The Last Express is a game that exists in the minutiae; a boy explaining where he found his new whistle, an annoyed passenger peeking out of his room at every sound, two ladies holding a conversation in French because I’m American and they think I won’t understand — these are trifles that make a world feel lived in.
It helps, of course, that I can explore every inch of the train, down to the pipe-compartment below the washroom sinks. And every character has his or her own story and motivation. I watch a Nietzsche-reading Russian man accost another for growing comfortable while his countrymen starve. I listen intently as every passenger orders a different meal during dinner (I think Schmidt had the braised lamb). I nod expectantly when the boxcar attendant knocks on my door to make my bed.
I look forward to getting to know this train and its passengers, if only so that I may exact a very personal revenge on whoever murdered my friend, Tyler Whitney.