Indigo Prophecy (PlayStation 2) review "The relentless gravity of Indigo Prophecy pulls you through a vivid storm."

As snow falls innocently beyond the bathroom window, you sit quietly, your forearms freshly cut with the symbol of two snakes. Blood trickles down your pale skin and off your fingertips. The dust resting along the rims of the toilet curls in clumps of red.

The relentless gravity of Indigo Prophecy pulls you through an adventure like few others.

A crow tilts its head from behind the frozen window that is nestled along the edge of the ceiling. You step from the stall, your eyes in a trance, your body possessed, your hand firmly grasping a knife.

A middle-aged businessman cleanses his hands. His eyes settle upon the rust on the drain and the white of the porcelain. The running water washes over the creaks of the stall door that opens like a coffin. He looks up at the stained mirror. And turns.

Your knife sings without joy or mercy.

Once. No sound comes out.
Twice. He crumbles to the floor. His tailored suit rubs off the grit between the tile.
Pause. You mount his frail body, eerily satisfied.
Once. Twice. Glory. You stare at the dimly lit ceiling as if it was the beauty of the sky. Your arms spread like wings, and as the crow flies away, you begin to understand. Consciousness returns.

You are the killer. You are Lucas Kane.

Your mind falters. Panic brushes down your face. You have to hide the body. You have to clean the blood off the floor. Off your hands. Off your crime. One misstep and you might get caught.

A policeman rises from his bar stool, and he wants to relieve his bladder.

Your life on the run has just begun. Two NYPD detectives, Carla Valenti and Tyler Miles, are inching closer to your guilty verdict and leaving behind the tiniest fingerprint might end your search for the truth. You will see your story from their eyes out of curiosity and depth, but you will be too close to the edge of depression and suicide to care. Fail to save an innocent life or have flashbacks of that businessman and you might just mix those pills in the grubby kitchen with a shot of alcohol for fatal relief. Your emotional life-bar is constantly in flux; your sanity is decidedly your fate.

So drink a glass of water. Turn on the radio. Go through Theory of a Dead Man. Or listen to the unfettered vibes of Martina Topley-Bird and Nina Simone. Take a leak. Check yourself in the mirror. Make sure you’re normal. It may be the last chance you have.

Sanity is a commodity - and it will be tested. You will find romance with the enemy, relive moments in The Matrix, and discover an ancient conspiracy against all of humanity. Ducking and diving between enemies, from the real world or not, you must follow the glowing lights of two odd Simon Says panels with the analog sticks. Input the wrong sequence or tilt the sticks in the wrong direction and you'll find yourself under a moving car, not over it. You will wonder why you can't control your body directly during these interactive scenes, but your coordination and strength will be tested nonetheless. To hang on to a helicopter and open an ice-jammed window, you must alternate pressing the L1 and R1 buttons until you feel the strain in your thumbs, your hand, your wrist.

Perhaps you’re getting too caught up in the story.

Sudden visions begin to blind you. Angled shots, close-ups, slow-motion, blur - the camera is playing tricks on you. You cannot stay here. The bullets, the cops, the crows, and even the angels are after you. You have seen them seconds ahead, right beyond the corner.

Skip the collectible crosses for extra lives and the spinning tarot cards for bonus points. You won’t need them. Your choices are what matter, both action and dialogue. Stand and fight, or flee into the snow-filled streets? If the cops come knocking on your door, should you open it? Will the cops believe the truth? What lies do you wish to tell? How many have you told already?

Answer and the dots will be filled in. Stand back and you will see the dots form a picture, a brilliant work of art. The story it tells may be unoriginal and expected, but how it is told is far more important. You may not have full control over your beginning and your most pivotal scenes, but everything in between is yours to make. It forms on the lip of your consciousness without you knowing it.

Staring beyond the glass double-door of your apartment, it collects on the stone balcony. The blizzard continues to blow, as if your life does not matter.

But you begin to think. And you know you are alive.

Just like the falling snow.

Staff review by Nicholas Tan (August 20, 2007) A bio for this contributor is currently unavailable, but check back soon to see if that changes. If you are the author of this review, you can update your bio from the Settings page.