The video game industry has its fair share of skeletons in the closet, but usually, those skeletons are metaphorical. We’re talking about rushed release dates or cut content. Then there is Hong Kong 97. If you’ve spent any time in the darker corners of the internet or followed the history of "kusoge" (Japanese for "crap games"), you’ve likely stumbled upon the legend of the Hong Kong 97 dead body. It’s not a rumor. It’s not a creepypasta like Lavender Town or Ben Drowned. It is a genuine, digitized image of a deceased human being used as a "Game Over" screen in a low-budget Super Famicom title from 1995.
For decades, the image sat in a sort of digital purgatory. It was grainy, distorted, and shrouded in mystery. Players wondered: Who was this person? How did a photo of a corpse end up in a game about Chin fighting a "billion people"? To understand why this exists, you have to look at the chaotic, rebellious, and frankly nihilistic culture that birthed the game in the first place.
The Most Infamous Game Over Screen Ever
The game itself is a mess. Developed by HappySoft—which was basically just a one-man operation run by Japanese journalist and traveler Kowloon Kurosawa—Hong Kong 97 was sold as an unlicensed bootleg in Hong Kong and Japan. The gameplay consists of a single loop of shooting enemies while a short snippet of a Chinese children’s song, "I Love Beijing Tiananmen," loops endlessly. It’s abrasive. It’s loud. And when you finally lose, you’re greeted with the Hong Kong 97 dead body image.
The screen shows a man lying on the ground, his face and chest bloodied, with text overlaying the image. For years, the low resolution of the Super Famicom made it hard to tell if it was a real photo or a very convincing practical effect from a movie. In the early 2000s, forums like 4chan and various gaming wikis were rife with speculation. Some thought it was a victim of the Bosnian War. Others guessed it was a still from a "mondo" film or a snuff movie. The reality, as it turns out, is both more grounded and more grim.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Image Origin
The most common misconception was that the image was a victim of the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests. Given the game’s political (if nonsensical) themes, it seemed like a logical leap. However, as internet sleuths got better at cross-referencing archives, the truth emerged. The photo is actually a still from a news report or a documentary regarding the Bosnian War, specifically a victim from 1992.
Kowloon Kurosawa has been surprisingly open about the game’s development in recent years. In an interview with South China Morning Post, he admitted that the game was meant to be a middle finger to the gaming industry. He wanted to make something "vulgar" and "terrible." When it came time to create a Game Over screen, he didn’t hire an artist. He didn’t draw a sprite. He reportedly took a still from a laserdisc he owned. Back then, "shock" culture was a burgeoning thing in the underground media scenes of Tokyo and Hong Kong. Kurosawa was a journalist who specialized in documenting the seedy underbellies of Asian megacities. To him, using a real photo of a corpse was just another way to provoke.
Why Does This Still Matter in 2026?
You might think a thirty-year-old bootleg game would be forgotten. It isn't. The Hong Kong 97 dead body remains a focal point for discussions on ethics in media and the "Wild West" era of the early internet. It represents a time before digital footprints were easily traceable and before content moderation existed in any meaningful way.
- It highlights the total lack of oversight in the unlicensed console market of the 90s.
- The image serves as a precursor to modern "shock sites."
- It challenges our desensitization to violence in gaming by forcing a real-life consequence onto a digital space.
Honestly, the game isn't fun. It’s barely playable. But the inclusion of a real deceased person elevates it from a "bad game" to a "cursed object." There’s a psychological weight to knowing that while you’re engaging with a piece of entertainment, you’re looking at the actual end of a human life. It’s a jarring juxtaposition that most mainstream developers wouldn't dare touch today.
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Decoding the Mystery: How the ID Was Found
The process of identifying the Hong Kong 97 dead body is a masterclass in modern digital forensics. For a long time, the image was just "the body." Then, members of the "Lost Media" community began scouring old VHS tapes of Japanese news broadcasts and "death" documentaries like Faces of Death or its various imitators.
They eventually found the source material. It was a segment of news footage from 1992 covering the conflict in Bosnia and Herzegovina. The man in the photo was an unidentified casualty of that war. Seeing the original, high-quality still is even more disturbing than the pixelated version in the game. It strips away the "video game" layer and reminds the viewer that this was a person with a family, a life, and a story that had nothing to do with a cynical Japanese bootleg game.
The Developer's Perspective
Kowloon Kurosawa has expressed a mix of amusement and mild regret over the game's longevity. He didn't expect people to still be talking about it decades later. In his mind, it was a joke—a piece of "trash art" meant to be consumed and discarded. He has even stated that he wishes people would stop asking him about it because he's moved on to other things. But when you put a real human corpse in a piece of software, you don't really get to control the narrative anymore. The audience takes over.
The Ethical Quagmire of Abandonware
What do we do with a game like Hong Kong 97? It’s technically abandonware. You can find the ROM on dozens of sites. You can play it in your browser. But by hosting it, these sites are essentially distributing an image of a real dead body without consent. It’s a unique problem in gaming history. Usually, when a game is controversial, it's because of simulated violence. This is different. This is a violation of a person's dignity, turned into a 16-bit punchline.
Many archivists argue that the game should be preserved as a historical curiosity—a "what not to do" for developers. Others believe the Game Over screen should be censored in modern emulators out of respect for the deceased. There is no easy answer. The internet doesn't forget, and it certainly doesn't delete things easily.
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Actionable Insights for Digital Historians and Fans
If you are interested in the history of strange or "cursed" media, there are ways to explore this without falling down a rabbit hole of pure shock content. Understanding the context is key.
- Research the "Kusoge" subculture. Hong Kong 97 didn't exist in a vacuum. It was part of a broader Japanese movement of intentionally bad games. Understanding this helps contextualize why Kurosawa felt the need to be so extreme.
- Verify sources before sharing. A lot of the info regarding the Hong Kong 97 dead body on TikTok and YouTube is still based on old, debunked rumors. If a video says the body is from a 1997 murder, they’re wrong. Use reputable lost media wikis that cite specific footage.
- Respect the humanity behind the pixels. It’s easy to treat "the body" as a game asset. It wasn't. It was a person. When discussing the game, acknowledging the tragedy of the source material is the bare minimum for an ethical discussion.
- Explore Kurosawa’s other work. To get a better sense of the creator, look at his travel writing. He was a guy obsessed with the "real" and "gritty" parts of the world. The game was an extension of that obsession, however misguided.
The legacy of Hong Kong 97 is one of unintended consequences. What was meant to be a quick, edgy joke became a permanent scar on the history of the Super Famicom. It serves as a grim reminder that behind every "creepy" digital legend, there is often a very real, very human reality that deserves more than being a background image for a "Game Over" screen.