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Dick Tracy (MS/GEN, 1991)

The yellow trench coat returns.

Looks more like Warren Beatty to me.

PUBLISHER: Sega             DEVELOPER: Blue Sky Software

RELEASE DATE: 01/1991 (US), 04/1991 (EU), 07/1992 (BR)

I throw on my hat and trenchcoat and take to the streets. Another muggy, godforsaken day in this crime-infested cesspool. I can’t even go for a paper or a cuppa coffee without some trigger man slingin’ his chopper at me. I don’t need this… but I can’t help it. I’m too far gone. This damned city has its hooks in me. As long as I’m still breathing, I’ll take care of it, even when I’d rather watch it burn.

The press always makes things worse for me…

A man approaches from the front. Nice suit, complete with wide-brimmed hat covering his eyes so I can see he’s trouble. As I was saying, I can’t even take a walk to clear my head without some knucklehead crackin’ wise in my face. Problem is, my reaction time ain’t so good these days. If I don’t knock ’em out before they reach me, they get a shot in. I can’t take one like I used to. Two hits takes the wind out of me. Four hits, and I’m feeling my age. Six hits? I’m six feet under.

I wish this concrete didn’t feel so familiar.

Most of the time, anyone lookin’ for trouble will just walk right up and ask for it. Sometimes cowards hang out on the other side of the street and cause trouble with their tommies, shootin’ at me before I give permission. I’m always packin’ so they’re rarely an issue – unless the perps surround me from all sides. If my back’s having a good day, they’re toast. Otherwise, they’ll definitely get in a dirty shot or two.

Feels good to shoot somethin’, even if it is a cut-out.

If I make it through breakfast, I’m off on a case. The backalleys, the 7th Street Warehouse, the sewer. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll make it to Big Boy’s hideout and prepare him one of my patented knuckle sandwiches. Doubtful, but hey, we all got dreams.

This case, though… something ain’t right here. Usually, I’m looking for clues, following leads, chattin’ with dames. This one is all bang-bang business, and a dreary one at that. When I’m not getting lead slung at me, I feel like my shoes are filled with it. Why can’t I pick up the pace? How do these bastards get the slip on me time and again? Even the city looks nastier than usual, its hidden sins clearly on the surface.

The sky taunts me with its purple haze.

I suppose it’s not all bad. Sometimes one of the boys gives me a ride and we have a shootout. My adrenaline spikes. The wind on my face feels good. For a brief moment, it feels like the old days, but the thrills leave as quick as they come. Then it’s back to another dingy alley, another bruised face.

Make it quick, tough guy, it’s been a day.

At some point I arrive home. My head rolls, my body burns. Splash of bourbon, an uncomfortable bed. No progress, no closure, no dames. I lay down and shut my eyes, wondering if this is the end for ol’ Dick. If this is, perhaps… game over.


Shootin’ at no one again, Dick?
Watch out, Dick, the katakana’s on your six!

PUBLISHER: Sega                      DEVELOPER: Sega Technical Institute

RELEASE DATE: 01/1991 (US), 03/01/91 (JP), 04/1991 (EU), 12/1991 (BR)

I sleep it off, hope I’m just having a bad day. Been having a lot of those lately. Usually, one rolls right into another. I pray for relief. Dear God, give your old pal, Dick, a break. Been awhile since I threw up a prayer. Maybe it’ll reach.

Even the car has it in for me.

Morning comes likes an empty bottle, too soon and with a lotta regret. Doesn’t bode well for the rest. I walk outside hesitantly, take a deep breath. I see it: a new day, finally. The city looks beautiful, like she’s painted in rainbows. What’s more, she’s crying out for help and I’m aching to give it to her. I have a pep in my step; no more lead shoe nonsense. A steady beat and a brisk melody follow me, like a big band on my tail. Goons still give me the cock eye, but I make short work of them. My punch is solid. My aim is true. I can feel their fear, and it feels great. I don’t smile, but I want to. Dick is back, baby.

The goons don’t see me ’cause they’re idiots.

Same old case, for better and for worse. Ruff up some punks at the train yard, go give The Brow the business, maybe meet Big Boy if I say another prayer. But there’s a rhythm and a force behind the work today. I feel renewed, invigorated, like I’ve never taken down swarms of thugs before. Sure, it’d be nice to do some actual detective work. Maybe get a drink at the Club Ritz in between shootouts. But if beatdowns are all this case entails, so be it. My life isn’t pretty, it’s necessary. If I have my druthers, it’ll always be this way.


Maybe I am getting too old for this…

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