In Crisol: Theater of Idols, you fire bullets of your own blood at frenzied wooden puppets while exploring an island saturated with unpleasant Spanish folklore. As elevator pitches go, I like the immediacy of this one’s trade-offs. Blood? But I need that stuff inside my body to convey oxygen and vital nutrients to my trigger fingers. Surely there are other fluids I can fill the bullets with. I get that it would prompt the less sexy kind of revulsion, but Norman Reedus did get away with lobbing cannisters of piss and dribble in Death Stranding.
