Disco Elysium: The Final Cut
Making all the right choices
There’s a body hanging outside your hostel window, and somehow that’s the least of your worries. You’ve trashed your room, and woken up with a killer hangover, none of your clothes, no memory of who you were and you’re missing your gun and badge because… ah, right, you’re a cop.
Meeting with detective Kim Kitsuragi from a rival precinct (nobody can decide whose jurisdiction the crumbling Martinaise district falls within), it’s up to both of you to learn about the corpse. Who is he? Who killed him? And why?
Tensions are flaring as the dockworkers’ union is on strike and the big business the dockers work for is eager for it to end, while the general lawlessness of the left-to-rot city of Revachol means trouble lurks around every corner. It’s the kind of place where craters from a revolution long ago still gape in the streets, drug-snorting kids throw rocks at bodies, and lorries back up in a line as they await the strike’s end.
Of course, the hanging body is just the starting pistol shot, after which things get stranger. In fact, one trophy in the game is awarded for solving everything without examining the corpse once. It’s both important to the core of the story, and at the same time the furthest from it. Threads dangle everywhere, and you fill up your notebook with “side things”
(as your protagonist puts it). Through poking your nose into other people’s business you’ll learn more about the strange world of Elysium (the inexplicable eroding of space that is The Pale, for instance), and create a unique take on your character through your actions.
SKILL CHECK
At a glance, Disco has a lot in common with the likes of Divinity. Its numerous skill checks even play out as dice rolls on screen. But there’s no turn-based combat. Everything is a mix of dialogue and skill checks. Action will happen – with the right physical build you can spin-kick some foes, and dodge flying bullets – but within the same narrative wrapper as the rest of the game. Making choices during genuinely tense moments gives them a greater sense of importance than umming and ahhing over a drawn-out tile-based RPG grid.
Missing skill checks won’t make you feel like you’re missing out, either. Some of the most memorable moments stem from how the story diverts after failed dice rolls. Disco thrives on how it reacts to your successes and failures. There’s no wrong way to play. Roll the dice, follow your gut, play your character, and sooner or later you’ll get to the end, having played out a story that feels uniquely and satisfyingly your own.
You only have so many days in Revachol as events begin to spiral. Time passes as you commit to actions, not when you’re wandering around. But there are limits to what you can do, and choices you to prioritise, whether that’s undertaking missions or spending your funds or skill points. From the off, your starting skill points limit your maximum skill proficiency. Unless you use body-harming drugs, and winners don’t use drugs.
MMM… JAZZ
Electro-Chemistry hassles you to experiment, as you’re a recovering (if you choose) alcoholic. That’s just one of 24 possible skills that talk to you throughout the game, your own thoughts personified (and now excellently voiced by jazz musician Lenval Brown). Whether you acquire the likes of Logic, Savoir Faire, or Drama, they all want a say. It adds marvellous colour, your character build literally shaping the narrative. Clothing also offers skill bonuses, and some (like your gaudy tie), unique dialogue. Make space in your thought cabinet too, and different lines of thinking yield stat buffs and debuffs.
This is a luxurious production, looking and sounding fantastic. The hours will fly by, the writing is incredibly sharp. The story is often foul and grim, but it’s quirky too, endlessly interested in the mix of people that make up its bizarre world, all dancing together on the disco floor.