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Take everything you thought you know about Hideo Kojima, and what you were imagining his next bizarre concoction might be. Have you got that together, as a mental picture?

Good. Now mentally rip it up, set fire to it, and throw it into the ocean.

Have you done that? Great. Now what you’re going to need next is a large quantity of industrial strength psychotropic drugs, a lot of dead crabs, a disappearing baby, and a beach that looks as though BP has suffered another oil rig disaster. Oh. And Norman Reedus. Have you got all of those things?


Well done, but we’re pretty sure Death Stranding is probably still infinitely weirder than anything your feeble, mortal imagination could concoct. It’s like David Lynch and Guillermo del Toro had a baby – an umbilically connected, vanishing ghost baby, obviously – and raised it entirely on a diet of H R Giger artwork.

Death Stranding is just… I don’t know. I don’t have the words for it.

Norman Reedus shrugs

Exactly, Norman. No sodding idea whatsoever at this point.

Congratulations, Kojima! You’ve clearly excelled yourself, if Death Stranding is excelling at… whatever the hell it was you were actually shooting for, but I think I’m out. Between this and Quiet, I don’t think I actually want to play Kojima games anymore.

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