In a world where every fighting game is bigger, better, and sometimes, just plain confusing, we have Killing Zone. This 1996 gem from Scarab is here to remind us that not all fights need to be cinematic masterpieces. Spoiler alert: it doesn't just miss the mark; it launches itself into a parallel universe where the concept of fun doesn't exist. So buckle up, folks; it's going to be a bumpy and painfully comical ride.
The game features a gloriously mediocre 14 characters, because more is always better, right? Players can choose between normal fighting mode and the 'auto mode,' which sounds like a feature, but instead feels more like you're giving a toddler control of a joystick while you grab a snack. Auto mode allows you to select a 'type of monster' and upgrade it through tournaments. Just imagine those dark nights where you ponder, 'What if my monster could become slightly less terrible?' It's truly a philosophical quest. Expect glitches galore-even the characters seem to wrestle with their own existence. Movement resembles a dance from a headache-induced fever dream, and the camera often seems to have an existential crisis at the worst possible moments.
Graphics? Well, let's just say if these were a contestant on a beauty pageant, they'd be wearing a bag over their head and hoping nobody can recognize them. The 3D characters intended to evoke excitement instead evoke memories of your 1996 family computer struggling to play Minesweeper. Animations? More like static models trying very hard to stay awake. The environments are about as engaging as watching paint dry on a rainy day. But hey, it was the '90s-who doesn't love a good nostalgia trip through a washed-out pixelated landscape?
Killing Zone is a great reminder that not every fighting game needs to be an epic saga, and that sometimes they can just be a colossal misfire. With disastrous combat mechanics, a camera that thinks it's in an abstract art show, and animations that could be described as 'existential horror,' this game serves up a generous helping of frustration. It's like that friend who always suggests that weird restaurant; you want to be supportive, but inside, you just wish you had gone to McDonald's instead. So if you're in the market for a nostalgic trip down Slumber Party Lane, and have an affinity for punishment, this might just be the second-worst decision of your gaming life-right after trying to play it in the first place.