“What if walking was an extreme sport and peeing was a gameplay mechanic?”

If you told me I’d spend 50+ hours delivering packages for ghosts while befriending a jar baby that floats in yellow soup, I’d say, “Sounds like Kojima’s been sniffing his own genius again.” And I was absolutely here for it.

This game single-handedly confirmed my autistic tendencies. Why? Because while everyone else saw a boring walking simulator, I saw the *ultimate optimization puzzle.* Balancing cargo on Sam’s back while planning the perfect hiking route? Pure dopamine. I wasn’t playing a game; I was channeling my inner Amazon Prime courier with the precision of a NASA engineer. The thrill of delivering a package without falling over was like winning the lottery for people who don’t enjoy loud noises or socializing.

Oh, and the social strand system? It was like a multiplayer game for introverts! No talking, no voice chats—just leaving ladders for other players and hoping someone gives you a “like.” It’s basically Facebook for people who want to connect over bridges, not selfies. I swear I got more serotonin from a random player liking my zipline than I’ve ever gotten from human interaction.

Also, can we talk about the plot? Kojima handed me the most convoluted sci-fi soup ever cooked and said, “Figure it out, champ.” I had no clue what was happening, but somehow I felt like I *got* it. Timefall, DOOMS, beach things—it all made sense in the way that calculus makes sense when you stare at it long enough and cry a little.

In conclusion, *Death Stranding* is the ultimate proof that I’m wired differently. While everyone else mocked it, I was out there building the most efficient zipline network known to man. Autism? Maybe. Genius? Definitely. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some ghosts to out-hike. 10/10 would carry my emotional baggage again.

“What if walking was an extreme sport and peeing was a gameplay mechanic?” If you told me I’d spend 50+ hours delivering packages for ghosts while befriending a jar baby that floats in yellow soup, I’d say, “Sounds like Kojima’s been sniffing his own genius again.” And I was absolutely here for it. This game single-handedly confirmed my autistic tendencies. Why? Because while everyone else saw a boring walking simulator, I saw the *ultimate optimization puzzle.* Balancing cargo on Sam’s back while planning the perfect hiking route? Pure dopamine. I wasn’t playing a game; I was channeling my inner Amazon Prime courier with the precision of a NASA engineer. The thrill of delivering a package without falling over was like winning the lottery for people who don’t enjoy loud noises or socializing. Oh, and the social strand system? It was like a multiplayer game for introverts! No talking, no voice chats—just leaving ladders for other players and hoping someone gives you a “like.” It’s basically Facebook for people who want to connect over bridges, not selfies. I swear I got more serotonin from a random player liking my zipline than I’ve ever gotten from human interaction. Also, can we talk about the plot? Kojima handed me the most convoluted sci-fi soup ever cooked and said, “Figure it out, champ.” I had no clue what was happening, but somehow I felt like I *got* it. Timefall, DOOMS, beach things—it all made sense in the way that calculus makes sense when you stare at it long enough and cry a little. In conclusion, *Death Stranding* is the ultimate proof that I’m wired differently. While everyone else mocked it, I was out there building the most efficient zipline network known to man. Autism? Maybe. Genius? Definitely. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some ghosts to out-hike. 10/10 would carry my emotional baggage again.