With the Phantom Pain, Kojima avoids the kind of spectacular descent into villainy that the fans wanted and the trailers promised. Instead he gives us the Sopranos season 6 of Metal Gear (but instead of a depressed mobster, we play as a depressed war criminal). Maybe that sounds like one of those hack game journalist "the dark souls of x" comparisons but it's true. The best case scenario for all of our favorite characters at this point is a swift death.

Spoilers below.

After losing everything in 9/11 Ground Zeroes, having his mind and body shattered, Snake just... gets what's left of the gang back together, rebuilds his army, and tries the exact same shit again. Only now, it is completely devoid of purpose; The revolutionary anti-imperialist cause of the 70's is all but forgotten. There's a sinking feeling of dread as the camera pans to "our new Mother Base" in the helicopter after rescuing Kaz; an undeniable sense of this being a pointless, doomed effort. But since being a soldier is the only thing these people know how to do, they are stuck repeating the cycle. They're just going through the motions at this point; You really get a sense of that as the once charismatic and driven Big Boss is rendered a mute with a permanent thousand-yard stare who just does whatever Kaz and Ocelot tell him. When he's at the base between these missions he just stares at nothing and vapes for five hours straight. Far from the badass antihero that people expected from trailers. Venom Snake is actually kind of a directionless loser, which makes him just as good of a player stand-in as Raiden.

And the missions in this game, while incredibly fun and well-made, really beg the age-old American question "What are we even doing in Afghanistan?". The plot feels totally incomprehensible at times; you spend the whole game going after random acronym organizations, shell companies, and mercenary groups with some vague connection to Bin Laden Skullface and al-Qaeda the American deep-state/Cipher. But every single character is lying and basically, everyone is Cipher. I had to repeat mission briefings multiple times at certain points to figure out what the hell was going on, and I still really don't. You could say that's just bad writing, but it works for what the game is trying to do, which is to make you feel like someone with a severe head injury. You're not supposed to understand this convoluted imperial entanglement - no one can. Especially not someone as fucked up as Snake.

And like Snake, the returning characters from Peace Walker are reduced to these broken versions of themselves. The only person who seems to be doing well is Ocelot, who has really come into his own as the sort dead-eyed psychopath that thrives in this kind of environment. Honestly? Good for him. Kaz on the other hand is a crippled, traumatized husk driven by revenge which is in turn driven by his own guilty conscience, and Huey has become a delusional, pathological liar focused solely on self-preservation. The few unnamed soldiers who survived 9/11 Ground Zeroes are literally running around as raving lunatics in the wilderness. All of these people were supposed to die a decade ago, and instead they linger on as hollow men. Even the metal gear Snake fights is broken - it literally doesn't work without someone's magical powers. It's just this technological abomination created by a madman. When it tries to chase Snake it gets stuck in rocks because its sheer size is self-defeating, and Snake easily sneaks away. Probably the most obvious meta joke in the game (watch the last couple minutes of the launch trailer and tell me the game isn't making fun of itself). These Metal Gear (Solid)s aren't what they used to be. I mean come on, Metal Gear Rex roared like a T-Rex; Metal Gear Sahelanthropus... makes monkey noises.

Even Skullface, who was built up in trailers and in Ground Zeroes as this terrifying villain, turns out to be just a sad joke like everyone else. His plan is the most nonsensical, harebrained shit ever explained by a villain in any Metal Gear game. He spent a decade practicing a 10 minute theatrical monologue about why he has to eradicate the English language and give everybody nuclear weapons to unite the world. It makes absolutely no sense, it's a parody of Metal Gear villains, which were already parodies of 80's movie villains. While Skullface is performing his monologue in the jeep (to the wrong person), Venom just hits him with that fluoride stare and loops through a 20 second idle animation. Then Sins of the Father just... starts playing as they sit across from each other in complete silence and avoid eye contact. It's one of the funniest scenes in the entire series, mistaken by many fans as simply botched and awkward on accident (rather than on purpose, which it was). And if that wasn't obvious enough, Skullface's defeat is just straight up slapstick comedy; he gets crushed by his own non-functional Metal Gear in the middle of another absurd speech. Genuine comedy gold.

I think a lot of people overlook the humor in this game. It's a lot more muted and sad than in the rest of the series, but it's smarter here than in any other entry. Miller's "why are we still here" speech is MEANT TO BE FUNNY AND OVERLY MELODRAMATIC, as well as depressing and hard to watch. The way it ends, with that uncomfortable silence before he just... awkwardly sits back down? That was on purpose. The tone is that this has all become a very pathetic (and funny) spectacle at this point. Kojima's famously asinine dialogue becomes something really transcendent here; each hollow, ham-fisted statement really drives home the fact that everyone is just making this shit up as they go along now, trying to weave some bullshit heroic narrative out of a long series of L's. Kojima is telling us: "This is you dude. This is the American Empire. Your War on Terror is as darkly funny as it is monstrous." MGSV isn't the self-serious death march the trailers painted it as.

The way V's cutscenes are shot adds to these moments too. The shaky, handheld camera builds documentarian realism and a sense of witnessing real atrocities in more high-stakes scenes, but can also lend a comedic awkwardness to these exchanges between characters. I've seen someone compare it to The Office as a criticism but I think that's a feature and not a bug, as strange as it sounds. Somehow, it just works so well for the tonal balancing act this game maintains. But what really elevates V's cinematography thematically is its use of continuous shots. One-takes are often criticized as being essentially a gimmick, style over substance. But in Metal Gear Solid, a series defined by the juxtaposition between hard military realism and over the top fantasy? It's pure genius. Having all of this insane Kojima bullshit captured in documentary style is so fitting for this series. Perfectly hyperreal.

Speaking of hyperreal, let's talk about Quiet. I've thought a lot about whether her portrayal plays into Kojima's contempt for the audience (and the Metal Gear series itself for that matter) or if it's just a part of the game that didn't land. I was inspired by this article to conclude the former. In classic Metal Gear fashion, Quiet's characterization is ridiculous and offensive, but ends up transcending its low-brow trappings and having an emotional payoff - all while playing into a greater meta-narrative. And if you don't like that method of storytelling, then you sure picked the wrong media franchise. That scene of her speaking for the first time to guide the helicopter through the sandstorm is genuinely great. It perfectly encapsulates Kojima's ability to make something ridiculous, cheesy, and melodramatic - but still deeply affecting and with a lot of heart.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves; Quiet is absolutely a biting self-parody of Kojima's own portrayal of women throughout his series and in the wider industry. It's Kojima saying "Is this what you like, you sick fucks?" or possibly a case of introspection on his part ("Oh God, is this what I like?"). She has some hastily made up bullshit explaining why she wears no clothes, she is literally incapable of speaking for herself, and she undergoes gratuitous violence and imprisonment. Kojima obviously knows how ridiculous this is; he's seen basically every American movie, he knows this isn't how you're supposed to respectfully portray women. No, Quiet's portrayal is purposefully exploitative. Her objectification starts out fairly straightforward, but it becomes more and more disturbing for the player to partake in as the game goes on, in order to heighten the dark absurdity of all of this (particularly in Chapter 2, which is where everything in the game falls apart, on purpose). The point of Quiet's character, and the whole game really, is to give players exactly what they want in the most contemptuous way possible. To make you "feel ashamed of your words and deeds", you could even say. MGSV is about getting exactly what you want (another MGS game, endless content, revenge on Skullface, a sniper gf) and resenting it.

To build on MGSV's portrayal of women though, I think it's important that Paz takes on the role that she does in this game. She makes an initially very confusing reappearance - that first moment when you see her is genuinely unnerving, as if even the strange, fucked up Metal Gear reality we have become accustomed to can't explain what we're seeing. Out of all the unrealistic fantasy bullshit we've seen in this series, a series where it feels like anything goes and there are no rules or laws of physics, this is the first moment where I went "Wait, what? How?" But as we find at the end of "Paz's" side story, this is all just a projection of Snake's fragmented psyche. It's incredible in the way it makes you question what's real and what isn't, while simultaneously using Paz as a proxy to just straight up diagnose Snake's own mental disorders. But it's tucked away where most probably never saw it - like a hidden repressed memory somewhere in Snake's mind.

It perfectly conveys his nostalgia for a time that was never even good, as well as his crushing guilt and helplessness over the death of Paz. It's genuinely moving. That last tape of hers is something right out of Silent Hill 2, and it adds such depth to Snake as this miserable person that you should absolutely not want to be. For Snake, women really are just these fixtures of loss, shame, and regret - feelings that no doubt originate from the killing of his mother figure, The Boss. And despite all of the talk about getting revenge and taking down Cipher, the only time we ever see Snake get animated in this game is in his scenes with Paz. Snake's desire for redemption, his insistence on nuclear disarmament that feels strangely out of place, and his statement at the start of the game that he's "already a demon"? It's all about Paz, man.

One thing fans really disliked about Snake's portrayal though is that he never really seems to become the demon we knew him as in the early games. We never get to see The Exact Moment Walt Became Heisenberg. Quite the opposite; his intentions appear to remain heroic all the way to the end. The only scene where Snake approaches the kind of evil fans wanted to see is when Snake appears to murder the children in the mines but ends up saving them instead. In trailers this was depicted as if Snake actually goes through with the murder; to me, this is the smoking gun of another Kojima bait-and-switch. Fans wanted a game full of shocking, flashy acts of villainy on the part of Snake, and Kojima deliberately lead them on in trailers (just like in MGS2) but denied them of it in the final game. What did fans get instead? Spreadsheets.

Don't miss the forest for the trees; Snake is absolutely responsible for unimaginable atrocities during the events of MGSV. But instead of sensationalist images of man's inhumanity to man, Kojima shows us the banal cruelty of what it really means to be at the top of the war machine: You're just... on the computer, like everyone else. And everything you're doing is represented through so many layers of abstraction that it is impossible to understand the consequences. This ties directly into the themes of Metal Gear Solid 2 as well; by issuing your orders via this computer interface, you are even further removed from what is happening in reality. You just do a cursory cost-benefit analysis before sending the next death squad to do god knows what in some African or South American country you don't even know the name of.

And when a disease outbreak hits Mother Base, Snake's iDroid computer makes it easy for him to commit ethnic cleansing, sentencing scores of people to imprisonment and death for the language they speak. It isn't until all of the digital artifice is stripped away, and Venom is forced to enter the quarantine zone and personally slaughter his own men, that he has any crisis of conscience (and you actually lose some of your best men, because Kojima never fails to give the story actual weight via game mechanics). And you can say "Venom didn't want to do it, he had no choice." But that's exactly the point. If the Metal Gear Solid series is about one thing, it's about individual will being crushed under the weight of systems and institutions that have become organisms in and of themselves.

It doesn't matter how much Venom yearns for redemption. It doesn't even matter if he's in charge of Diamond Dogs. The system of global private warfare that Big Boss and friends established has taken on a life of its own, just like the Patriots of MGS2. His own intentions are irrelevant. If this system demands he kill his own men, he will do it. If this system demands that Raiden later kill Solidus, he too will do it. All actions within the system, regardless of intent, perpetuate the cycle of violence, war, and profit. Even if Venom disarms all of the nukes and brings about the Peace Day that never came for Paz, it just sets up the nuke free world that we hear about Big Boss exploiting in the intro to Metal Gear 2.

That's why everything in MGSV takes on such a hilariously pathetic flavor. Nobody, not Big Boss, not Zero, not Skullface, not Venom, has any agency in any of this. They're just flailing, looking for anything they can do to enact their will in a system that now imprisons its own creators. The only person who manages to achieve victory over the system by the (chronological) end of the series is, once again, Revolver Ocelot. And he only does so by shedding all individuality, tearing his mind into a thousand schizophrenic pieces to always be one step ahead of the algorithm. And it's all because he wants to fuck Big Boss. In the end love wins, and I think that's beautiful. But for everyone else, they are doomed to perpetuate the system they so desperately want to be free of.

And to what end? The truth is that there is no point to this system beyond its own self-perpetuation - it's a Snake eating its own tail (pretty good, huh?). The soldiers of Diamond Dogs, and every other PMC, kill so that they can keep killing. It's all for the love of the game at this point. Sure, they did the same thing back in Peace Walker, but at least back then it felt like you were blazing a new trail, sending a ragtag band of freedom fighters to oppose imperialism - that's long gone now. Any lofty goals this organization may have had are now lying somewhere at the bottom of the Caribbean. All of the bullshit Snake and Kaz spout about "fighting for the future" and "standing tall on missing legs" are just words to talk the gun out of their own mouths, to convince themselves that they are still moving toward something.

But they aren't. In the end, after killing Skullface (which was made purposefully unsatisfying according to Kojima) as revenge for the events that destroyed his life a decade ago, Snake is left to rot in a hell of his own creation. There are no holiday celebrations or fun outings like on the Mother Base of Peace Walker, and it's far lonelier; Quiet is gone, Huey is gone, Paz is long dead but still haunts him, and some of his best men are dead by his own hand. His only friends, Kaz and Ocelot, are just using him in some schizo game of global 4D chess. Even Eli and the child soldiers are just suddenly gone, and your metal gear with them - much more simple and poignant than the infamously cut Episode 51 would have been.

The effort to rehabilitate these kids, and maybe figure out Eli's origins? Track him down after his escape? Nope, you never see them again; they're just another of Diamond Dogs' many failures, another part of yourself that will be missing forever. All you can do is take the same helicopter ride to do the same (flawlessly crafted) stealth infiltration missions again and again and again, because senseless murder is the only thing that makes you feel anything anymore. And with the battlefield always shifting to adapt to your tactics in-game, you'll never make any real progress. Oh yeah, and none of this is actually real and Snake's entire life is fake. And deep down, he knows it.

So what about the real Big Boss? Well, he's basically stuck in the same cycle, only he has shed even more of his humanity than Venom. By using Venom's life as a tool in his own geopolitical game, Big Boss has committed the very same crime that was done to him and The Boss back in Operation Snake Eater. And all you can do about it is watch him ride off into the sunset to pursue yet another stupid evil scheme (that we already know will be a total failure), before getting right back to work like the epic gamer you are. Because you the player, like Venom, love LARPing as Big Boss no matter how pointless and repetitive it becomes. You'll complain about how Chapter 2 is "unfinished" and repeats the same missions from Chapter 1 (those were optional just fyi), but guess what? You're still gonna play those missions.

The Phantom Pain left players with such a profound feeling of emptiness and loss, and that's the real reason they felt it was unfinished. It's not because of any actual missing content - MGS2 had far more cut content, backed up by documented evidence, not just internet memes. But the difference with that game was that there was no falling out between Kojima and Konami - a convenient scapegoat for any aspect of the game that wasn't what fans expected, anything that hit players the wrong way. But that gnawing void you feel playing this game, the feeling that something is missing? That was intended, and it's honestly pretty heavy-handed and obvious when you approach the game on its own terms. I mean do I even need to say it? The pain from something that's missing? It's barely subtext.

Kojima purposefully denied us almost all of the campy, goofy nonsense we love about the Metal Gear Solid series to force us to confront how fake and hollow the legend of "the world's greatest soldier" really is. The level to which this game irrevocably shattered the minds of Metal Gear fans, leaving them eternally chasing their White Whale (the Moby Dick references weren't for nothing), is a testament to how the whole experiment was a resounding success. It snuck past gamers' emotional defenses, subverted their media illiteracy, and made them actually fucking feel something for once. Something real, something about their actual lives even.

There's a reason the game ends on a mirror - it's because the game is trying to hold one up to its players. And they could never forgive it for that. For turning their shallow, campy video game funtime, where I get to be a cool secret agent and Solid Snake is my dad, into a challenging work of art that interrogates their life. Because it's true: you are Venom Snake. You're a slave to the whims of others, your own desire for satisfaction. You do not know why you do the things that you do. And everything you're doing here - in this video game, in the digital realm - is ultimately fruitless. Fans complain about how there's no real resolution or ending to the story in MGSV, but it seems to me like that's the point: There is no resolution to be found here - not for Snake, and not for you. None of this is moving toward any conclusion or moment of truth. If you spend your life playing video games, you certainly won't ever see one. Like Venom, you'll never understand yourself, never have a real identity. The only way out, to freedom, is to stop fighting - to stop gaming. You can't save MSF, or Paz, or the Boss, or even Snake - you can only save yourself. Get out while you can. In the words of Naomi at the end of MGS1: "You have to live, Snake."

And that's the way this story ends. No Mission 51 "Kingdom of the Flies", no unwinnable boss fight against Solid Snake like fans wanted. Not even a sudden cut to black à la the Sopranos. Just the same meaningless thing over and over again, but somehow getting worse, until it's just... over. Not with a bang, but a whimper. If Metal Gear Solid 4 was about accepting the death of something that has clung on to life far longer than it should (the Metal Gear Solid series), MGSV is about being denied that noble death, brought back to life in some profane necromantic ritual, forced to live a tortured, half existence for all of eternity.

MGSV is best summed up as Kojima's way of saying "You guys wanted to keep playing Metal Gear Solid forever? Fine, here you go. Enjoy yourselves." He knows that he'll never be able to give this series a conclusive ending - he already tried that with MGS4. Instead, Kojima hands it off to the player, letting each of us come to it on our own, privately. One day, each player will get tired of the same missions and the same fucking helicopter ride and quietly decide for themselves, once and for all "Alright... I guess Metal Gear Solid is over. I'm done." and turn the game console off.

As unmatched as Silent Hill 2's atmosphere is at times, with its incredible music and uncanny FMV cutscenes, I really dislike how it tackles the things it's "about". There are no real mysteries to the human unconscious here; it's all been categorized into clearly identifiable 'Themes' and 'Symbolism' based on a skim through the Wikipedia article for Sigmund Freud. There really isn't much room for interpretation or disagreement on what it all means.

The monsters represent James's repressed views toward his sick wife. The nurses represent James's sexual frustrations while visiting his wife at the hospital. Laura represents innocence and redemption. Maria represents an idealized version of his wife that he fails to hold on to. Pyramid Head represents James's endless self-flagellation. The appearance of the empty, decaying town of Silent Hill represents James's empty, decaying life. And I'm not a fan of media that can be boiled down to "this represents this", "x symbolizes y" so cleanly. It's so... sterile - like going through some kind of intro course for being able to identify themes and symbolism in art.

It's fitting then that the literal exploration of James's unconscious is similarly trivial. The game will present you with an initially daunting and unsettling place: an abandoned hospital, a labyrinthine prison - and then, right at the entrance, it hands you a map. As you explore, James marks down doors, dead ends, and puzzles, systematically demystifying anything uncertain about this place, revealing the artifice of all of this. It's just a crude process of elimination; walking door to door, checking each one off of a list. This is the problem with video games as a medium for horror: The tendency is to represent everything as a concrete, understandable 'system' or 'game mechanic' that sabotages any sense of confronting the unknown. These dilapidated ruins we explore throughout the game sure have an air of uncertainty, but in terms of our actual interaction with them, they're just video game levels, like any other.

The architecture of these spaces isn't very creative either. If you ignore all of the horror set dressing, they're mostly just regular buildings. That's unfortunate, because video games as a medium, while not entirely suited to horror, are uniquely suited to experimentation with architecture; they're the one form of media that asks the audience to personally inhabit and navigate a space. And considering Silent Hill is all essentially a dream projection, the developers could have gone in a very surreal direction. But other than a small labyrinth and one section of the hotel, you'll rarely find yourself in truly hostile or confusing geometry - the only real hostility you face is from the monsters.

And when James encounters these personifications of his most shameful repressed thoughts, how does he deal with them? Gun. The joke answer to "How would you make a video game about trauma?" After all, what did you think this was? A nuanced psychological horror/drama, the sort that you would find in an actual artistic medium? This is a video game, dude. Your actual engagement with these complex issues can only be in the most braindead ways imaginable.

Maybe this would be forgivable if the combat had more complexity than the story - but it doesn't. James is supposed to be a wimpy civilian, but thanks to auto-aim he shoots like a trained sniper. Even this would be excusable, though, if it weren't for the essentially limitless ammunition scattered thoughtlessly throughout the map. These two aspects come together to make combat a formality. The only way to really fail is to allow enemies to close distance with you and do melee damage. Then again, health potions are plentiful (and can be used while the game is paused), making even this threat moot. You can try to address these issues by turning the difficulty up, but this just turns the monsters into bullet sponges. That may fix the overabundance of ammo, but it also heightens the core absurdity of this game; you'll find yourself standing there, mashing square to unload shell after shell into a video game monster that represents depression. As you do that, ask yourself: is this really the height of "interactive art" or whatever people claim this game is?

Maybe my attitude toward SH2 is unfair; I will admit that the devs continuing to answer questions and debunk fan theories online 20 years later gives me a less favorable outlook. It could be my fault for letting content outside of the game ruin it for me. But I don't think that's completely it. The game itself seems to eschew any subtlety in its message, and the developers openly explaining the game's meaning online seems like a continuation of that lack of subtlety. I honestly think even the Metal Gear Solid series has infinitely more layers of hidden thematic meaning than anything you'll find here.

One thing I will give the game credit for though is how it assigns you an ending based on the psychology of how you play. If you fight recklessly and always seem to be an inch from death, the game is more likely to end with James taking his own life - reflecting the player's apparent death drive. And examining the knife (Angela's would-be suicide weapon) too many times can also result in James's own suicide; a great representation of suicide as a social contagion. Even if James retains the will to live, getting too attached to Maria will result in an ending where he loses all grip on reality. To achieve true redemption for James, the player must keep him in good health, avoid contemplating suicide, and keep Maria at arm's length while respecting the memory of his wife. This is a genuinely innovative way to implement psychological storytelling in a video game and I haven't seen anything else like it. And most importantly, this process is entirely mystified to the player; you don't see a tally of "depression points" or a scale between Mary and Maria telling you which ending you're leaning towards as you play. Unless you read the wiki, the game's process of assigning you an ending is a complete mystery - as it should be.

It's a shame the rest of the mechanics are so by-the-numbers, because this game's stellar art design deserved equally creative game design. And while it may have been a milestone for video game storytelling in 2001 (but then again, was it really?), I honestly think the medium has done a lot better, before and since.

The true reveal of Metal Gear Solid 2 is not that we play as Raiden instead of Solid Snake - it's that the antagonist of the game does not exist. It's pulling back the curtain to find that the man behind it died a century ago. The most powerful nation on Earth is essentially an algorithm with a mind of its own, akin to a runaway train that everyone "in charge" pretends they are responsible for. There is no individual you get to blame. Not the politicians, not the CEOs of major corporations. Not even the current or former presidents of the United States have any idea of what's really going on. The algorithm will replace these people the second they stop being useful. In my opinion it's a much better conception of "the system" than what you see in most conspiracy fiction: a small, shadowy cabal of people pulling the strings from behind the scenes. The reality is that all of the powerful people we blame are just the ones who managed to latch on to the algorithm of capitalism and milk it for all they can. There is no grand design, nobody is in control, everyone responsible for setting this system into motion is long dead. Which is why Otacon says the Patriots "have been dead for 100 years".

Every choice you (and Raiden) make perpetuates this status quo, and every radical political cause (like Snake and Otacon's 'Philanthropy') is effortlessly co-opted by it. MGS2 conveys this idea in a way that only a video game could: By playing as Raiden, you are forced to directly confront the futility of any resistance. You can approach MGS2 in a million different ways with an expansive arsenal of tools, getting no kills or alerts and discovering every secret in the Big Shell, or do the exact opposite. But the end result is always the same: You kill Solidus, the only threat to the Patriots, after they explicitly tell you it's exactly what they want. If you opt out entirely and "turn the game console off" you're still doing something you were ordered to do. Even if you choose not to play, you lose to the Patriots. MGS2 places you in the position of the post-information age, digital subject: Imbued with detailed knowledge of every single way you are being oppressed and exploited, you still choose to follow orders. You are so overwhelmed by information, some true, some false, that is causes a kind of exasperated compliance.

This is simultaneously a commentary on the nature of video game stories as an immutable, pre-programmed series of events not as different from film narratives as we like to think; Any "choice" is always an illusion, whether it's in Metal Gear Solid or a Telltale game. Any game that sets out to fulfill the concept of "player freedom" in its story will always fail. Video games stories are (at their best) about interactivity, not choice. They let you play out a pre-ordained role and do some improvisation, not write the story. Kojima understands this, and it's why he borrows so much from film. It's also why the criticism that his games are too much like movies is kind of pointless; he's just recognizing the inherent similarities of the two mediums.

On a less meta level, this lack of free will in MGS2 underscores the reality that capitalism, American empire, the very norms and values of American society, whatever the antagonist of the game is - cannot be destroyed from within. It is a system that has achieved self-awareness. Any possible attempt to destroy it has already been anticipated with an infinite number of contingencies. Emma Emmerich gave her life to destroy the GW AI and it was just replaced with a backup. The battle has already been lost, and it was decided by a microscopic processor in a fraction of a second. Solidus (a perfect stand-in for the kind of right-wing populist we wouldn't see for awhile in 2001) was the only person in power trying to oppose the Patriots, but his fatal mistake was believing that the Patriots were essentially a deep state globalist cabal, rather than the nigh omnipresent force they really are (they aren't really a "they", but an "it"). Like Snake said, "the Patriots are a kind of ongoing fiction". But even the legendary Solid Snake, the archetypal hero who opposes the system with clear-eyed determination, is completely dumbfounded after the credits roll.

And that's because this enemy is simply beyond the abilities of one man, even if that man is a Snake. It can just create its own soldier to surpass Solid(us) Snake and even mass-produce them, and your actions throughout the game prove it. No tactical espionage action can defeat what is essentially an idea - one that has infiltrated the furthest depths of the human soul. The only hope lies on a society-wide level: An alternative has to be built by everyone from the ground up, through finding what is true and meaningful in life and passing it on to the next generation. Slowly, generation by generation, an alternative capable of opposing the great algorithm can be built. And it has to be one that people can have faith in, in a spiritual sense.

But the encroachment of the internet into our lives is making this less and less feasible. By replacing the traditional nuclear-armed metal gear with Arsenal Gear, an AI that controls the internet, Kojima is essentially framing the internet itself as a threat equal to or greater than that of nuclear weapons. It is an instrument of human separation much more powerful than the splitting of an atom. The quote at the beginning of Raiden's chapter tying computers and nuclear weapons together bolsters this interpretation.

The digital age has turned human life into a scrambled mess that is impossible to parse. We create entirely idiosyncratic, patchwork realities for ourselves by finding various "truths" through our own individual exploration of the internet and jury-rigging them together. We relate to each other less and less, and mental illness is widespread. This overload of information makes us increasingly neurotic, isolated, and unable to determine truth from fiction. The collective human mind is being broken (or at least pounded into a new shape) against the collective neuroses of the internet, and nobody knows what to do about it. We're all alone right now, each of us left with the isolating task of finding our own truth amidst the cacophony. Even the algorithm fears for our future, yet it's still the only entity with a solution: Censorship. Make the noise stop. Honestly, has anyone thought of a better idea?

Content warning for discussions of misogyny, child abuse, reproductive rights, and sexual and physical assault.

Silent Hill 2 deconstructed Silent Hill. Silent Hill 3 deconstructs Silent Hill 2.

The entire ethos of Silent Hill 2 uses Silent Hill as a place of punishment. Rather than being a town filled with monsters brought forth by a cult as it was in the first game, the Silent Hill of Silent Hill 2 is a functional purgatory. It is a place where the guilty must face constructs born of their own sins, taking shape specifically to torment those who have done wrong; children are unaffected, those who can work through their guilt may survive, and those who cannot (or will not) overcome it are punished further with death.

The town in Silent Hill 3 exclusively hurts the innocent.

Heather has done nothing wrong. The worst she’s done is take up smoking, and she’s dropped the habit long before the events of game kick off. She keeps to herself, she doesn’t seem to have any vices, she isn’t promiscuous — which itself is not a bad thing to be, but it’s common knowledge that the horror genre generally doesn’t look too fondly on the libertine — and it’s hard to find something that anyone could fault her for. Why, then, has this world dictated that she must suffer?

Because Heather is a woman.

Technically speaking, she’s only a girl. She’s still just 17. But the horrific acts that men have historically committed against women — stalking, abuse, physical and sexual violence — don’t have a minimum age. A poll conducted in 2018 found that 81% of all female respondents had faced sexual harassment; roughly 27% of those women said that their first time being sexually harassed was between the ages of 13 and 17. 16% said they were as young as 11 to 13 years old. None of these cases happened because they were deserved. There was no justification. There will never be one, because there cannot be one.

But they were women, and for those who are willing to commit these acts, that’s enough of a reason.

I am not myself a woman, nor have I ever identified as one. I’m hesitant to explain my feelings towards this game and the world that it reflects back against ours, because I think it’s easy to come across as a capital-M, capital-A Male Ally who props my voice above those who don’t share the luxury of having a platform like my own. There's a line that must be walked between a point of demonstrating how awful the lived experience of many women is for those who are ignorant, and a point of spouting data and surveys as though these experiences can or should be boiled down to numbers rather than the people behind them. I am an outsider looking in; none of this has happened to me. I don’t face the ever-present threats of patriarchal society in the same way that women do. I’ve never been afraid to walk home by myself. I’ve never had to think my way down a list of what might happen if I reject a guy’s advances. I’ve never been concerned that my government could strip me of my bodily autonomy.

These are not aspects of my reality, but it is the reality of many.

Silent Hill 3 is not a subtle game, nor should it be. Our introduction to Douglas has him silently following behind our protagonist, chasing her into the bathroom and forcing her to escape through an open window; many of the monsters evoke phallic, fetal, or imposing masculine symbols through their appearances; Heather carries a pocket knife for protection on her person long before she becomes aware of the Otherworld. The character of Stanley Coleman is a stalker obsessed with Heather, skulking around to follow her through the hospital and leaving notes to confess his unrequited love for her; always boiling beneath his adoration and fixation is the unspoken threat that he will hurt Heather and/or the people around her if she isn't willing to reciprocate his feelings.

Perhaps most blatant (and thus what guides people into believing that this is the only theme of the game) is the unwanted pregnancy parallel. Heather has been selected against her will to be the one who will give birth to God, constantly being told that she doesn't understand the importance of her role when she says she doesn't want to. The one person who she can rely on to respect her choice — her father, Harry — is unceremoniously killed as retribution for Heather's unwillingness to carry God to term. And the end of the story, moments before Heather is about to be killed by Alessa to stop God's birth, Heather swallows a substance that causes her to expel the fetus from her body.

Silent Hill 3 is a horror story about being a woman.

Heather is an outstanding character. Despite her running through as close to Hell as one could imagine, she refuses to succumb to her environment. She fights. She struggles. She makes jokes and glib observations about the surroundings, studying everything that she can get her hands on to figure out how to survive and push forward. She's funny, and she isn't afraid to call people out on their bullshit directly to their face.

But there's a quiet moment at the middle of the game where she's sitting in Douglas's car on the way to Silent Hill, and she tells him the story of her adoption. She tells him how much she misses her dad, and that she never got the chance to tell him how glad she was to be his daughter.

And her heart just breaks.

No game made in the twenty years since this came out has been able to replicate the sheer amount of pain and exhaustion on her face while she stares out the window and chokes back tears. It's brutal. Her pursuits of revenge and closure and freedom mean that she cannot stop, no matter how worn she is.

A character as strong as Heather needs an equally strong supporting cast, and Silent Hill 3 is no slouch in this regard, either. The game is wonderful at creating these real, multi-faceted characters who carry with them at least one fault for every virtue. Douglas is a careless, headstrong dickhead when it comes to his private investigation work, but we gradually discover that he's a warm, damaged man who wants to be a better person than he was before his son died. Vincent is a shady, narcissistic bastard who's playing all sides for his own selfish desires, but he does legitimately help Heather put a stop to the cult's activities. Claudia is a ruthless murderer, but being abused as a child caused her to adopt a martyr mentality and throw herself wholly into her religion; the bitter irony is that Claudia perpetuates the same cycles of abuse which she suffered in the the name of bringing Paradise to Earth.

There's something to be said about how the non-Otherworld environments seem so keenly tweaked to be strange and dangerous, almost as though they're places where people aren't meant to be. An employees-only hallway in an abandoned shopping mall, an empty subway station that goes five stories underground, maintenance tunnels deep beneath the city, a derelict office building, the manifestation of a nightmare you had about an amusement park; being here feels wrong. Heather — and by extension, you — are all alone in these ethereal places, wandering around in the dark and wondering if every little creak or radio crackle is a warning of something nearby intent on doing harm. In some ways, the scenes in our world are more frightening than the ones in the Otherworld; our reality has the exact same monsters, but you wouldn't know that by looking at it.

As it stands, I'm kind of shocked that this game winds up with a general reputation of being the inferior younger sibling to its big brother, Silent Hill 2. For years I'd heard nothing besides the fact that 2 was the best entry in the series — perhaps the best horror game ever made — and none of the other entries could measure up. I love Silent Hill 2. I love the themes. I love the way it looks. I love the story of Mary and James.

But I think some people love Silent Hill 2 for the reason that it's easy to delve into. Picture in your mind the average person who would be playing games like these in the early-2000s, and then ask yourself if you think they would have an easier time immediately relating more to James or to Heather. It shouldn't be hard to figure out who, and it should be even easier to figure out why.

I think Silent Hill 3 is the better of the two.

Abortion is still de jure illegal in Japan. Those seeking to terminate a pregnancy may only do so if they can demonstrate that the pregnancy would cause a sufficient health or fiscal risk, or if their pregnancy was the result of rape. Married women require written consent from their husbands before they can even be considered. In a Japanese survey conducted during the campaign of an 86,000-signature petition to put an end to mandatory spousal consent, some 13% of women reported being forced to carry a pregnancy to term against their will.

Heather Mason took the aglaophotis in her pendant to terminate God in 2003.

Emergency contraceptives wouldn’t be legalized in Japan for another eight years.

The most terrifying, oppressive, claustrophobic experience I've had in the medium is no surprise a stalking disturbing message of an encroaching patriarchal faith. Heather wants nothing to do with it, and neither will I. Monsters of repressed memories and physical/sexual trauma stalk the corridors, but catharsis is found in making them all Burn. Aborting god is probably the rawest turn on killing god tbh. I personally got lost in the woods of the threads near the end but I think on just initial reflection that there's a large point in there about an incomprehensibly massive societal issue that makes it difficult to form into something tangible (e.g. male gaze and abuse). It's also like a crystalized end to everything the series culminated in before, tying everything back together. Genuinely super well crafted, and a crazy good final message. That cycle of disparaging hatred is still overturned by the real spark of sympathy, we just want love.