It felt good to see Assassin's Creed Shadows protagonist Naoe's face nearly healed after the 50-hour journey through 16th-century Japan. The wound that had once marred her face was mostly gone, with only a thin, barely discernible scar left behind. Naoe's face slowly heals over the course of Shadows' story and the changing of the in-game seasons, providing a visual metaphor for the game's thematic journey through the ugliness of revenge, the healing process of forgiveness and moving beyond tragedy with enough time and support. It's a story that has incredible moments between Naoe and fellow protagonist Yasuke but largely feels listless during its muddled second act. And although Naoe's shinobi fantasy is the best Assassin's Creed has been in ages and remains fun to play for the entire game, it makes Yasuke's samurai gameplay feel subpar in comparison.

Naoe feels like the intended protagonist of Shadows. Save for a brief hour as Yasuke, the first 12 or so hours are spent solely playing as the shinobi. Even once Yasuke returns to the story, it's in service to Naoe's goal to kill a dozen masked individuals and steal back a mysterious box that she has to recover.

But even ignoring his narrative shortcomings as a secondary protagonist, Yasuke is not fun to play. Assassin's Creed has never been a series where its individual gameplay components have surpassed those in other games. Its combat has never been as good as what's available in other action games, other titles have stronger parkour mechanics, and the series always feels a step behind when it comes to stealth. The best part about Assassin's Creed has always been that it brings those three styles of gameplay together in one cohesive package--a combination you don't often see at the level of quality Ubisoft has managed to achieve with Assassin's Creed. Naoe perfectly embodies that trifecta, even possessing new mechanics that make the stealth part of Assassin's Creed a lot better than recent entries. Yasuke, on the other hand, doesn't. Though he's able to fight, Yasuke cannot use parkour, nor can he really rely on stealth. He's only one-third of Assassin's Creed. Although the idea of making an Assassin's Creed protagonist who solely specializes in open warfare sounds cool, in practice it feels awful because that aspect of the franchise is still not up to snuff with dedicated action games.

Pro wrestling is a variety show. Spend a few weeks with WWE and you'll see how many tastes the product caters to. Segments can lean into different genres, such as drama, action, comedy, or even horror. Matches themselves are meant to capture a broad spectrum of styles, from Luchadors hitting highspots, to grueling submission matches to storybook endings by way of title matches that took years to build toward. The idea is to offer different styles and flavors to different segments of the audience. WWE 2K25 translates all of this variety very well, offering up many game modes, most of them worthwhile and often attracting different types of players. There are some flops on the card, but overall, this remains another main event-level display.

WWE 2K25 is a great game in its own right and feels like the culmination of several years of effort to fix the series by the Visual Concepts team. WWE 2K20 was so bad and went so viral for that reason that the following year, the game didn't launch a new version--that's virtually unheard of in the world of annualized sports (and sports entertainment) games. It clearly helped. Since then, it's been slowly and steadily improving year over year, making WWE 2K25 the best game in the series.

In the ring, the biggest change is the addition of intergender matches. In the indie wrestling world, it's very common to have men and women wrestle each other without any added drama or lampshading. Promotions simply depict the competitors as equals--save for someone working heel who might call attention to it, of course. But WWE has long avoided similar matchups. This year, the studio finally got the go-ahead from the wrestling behemoth, so you can now, in one surely popular example, play as Rhea Ripley and squash Dominik Mysterio ad nauseam. It's great to see WWE becoming more comfortable with this idea and breaking down that needless barrier in its video game.

Before Final Fantasy VII took RPGs as a whole into the mainstream, Suikoden made its mark as one of the first quality role-playing titles released outside of Japan on PlayStation. The game's main conceit was based loosely on the Chinese literary classic The Water Margin: A young outcast and his friends gather up companions to form the 108 Stars of Destiny, building a magnificent rebel outpost and eventually toppling a wicked empire. Suikoden's success would inspire multiple sequels, including immediate follow-up Suikoden II, regarded by many as a shining gem in the PS1's RPG library.

With fame and acclaim, however, comes a price tag: Original copies of Suikoden II run in the hundreds of dollars, and that's even with several well-known, game-breaking bugs that were inadvertently introduced in the English version. Here's where Konami seemingly swoops in to the rescue, offering both Suikoden I and II together for a low price and promising beautiful new HD graphics and bonus features. This was announced back in 2022, and now, two and a half years later due to delays, we finally have Suikoden I&II HD Remaster--and I'm left wondering just how all that time this remaster spent cooking in the oven was spent.

First, let's talk a bit about the games themselves. I first played both of these titles back on the PS1 many years ago. The original Suikoden was the game I was most excited to revisit, as it had been well over two decades since I'd last played it, and I'd forgotten so much about it. I was pleased to rediscover a pleasant, breezy RPG with a fast-paced story, smooth turn-based combat, and a charming sense of humor. It's quite short, and with the lack of load times and addition of battle speed-up options, you can easily finish it in around 15-20 hours doing all of the optional content.

Unfortunately for me, Split Fiction is the type of game you feel utterly compelled to tell your friends about. It's the type of game that will have you setting your controller aside to wipe away tears, both of laughter and raw emotion, as well as to call literally everyone in close proximity to come see whatever dark, hilarious, referential, or mind-blowing thing just happened. As such, I've spent the better part of the past week impatiently waiting for this embargo to drop--for the second I could talk about it with someone other than the close friend I roped into joining me. In short, Split Fiction is one of the most memorable, brilliant, and spectacular games I've ever played. And at long last, I am allowed to tell everyone about it.

With Split Fiction, Hazelight Studios solidifies itself as not only one of the most clever and innovative working studios, but as one eager to grow and utterly devoted to creativity as both an idea and act. Though Hazelight has yet to release anything less than great, it was almost shocking to see how much it had learned from--and improved upon--2021's critical darling It Takes Two. Levels and environments are vast, gorgeous, and varied; our two protagonists, Mio and Zoe, are full of depth, charm, and personality; the game's seemingly endless gimmicks and gameplay mechanics, all of which are introduced at far more rapid pace than It Takes Two, are nearly all so fun, brilliant, and tightly designed that they could stand alone; and its writing, plot beats, and overall structure deliver a remarkable story that rappels from heart wrenching, commentative, darkly humorous, and brimming with joy just as fluidly as our heroines grapple-hook between buildings. Though there is a level of cheesiness that coats the game's overarching story and its primary antagonist, Rader, as a whole Split Fiction is a marvelous game that sets a new benchmark not only for Hazelight, but for co-op experiences as a whole.

Despite its inevitable greatness, Split Fiction kicks off with a humble (if slightly cliched) beginning in which it introduces its protagonists: Mio Hudson and Zoe Foster. Mio and Zoe are nothing alike. Whereas Mio is an angsty, city-slicking, sci-fi enthusiast who'd sooner yank out her own tooth than open up to a stranger, the fantasy-loving Zoe is sunshine incarnate. And yet, the pair does share one thing in common: They are both unpublished writers in dire need of money and a byline.

"I'll remember you, even after I die."

This quote, delivered half-way through Lost Records: Rage and Bloom's first "tape," is perhaps the most concise and poignant way to convey what Don't Nod's latest title is about. Lost Records is a game that revels in the melodrama and contradictory nature of adolescence. It understands the yearning we all once had to be completely unknowable and one-of-a-kind while also being fully-understood, accepted, and loved. Within its eight or so hours, insecurity and conviction walk hand-in-hand while the assumed invincibility of youth is stretched to its breaking point. How can one summer--how can life--feel so everlasting yet utterly fragile? Such is the magic of our teenage years.

Lost Records captures this phenomenon stunningly, yet doesn't settle for being a game merely driven entirely by nostalgia or reminders of what it felt like to be young in the '90s. At its core is an eerie, supernatural mystery that spans nearly three decades and threatens to consume the four women involved in it--one that promises violence and the reemergence of events perhaps better left forgotten. This intense, slow-burning narrative provides an excellent framework for an empathetic exploration into girlhood, friendship, sexuality, individuality, expression, and the transition from youth to middle age. All this combined with dynamic characters, cinematic visuals, beautifully-rendered character models, and keen sense of atmosphere makes Lost Records one of Don't Nod's best games to date.