Apparently, you play through a story of clandestine operations gone awry, but it's a dismissive narrative (in flashback, no less) once you understand that you are simply required to shoot anything that moves and most things that don't.
It's all justified, of course, because we're talking evil thugs, the lot of them, from "hey, my buddy's just took a shot to the head from an unknown assailant so I'll just stand here contemplating the merits of tuna on rye" morons to fiendishly self-preserving foes in body armor stalking you down like a tiger by the tail.
Moreover, you can also shoot nearly every single, otherwise-inanimate thing, like that wall in your way, that dubiously placed fuel tank next a conspicuously idle clutch of morons, or those unabashedly ubiquitous wood crates and glass windows, thereafter not so inanimate anymore, rather, hugely animated in their explosive journey to oblivion.
A veritable celebration of run-and-gun gaming, there's little stealth and only slight strategy in Black - not to mention a complete and glaring lack of tactical online wargaming. But the game isn't trying to offer deep and cerebral spy slaughter nor long-term multiplayer commitments. It's all about the singular experience of beautifully rendered, aurally authentic, modern day weapons and the fantastic carnage they'd produce give the right circumstances, such as the ones Black consistently offers up on a large scale.
A highly stylish bimbo of a game; a nicely polished, unapologetically violent, quick-fix, done-in-a-day bit of videogame catharsis, this one.
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