Hideo Kojima is a bit of a madman. I mean that in the best way possible, obviously. If you've ever sat through a forty-minute cutscene about the philosophy of memes—not the funny cat kind, but the actual sociological concept of cultural data—while a man in a cardboard box sneaks past a giant bipedal tank, you know exactly what I’m talking about. The Metal Gear Solid series isn't just a collection of stealth games. It is a weird, messy, prophetic, and deeply emotional sprawling epic that somehow predicted the rise of private military corporations and fake news decades before they hit the headlines.
Most people think they get it. They think it's about a gruff guy named Snake saving the world from nukes. Well, yeah. Sorta. But that’s like saying Moby Dick is just a book about a big fish.
The weird truth about the Metal Gear Solid series timeline
It’s a disaster. Honestly. If you try to play these games in chronological order for your first time, you’re going to be hopelessly lost. You start in the 1960s with Snake Eater, jump to the 70s with Peace Walker, then suddenly you’re in 2005 for the original PlayStation classic. It’s a headache. But that’s the point. Kojima wasn’t building a straight line; he was building a legend.
Take Big Boss. In the early 90s NES and MSX games, he was just the "bad guy." A pixelated traitor. But by the time we got to Metal Gear Solid 3, we realized he was a tragic hero who got screwed over by his own government. He didn't turn evil because he wanted power. He turned because the world he lived in treated soldiers like disposable tools. That’s a heavy theme for a game where you can also find a secret ending involving a time-traveling grandfather.
The shift from Solid Snake to Big Boss is where the Metal Gear Solid series really finds its soul. Solid Snake is the world-weary clone trying to stop the cycle. Big Boss is the man who accidentally started it. It’s a Greek tragedy played out with rocket launchers and nanomachines.
What people get wrong about the "Tactical Spying"
Everyone calls it "Tactical Spying Action." That was the marketing tagline for years. But if you actually play MGS2: Sons of Liberty, you realize the game is actively mocking you for being a player. It’s meta. It’s weird. Raiden—the guy everyone hated back in 2001 because he wasn't Snake—was literally designed to be a stand-in for the "gamer" who just wanted to play a cool simulation.
And then there's the AI. In 2001, the game talked about an organization called The Patriots controlling the flow of digital information to shape human thought. People thought it was sci-fi gibberish back then. Now? In the age of algorithmic feeds and deepfakes? It’s terrifyingly accurate. Kojima wasn't just making a game; he was writing a warning.
Why Metal Gear Solid V feels unfinished (because it is)
We have to talk about the elephant in the room: The Phantom Pain. It is, mechanically, the best stealth game ever made. Period. The way you can approach a base from any angle, use weather to your advantage, or even drop a supply crate on an enemy's head is brilliant. But the story? It’s a ghost.
The fallout between Konami and Hideo Kojima is legendary in the industry. Kojima was basically locked in a room during the final months of development. This resulted in "Chapter 3" essentially being deleted. We’re left with a game that has a "phantom limb" sensation—you can feel where the rest of the story was supposed to be. Yet, even in its broken state, it says more about the cycle of revenge than most completed trilogies. The fact that the game ends on a twist that recontextualizes the entire 1980s era of the Metal Gear Solid series is a bold move that still divides fans today.
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Some hate it. They wanted a cinematic finale. Others, like me, think the incompleteness is almost poetic. It fits the theme of loss.
The legacy of the FOX ENGINE and the future of stealth
When Metal Gear Solid hit the PS1 in 1998, it changed everything. It introduced "cinematic" gaming. But it wasn't just the cutscenes. It was the details. It was the fact that if you caught a cold in the game, your sneezing would alert guards. If you looked at a poster of a girl, Snake would get distracted. This level of granular detail became the hallmark of the franchise.
Look at the remake of Metal Gear Solid 3, titled Delta. There is massive pressure on Konami to prove they can do this without Kojima. Can you have Metal Gear without the man who breathed life into it? It’s a tough sell. The Metal Gear Solid series is so tied to one man’s specific, eccentric vision that a "safe" version might just feel hollow.
We’ve seen what happens when you try to make a generic version—look at Metal Gear Survive. The less said about that zombie-defense-microtransaction-mess, the better. It lacked the "genes" of the series.
Breaking the fourth wall
- Psycho Mantis: Reading your memory card and vibrating your controller. This wasn't just a gimmick; it was the game reaching out and touching the player.
- The End: In MGS3, you can literally beat a legendary sniper by saving your game during the fight, waiting a week, and reloading. He dies of old age. Who does that?
- The Box: It started as a joke, but the cardboard box became a symbol of the series' absurdity. It’s the ultimate "stealth" tool in a world of high-tech sensors.
The series consistently proves that you can be serious about war, nuclear proliferation, and PTSD while still having a sense of humor. It refuses to be one thing. It’s a political thriller, a sci-fi soap opera, and a slapstick comedy all at once.
How to actually get into the Metal Gear Solid series today
If you’re looking to dive in now, don't start with the spin-offs. Ignore Rising for a second—even though it’s a masterpiece of action—and stick to the mainline. The Master Collection Vol. 1 is the easiest way to get the classics on modern hardware, though the ports have their quirks.
- Play MGS1 first. Don't skip it because of the graphics. The voice acting by David Hayter and the atmosphere of Shadow Moses are unmatched.
- Expect to be confused. It’s okay. Nobody understood the ending of MGS2 the first time they played it in 2001. You’re supposed to feel a bit manipulated.
- Pay attention to the codecs. Some of the best writing in the Metal Gear Solid series isn't in the cutscenes. It's in the optional radio calls. You'll learn about everything from Godzilla movies to the history of the SAS.
- Experiment. The games reward creativity. If you think a weird tactic might work, it probably will. Try smoking a cigarette to see laser beams. Try using ketchup to fake your own death in a prison cell.
The real "Metal Gear" isn't the robot. It’s the idea that one person, through their actions and their will, can change the course of history—for better or worse. Whether you're playing as the legendary Big Boss or the weary Solid Snake, the games ask you to take responsibility for the world you're leaving behind.
To really appreciate the Metal Gear Solid series, you have to stop looking for a standard military shooter. It’s an art piece. It’s a protest. It’s a long, rambling, brilliant monologue about what it means to be human in a world that wants to turn us all into data points. Go buy the collection, hide in a box, and see for yourself. You won't regret it.