waffleguppies:

I got LA Noire in the Steam sale, but forgot to check the specs first, and it turns out that it’s a little bit beyond the capability of my computer, which is a few years old and suffering from a heat-damaged graphics card.

It’s fine, though. The game is playable. In fact, it’s a lot more interesting.

My poor frying graphics card has unintentionally changed the entire genre of the game. What was meant to be straight-up hard-boiled detective noir has turned into something like Ray Chandler meets HP Lovecraft.

LA Noire.

The desperate tale of one man alone in the City of Angels, the only man who can see through the gritty reality of 1950’s LA to the true eldritch horror lurking underneath.

Cole Phelps has a gift- though he’d call it a curse. He sees the true nature of things. He sees the monsters that live among us, wear our faces.

10:26AM. Another day, another dollar. I interviewed my first witness in the Gage shooting case. Shoe store clerk, name of Clavis Galleta. Pretty dame, if it wasn’t for the twelve-inch chitinous spikes errupting from her left hand.

She lit a cigarette. The movement passed most of the spikes directly through her own face. You need a strong stomach in this job.

I wonder if she even knows she’s one of them. They never seem to realise that I can see.

Day 26. I’ve been reassigned to Traffic. At my count, there are at least four of them in my new department.

I’m used to it by now, but it always gets me how they always seem so casual, so human. Sometimes I think they’re better at being us than we are.

Traffic is better than the beat. I have a new suit. My partner has giant green polygons for shoulders. When I try to drive us to our first scene, he becomes a two-dimensional oblong mass that obscures my vision.

I let him drive.