After 40-odd hours with Gears of War 4, I have just one burning question: how on Earth did this game, the game with characters amassed from leftover dinosaur parts and a rifle you can chop timber with, grow up to be so bloody sensible?
Much of what used to define Epic's series - the sordid wisecracks that positively squelch on impact, those mid-mission swings from apoplectic rage to mushy sentimentality - has been removed or dialled back, as familiar as everything may seem on the surface. It's the return of the prodigal son, now a squeaky-clean graduate with a minor in Renaissance architecture (much of the game's terrain is based upon research trips to north Italy). Sure, he swears like a trooper and isn't above punching the odd skull to pieces, but the days of bellowing about "getting cooties" from mutant offal are well behind us.
One of the notable absences here is Gears 3's Beast mode - a reversal of Horde in which you fight as the hated Locust. I wouldn't call it an essential feature, tragically forgotten, but there's something to be said for the novelty of scuttling across cover layouts as a gigantic mutant centipede. You don't get much of that outright weirdness in Gears 4, though the game's Arms Race mode, a team-based riff on Gun Game in which players obtain a new weapon after every three kills, can be delightfully bonkers. What you get is a sure hand and an eye for detail, a sequel that reins in the crazy while subtly reworking some aged mechanics and variables.
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