instantly become a horror title. Instead of clicking cookies, you wire things together. Processors, networks, nodes, mysterious boxes that say “throughput” and make you nod knowingly. It’s very Factorio-adjacent in spirit: cascading systems, optimization puzzles, and the eternal struggle against bottlenecks. Your network might be blazing fast. Your pipeline might be elegant. But one underpowered processor—one absolute potato—will bring your entire operation to its knees. Just like real life. There are multiple systems to juggle. You’ve got your standard uploads and downloads. You’ve got “coding” (and I put that in quotes because, no, you are not writing C#, Python, or your favorite cursed scripting language—you’re just connecting wires like a highly caffeinated IT gremlin). And then there are… other mechanics. Let’s call them “morally flexible optimizations.” The sort of things that, if attempted in real life, would cause the judicial system to raise an eyebrow, clear its throat, and say, “Sir, please step away from the keyboard.” But hey—that’s what games are for, right? And here’s the real fantasy element of Upload Labs— You can do all of this without submitting a change request. No ticket. No CAB meeting. No “can you justify this in a business impact document?” No mysterious approver who’s been “out of office” since 2019. You just… do the thing. If you know what that means, I’m sorry. You’ve seen things. As for the DLCs: they’re mostly quality-of-life improvements. The base game is absolutely playable without them. Totally fine. Completely functional. But if you decide to treat Upload Labs like a second job—you know, the fun kind where you voluntarily optimize imaginary infrastructure for hours—then the DLCs make life noticeably more pleasant. I bought them all. I regret nothing. Is Upload Labs a “Game of the Year” contender? Probably not. Is it the kind of game that makes trailers explode with cinematic drama? Also no. But if you’re a techie who enjoys calmly perfecting a digital data-processing empire—without lifting heavy objects, attending meetings, or being asked to “just quickly look at this one thing”—then congratulations. Your dream job exists. It has no approval workflow. And it runs at a very satisfying throughput.