As I walk across what I initially assume are some rocks, but are in fact countless petrified cadavers, I use the scavenged head of a cyborg to scan my surroundings. Amid the sea of neutral green are two red silhouettes lying still on the ground—not corpses, but cyborgs with their legs blown off, yet still active and deadly. They can't see us, as we're hidden behind towers of gore and bone. We sensibly head in the opposite direction.
In The Forever Winter, letting rip with the game's myriad firearms is often the very last thing you'll do before an army of machines and soldiers descends upon you. "One important rule is: don't shoot unless you have to," design director Jeff Gregg warns me as we sneak through rows of tombstones. It's like "ringing the dinner bell". But my AK-47 will still see some use very soon.
