Introduction

There really isn’t anything else quite like Death Stranding. It represents Hideo Kojima at his most unrestrained—so much so that some might even call it indulgent. As a result, it’s perhaps the most polarizing game he’s ever made. Much of that divisiveness stems from its unconventional gameplay loop: a meditative cycle of deliveries, rebuilding, and connecting a fragmented world—not through direct interaction with other players, but by feeling their presence through the traces they leave behind. You walk a path others once did, and in turn, you help pave the way for those who follow.

At launch, Death Stranding_ received a mixed reception. Dismissed by many as boring, labeled a “walking simulator,” and criticized for its dense, sometimes convoluted story. But in my eyes, Death Stranding is nothing short of extraordinary—a game that has only grown more resonant with time. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I first played it back in 2019. And now, with Death Stranding 2, I felt it was the perfect moment to once again take that long journey across America, reconnecting the UCA from coast to coast.

To this day, I believe Death Stranding is a singular experience—one you won’t find anywhere else.

There’s a line that’s stayed with me over the years. It came from fellow Australian YouTuber SkillUp in his 2019 review, where he said, “I feel that time will be kind to Death Stranding.” And in 2025, I can say with confidence that both the game and that sentiment have aged like fine wine.

So in this video, I’m going to explore what makes Death Stranding so special—its deep narrative threads, its rich, interwoven themes, and its unique, incredibly satisfying shared-world gameplay loop. Let’s break it all down.

Development

Development Cycle

Now, I want to delve into the development of Death Stranding, because understanding how it came together adds another layer of appreciation to the final product. The story begins in late 2015, following Hideo Kojima’s highly publicized departure from Konami. In the aftermath of that fallout, he founded Kojima Productions as an independent studio. That same month, he announced a partnership with Sony and began assembling a core team to kick off the new venture. At this point, Death Stranding existed only as an idea—nothing more than a concept on paper.

In early 2016, Kojima teamed up with Mark Cerny, the lead architect of the PlayStation 4, to tour studios and evaluate various game engines that could bring his vision to life. It would not be long after we would see Kojima be meeting with co-founder of Gorilla Games, Herman Hulst which would lead to Kojima Productions and Gorilla Games establishing a formal agreement for access to the Decima engine which would be the engine that Death Stranding would be built on. Around this time, Kojima also met Norman Reedus—who would go on to become the face of Death Stranding—and began conducting 3D scans and motion capture sessions shortly thereafter.

By 2017, the project had entered full production. With a relatively small team of fewer than 100 developers, Kojima Productions began building out the game’s systems, environments, and overall framework. That same year, a playable alpha build was completed. Even at this early stage, Death Stranding defied easy classification. Sony executives reportedly struggled to define the game’s genre, with then-CEO Shawn Layden stating he “had not been able to categorize the game into a specific genre.”

Later in 2017, Kojima premiered a new trailer at The Game Awards—this time featuring Mads Mikkelsen in a haunting, war-torn setting. The footage added to the growing intrigue surrounding Death Stranding, deepening the mystery of what kind of experience Kojima was crafting.

Throughout development, Kojima remained deeply involved in every aspect of the game—serving as director, designer, co-writer, and producer. His hands-on approach reflected his reputation as a true auteur. Every detail, from the overarching narrative to the tiniest design element, bore the imprint of his creative vision. Many close to the project even described him as a workaholic—someone whose obsessive passion infused every inch of the game.

Design Philosophy

It wasn’t just the development cycle that defined Death Stranding, but the underlying design philosophy that gave the game its identity. From the outset, Hideo Kojima set out to create something that would subvert traditional gaming norms—not another blockbuster action title, but an experience centered on connection rather than conflict. Inspired by the works of Japanese writer Kobo Abe with a central concept being that of the "stick" and the "rope"—tools used for keeping threats away and for drawing others close—Kojima built Death Stranding around the latter. The idea of forging bonds instead of breaking them was embedded early into its design ethos.

Much of Death Stranding is deeply personal, with Kojima infusing his own life experiences and emotions into its themes. His childhood feelings of isolation, his longstanding fear of the ocean—reflected symbolically in the game through tar pits, beached whales, and the haunting representation of "the beach"—all serve as narrative threads woven into the fabric of the world. But perhaps the most profound influence was the loss of his father, an event that left a lasting mark on Kojima. It became a moment of emotional rupture—a loss of innocence and a transition into responsibility. These reflections manifest throughout the game in its recurring meditations on life, death, legacy, and the thin boundary that separates the living from the dead.

Themes of parenthood and inheritance—central to many of Kojima's works—are core to Death Stranding, and are examined through philosophical concepts such as the "ha" and the "ka," the dualistic aspects of the soul inspired from Egyptian Mythos. The game's story isn’t just about reconnecting a fractured world—it’s about reckoning with grief, isolation, and what we leave behind.

This philosophy extended beyond the narrative into the very systems of the game. Rather than traditional multiplayer mechanics where players directly interact, Kojima chose an asynchronous structure—a shared world where you never see others, but feel their presence through the objects and structures they leave behind. In interviews, Kojima explained this design choice by drawing from his own life: despite having many friends during his school years, he often felt lonely. He resonated with characters like Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver—outsiders navigating solitude—and wanted Death Stranding to evoke that same sense of isolation tempered by a quiet, invisible companionship. A world where you walk alone, but know that others have walked before you.

This wasn't Kojima’s first brush with these ideas. In Metal Gear Solid V, he experimented with connected experiences through Forward Operating Bases. But in many ways, those were early prototypes—seeds of a concept. Death Stranding would take those seeds and fully realize them, becoming the foundation for a new kind of shared-world experience—one grounded in empathy, subtlety, and human connection.

Story

Narrative Overview

The narrative of Death Stranding_ could easily be its own full-length video, and honestly, it probably should be. But for the purposes of this retrospective, I’ll assume you’ve already finished the game. If you haven’t, I strongly recommend experiencing the story for yourself—it's one of the most unique aspects of the entire game. Feel free to skip ahead to the next chapter or, better yet, play the game and come back when you're ready.

For those who need a refresher, here’s a quick summary:

You play as Sam Porter Bridges—a “Porter” in a fractured world where couriers like him are essential for delivering supplies between isolated cities. The world has been reshaped by a mysterious phenomenon known as the Death Stranding, an event that caused the realms of the living and the dead to collide. As a result, spectral entities called BTs (Beached Things) now roam the earth, threatening anyone who ventures outside the safety of the cities.

At the heart of this metaphysical disruption lies The Beach—a liminal space that exists between life and death. Each person has their own Beach, and it's from this realm that BTs are able to cross through to the world of the living. The game’s central goal sees Sam tasked with reconnecting the United Cities of America (UCA) by linking them to a vast digital infrastructure called the Chiral Network. This network harnesses the unique properties of The Beach to transmit data and resources instantaneously, forming the backbone of Kojima’s imagined future of connectedness.

As with most Kojima titles, Death Stranding’s story slowly unravels across multiple layers—filled with subplots, philosophical undertones, and abstract commentary on digital communication, social isolation, and human connection.

From this point on, I’ll be diving deeper into the game’s themes, which means I’ll be discussing story elements and major plot points. So if you haven’t finished the game, this is your spoiler warning—feel free to pause here and return once you’ve completed the story.

Themes

Sticks and Ropes

To begin this section, I want to talk about a concept that’s referenced multiple times in Death Stranding, and which I believe is one of Kojima’s biggest inspirations behind the game: the work of Japanese author Kobo Abe—specifically his short story Nawa: The Rope.

Early in the game, we’re shown a quote directly from Abe’s work:

“The rope and the stick are two of mankind’s oldest tools. The stick is used to keep bad things away, while the rope is used to bring good things toward us.”

(Display this quote on-screen with a blurred background while reading it out)

This simple quote carries profound weight in the context of Death Stranding. Kojima adopts the metaphor of the rope and the stick as a central design and thematic philosophy. Where most games empower players through violence—the stick—Death Stranding was designed around the rope: a tool of connection, unity, and empathy.

Everything in the game reflects this idea. The deliveries Sam makes to isolated outposts, the Q-pid he uses to link cities to the Chiral Network—these are all metaphorical ropes. Tools that draw people back into connection, that tether them to each other after the world has been fractured.

This contrast is also embodied through the characters of Sam and Higgs. Both start from similar places—lonely, disconnected porters with DOOMS abilities. Neither cares about rebuilding the UCA or making a difference in the world. But where their paths diverge is in how they respond to that emptiness.

Higgs embraces nihilism. He believes the world is doomed, that there's no point in dragging things out. His solution is destruction—the ultimate stick. As he puts it: “One final game over.”

Sam, by contrast, evolves. Through his connections with others, through the bonds he builds, he begins to find purpose. By the time he’s standing on the beach, preparing to confront Amelie, Sam’s outlook has completely changed. He’s no longer living just to survive—he’s living for the people around him, for the future they might build together.

And that’s exactly what he expresses in his speech to the members of Bridges:

“Nothing lasts forever. Not even the world. But if it buys us some time—if it helps us build something better—then we’ve gotta try. So we can say we had a good run. That we lived.”

(Play this moment in the video here)

In that moment, Sam’s character arc reaches its full resolution. He places his faith not in destruction, but in connection. In building something meaningful—even if it’s temporary. He becomes the rope. A bridge to a better future.

A Bridge for a Cliff

Many have interpreted Death Stranding’s themes through a political lens—drawing connections between Bridges, governmental control, and institutional intentions. But at its core, I believe Death Stranding is far more rooted in altruism and humanitarianism. Its message is less about power structures and more about the emotional and societal divisions we build—about the walls that separate us, and the efforts we make to bridge them.

The metaphor is clear in the very names of its characters. “Bridge” and “Cliff” aren’t just symbolic—they’re intentional. Sam Bridges and Cliff Unger are two of the game’s most significant characters, connected by more than just narrative threads—they’re bound by blood, and a forgotten history. It’s revealed late in the story that Cliff is Sam’s father, adding a deeper emotional resonance to their relationship. Just as Sam and Higgs represent opposing philosophies that begin from a shared place of emptiness, so too do Cliff and Sam mirror one another—two men shaped by loss, but diverging in how they respond to it.

Cliff’s Beach is a haunting reflection of his trauma—a manifestation of his unresolved past as a soldier and the pain of his untimely death. It’s a space consumed by sorrow, regret, and a burning vendetta against Bridges, whom he blames for everything he’s lost. At the same time, Cliff’s actions come from a place of love. His lingering presence, his relentless pursuit, all stem from a singular need: to protect his son. Cliff represents the well-intentioned figure who turns to the “stick”—to force, to confrontation—in a desperate attempt to fix what’s broken. Even if his heart is in the right place, his methods are still shaped by the violence he once knew.

And yet, despite how menacing he appears during the war episodes—despite being framed as an antagonist—Cliff is not a villain. He is a father. A protector. A man who cannot find peace until he knows his child is safe. His story, once fully revealed, is one of sacrifice and love. Every action he takes is in service of saving Sam. In the end, it is Sam—his son—who becomes the bridge that allows Cliff to finally rest. Their connection closes the loop, not through violence, but through understanding.

Mortality

Death Stranding is deeply preoccupied with mortality. It doesn’t just explore death in a metaphorical or symbolic sense—it places it at the very center of its world. The titular Death Stranding is the literal event that connected the worlds of the living and the dead, blurring the boundary between life and the afterlife. But beyond this global phenomenon, the game also approaches mortality on a deeply personal level—through the stories, traumas, and transformations of its characters.

Sam himself embodies this theme more than anyone. He’s a man haunted by loss—the woman he once loved, the child he believed he lost—grief clings to him like a second skin. As a repatriate, Sam is someone who can return from death, living in a world where mortality is unstable. He exists in a state of emotional limbo: surrounded by death, yet unable to truly die himself. This inability to escape or fully process death becomes part of his identity, his burden.

The game also incorporates spiritual concepts from ancient Egyptian mythology—specifically the Ka and the Ha. In this tradition, the Ka represents the soul, the life force, the essence of a person. The Ha, on the other hand, is the physical body—the vessel left behind when someone dies.

These concepts echo throughout Death Stranding, particularly in the way the game treats "The Beach"—a personal, liminal space that exists between life and death for each individual. It’s here where the Ka and Ha may diverge or remain tethered, depending on unresolved emotions, purpose, or lingering trauma.

We see these ideas play out in compelling ways through various members of Bridges.

Take Mama, for example. Trapped under rubble during childbirth, her body—her Ha—survived, but in a way that left her anchored to the ruins where she gave birth. Her child, now a BT, exists on the other side, in the realm of the dead. The two remain bound by an ethereal umbilical cord. It's later revealed that Mama has technically been dead for much of the game—her Ka separated long ago. Only when this spectral tether is severed can she finally pass on. Her story is one of letting go, of accepting death not as defeat, but as peace.

Then there's Deadman—a character who wasn’t born, but assembled. Constructed from the cells of dozens of deceased individuals, he lacks a Ka entirely. This absence leaves him grappling with his own identity and humanity. Without a soul, what is he? Is he alive? Does he count as human? His story doesn’t just question mortality—it questions what defines personhood itself.

Through characters like Sam, Mama, and Deadman, Death Stranding doesn’t just ask what it means to die—it asks what it means to live, to love, to grieve, and to exist when those boundaries become blurred.

Connection and Altruism

At the heart of Death Stranding lies a singular, powerful theme—connection. It’s the game’s emotional core, its narrative spine, and the driving force behind every gameplay system. Kojima reinforces this theme not just through story, but through symbolic imagery and mechanics—from umbilical cords and handcuffs to the Chiral Network and the asynchronous multiplayer systems that bind players together without ever meeting face to face.

This theme is embodied most clearly through Sam Porter Bridges. At the beginning of the game, Sam is a reluctant protagonist—emotionally closed off, detached from America, and skeptical of the idea of reconnecting a world he believes is already too far gone. He accepts the mission not out of hope, but obligation—to Amelie, and little else. But over the course of the game, Sam’s journey evolves. Each Knot he reconnects to the Chiral Network, each person he bonds with, gradually reopens his capacity for connection. These aren't just gameplay objectives—they're emotional milestones.

The relationships Sam builds along the way reinforce this idea. His bond with Lou, his evolving trust in members of Bridges, and the deeply personal episodes we experience with each character: Fragile’s painful thirst for justice, Deadman’s quest for friendship and identity, Heartman’s journey to let go of grief, Mama’s reconnection with her sister Lockne, and Die-Hardman’s struggle to confront the guilt of his past. Each of these character arcs weaves into Sam’s larger journey, strengthening the broader message that healing comes through others.

Death Stranding visualizes this idea in subtle and powerful ways. Early in the game, during the first Voidout, Sam finds himself on a beach under a darkened sky, staring at five shadowy figures suspended above the horizon. Later, in Chapter 13, he returns to another beach—Amelie’s—and sees five more figures in the sky. Some players interpret these new silhouettes not as Extinction Entities, but as representations of the five connections Sam has made: Deadman, Fragile, Lockne, Die-Hardman, and Heartman. It’s a symbolic reflection of how far he’s come—not just in distance, but in human connection.

But Death Stranding isn’t just about connection—it’s about altruism. The willingness to help others, even when there’s no reward. Kojima could’ve chosen to give us a traditional multiplayer system—direct co-op, shared combat—but instead, he created a strand-based system where players leave behind structures, ladders, roads, and signs for others. Often, these tools appear just when you need them most: a rope on a cliff, a bridge over a ravine, a generator before your battery dies. These moments are never forced, yet they encourage you to pay it forward—to help someone else the way someone unknowingly helped you.

This idea is embedded in the gameplay loop. You never see other players directly, but their presence is constant. The remnants of their journeys—their zip-lines, watchtowers, and well-trodden paths—shape your experience. You become part of a quiet, collaborative ecosystem. Expanding roads and connecting zip-lines isn’t just efficient—it’s gratifying, knowing others will benefit from what you’ve built, even if they never know your name.

Kojima coined a term for this genre: a “strand-type” game. It pivots away from traditional conflict-centered gameplay—what he refers to as "sticks," the guns and swords we usually rely on to solve problems—and instead emphasizes the “rope.” A tool that draws people closer. A philosophy of helping others without expecting anything in return. It’s connection through kindness, through effort, through shared vulnerability.

This philosophy even influences the game’s narrative structure. To access someone’s Beach—the deeply personal space between life and death—you need a powerful emotional connection and an object that symbolizes it. Access to another’s soul, in a sense, is only granted through deep, meaningful bonds.

Strands are both literal and metaphorical in Death Stranding. Sam, the porter, becomes the strand that links the many isolated cities—the “knots”—of the UCA. In gameplay, the structures you leave behind are strands too, connecting you to strangers across the globe. Together, these physical and symbolic strands form a web of collective support. A world rebuilt not by conquest, but by compassion.

And Death Stranding doesn’t just explore forming connections—it emphasizes maintaining them. Paths that are frequently used by players become easier to traverse, their terrain worn smooth by repetition. Structures that receive more likes appear in more players’ worlds, persisting longer and helping a wider network of people. But if these structures are neglected—if the connection fades—they vanish. Nature reclaims them. The message is clear: connection is not just something we form, it’s something we nurture.

In this way, Death Stranding becomes more than a game—it becomes a living metaphor. Every ladder placed, every bridge built, every road repaved is a quiet act of solidarity. A reminder that even in solitude, we are never truly alone. The world endures because we choose to care for one another—even when we don’t see the results ourselves.

Gameplay

The Walking-Sim Allegations

Now let’s talk about Death Stranding’s core gameplay loop—one that sees you hauling packages across treacherous terrain, delivering supplies, and connecting remote outposts to the Chiral Network. On the surface, this loop has led many to label the game as a “walking simulator”—often meant as a criticism.

So first, let’s clarify what a walking simulator actually is in the context of video games. Typically, the term refers to narrative-driven games with minimal mechanical complexity. These titles emphasize exploration and environmental storytelling over action or systems-heavy gameplay. Think What Remains of Edith Finch or Firewatch—games where the act of walking is more a vehicle for narrative than mechanical challenge.

But Death Stranding is something quite different. While you do walk—often for long stretches—it's more accurate to call it a walking simulation rather than a walking simulator. The distinction matters.

In fact, the better comparison would be games like QWOP or the upcoming Baby Steps. These aren't walking simulators by genre, but rather games that simulate the act of walking—adding layers of challenge and interactivity to a process we usually take for granted. Death Stranding does this too, but within a much more expansive and system-rich framework.

Every step you take in Death Stranding is a consideration. The terrain, weather, the load you’re carrying—all of it affects your movement. Sam’s balance is directly tied to the weight distribution on his body. If you’re overloaded or unevenly packed, you’ll struggle to stay upright. You’ll use the left and right triggers to maintain balance as you walk, especially on slopes or uneven ground. If you lose concentration or ignore the terrain, you’ll fall—risking damage to your cargo.

Early on, the game introduces you to the basics: the ladder and the climbing rope. Simple tools that allow you to scale cliffs or descend safely. Then it gradually adds complexity: deliveries with fragile contents, items that can’t get wet, packages that degrade over time. Before long, you're navigating an ecosystem of challenges—not just the environment, but the hostile elements within it.

There’s Timefall, the rain that accelerates the aging of anything it touches—including your cargo. You’ll have to plan your routes to avoid prolonged exposure or equip yourself with protective gear. Then there are MULEs—porters gone rogue, obsessed with stealing packages. And let’s not forget the BTs, supernatural entities that stalk specific zones of the map. If you’re caught by them, the best-case scenario is damaged cargo. Worst case? A massive boss encounter and a deadly voidout that leaves a crater in the world.

So while some might reductively say Death Stranding is just about walking—it’s really about delivering and surviving. It’s about learning to read the land, prepare for the journey, and adapt to the ever-changing conditions. Each delivery becomes its own small puzzle—how do you get from point A to point B efficiently, safely, and without losing your cargo?

And the further you go, the deeper the systems become. New vehicles, exoskeletons, automated delivery bots, ziplines, roads—all tools that make your future treks easier. The more time and care you invest in understanding and upgrading these systems, the more rewarding the experience becomes. You’ll find yourself customizing your loadouts, strategizing routes, and mastering the tools at your disposal. What begins as simple traversal evolves into an elegant, satisfying loop of logistics, planning, and problem-solving.

Death Stranding may simulate walking—but at its core, it’s about building pathways, solving logistical challenges, and enduring a world shaped by loneliness, danger, and discovery. It’s about carrying not just cargo, but the weight of reconnection.

The Shared World

At the heart of Death Stranding lies its most unique and defining feature—what Kojima has coined a “strand-type game.” This isn’t just a catchy label; it represents a fundamental shift in how players interact with both the game world and each other.

Unlike traditional multiplayer experiences, Death Stranding features an asynchronous shared world, where the actions of others leave behind a lasting impact, even though you never directly interact with them. While other games have explored similar concepts—Dragon’s Dogma, for instance, lets you borrow custom AI-controlled pawns created by other players to guide you through the world—Death Stranding pushes the idea much further. In some ways, games like that could be seen as spiritual predecessors to the strand concept, but Kojima takes it to an entirely new level.

In Death Stranding, the theme of connection is embedded in every mechanic, every system, every moment. As Sam Porter Bridges, your task is to deliver cargo across a fractured landscape, slowly reconnecting the remnants of the United Cities of America. At first, you rely on basic tools—ladders to climb cliffs, climbing anchors to descend steep drops. But as you progress, the real innovation begins: you’re not alone in shaping this world.

The tools you place in the environment aren’t just for your benefit—they persist in the world for others to use. And vice versa, the world around you gradually fills with ladders, ropes, bridges, generators, shelters, and eventually full road systems—all created by other players. You’ll come across structures at just the right moment, ones that might save you from a precarious fall, help you cross a flooded ravine, or recharge your battery in the middle of a storm. And you’ll be compelled to do the same—leave something behind, just in case it helps someone else.

This creates a loop of emergent kindness, a gameplay structure designed to foster cooperation without competition. Kojima Productions wanted players to experience a sense of shared purpose—and it works. The world may be desolate, but it feels alive, shaped by the collective effort of players who never meet, but who continually support one another.

As you progress and expand the Chiral Network, your toolbox grows. The most important upgrade is the PCC—a device that allows you to 3D print structures directly into the game world. These can range from simple bridges and charging stations to timefall shelters and, eventually, zip-line towers, which completely transform traversal by letting you soar over mountains and valleys. With each new structure you build, you’re not just making your own journey easier—you’re paving the way for others. It’s a collaborative act of terraforming—a shared reshaping of a once-isolated world.

One of the most powerful examples of this system is the construction of roads. Rebuilding a full road network requires a significant investment of materials—an overwhelming task if attempted alone. But you’re not alone. As others contribute resources, you begin to see the road materialize piece by piece. Deliveries become faster. Backtracking becomes painless. And the road itself becomes a symbol of unity, a literal path built through the combined efforts of countless players. Logging in and seeing how the world has changed—how the barren wastelands you once struggled through are now interconnected by player-made infrastructure—is one of the most rewarding feelings in the game.

This is the magic of Death Stranding. It takes isolation and gradually replaces it with community. Without ever seeing another soul, you feel their presence. You feel their help. You see their footprints, their structures, and their intent. The world evolves not through conquest, but through compassion. Through the strand.

Deliveries and Resource Management

Death Stranding’s punishing terrain, exploration, and shared world mechanics are all built around one of the game’s most crucial pillars: cargo management and resource planning. This is the core of the player’s moment-to-moment experience—delivering goods while navigating both environmental and logistical challenges.

Every delivery you undertake requires you to carry a specific load—sometimes fragile, sometimes sensitive to weather or water exposure. The challenge isn’t just getting from point A to point B—it’s doing so efficiently, safely, and strategically. This is where the Chiral Network and the game’s asynchronous multiplayer system become more than just thematic devices—they’re essential to gameplay.

As you plan each route, you’re constantly weighing how many tools to bring: ladders, ropes, PCCs, weapons, or gear. Overpacking might slow you down, but underpreparing could leave you stranded in dangerous terrain. And yet, thanks to Death Stranding’s shared world, your journey is shaped not just by your choices—but by the kindness of others.

That ladder you placed hours ago? It might help another player cross a ravine. A generator left by someone else might recharge your bike in the middle of nowhere. These small acts of mutual support make the world feel alive, and reinforce the emotional backbone of the game: that we’re stronger together, even when we walk alone.

As the game expands, so do your options. Roads, zip-lines, and vehicles become tools that not only make traversal more efficient but evolve the way you approach delivery planning. You’ll be thinking not just about where to go, but how to get there and what to bring to optimize the journey.

Motorbikes and off-road trucks help you carry large hauls quickly across long distances, while floating carriers act like futuristic sleds, allowing you to tow extra cargo without overburdening yourself. If you prefer traveling on foot, there are exoskeletons that enhance your speed, strength, and carrying capacity—each one offering a tailored benefit to suit different delivery styles.

These upgrades, while incremental, create a constant sense of growth. Sam doesn’t level up in a traditional RPG sense—but as you unlock better gear, build infrastructure, and leave your mark on the world, you begin to feel like a true master porter. Your efficiency improves. Your planning becomes sharper. And each delivery becomes not just a job, but a reflection of how far you’ve come.

This evolving logistics loop is what keeps Death Stranding compelling. It’s not just about surviving the trip—it’s about optimizing it. Preparing smarter. Traveling better. And, ultimately, helping others do the same. Every structure you build, every route you forge, every cargo you carry—it all contributes to a world slowly healing through cooperation, care, and connection.

Gameplay Systems

Cargo and Item Progression

Now let’s take a closer look at some of the underlying systems that support Death Stranding’s core gameplay loops—starting with one we’ve already touched on: cargo management and delivery preparation.

Every delivery in Death Stranding presents a new set of conditions. The weight and shape of the cargo, the terrain you’ll need to cross, the potential weather hazards, and the presence of enemies—all vary with each mission. This makes preparation not just important, but essential. It’s here that the game’s progression loop starts to take shape.

Success relies on your ability to intelligently use tools, equip the right gear, and plan efficient routes. As you progress through the story and build relationships with the various shelters scattered across the map, you’ll unlock new equipment, backpack upgrades, and blueprints that allow you to craft better solutions to the challenges ahead.

This means that even optional tasks—like recovering lost cargo or completing standard orders—become worthwhile. They boost your reputation with shelter inhabitants, and in return, those shelters may offer upgraded gear. For example, exo-skeletons, which enhance your strength, speed, or stability, come in multiple levels. Higher-tier versions become available only when you’ve earned enough trust from the people you're helping.

What makes this system compelling is the level of intentionality it encourages. You’re not just grabbing a bunch of tools and hoping for the best. You’re thinking about the layout of your cargo, the weight distribution, how to handle fragile items, and what terrain lies ahead. It turns what could be simple fetch quests into layered logistical puzzles.

And while some of the more advanced equipment—like ziplines, high-level PCC structures, and vehicles—don’t become available until later in the game, the loop remains fresh throughout. That’s because the game continuously evolves in parallel with your capabilities. As your tools improve, so too do the complexity and scale of your deliveries.

This synchronized growth between challenge and capability is what keeps Death Stranding engaging. The better you prepare, the smoother your journey—and the more rewarding it becomes. It’s a gradual, satisfying sense of mastery, not just over the terrain, but over the systems that govern your experience.

Porter Ranks and Likes

Earlier, I talked about Death Stranding’s shared world—how your structures and tools appear in other players’ instances, and how theirs appear in yours. But underpinning this system is a subtle yet powerful background mechanic: your Porter Rank, and the likes you receive from others who’ve benefited from what you’ve left behind.

What makes this system so compelling is how it reframes traditional progression. In most games, XP is a currency—used to level up, unlock abilities, or gain power. But in Death Stranding, likes function more like a social metric than a conventional reward. They don’t give you more strength or unlock skills directly. Instead, they serve as an acknowledgment of your contribution to others. A thank you. A sign that someone, somewhere, used your zip-line, rested in your shelter, or simply appreciated the sign you placed on the side of a mountain. And somehow, that makes them feel more meaningful.

Of course, Death Stranding does have progression systems layered into your Porter Rank. As you rank up across different categories—delivery volume, cargo condition, bridge-building, and more—you receive subtle but useful upgrades. These might include better balance for Sam, increased cargo capacity, or improved stability under heavy loads. They’re not game-changing, but they reinforce the idea of gradual growth—becoming a more capable porter, not just a more powerful character.

But the real reward comes from your relationships with the different shelters you connect throughout the game. The more deliveries you make for them, the stronger your bond becomes. And as that bond deepens, they begin to trust you more—offering upgraded gear, enhanced equipment, and sometimes entirely new tools that make future journeys smoother. It's a system that encourages extra effort—rewarding not just efficiency, but generosity, consistency, and connection.

So while likes don’t drive progression in the traditional sense, they tie directly into Death Stranding’s core message. They’re not about power—they’re about impact. A reflection of the invisible connections between players, and a quiet reminder that your presence—your help—mattered to someone, even if you never meet them.

Visuals and Sound

Visuals

Let’s begin by talking about the visuals and presentation in Death Stranding—a game that remains visually striking even years after its release. The landscapes, heavily inspired by Iceland’s volcanic terrain, have become iconic and inseparable from the game’s identity. They’re vast, cold, and hauntingly beautiful—perfectly capturing the tone of the world Kojima has built. The environment feels desolate and unforgiving, and in the early hours of the game, that feeling is magnified by how alone and under-equipped you truly are. With only basic tools and minimal defenses, even the terrain itself feels hostile, and the presence of BTs only intensifies this atmosphere. Their arrival transforms the landscape into something almost unrecognizable—eerie, suffocating, and dangerous.

But Death Stranding’s visuals aren’t just limited to the natural world. The character designs are just as distinct, thanks to the return of the legendary Yuji Shinkawa, whose work helped define the Metal Gear Solid series. As with his past work, the designs in Death Stranding are imaginative, stylized, and occasionally surreal—perfectly in tune with the game’s strange, otherworldly tone. Whether it’s the sleek uniform of Fragile Express, the bizarre look of the MULEs, or the haunting appearance of the BTs, every design feels intentional and evocative.

Even back in 2019 on a base PS4, Death Stranding was a visual marvel. With the Director’s Cut on PC and newer consoles, its stunning presentation has only improved. It’s still one of the most visually compelling open-world games out there—an experience you can truly get lost in.

Sound

As powerful as Death Stranding’s_visuals are, its sound design and music carry just as much emotional weight. The game’s signature tone is shaped in large part by the music of Low Roar—a band whose melancholic and atmospheric tracks provide moments of quiet reflection and emotional release.

There’s something genuinely special about how and when these songs are used. You’ll be making your way through a desolate valley, the camera slowly pans back to reveal your destination in the distance—and then the music kicks in. It’s subtle, elegant, and deeply affecting. These moments aren’t just beautiful—they’re earned. They provide solace in the loneliness, comfort in the silence.

The rest of the soundtrack—especially during cutscenes—complements the emotional tone of the narrative well. It supports, rather than overwhelms, the story being told. And of course, we can’t ignore the incredible voice and performance cast that brings this world to life. Norman Reedus brings a quiet, introspective weight to Sam; Mads Mikkelsen delivers a haunting and memorable performance as Cliff; and Léa Seydoux lends fragility and strength to the role of Fragile. Their performances ground the game’s surreal world in humanity, anchoring its more bizarre elements with real emotional resonance.

In the end, it’s the synergy between Death Stranding’s visuals, sound, and performances that elevates the experience. Every element feels handcrafted and deliberate—coming together to realize one of the most artistically uncompromised and thematically cohesive visions in modern gaming.

Conclusion

To wrap up this video, Death Stranding is a game is a one of a kind experience. It’s gameplay loop is interwoven with its thematics and the central premise of its story and philosophy. But it’s more than that, as a video game, it is an experience where the reward is the satisfaction of building something that helped yourself, but was also built with the intention to help others, its seeing this world that is baron and cold, turn into a populated world of player stories, that you can follow the remnants of.

On a cinematic and storytelling level, Death Stranding is profound and touching, if not a little unevenly paced and conversations that can bring the gameplay to a crawl. But when it is firing off on all cylinders and exploring this world, it is rich with concepts, systems and philosophies that all weave into each facet of the game, and feel intentional and thoughtful, and a conclusion that feels satisfying.

I to this day still have never played another game like Death Stranding and chances are we never will experience something quite like it for a while. I think Death Stranding is a game that is polarising and unapologetic about what it is, and it is a game that I feel you have to experience to determine if It is for you. It may not be for everyone and I can respect that, but it always has and will be something for me and I can tell you with absolute certainty that Death Stranding is special.

Resources

Sticks and Ropes idea
https://www.reddit.com/r/DeathStranding/s/ceD9O3L8aZ