The sound of bullets whizzing by and the slumping of bodies as they hit the floor. The adrenaline that pumps through my veins as I shoot goon after goon with pinpoint accuracy. Wading through bodies as I march forward towards my exit, an army of men pouring in from every which way in a vain attempt to stop me. Another empty handgun is tossed to the wayside, another poor soul gets his arm broken and soon enough I have another one in my hand. In this march of death, surrounded by a cacophony of shouting, gunfire and the thunderous footsteps of incoming hitmen, there's only one though running through my head:

"I wonder what picture they're showing this week at the theater down the street."

French Existentialism is a philosophy about the isolation of the human experience in a hostile, uncaring world. We don't know why we're here, and all that matters is what you do with your own two hands. Arrest of a Stone Buddha is all about this. Taking influence from French cinema and action directors like John Woo, the game is part aimless life sim and part high-tension shootouts and assassination missions. Between the thrilling (if simple) assassination jobs where you fight legions upon legions of cannon-fodder while trying to make it to your getaway vehicle, there's long stretches of time where our lone gunman is wandering around his neighborhood in downtown France, taking in the sights, drinking at the bar, watching a movie at the cinema or taking a visit to the local art gallery. It's all just a way to kill time between the only moments where you feel truly alive: the ones where you're knee-deep in bodies and pumped up on adrenaline.

It's charming at first, but as the in-game month drags on, it loses its luster, which is ultimately the point Stone Buddha is trying to drive home. You start wandering aimlessly, loitering around the city, going to bed as soon as possible just to make the next day come faster in the hopes our new job will give us a momentary distraction from the mundanity of it all. But a new job will only stave off the ennui for so long. Our hitman is empty inside, and no amount of culture or walks in the park or drinks or new coats is going to fill that hole. Without the killing, without the violence, there's nothing for him.

There's nothing for us.