Kenny’s filthy notebook
(with several repeating lines of “SCREW WRIGHTLEY” scrawled in
it) legible page #4: Ah! Sleeping is great! It’d be greater if
there was a hot chick beside me when I wake up for some freshening
up. Damn, I’m starting to sound like a dirty American!
 |
| Wow! I can get clairvoyant dreams?! I knew I was some kind of superhero since I’m an underpaid staff member from a newspaper with a two-word name that starts with “Daily”! Thus, I shall call myself NormalMan! I have the ability to be so mundane that villains lock themselves up in jail out of pity for my utter lack of extraordinary abilities! |
After waking up from a wet dream about some snuff film, it was time for the Inquest! I love
quests! Conquest, Inquest, Outquest, me like ‘em all! Without
further ado, I stepped out of my single room flat (that’s what UK
and their Commonwealth colonial indentured serva- er… partners call
apartments) of a bachelor pad. As expected, a search through my own
abode turns up with nothing. I was fully hoping to find myself to be
the killer Fight Club style. It’d be totally kickass.
 |
| A ground floor apartment? In goddamn London? With a wide open door? Maybe I should lay out a Welcome mat for every shot-up hooligan in Great Britain. |
I was about to hail for a
cab but lo! There seems to be an Eastern exit in this screen.
Travelling across it, you wouldn’t believe how coincidental and
convenient it would be.
 |
| O-ho~ So my in-game arch-rival for journalistic supremacy is living just next door, eh? |
What better way to win the
race than to foster a false friendship with him and dig out whatever
he may know for my own mercenary purpose? It’s not honorable, sure,
but I’ll bet Oliver’s thinking the same and would have done it if
he grew a pair that are larger my gargantuan ones.
Upon entering his home, I
found no one there. So he’s already left for the inquest? That
slimy bastard. Fine. Since, I’m already certified to be a
trespasser, I might as well make the most of it.
 |
| Finders keepers, losers weepers! |
I immediately made my
way to the Victoria Station and took a train down to Brighton as fast
as I could. When I reached the courtroom, who was there but Denis
effing Oliver, I knew you were fast, you bastard, but damn are you a
squiggly one.
 |
| Look at that smug oh-so-punchable pixelated face. |
And then, finally! The first
woman in the game! I almost thought that I had wandered into a
Hercule Poirot novel. The lady goes by the name of Amethyst
Manwaring. Look at those low-res hooters, guys. Look at them.
 |
| I know I’m a ladies’ man but damn, that was easy. |
Anyway, to follow through
with my plan to steal Oliver’s thoughts by forging a relationship based
purely on insincerity, lies and possibly even some homoerotic sexual
tensions, I initiated my conversation but…
 |
| How did you know? HOW DID YOU KNOW?! |
That’s the way you
wanna play it, Oliver? You want to know just how low and childish a
man can go when he can’t get what he wants?
 |
| Someone hates someone on Monday. And look who gave a BJ to whom on Tuesday! |
In your face, my good
neighbor! I’m reading your goddamn journal right in front of
you and you can’t have it! Neener neener! Oh wait. Inquest’s
starting.
 |
| Seriously, there must be some kind of hair-loss epidemic in this game. Oliver’s probably bald under that hat of his. |
 |
| Hmm… So, Geraldine Tracey was Geraldine Potts who had a brother named Arthur Potts. And her husband, Mr. Tracey, is a generous man… a rich man. Rich enough to buy a jade dagger. And close enough to Geraldine to plunge it in her heart. That’s Suspect #1 for ya. Who is this Mr. Tracey? |
 |
| Aha! A fat and brightly dressed man! You must be Mr. Tracey! |
Moving over to the Anteroom,
my eyes almost bled from the clash of colors between that new
character against the monochrome background. He’s so in-your-face
that I seriously doubt that he’d be the killer and immediately
struck him off my suspect list even before I could put him there.
 |
| “Your” dear Geraldine? Is this some kind of strange British way of addressing one’s friend? Is that why Holmes always says, “My dear Watson”? |
I can almost smell Fisher’s
fingers full of Geraldine’s fishy poontang pie from this side of
the screen. He has a shop up in North Street? I’m gonna pay you a
visit. Or rob you if you’re not there. Like what I did to Oliver,
that little arrogant turd nugget.
Yea, a weak heart from all
that cholesterol, I presume. Hmm… I will have to ask Fisher where this Geraldine and her husband lives. I’m sure I can find
more clues for the first murder than the subsequent ones. It’s
always easier to track a killer by finding his first mistakes than to
spot for new ones in his later killings after he has gained all that
confidence and experience to remove evidence.
Killers are like D&D
Wizards. They suck at Level 1 but they’ll rip (out your innards) at Level 9. Anyway, what Oliver said to me reminded me of something. This game
allows me to tail someone and even request a cab to follow anyone.
Once again, a game mechanic that no other Adventure game has that is
not part of a cut-scene. This game is so open and the more my
character knows, the bigger it becomes.
I must say, the colour on line drawing art style is a bit odd. Still better then magenta though!
ReplyDeleteI'll say. I like the game-screen pixel artwork though. It's the close-up portrait that's not so attractive.
Delete