Affaire, L'

One thing will make you happy: when something happens during gameplay, it's always a surprise. L'Affaire throws you into a detective game from the eighties, where you have to solve some dark mystery. You won't learn much about the universe, the story, or specific details — the manual disappeared, websites didn't exist, and the game doesn't even try to explain itself.

It's played in text mode with a simple interface. You move around the screen, read texts, enter commands, or click on things. It's pure logic puzzle without poking at sprites and without action capability. The goal is simple: investigate, gather information, connect the dots. The game doesn't even try to be user-friendly. If you don't know how to move, you try to guess. If you don't guess right, you're stuck.

Graphics? None — text on a black background. Sound? Also no. It's pure mechanics without decoration. But this straightforwardness has its charm. The game won't wink at you, won't soften things, won't compromise. Either you're capable of understanding it, or you're not. This attitude was common in the eighties, but L'Affaire takes it further than others.

Today looking at it you probably won't fall asleep. It has no manual, no hint system, no mercy. If you find it, it's basically an experiment — how games were played when even the creators didn't know who they were making them for and how they should be played. In a way, it's purely unplayable. At the same time, it has the value of a document showing how unforgiving that era could be.

Today you can only try it out of curiosity. If you like modern hint systems, tutorials, and clear instructions, this experiment will frustrate you. But if you want to feel what a game without love for the player means, there's waiting for you here.