Over my years of playing, I've only really been enamored with three: Half-Life 2, Titanfall 2, and DOOM (2016). Half-Life 2 was my first ever experience with an FPS campaign--I can still remember my mind being blown by it in 2015. Among all the things that the game does really well, one thing really stood out to me: the goddamn shotgun. Something about using it was just so satisfying. I was constantly running out of ammo for it and had to scrounge around for the refills scattered throughout the levels--I think that's a mark of true love for a weapon. I was going to write something more profound here but it truly is the thing I remember most about HL-2.
Continuing this trend, I loved the fully-automatic shotgun in Titanfall 2. In video games where swords aren't an option, I find I tend to gravitate towards shotguns the most. I found a special version of one early on that, mercifully, had an expanded ammo capacity. With that, I basically had one free weapon slot (of two) the entire game, and I religiously avoided swapping out the shotgun lest I lose it forever. It was at my side as I slid and wallran through every level--movement in that game was paramount. So much so that despite my enjoyment of Mirror's Edge, I spent my entire playthrough wishing I was moving like I could in Titanfall 2. No other AAA game has come remotely close to topping TF|2's movement, and maybe I'd like AAA FPS games more if EA didn't fuck up and it got the success it deserved. Anyways.
DOOM (2016) was a game I had to give a second chance. The first time I played it I thought 'haha funny rip and tear game' and put it down after about an hour. About a year and a half later, I was really starved for games to play and decided that I was going to make it all the way through this time. I liked it a lot more than I was expecting to--once again largely in part to kickass shotgun(s). However--If I say I didn't play it solely for the music I'd be lying. I don't even want to think about playing that game on mute. Mick Gordon's hyperviolent soundtrack ensures that there's never a dull moment throughout the campaign.
From these three examples, we can clearly see what I value in FPS games: satisfying weapons, heart-pumping music, and slick movement. These three things create a sense of style and truly elevate the overall experience of a game. If the title of the post didn't tip you off, you may be beginning to suspect a game that I believe does all three wonderfully.
Enter ULTRAKILL. The game where you can punch your own shotgun pellets to make them go faster and explode on impact. The game where you can bounce a railcannon shot between three coins you tossed in the air to eviscerate a single enemy. The game where you can bounce enemy lasers off said coins. This shit is a science. If you have a question about what you can do with weapons in this game, the answer is almost always yes. Eventually you reach critical mass of "wouldn't it be funny if" and transcend to a higher plane of stylish existence.
Despite your relative fragility, getting back into the fray after taking a hit is surprisingly simple: steal blood from enemies. The game tells you that THIS IS THE ONLY WAY TO HEAL at the very beginning. The concept is simple, but in practice it can be quite complicated. You have to be very close to an enemy as they take damage to heal--this may involve hedging bets against oblivion as you dance through a horde of enemies with less than a quarter of your health. Similarly to Bloodborne, you are rewarded for taking risks and playing aggressively. Even defensive play is aggro. Fully invincible dashes can be used to close the gap and parrying a projectile will both explosively send it hurtling back and completely refill your health. It's a wonderful balance of risk and reward--deflecting a projectile that would've killed you and then suddenly being back in the fight is a feeling like no other.
To nobody's surprise, I really enjoy the way the lore is presented in this game; it takes a Soulsian approach of having most of it out of the way of the gameplay. The vast majority of written text in the game is contained in a little yellow arcade machine that plays a jolly 1930s song while active--it appears at the start of every level after completing the first. While interacting with the terminal, V1 actually taps the screen in-game (which is suprisingly entertaining). Through this, you can unlock new weapon variants and reorder your loadout. You can also read tips about dealing with enemies you've previously encountered. These enemy descriptions are where the lore lies, masterfully woven into actually helpful advice.
The terminal goes into detail on how each enemy came to be; the three main types are husks, demons, and machines. Husks are what the souls of the damned become, varying in size and strength based on the value of the soul they originated from. Demons are creatures formed of hell mass, mixing flesh and stone to take grotesque forms. Machines are blood-fueled, man-made creations that have either been sent to Hell on a mission or went there willingly. The most important thing about them is that they all bleed.
Sometime before the events of the game, a massive war broke out that resulted in the need for stronger weapons--what better weapon of war than a robot that siphons power from the carcasses of defeated enemies? This war ended after a New Peace was established, but the robots still remained. The next model of the V series (our rival!) was developed after this, presumably as a 'speak softly and carry a big stick' sort of thing. The story heavily implies that humanity's downfall was caused by machines seeking out the very thing that powered them until their wellspring of billions ran dry. Left with no earthly power source, they delved into Hell where a nigh-infinite supply of blood lie waiting.
The nine words printed in blood red at the start of the game tell you everything you need to know: MANKIND IS DEAD. BLOOD IS FUEL. HELL IS FULL. You play as V1, rapidly approaching Hell through the shafts of an abandoned mining facility, tearing through all the husks and demons that stand in its way.
Having actually read Dante's Inferno for this review,