Split Fiction Review

This early in 2025, deeming Split Fiction a contender for Game of the Year seems like a lofty expectation. Historically speaking, however, it makes sense.

Coming from Hazelight Studios, the team behind the outstanding, inventive cooperative game It Takes Two, Split Fiction has the necessary pedigree. In 2021, It Takes Two took home the highest honor that year.

But Split Fiction invokes the same kind of joy I found when playing Astro Bot last year. Not only did it pay homage to all things PlayStation but was a tribute to gaming writ large. And in 2024, Team Asobi walked away with the prize.

When placed side by side with It Takes Two, Split Fiction may not seem as revolutionary. Neither did It Takes Two when when placed side by side with A Way Out, Hazelight’s first “big budget” game after Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons. But cooperative action is part of the developer’s DNA. And each new title has continued to push the envelope.

A Way Out was gripping, gritty and packed with unprecedented cooperation between two players. Yet it was constrained by the reality of its setting and plot, never able to get too crazy. It Takes Two blew up the concept, packing a tale of collaboration and reconciliation into a fantastical interpretation of a child’s imagination. Despite taking place in the technical confines of Cody and May’s home, It Takes Two managed to wring out almost every conceivable idea from a Honey, I Shrunk the Kids scenario while dabbling in magic.

Split Fiction begs to ask, “What if the only limits are what you can imagine?”

Enter Mio and Zoe, two aspiring writers arriving at the headquarters of Rader Publishing. Both girls have struggled to find any foothold establishing themselves as money-making authors, embodying the desperation many creative-minded people have faced. Rader is promising to fix their financial woes by participating in a test with some new technology. Mio, Zoe, and a handful of other writers are asked to step onto a platform that will place them in a simulation, bringing all their ideas to life. Growing increasingly hesitant, Mio attempts to reject being placed into her simulation, only to fall into the stasis bubble containing Zoe.

Rader’s technology is capable of making a full-scale recreation of an author’s ideas. More than virtual reality, more than augmented reality, the machine is bringing stories to life, symbolism and all. The problem is that the simulation was never meant for more than one person. Worse yet, Mio writes science fiction, Zoe writes fantasy, and neither is particularly fond of the other’s preferred genre. But the presence of two minds causes a glitch in the simulation’s programming, catapulting both girls back and forth between their own stories.

Split Fiction begins with a strong conceptual backbone. The premise of a simulation creating sprawling worlds based on peak storytelling genres is grounds for embellishing on tropes and laying the foundation for boundless ideas. And Hazelight works with both.

Zoe’s world of fantasy is rife with dragons, trolls, castles, kings, swords, and magic. Mio’s science fiction prowess packs cyber ninjas, neon skyscrapers, aliens, robot battles, and dying stars. The common thread is the relationship between the two girls and their growth from strangers to friends.

For a large portion of its first half, Split Fiction‘s story remains relatively light. It lacks the serious, grounded concept of divorce from It Takes Two while also omitting that game’s tendency towards outright comedy and buffoonery. In Split Fiction, Hazelight is more interested in the theorycraft of storytelling, the steam and pistons that fire off in the brain and spark ideas. The egregiously clichéd CEO of Rader isn’t some mustache-twirling supervillain, he’s played straight as the menacing kind of corporate overlord that preys on creatives, seemingly replacing his own lack of imagination with capital. Mio and Zoe are the thorns in his heel on the quest to literally steal ideas from authors to fuel his company’s own coffers.

But Split Fiction doesn’t cloud any of this in covert allusion or heady cutscenes. Musical cues, body language, and cinematic framing make it obvious that Rader is up to no good. What’s more important are the stories; not the cause but the effect.

Were it real, the machine giving virtual form to Mio and Zoe’s ideas would be groundbreaking. Much like Assassin’s Creed‘s Animus, it would be a zenith in the mind’s expression. What if we could literally bottle up the essence of our brains and live it, touch it, explore it with all our senses? Even if it wasn’t truly real, wouldn’t it feel like it?

Early on, Zoe questions Mio about the story they played out. She’s curious about the rationale behind it, whether there’s any symbolism with her real life. Unlike Zoe’s world of fantasy and magic, Mio imagines a violent city run by technocratic gangs using their technology to gain an upper edge in society. Mio seems puzzled at Zoe’s inquiry. Not only have the two just begun to know each other, Mio merely thinks it’s a cool story that fits her aesthetic. Sure the world isn’t that great but there’s not more to it. Right?

Split Fiction doesn’t overtly bash the player over the head with this rhetorical back and forth. It may not be entirely subtle but it is given the proper time to instill depth. Each of the game’s primary worlds is culled from a story tucked away in either Mio or Zoe’s head. The girls wrote or thought of these stories because of something going on in their lives. During dialogs and cutscenes, each of them will become increasingly curious and further open up.

Because neither Mio nor Zoe start out as rivals, they don’t have a stereotypical arc. Rather, Mio is standoffish from the jump and Zoe is bubbly. Those traits do remain but as characters, they merely become more expressive and detailed, revealing the deeper parts of themselves. Both play out their stories as a kind of tangible confession or therapy session and in doing so, they share a common bond, not just a common enemy. Where one may prefer Mio’s sassy attitude over Zoe’s whimsy, I imagine over the course of the game, both girls become layered enough to stand on their own that players will admire their individuality and their friendship.

As the player learns the deeper causality of Mio and Zoe’s lives as it translates through their work, Split Fiction does dual duty addressing the boundless nature of latent creativity. The way we interpret the world often comes through as art. Our endeavors to process, understand, and express our thoughts and feelings can come in the form of painting, writing, music, and more. Mio and Zoe are just lucky enough to have this opportunity, even if it’s one that could ultimately harm them.

Initially I consumed Split Fiction‘s story merely as a constant throughout the ever-changing gameplay. But as the game continued, it grew in meaning for me. Not simply because I fancy myself a writer at times but because the narrative feels like more than just flimsy excuses for wacky action moments. Kaja Chan and Elsie Bennett who voice Mio and Zoe respectively, carry the weight of the game’s deeper messaging on their backs and give sincerity to the heroines.

By the end, as gameplay and story become intrinsically linked, the player should be overjoyed at having been witness to this journey and helping bring both girls to a new point in their lives. While It Takes Two was focused on two intimate partners attempting to rekindle their connection, Split Fiction is about the growth of two strangers with stark contrasts, finding harmony into becoming friends. I imagine the significance may be different when playing the game with a spouse, partner, friend, or online stranger but the emotional stakes only strengthen the deeper players go.

It Takes Two felt like a revelation for players craving a title rich with gameplay. From action platforming, on-rails chases, and thoughtful puzzles, It Takes Two set a towering bar for any successor to reach. Split Fiction is a continuation of the magic Hazelight has laid forth but feels practically unrestrained to any preconceived notion as to how its gameplay may unfold.

Yes, It Takes Two was technically set in the area in and around Cody and May’s house, that much is true. But Hazelight went the route of a quirky Nintendo 64 era Rare platformer. Characters were fuzzy and cuddly and slimy and bouncy and colorful. Everyday objects were anthropomorphized, sprung from the mind of a child’s coloring book.

Split Fiction purports to fixate its primary settings on the realms of science fiction and fantasy. And while that is certainly true, those two umbrellas can rope in countless other sub-genres, maximizing the potential for innovative and clever ideas.

The game is divided across 8 sizable levels that can take anywhere from two to three hours to fully complete. The technical “goal” is to reach the glitches forming in the simulation that will help Mio and Zoe break out of their mind cage.

Each level centers on either a science fiction or fantasy setting, inspired by one of the stories nestled in Mio or Zoe’s head. Inside each, players are treated to a revolving door of obstacles that are tackled with both an evolving skill or tool specific to that level and, as Dr. Hakim would say, COLLABORATION.

Split Fiction is most efficiently played as a cooperative experience with another person online or a couch co-op partner–and while I’m sure in the near future the world may see someone beat this game solo, we’re not counting them right now. Most of the game is spent with a black line dividing the screen in half–one side Mio, one side Zoe. Each half represents that particular player’s viewpoint, complete with full camera control. At key moments during the game, however, the two halves will merge and be unified as one screen.

Not to be that guy but… to truly expound upon the wonders of the numerous gameplay sections in Split Fiction would be a detriment not only to the surprise of experiencing them for the first time, but often the spectacle of these events as they unfold. Hazelight has managed to triple-down on their tricks while making nearly everything I played in Split Fiction feel fresh and new.

While core tenets like physics-based puzzles, synced up button presses, shooting galleries, races, flight simulators, and dancing minigames are used across the broad spectrum of games, Hazelight makes them special by requiring two players either working in tandem or in service to each other.

A later level taking place in Zoe’s fantasy world of dragons has players nurturing a dragon egg by carrying it around. Placing the egg will initiate various environmental cues and interactions. As the level progresses, the eggs hatch and baby dragons emerge. Mio’s dragon is capable of gliding while Zoe’s can cling to leafy walls. In one section as Mio I flew to distant platforms Zoe would be unable to reach, eventually meeting up at a pair of rotating water wheels. I had to jump on a switch to control the rotation of the wheels, coordinating when to switch so Zoe wouldn’t hit deadly spikes, eventually reaching a new section where we could meet up.

Then there’s the jet ski chase through an exploding facility.

Or the shooting gallery against mechs.

And that troll chase through a village.

I’m sorry. I said I wouldn’t do it but it’s truly a challenge to extol my praises of Split Fiction‘s astounding inventiveness in terms of variety and implementing cooperative gameplay. The synergy between its challenges from the simple to the complex works because Hazelight smartly introduces each mechanic naturally, allowing players to familiarize themselves with them before layering on a new mechanic or challenge.

Cooperation is key to Split Fiction and there are few places in which one player can progress further than the other. Perhaps you’re playing with a partner who is inexperienced with action games or quick-response gameplay. There is some generosity and forgiveness in terms of checkpointing.

Generally, when both players die then a segment will restart. During bosses this may mean they recover health and attack patterns will need to be burned through. During chase sequences a player dying may spawn right next to their partner or will wait until an opportune moment to be respawned. Mashing a button triggers a revival but there were a few times where players can come back to life only to die again instantly because they were plopped right in front of danger.

For all its generosity, there are issues with legibility in Split Fiction. A number of times the action gets extremely hectic and it can be difficult not only to decipher where players need to go, but what they should be avoiding. The camera may not act properly, causing confusion. Navigation can especially be troublesome during chase and escape sequences where pathing isn’t always clear on where players should move, especially when the scenery is crumbling around them.

Combine that with some platforming sections that don’t always have the most responsive landings, double jumps and dashes that can feel clunky, or spots that the player simply isn’t hitting the right cues, all leading to puzzling deaths. But considering the sheer breadth of Split Fiction‘s offering, this should only cause minor annoyances to experienced players and stiff encouragement for those who feel defeated–or that they are holding the team back. And if worse comes to worse, the option exists to simply skip a section if it proves too much of a brick wall.

Split Fiction never truly feels like a cumbersome or obscenely difficult game for any skill level. Playing with a less inexperienced gamer, there are definitive moments of stress and frustration. But like its predecessor, the game wants players to work together, to communicate, to succeed. And if a friendship or relationship isn’t slightly tested in these scenarios, is it really that meaningful?

It serves as a testament to Hazelight’s ability that Split Fiction never feels boring, overly tedious, or rote. Scattered across most of the levels are optional gameplay segments called “Side Stories” that represent minor ideas or stories Mio or Zoe had that never truly flourished into full-fledged fiction. Meant as bite-sized “distractions” that can take around 15 to 30 minutes to complete, these moments contain some of the most brilliant and creative work Hazelight has done across their wide spectrum of games.

Not only do they allow players a secondary peek into the minds of Mio and Zoe, they are one-off extensions that bend the rules of the main game. Funny, heartwarming, weird, and always a surprise, these sections should not be skipped.

Perhaps the biggest praise that can be heaped on Split Fiction is that it is a momentous piece of gaming. Bursting at the seams are references to pop culture, other video games, and numerous pieces of media that have all done service to help inspire Hazelight’s work. It feels like a culmination of its prior three games, undoubtedly. But more importantly is that countless segments spread across the entirety of Split Fiction not only feel like their own promise of a bespoke game but a perfect idea, encapsulated in a singular few moments of a level. The absolute variety spread across the game in unquestionably dense, meaning players should truly never tire of one mechanic or trick because they’ve simply moved onto something new and exciting. And that is powerful in its own right.

Especially in the Side Stories content I expect players to be in awe at the polish and spectacle some of these gameplay twists achieve. If passerby didn’t know what game you were playing, they would think it’s a vertical slice from one of the biggest triple-A titles available. Honestly, it feels like Hazelight is showing off at this point. And with setpieces like this, one can’t complain.

Split Fiction is an exceptionally triumphant moment for players. Hazelight Studios has created another cooperative masterpiece but this time around, pulled out every trick in the book. Endlessly dazzling, profoundly inventive, and impossibly fun, it’s hard to imagine anyone topping this kind of synergy. But Hazelight continues to prove they can one-up themselves every time.