My Journey Crafting Death Stranding 2: On the Beach

It’s 2026, and I still can’t shake the weight of the question that’s defined my work on Death Stranding 2: On the Beach: “Should we have connected?” This isn’t just a plot point—it’s a reflection of every late night, every Zoom call, every moment of doubt I felt while building a game that had to reckon with a world forever changed by the pandemic.

I started thinking about this sequel long before the first Death Stranding even launched. Back then, the original game was a love letter to connection, a response to the rising divisions of a pre-pandemic world—Brexit, growing political rifts, the quiet isolation of modern life. But then COVID hit, and everything shifted. Suddenly, we were all forced to connect through screens, to rely on the internet for work, school, even funerals. I found myself wondering: is connection really the cure, or is it just another layer of complexity? That’s the question I wanted to unpack in Death Stranding 2.

The development process was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. We started work in the thick of lockdowns, when travel was impossible and most of our team was scattered across the globe. I’d write proposals while isolated in my Tokyo apartment, only meeting Yoji Shinkawa once a week to brainstorm. Performance capture sessions were a nightmare: I’d direct actors in Los Angeles remotely from Tokyo, using a hodgepodge of smartphones, iPads, and borrowed window-like monitors to try to feel present. There were days I thought we’d never finish. But that struggle is baked into the game’s DNA—every line, every mechanic, every theme is a product of that chaotic, isolating time.

One of the biggest changes we made was rethinking combat. The first Death Stranding was all about delivery, about avoiding conflict to keep your cargo safe. But for the sequel, I wanted to give players more choice. If you want to fight, you can; if you want to sneak around, you can; if you want to drive a motorcycle or car to avoid enemies entirely, that’s on you. This isn’t just about making the game more fun—it’s tied to that core question of connection. The internet is like a rope that binds us all together, but ropes alone aren’t enough. Sometimes we need sticks too—conflict, boundaries, even separation—to truly connect. That’s the idea Higgs hints at in the game, and it’s a reflection of how I see the world now: connection isn’t inherently good, and disconnection isn’t inherently bad.

We also added day and night cycles, a feature I’d wanted to include in the first game but couldn’t due to engine limitations. Watching the sun rise over a desert or set over an ocean adds a whole new layer of immersion. I wanted players to feel the passage of time, to experience the quiet beauty of a world that’s both familiar and alien. We even added a system where you can go to bed and wait for morning if you don’t want to travel at night—something I know many players will appreciate, especially when the BTs are out.

Casting was another challenge, especially during the pandemic. I reached out to Léa Seydoux to reprise her role as Fragile back in January 2020, but we couldn’t record for months due to lockdowns. For new roles, I wanted actors who could bring a raw, emotional depth to the story. When I needed someone to play Neil, a character who had to match the intensity of Mads Mikkelsen’s Cliff, I thought of Luca Marinelli. I’d loved his performance in Martin Eden, and when I reached out, he told me he’d been a fan of my work since he was a kid. His wife, Alissa Jung, ended up playing Lucy, his on-screen partner, and their scenes together were so powerful that even the crew on set was spellbound. There were times they’d even try to direct themselves—something I’d never experienced before.

Music was another big question. The first Death Stranding had an incredible soundtrack from Low Roar, and when Ryan Karazija passed away, I didn’t know how we’d replace that. Then, in January 2020, I met Woodkid in Paris. He played me a song called “Goliath” that hadn’t even been released yet, and I was blown away. When I watched his music videos, I noticed they featured beach scenes and whales—exactly like Death Stranding. It felt like fate. Woodkid felt immense pressure to live up to Low Roar’s legacy, but the response to his music in the game has been incredible. I also brought back Ludvig Forssell to handle the original soundtrack, just like the first game.

One of the most rewarding parts of making this game was seeing how players reacted to the first Death Stranding’s Social Strand System. I was worried no one would build highways, but so many players spent hours constructing them. That’s why we added monorails to the sequel—something for those players to work toward. Likes were another big debate: staff thought they were useless, but I wanted to capture that feeling of being appreciated, even if it doesn’t give you a power-up. It’s a strange game design choice, but it’s true to life.

Looking back, Death Stranding 2 is a reflection of everything I’ve experienced over the past few years. It’s about loss, about connection, about the messy, complicated nature of human relationships. The logo even reflects that: the first game’s logo had strands dangling from above, representing connection; the second’s has strands dangling from below, like a noose, like something that can trap you. It’s a subtle change, but it says everything about how my perspective has shifted.

Now that the game is out, I hope players see themselves in it. We’ve all gone through the pandemic, we’ve all felt the weight of connection and disconnection. I hope when you play, you’ll think about that question: should we have connected? And I hope you’ll find your own answer. After all, that’s what games are for—making us think, making us feel, making us connect, even if only for a little while.