The Utsuro Hotel

The Utsuro Hotel is a retro first-person horror roguelite set in a hotel that refuses to explain itself. Twelve doors. Twelve floors. The building decides which is which.
Choose a door. You find out where you are once you are standing in it and the lock has turned behind you.
Reach the roof to evade the flood.
This is the prelude. It ends on the roof.

The stairwell is the only safe place in the hotel, and it is also where every bad decision gets made. The first time you open a door, it binds to a floor for the rest of the run. There is a plaque somewhere on the other side, or a room number, or signage that has seen better decades. By the time you read it, the lock has already turned.
The roof is not behind any of the doors. Not at first.

Every run builds a new hotel. Inside a run, nothing moves. Corridors stay where you left them. The key stays where you found it. A building that cheats is a building you cannot learn.
So learn it. Your map fills itself in as you walk. Write on the stairwell door plaques so future you knows what past you walked into.
Then die, and watch all of it regenerate into a building you have never seen. Unless you are carrying one more try.

Things roam these halls. Each one keeps its own rules, and none of them will tell you what those rules are. You learn them the way everyone before you did.
Some of them come for you. Some of them only want to be seen. There are places to wait them out, if you find them in time.
You cannot fight anything in this hotel. You can only be somewhere else.

The stairwell deceives you about the building's vertical order. The elevator does not. Get the power back on and it will take you up. It is the fastest way to the roof.
Then it breaks down. Every ride, no exceptions. Fix it on arrival or take the stairs and let the building pick again. It will not tell you where it is stopping, and it will not let you choose.

Behind one door, something is waiting. They do not step into the hall. They do not follow you. They sell what the floors hide: keys, fuses, and a coin that buys you one more try. They buy whatever you are done carrying.
They only take coins, and coins only come off the things hunting you. When, and how, is yours to figure out. They do not stay on the carpet for long.
Sell a key you are sure you are finished with. Find out whether you were.

The hotel does not explain itself. It leaves things behind instead: signage, room numbers, and survival graffiti from whoever was here before you.
Some of it is out of date. Some of it is wrong. Some of it will save you.
The basement is where every stay begins, and it is the only floor that teaches you anything. Pay attention. The rest of the building will not repeat itself.

Twelve doors, twelve floors: bound on first contact, revealed only after the lock turns behind you.

A new hotel every run: reach the roof, then go back in and beat your time.

Knowledge is the only progression: no upgrade tree, no stat growth. You get better because you know more.

No combat: nothing here can be fought. Only understood, or avoided.

An elevator that breaks down every single ride: the honest route up, and the expensive one.

A merchant who deals in keys and second chances, paid in coins you pull from the things chasing you.

Floor-stamped keys that turn your own inventory into the scariest object in the game when something is coming down the hall.

Simple controls on every device: thumb, stick, or keys. You are never fighting the controls. Only the building.

Retro first-person horror: flat light, hard shadows, heavy grain, and hallways that repeat on purpose.

Play with headphones. Sound is the only map you get for free.
The hotel is empty. The hotel is full. The hotel is waiting.