Before I upload your consciousness into the madness and magic of Split Fiction, it’s worth taking a memory lane stroll. Over the past decade, co-op adventures have evolved from simple two-player puzzlers to sprawling, narrative-rich journeys that challenge both your coordination and your wit. Hazelight Studios, the masterminds behind It Takes Two and A Way Out, have built a legacy on crafting experiences that demand teamwork, communication, and a healthy dose of humor.
While each of their games has carved out a unique niche, Split Fiction feels like the next natural evolution. In short, it’s a title that builds on Hazelight’s pedigree but isn’t afraid to get very, very weird. This is an exploration of creative storytelling, where every level feels like stepping into a different literary genre. It’s as if Hazelight decided to throw every idea they’d ever had into a blender and hit “puree”. End result: a cocktail of science fiction and fantasy that’s as unpredictable as it is impossible to resist chugging.
At its heart, Split Fiction is a tale of two writers, Mio and Zoe, who find themselves inexplicably trapped in a simulation of their own making. Picture this: a machine designed to siphon off creative ideas malfunctions, leaving these two very different authors stranded in a world that’s part neon-lit cyberpunk nightmare, part enchanting fairy tale. Mio, the reserved realist with a passion for hard-edged sci-fi, and Zoe, the effervescent optimist whose heart beats for fantastical escapades, must set aside their differences if they’re to escape the digital labyrinth that imprisons their minds.
Truth be told, I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the theme of two “little guy” creators fighting for their artistic autonomy and IP rights against a big, profits-first publisher (in this case called “Rader”). Here we have two people whose very essence is defined by contrasting genres, forced to team up to outsmart a system that’s as unpredictable as the stories they once dreamed up. Have you ever experienced that odd moment when you realize your life is as chaotic and multifaceted as your wildest daydreams? Split Fiction captures that sentiment perfectly, blending humor and heart in a narrative that’s as meta as it is engaging.
Split Fiction captures that sentiment perfectly, blending humor and heart in a narrative that’s as meta as it is engaging.
Now, let’s talk gameplay. If you’re like me and believe that the best co-op experiences hinge on genuine teamwork and a slew of inventive mechanics, Split Fiction will feel like a bloody delicious box of chocolates. It adopts a dynamic split-screen format where you and a friend assume the roles of Mio and Zoe—each navigating their own unique worlds that mirror their literary (and personal subconscious) inclinations. The pacing is perfect as one moment you’re dodging futuristic lasers in a cyberpunk metropolis; the next, you’re leaping over enchanted forest glades on the back of a dragon.
What really sets Split Fiction apart is its constant reinvention. Every level introduces new mechanics that keep you on your toes. Imagine escaping a sun that’s about to go supernova one minute, and then challenging a monkey to a dance battle the next. The overwhelming majority of gameplay mechanic anecdotes I can give to you now will sound absurd when taken out of context, but trust me—this game thrives on that absurdity. Hazelight’s design philosophy here is simple: expect the unexpected.
Every twist is designed not just to test your reflexes and timing, but also to remind you that creativity has no bounds. And, to my personal delight, that clever, fun gameplay doesn’t always need too much of a point to be enjoyed for pure gameplay’s sake.
For example, one level had me struggling hilariously to master a set of hoverboard tricks in a futuristic Temu-version SSX that I’d probably pay real money to own in full version form. At first, I felt like I was auditioning for a low-budget roller derby, but as I honed my timing (with plenty of laughter and an uncommon moment of score-war competitiveness with my partner), this level gave me a sobering reminder of how few AAA genres we can enjoy now, compared to the ‘90s and ‘00s.
Speaking of introspection, I love that the devs aren’t afraid to pump the brakes every once in a while. There are these rare (Ico inspired) moments when the game pauses for a bit of dialogue—a quick chat on one of the benches scattered throughout the game—that adds a touch of unexpected warmth to an otherwise frenetic pace.
a sobering reminder of how few AAA genres we can enjoy now, compared to the ‘90s and ‘00s.
Split Fiction makes a conscious effort to keep things accessible without sacrificing too much depth. The controls are intuitive, yet each new ability—be it the laser whip, wingsuit, or gravity bike—comes with its own set of nuances. Have you ever tried explaining a complex mechanic to your friend while simultaneously dodging incoming obstacles? It’s a balancing act that might leave you laughing (or cursing) in equal measure. This game encourages you to communicate, check one another’s screen real estate, and to learn from each other’s mistakes. So definitely pick a buddy who isn’t going to be a dick.
The occasional “skip to next checkpoint” option, tucked away in the accessibility menu, serves as a safety net for those moments when timing is just a bit too off or when you feel like you’ve entered an existential crisis over a particularly tricky puzzle. It’s nice to know it’s there for kids or casuals. Even as a 40-year gaming veteran, I have to admit some of the later sections took some deft hand-eye and precision timing to nail.
If you’re a fan of games that look as good as they play, Split Fiction won’t disappoint. The presentation is a delightful rollercoaster, with each segment of the game sporting a distinct visual style. Mio’s world bursts with the cold, hard edge of futuristic cities, bathed in neon lights and gritty industrial backdrops. In contrast, Zoe’s realm is a warm, inviting tapestry of enchanted forests, idyllic villages, and mystical sanctuaries where magic feels as real as the air (or magical pig farts) you’ll breathe.
Every visual element in Split Fiction is meticulously crafted to support the narrative. I remember the first time I switched from Mio’s edgy doomscapes to Zoe’s token Tolkien fantasyvilles—it’s obviously a stark contrast that mirrors the internal conflict of our protagonists (which is an addictive long-term onion peel). The graphic design isn’t overbearing or cluttered; however, it’s not always clear which way to go during the pell-mell “racing” moments. So expect to explode and say “huh? Ohhhh, right!” more than you’d like.
a stark contrast that mirrors the internal conflict of our protagonists (which is an addictive long-term onion peel).
Sound design in Split Fiction is another standout feature. The musical score adapts beautifully to the shifting genres—evoking the mechanical pulse of futuristic cities one minute and then morphing into a whimsical, orchestral tune in a medieval setting the next. No complaints there.
And let’s not overlook the stellar voice acting. Mio’s measured, pragmatic tone (brought to life by Kaja Chan) contrasts perfectly with Zoe’s bright and buoyant energy (voiced by Elsie Bennett). Their bantz, occasional quips, and genuine moments of vulnerability lend the game an authenticity that impressively grounds all of the on-screen silliness.
It’s also pretty riveting. In one memorable scene, as the two characters debated the merits of their respective worlds, I couldn’t help but feel that I was eavesdropping on a conversation between old friends—complete with sarcastic one-liners and a few heartfelt admissions.
One of the most charming aspects of Split Fiction is its collection of side stories. Scattered throughout the game are a dozen odd mini-adventures—each a quirky nod to the unfinished tales of Mio and Zoe’s youth. These aren’t just optional diversions; they’re cleverly integrated into the fabric of the game, offering unique gameplay experiences and deepening the lore.
From “The Legend of the Sandfish” to “Birthday Cake,” each side story is a brief, yet poignant, detour into the characters’ imaginations. Some of them were so good (like a 2D pen and ink one that I’m not allowed to talk about), I wanted them to go on for hours more in that particular visual style. I spent a good chunk of time exploring these narratives, and every one of them felt like a massive stinky wink to anybody who has spent all their life playing every game under the sun (read: me).
a massive stinky wink to anybody who has spent all their life playing every game under the sun (read: me).
Like any ambitious project, Split Fiction isn’t without its hiccups, though there aren’t many to mention. Aside from the occasional frustrating puzzle design, there are some flow-state ruining cheap deaths to be had. The learning curve for new mechanics is the main culprit, but there’s also that chestnut problem with most co-op games–cramped screen real estate. Some beautiful vistas and the obvious care and detail that’s gone into these environments gets lost, and the snipping off of my peripherals screwed me during some boss fights (and not every check restart felt fair).
Be all that as it may, the pros almost completely outweigh the cons. Looking beyond the obviously AAA artistry and execution, playing Split Fiction was like stepping into a delightful video game / pop culture time capsule. It feels like almost every major game – or hilarious industry meme – that ever mattered is here for you to Leo DiCaprio point at excitedly.
Likewise, the team at Hazelight has brought their own genuinely clever mechanics ideas to bear all throughout. Furthermore, they’ve not taken the lazy route by giving both players the same agency and abilities all the time–you not only feel like a valuable, unique cog in a two-person chaos machine but a sense of needing to replay the game to see “the other side” is planted early on.
And, to be honest, that’s pretty much what my buddy and I did when we hit the end credits. Even though I needed time to write this, and even though he was feeling the heroin-like itch of his Marvel Rivals addiction. That’s the sign of a damn fine game, my friends. It’s also the mark of a spiritual sequel to a GOTY that deserves to exist in the same rarified air.
