I approach the crime scene, my mind drifting back to the events of the morning.
There had been another flashback of the war - a black and white, slightly blurry remembrance of that one time a superior officer cursed and I acted in an ambitious manner while my fellow soldiers shook their heads. I had been experiencing a lot of flashbacks lately, come to think of it, at the rate of one per solved case.
When the vision had ended, my partner and I had responded to five street crimes. Each call resulted in a foot chase involving only myself and the suspect, each leading to a standoff involving a hostage. Each suspect had poked his head around the hostage, leaving me with a clear shot. Maybe they were eager to see if I was still there, or perhaps were making sure I was actually holding a gun.
Five times I had solemnly watched a suspect's body being loaded into a coroner's vehicle, the gun still in my hand for some reason. As a result of the morning's actions, I had received two promotions, access to seven vehicles in mysterious warehouses, and a stylish new suit with a nickname like "The Dusk Avenger". In other words, a slow day.
I step beyond the barricade and take in the crime scene. Yet another woman's corpse, discarded in the park, numerous clues scattered around her body. A witness eager to spill the beans. The coroner, ready with his preliminary report. Bloody shoe prints. Muddy tire tracks. A note from the killer.
Naturally, I head straight for a discarded coffee cup on the edge of the crime scene.
Taking a squat, I pick up the coffee cup and lean in close. It doesn't appear to be anything. I know, because I mumble to myself "It doesn't appear to be anything."
Still, all I've seen is one side of the object. There is at least one other side. Some philosophers believe that there are even 360 degrees from which one can view any given object.
I slowly turn the cup to the left, tilting it at an angle to display the bottom of the mug.
"Not everything is relevant," my monologue points out. Being a detective, however, I question whether or not I can trust myself. It's best to suspect everyone and let the evidence guide us.
I slowly turn the cup to the right. This time, I tilt the cup so that I can see inside of it. Nope. Nothing.
My partner approaches. His legs move as though he is taking some big old strides, however his body has slightly brushed against my crouched form, causing him to slide sideways an inch at a time.
Possibly embarrassed, he takes this opportunity to tell me to hurry up. He then goes on a strange tangent, explaining why women need to be knocked around, and emphasizing how people need drugs to relax because they're totally just chemicals like in coffee.
He's funny like that. Good cop, though. Not that he's actually solved a case, or shot a suspect, or come up with a valuable clue. Mostly he's just good at telling me when to turn the car when I drive. When I ask him to drive, he's really good at getting in the car through the passenger seat then sliding over.
Deciding that the coffee cup might not be linked to the murder, I stand up and assess the scene. Time to find something that will truly break the case. Time to find one of those newspapers that play movies about drug dealing therapists in my head.
The Witcher 2
If you were wondering where all the heart, creativity, painstaking detail, variety, and meaningful dialog that was supposed to be in Dragon Age 2 wandered off to, it's here, only without any of the useful UI or clearly communicated gameplay concepts. 9/10
The First Templar
Assassin's Creed as seen through the lens of Fable III, executed with the quality of Bad Day LA. 5/10
This is it, the racing game that beats the impossible expectations set by my first Mario Kart (SNES) and the layers of revisionist nostalgia that had slowly built up over the years. 9/10
Dungeons & Dragons: Daggerdale
Less self-serious and way more fun than Marvel Ultimate Alliance 2, though to be fair that can be said about most games. 7/10
The most absorbing police procedural ever made, held back by questionable interrogation logic and fewer opportunities to exert your brainpower than in a much shorter Phoenix Wright game. 8/10
Dead Or Alive: Dimensions
I don't usually spoil games, but I think one of the dimensions that the title refers to is the third dimension. 6/10
Ernest Cline, writer of Ready Player One, shares his newest poem.
Honestly, the Assassin In Love poster is nearly perfect to begin with. It just needs a few minor tweaks.
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