About half a year ago I stumbled across Disco Elysium. I fell in love with this game almost immediately. The style of storytelling, the art, and the sheer chaos of the game's protagonist was something that just pulled me in from the start. There's something incredibly engaging about a self-destructive protagonist that we are at the hands of. Capable of amplifying that self-destructive behaviour and attempting to be some sort of hero detective at the same time. I didn't get too far into the game, but I remember it being something incredibly addictive. But, I got a bit sick, and then had to leave my computer behind and travel across the planet. I never did get to finish the game, and I've thought about it a lot since. I purchased an overpriced Macbook Pro here in Armenia though, and while that's certainly not the gaming machine one would ever want, it seems to be just barely capable of running the game. Albeit on low settings and with the fans screaming at me as the body reaches temperatures capable of frying eggs and bacon.
I booted up the game, having to deal with Crossfire in order to play it, and instantly opted for creating the most broken character I could. One so empty inside that the process of being a detective should be a great challenge. Incapable of talking to people, barely capable of moving. A constant drunkard on the brink of passing out at any moment. It got me excited to play as a character that roams through the space with no awareness. To have everyone looking at him like he's delusional and insane, and that's ultimately what he is. What is my name again, anyway? Apparently I'm some sort of detective, I have a logo on me that appears to imply that, though I'll just tell everyone I stole it from a real detective. From my last attempted playthrough, I think I gave my character a bit more intelligence, a little more health. Someone capable of a bit of thought and agility. The game wasn't that difficult as a result. Engagements with people seemed simple, and I rarely lost any morale and health. It's time for total pain and misery now though!
I tried to convince myself to stay in the ether. To avoid the suffering of reality by not opening my eyes to it. I toyed with my own mind in the debate of existence and whether I wanted to return to it. The darkness felt so good. There was a hint of emotional trauma, something about an ex? I ignored it. I couldn't possibly feel love. I don't exist! But wait, what is this? Light? Objects thrown around the room as I pulled myself up from the ground holding my head up with my hand. A thumping headache. Where are my clothes? Do I really need them? Attempting to pull my tie from the fan, I almost died. Clenching my chest in pain from the horrific movement I subjected myself to. One step at a time from here on, I guess. I gathered my things, and looked into the mirror. An expression of pain was visible. An attempted smile from a broken face; this was no genuine emotion, this was one that instinctively came out. But is this really me? I think I would like to return to the darkness now.
I escaped the pain of the mirror. But I was still unfortunate to be in reality. Stumbling across the room and out into the outdoor world, I began my first encounters with people. Opting for the rudest, most insufferable being possible. Refusing help, rejecting pity. Downright stubborn and direct. Few seemed to mind at first, it seems that everyone is already familiar with my antics. There is no sympathy here, no care for the next big trick to come from my sleeve. They've seen it all before, yet I continue. It's already too late to go back, I've apparently already been doing this nonsense for two or three days already. They know me, they don't want to know me. I stumbled around a little more and stole some leftover change on the counter, out onto the balcony and found my other shoe. I felt sick at the air outside. That dose of reality again being too much to deal with.
I avoided everyone after going downstairs. I didn't want to talk to the people around me. I had already attempted one discussion with someone upstairs and that was uneventful. But I stumbled into a fellow detective that was searching for me. I told him I was not the main he was looking for. He assumed I was. He asked about the body outside, I lied and told him it was dealt with already. That I had already talked with everyone, settled any hotel debts, and all was well. Not a single part of this was true, and he saw through it quickly, insisting that we go through it all again, releasing a little sigh at the realisation of what he was to now deal with. Clearly a man of professionalism, dedication to the job. But I was quite the opposite, I couldn't even remember my own name. Speaking of which, perhaps it's time I make up something cool? This could be my big break to give myself some real cool superstar detective name, after all! But none of that matters anyway, whether I have a name or not, I'm still an alcoholic mess with a raging migraine. And it appears that I was engaging in some sort of behaviour the night before that resulted in people having taken a lesser liking to me.
The urge to perform karaoke for everyone is intense though. For seem reason it feels like it is my destiny to perform for everyone, to give off the greatest performance there ever was! But I need to find some song to sing first. At least my priorities are in order. Forget about the decaying body outside that's supposedly my problem and I have to solve some crime or whatever. I guess that can wait. The first thing is finding something to smoke and a drink or two.