These grunts are skilled enough to skin humans and sick enough to drape the flesh from their necks. But their main brain-synapse triggers annoyingness and dumb decisions. There’s eventually some lovely added to this kill-grind when you progress and gain magics - you’ll impale them with fiery skewers and wield wind-blusters to storm-sack the helicopters they like to leap out of. But you don’t obtain these pimpisms soon enough in the roughly eight-hour campaign, leaving you alone with the perpetual gun-noise of your man-sized gun. Ratta-tat-tatta. And a few more tattas.

Then there’s the plot and dialogue built of slipshod slices of shrink-wrapped chemically-orange cheese. Sure, the game opens with a glimmer of relevance: another war in the Middle East in 2008, and you think “wow, that’s a topic of fuming national controversy.” And then a “homicidal virus” ravages the globe, and then the demons come, and the rapture happens, and then blah.