Killing Floor 3 has an excellent headshot. It’s the kind of frisson-inducing gun/baddie interaction that most FPS games strive for and fail: somehow crisp and explosive at once, like popping a balloon full of wedding china. There’s a deliciously tangible sense that a metal cylinder has launched out of your hands at several times the speed of sound and shattered the entire existence of the snarling cannibal clone in front of you, a tactile treat that KF3’s waves of mutant men will happily feed you over and over again. Bloody good headshot, I say.
I just wish that, after hours and hours, this game would produce something else that excites as much as its dome-blasting. Or, at least, balances that instant gratification with more enduring reasons to keep tooling up and shipping out. Instead, it ends up coasting on gunfeel, and when asked for something new or something fresh, can only point towards pages of tedious stats.