As of a few days ago, I have played and read (nearly) every piece of official Life Is Strange media that currently exists. Now I have all these thoughts that are jostling around in my brain, desperate to be released. Way more than I predicted I'd have for a franchise I hadn't touched in a decade. The question, though, is how to talk about all of this. Covering each game and comic in release order is the obvious option, and I certainly considered it. But just a few minutes before I clicked the "Create" button and started writing this paragraph, I changed my mind. The way I actually experienced Life Is Strange was almost completely out of order, jumping back through time with the knowledge and context of my present, not too dissimilar from Max herself. That knowledge colored how I saw and reacted to the first two games, and so I think I have to do this retrospective in the same order as I lived it.
With that in mind, I have a warning. Throughout this series, I will--by necessity--be spoiling many important plot details of the following games and comics: Life Is Strange, Before the Storm, True Colors, Double Exposure, Volumes 1 - 6 of Life Is Strange from Titan Comics, and Forget-Me-Not. As this retrospective will be spread across multiple posts, I will note which things are spoiled before the break.
Anyway, let's start from the beginning: 2015.
(The first entry in this retrospective has spoilers for the original Life is Strange game and Double Exposure. Like, immediately. I am not joking here.)
CHRYSALIS
I'm 28 years old, and I'm at my best friend's house. I've visited him pretty frequently ever since we met in the 4th grade. I'm not sure there's anyone in this world I trust more than him.
We play video games a lot. Sometimes we play something together; but just as often, we'll boot up a single-player game and we'll simply hang out and comment on it while one of us plays it. Life Is Strange is one of those games. He bought the first episode when it came out, and he told me I needed to play it.
So that's what I've been doing for the past several months: every time a new episode releases, he buys it, and I come over and play it, and we have a great time stressing about the choices and gently ribbing the goofy-but-sincere dialogue.
Five months ago, I chose to kiss Chloe, because how could you not call her bluff on that dare? She's way cooler than Warren, anyway. Also, I think it's really nice to finally see a lesbian relationship in a video game. I mean, they never explicitly call it that, but come on. Pricefield has to be the intended route. I'm very invested in this.
I'm still going by the name ██████. I know other options exist. I've met some folks on an internet forum I started posting on while I was in college, so hormone therapy is no longer a new and mysterious concept for me. It's just not, you know, a thing for me. I'm not very good at being a guy, but can you imagine me as a girl? Embarrassing. I'll just stick with the life I'm used to. It's better for everyone that way.
I'm playing the final episode of Life Is Strange. My friend is sitting in a chair next to me, and we're both riveted by what we're about to discover are the final moments of the game. A storm is bearing down on Arcadia Bay, so enormous and deadly that it feels as if it were conjured out of myth. Chloe begs me Max to do the right thing: go to the beginning, let her die, and save the town. She loved the week she spent with Max, but it's time for the dream to end. It's better for everyone that way.
The button prompts come up, and time in the game freezes. It's a courtesy the game provides that Max almost certainly would not have herself. "Take a moment to think on this," the game is telling me. "It's an important decision. The most important one. Take your time."
I turn my head to look at my friend, and he looks at me. I already know what I'm going to do. It's one of the easiest choices I've made in my life.
I smile as I say, "Fuck the town," and practically slam the controller button.
Chloe lives, and the two drive off into the sunset, leaving their old lives behind. After all, what's even left? That was the price that had to be paid.
STILL LIFE
It's 2025. I'm 10 years older, and I'm sitting at my desk in my Minneapolis apartment. It's been over 3 years since I've left Phoenix, and only slightly less time since I started HRT. The hormones haven't done as much as I was hoping they would (yet another thing to curse my genetics for, I suppose), but it's better than nothing. I came out to my family and relatives two years ago. It wasn't when I planned on doing it, but my hand was forced. It worked out a lot better than I feared.
I've been lucky, relatively speaking. It's hard not to have at least some level of constant, background anxiety when the most powerful people in the country want to eliminate you; but I have my friends, and I've got a community. Those help buoy me during the worst nights.
When I finally play another Life is Strange--having skipped everything since the first game--I discover that Max Caulfield is also 10 years older, which is a little surreal to think about. We've even both moved across the country to a new home. After road-tripping with (and getting dumped by) Chloe, she's settled down in Vermont as an artist in residence at Caledon University. She's living her dream of being a professional artist, she has a gorgeous on-campus house, the cute bartender is super into her, and--hey, is it weird to be a little jealous of a video game character's accomplishments? At least both of us still have no idea how to flirt.
At the end of the first episode, Max's friend Safi is murdered, and Max immediately goes back to her old habits of snooping around and questioning as many people as she can to get to the truth. I touch on this a little bit in the GOTY piece I did for Gamesline, but I think it deserves repeating myself: Double Exposure is a game that's as much about Max's anxiety as it is about the murder mystery. It's perfect and very real that a lot of her anxiety is self-inflicted, stemming from her own desire to "fix" things. She desperately wants to have the power to make the world better while also constantly being worried that she's burning up her new life and making things worse. This is only exacerbated by the revelation in chapter 3 that she may be the one who shot and killed Safi.
I get it. Well, not the murder part. The part about having anxiety about both a lack of control and being the wrong person to have control. That's also how I tried to play Haley Holst in Eidolon Disco, because that's how I've often felt throughout my life. It's also why I don't really care that much that the game handwaves a lot of the questionable investigation she gets up to by the end of the story. The point that matters more to Double Exposure is that we should trust the people close to us when they tell us we're worth caring about and not try to shoulder every hardship on our own. Max letting her closest friends in on her powers, the mystery, and what she's been doing is terrifying to her; but letting them in is the only thing that lets her eventually succeed. Some anxieties and worst-case-scenarios only ever exist in our own heads.
But not all of them. Some storms are real. There's a cynical side of me that could easily just read Double Exposure bringing the storm back for the finale as a shameless, nostalgic callback. I don't believe that's what it's doing when it brings the supernatural storm to Caledon, though. The repetition is deliberate. This time, Max is defiant. This time, there will be no choice. No sacrifice to appease it. Instead, she leaps into the storm with Safi to find a way to stop it.
Tragedy plays a part in many queer stories because, well, the world is often unkind to us in ways that feel just as huge and unstoppable as a hurricane. In the original game, that meant that Chloe and Max's story was inextricable from death.
The storms don't have to sweep us away, though. Double Exposure makes the case that being queer also means leaning on one another to weather them whenever they descend upon us, hoping against the odds that eventually we'll come out the other side, bruised and beaten but not defeated. It's the same kind of hope I've clung to a lot over the past couple years. The kind that keeps you going through your morning routine, even as your roommate asks you how you're feeling today and you just shrug. And she gives you a sympathetic, "Yeah..." because she did the same thing when you asked her that question yesterday. Because what else are you going to do? Give up?
After I finishing Double Exposure and True Colors pretty much back-to-back, I decided I also wanted to play Before The Storm. But before I did that, I wanted to replay the original Life is Strange. I hadn't touched the game since I finished that final episode 10 years ago. I never felt the need to. I already got the story I wanted, what would reliving it do for me?
But a lot of things had changed since then. I changed. The world changed. Even Life Is Strange changed. I wanted to know if the cultural artifact that Life Is Strange became in both my mind and the perceptions of fans was the same as the Life Is Strange as it existed.
So let's come home again, back to the friends we used to know.
And then set them all on fire.
(Spoilers for Life Is Strange and Before the Storm after the break.)
POLARIZED
The hint is in her name: Chloe Price.
The ending choice of Life Is Strange is simply the final sacrifice in a series of them.
Life Is Strange presents a world where queerness is inextricable from tragedy, yet the reasons for this state of affairs are both mysterious and singular. David Madsen is a paranoid man who secretly installs spy cameras throughout his whole house, frequently berates and belittles his step-daughter, and harasses a victim of sexual abuse; but all this is framed as him struggling to integrate into normal society after being a soldier (despite all of his abuse targeting women, specifically). Blackwell Academy is portrayed as a school with a history of ignoring drug abuse and harassment, with multiple female students experiencing sexual abuse as a direct result of spiking drinks; but that turns out to be almost entirely the influence of Mark Jefferson, the killer at the heart of the game's biggest mysteries. Warren Graham has a crush on Max, and if Max doesn't reciprocate his attention he comes off as kinda pushy, which might lead one to wonder how much his help comes with an unstated expectation; but actually he's just well-meaning and awkward.
Life is Strange is a game that uses the symptoms of misogyny, rape-culture, and bigotry for dramatic effect without ever wanting to engage in why these circumstances exist and who benefits from them.
I want to be clear: I don't really have a problem with any of the characters or plot-points themselves. I don't begrudge Warren's existence, for example, because Max being bisexual is an important aspect to her character. But how can you honestly address his role in the story without talking about compulsory heterosexuality? How can you ever hope to write an accurate and nuanced portrayal of Chloe and David's relationship without ever suggesting that David's conservative rhetoric, chauvinist views, and obsession with control would signal to Chloe that he would almost certainly react negatively and violently if she ever came out of the closet?
Arcadia Bay is a town where bigotry is felt but is never named. Where queerness exists but is never spoken of.
The storm didn't come from anywhere. It just is.
So where does that leave us?
HELL IS EMPTY
Before The Storm is a game about how Chloe befriended and fell in love with Rachel Amber. Technically speaking, Chloe doesn't have to fall in love with her.
But come on.
Before The Storm is also a game about how "Rachel Amber" is, in some ways, a facade. A role Rachel plays that she's constantly straining against: straight-A student, perfect daughter of a squeaky-clean and idealized suburban family.
Rachel sees Chloe as someone who won't try to force those expectations on her. Someone who can offer a way out of a life she no longer wants. Everyone else sees Chloe as a bad influence, a fuck-up who can't be saved. Their relationship is written beautifully and is pretty much entirely responsible for why I liked this game as much as I did.
There's a certain way this game is written that feels designed to give you a false sense of ambiguity. Despite being a prequel, it lets you make some decisions that feel contradictory to what the original game establishes: Chloe and David can come to a reconciliation and mutual understanding, Rachel can meet her biological mother (a significant event that you'd think Chloe would have mentioned, even just as lead to find out why Rachel went missing), and even Nathan Prescott can be encouraged to be confident about his artistic pursuits and have a nice relationship with a girl who has a crush on him. It allows you, for a brief moment, to wonder if maybe things can turn out differently this time.
Then, after the credits roll, it reminds you. The overhead camera looks down on the binder Mark Jefferson set aside for Rachel Amber. As it slowly zooms out, you can hear the click of his camera's shutter, over and over again.
This is the choice that pissed me off. The final flourish that nearly destroyed all the positive feelings I had about my experience with Before The Storm. But why? I knew how Rachel Amber's story ended. I've known for 10 years. Yeah, sure, this time we're actually allowed to see her as a complete and complex character instead of a catalyst to a larger mystery, but I still had her death hanging in the back of my mind the whole time I was playing the game. Why did a single post-credits scene that lasted less than a minute make any difference?
I hated it because the game thought it was important to do. This, it said, was how we should remember Rachel Amber. This is the culmination of her life. A victim in a basement.
That post-credits scene is the fucking Funko Pop of Laura Palmer's corpse wrapped in plastic.
There is no escape for Chloe any more than there can be an escape for Rachel Amber. No matter what happens before, their fates are sealed. Even when Max saves Chloe's dad in episode 3 of Life Is Strange, how does the game decide to show the unintended consequences of that choice? By leaving Chloe permanently disabled in a scene that culminates in her asking her best friend to euthanize her.
You see? There is no bigger picture. There is no structural rot. There is no pervasive oppression to eat away at you just for daring to exist. If any of Chloe or Rachel's circumstances were changed, the universe would correct itself. There was never any choice involved, for anyone.
She's just unlucky. And changing her luck means defying the will of the universe itself.
Her last name is fucking Price.
DIPTYCH
Okay.
Sorry.
I'll just...take a deep breath.
I wouldn't get this upset if I didn't care so much. But I do. Maybe even more than I did back then, because it hits closer now. I don't want my life to be just another statistic, you know?
I realize I'm being a little unfair, too. I don't think Life Is Strange actually intends to reduce Chloe and Rachel like that. I don't think it'd be possible to write some of the scenes I adored (Chloe and Max sneaking into the school swimming pool, or Rachel and Chloe ad-libbing a new ending for their characters in The Tempest) if you didn't see your characters as more than future victims.
It's an unfortunate result of a larger problem, one that permeates the two Arcadia Bay stories like background radiation. Why do Chloe, Max and Rachel never talk about their attraction and desires in more than vague generalities? Why is sex a topic that only comes up in the context of abuse and straight couples? Why is the only time Chloe and Max share a romantic kiss locked to the ending where Chloe is sacrificed? If no one in Arcadia Bay is homophobic, then why the hell doesn't anyone call themselves "gay" even once?
Why can't these games ever bring themselves to be honest?
As I mentioned in my first episode, I had played the first Life Is Strange as it was being released. Then, for reasons I don't fully comprehend myself, I simply stopped paying much attention to the franchise. Maybe I was worried that my love of LiS would get diluted the more iterations I played. Like I was trying to keep those feelings preserved in a little safe in my heart.
I did eventually come back a decade later to play Double Exposure and really enjoyed it. I thought to myself, "Well, if I liked the direct sequel to the original so much, maybe the other games are worth checking out, too."
Which brings us to Life Is Strange: True Colors.
(Spoilers for True Colors after the break.)
SIDE B
True Colors is not a game about time travel. Alex doesn't get to rewind bad decisions or tragedies. She doesn't get to shift into an alternate timeline. This means that, unlike in LiS and DE, there is no hope that her brother's death in chapter 1 will ever be changed. He's gone forever.
In fact, many of the biggest events in the game will happen regardless of what Alex does. What she can do--what her empathy powers help her do--is manage and process the fallout.
Importantly, Alex's powers require another person to function at all. She has about as much control over her own emotions as a typical person; but she can see the "auras" of other people, hear their inner thoughts, and even take their emotions onto herself. Much like Max, Alex worries about using her powers, but not due to any supernatural retribution. The consequences of misusing her gift are all grounded in the attitudes and lives of the people she tries to help (or manipulate), and she's not sure she has any business being the town's magical therapist.
That's just the cynical way of viewing her powers, though. When viewed from a different angle, her powers let her dispel the ambiguity of social interactions. Is your dead brother's wife actually mad at you, or is there something more complicated going on? Does the kind old man truly not want to go to the spring festival, or does he just need someone to offer a shoulder to cry on? Is the cool DJ for the local radio station into you, or is she just being friendly (answer: she wants Alex to kiss her so bad).
The choices you make have no real bearing on the murder mystery. No matter what happens, Alex discovers the truth: the mining corporation attempting to take over the town knowingly triggered an explosion when there were civilians in the area, because they were trying to cover up a previous accident. And Jed, the friendly bartender who took Alex in and gave her a place to stay, is complicit. What your choices actually do is determine if anyone trusts you. Did you build a relationship with them? Do they stand beside you even when it means siding against someone they had thought for years was a hero?
In a bold move I personally loved, the final choice of the climactic confrontation between Alex and Jed does not "matter." There are no consequences. There are no epilogue cutscenes that change. No one even has any meaningful dialogue about it, from what I recall. That choice is purely for Alex: does she forgive Jed or not?
I didn't. I couldn't. It wouldn't be honest if I did.
I like True Colors a whole lot. It's sweet, it's charming, and it carves out its own identity. Episode 3 is almost entirely focused on a town-wide fantasy LARP, and it's one of my favorite parts of the entire franchise.
I love that the actual, very last choice you make is not dramatic. It is--instead--a question about what Alex wants for herself. She can stay in Haven Springs and lead a comfortable, stable life, surrounded by her new friends and family. Or she can take to the road and try making a music career work.
My game ended with Alex and Steph boarding a bus, taking a bet on their dream of starting a band together and touring the states. It only strikes me as I'm writing this now that this is basically how my playthrough of the original Life Is Strange ended, just with a completely different tone. Alex and Steph aren't escaping their grief, they're making a choice to discover themselves and live their lives to the fullest. Despite the tragedy of Gabe's death, Haven is left in a better place than when Alex first arrived. Even Alex herself.
I hadn't played Life Is Strange 2 yet when I first started this retrospective. At first, I wasn't going to. I was in a mood where I was thinking, "If it's not about a lesbian, I'm not sure I care." It was, admittedly, a shallow reason not to experience a creative work, and I knew it. So soon after I wrote the first couple posts of "Iris Is Strange", I bought the complete season and started playing it.
I'm very glad I did. Life Is Strange 2 is a great story with characters I'll remember for a long time, and the ways it deliberately messes with the formula of these games are really clever.
Ironically, it's at its lowest when it tries to directly tie itself to its predecessors.
(Spoilers for Life Is Strange and Life Is Strange 2 after the break)
WOLVES
Life Is Strange 2, like every game except Before The Storm, opens with a death. Sean and Daniel Diaz, two Mexican-American brothers living in Seattle, get into an altercation with a rude neighbor. A cop sees this and involves himself. Sean and Daniel's father comes out to try and understand what's going on and de-escalate the situation. He's murdered by the cop, and Daniel--seemingly out of pure impulse with no conscious action on his part--unleashes a huge telekinetic blast that kills the cop. When Sean wakes up, he sees the carnage, panics, and runs away from the scene, carrying his little brother in his arms.
More than any other game in the series, LIS 2 reflects the year it was made. The first episode came out in 2018. The story is set in late 2016. Text messages between Sean and one of his friends directly references a horrifying presidential debate. The game never directly names names, but the intent is pretty obvious: this is a story about being a Mexican-American living in the kind of nation that's capable of electing a man like Trump. It's a story about both latent and explicitly bigotry that hides in plain sight, where every encounter with a strange brings with it the risk of someone wanting to play out their deepest vigilante fantasies with you as the target. It's a story about police violence and how some people are considered inherently criminal. It's a story about how life can be unfair and cruel, and you just have to find a way to live with it and protect yourself and the people you love. It is also not shy about any of these things. They aren't subtext. They're the text.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it's a game about trying to be a good brother. As the player, you control Sean. Crucially, Sean is not the one who gets the magic protagonist powers. That's Daniel, the 9-year-old kid who loves superheroes. You can't control Daniel's actions, not directly. You can give him commands, or ask him nicely to do something, or simply provide advice; but whether or not he actually listens to you depends on how he feels about you.
I love this design decision. It's a really smart way of giving so many events throughout the game a certain level of unease and tension, because it's so easy to inflict violence with telekinesis; and even if you trust that Daniel is generally a good kid who tries to do the right thing, he's still a 9-year-old with all the complicated emotions and desires that come with that age. What if he does something impulsive? You can't possibly stop him. Hell, you may just end up as collateral damage and, for example, lose an eye.
I like that it's hard to balance being a brother to Daniel while also trying to carve out some some personal time and space for Sean to be a teen. I like that Daniel's kind of a little shit sometimes. It's in these moments that Life Is Strange 2 works the best, both as a story and as a video game with prescribed points of interaction. At its peak, it's the best this series has ever been.
Remember how, in Episode 3 of this retrospective, I talked about how the Arcadia Bay saga always seemed a little too timid to directly tackle systemic oppression? Life Is Strange 2, while not perfect, at least is honest enough to acknowledge that racism and bigotry exist, and even just the possibility that someone might be a bigot has an impact on the choices Sean is willing to make.
In the middle of the story, Sean and Daniel briefly take a job working at a pot farm, where they befriend the other drifters working there. Sean can have a scene with them where they talk frankly about sexuality: who they're attracted to, their attitudes toward sex and attachment, the partners they've had and lost. Given how previous games always tiptoed around the subject, it was such an unexpected and beautiful relief to finally see characters just talking about this shit like real human beings. As of the time I'm writing this post, Sean remains the only playable character in Life Is Strange who can choose to have sex with another character during the events of the game.
That's....kind of weird, right? Not even Max--who's 28 when the events of Double Exposure start--gets to have that kind of intimacy with anyone outside of a couple journal entries about her off-screen relationship with Chloe. There's a part of me that's tempted to lay the blame at homophobia, since Sean only has sex if he's romantic with Cassidy. If your Sean wanted Finn, sorry buddy, but a kiss is all you get. But as timid and afraid of depicting or even talking about homosexual relationships as popular video games can still be, it can't just be that. After all, both Max and Alex can have romantic relationships with men, and none of those options result in sex either. Why is it only Cassidy?
I don't know. I truly wish I had an answer. I wish playing all these games had granted me some brilliant insight into why some topics and scenes remain seemingly taboo. Why these games are perfectly comfortable talking about conversion therapy, pregnancy scares, roofies, and serial abusers and yet hesitate to depict relationships as sometimes including consensual, physical intimacy. I'm not even necessarily looking for Baldur's Gate-style "sexy" cutscenes where characters get naked and then fade to black. I want characters to talk about this stuff: their wants, needs, and anxieties. I want them to be vulnerable with each other. I want them to talk about bodies, their own and their partners', because that's what people who are attracted to each other and feel safe with each other--who love each other--do.
WASTELAND
Okay I can't put this off any longer. I have to talk about episode 5. Up until the finale, I had been enjoying Life Is Strange 2 quite a bit. I had my nitpicks, but overall I was pretty impressed by it.
Episode 5 opens in a tiny, unincorporated community called "Away," where everyone lives off the grid. Theoretically this is a fun choice. A supporting theme of LIS2 is finding a life that works for you, not what society tells you is correct or normal. The brothers' brief stay in Away provides a nice breather before the tense and action-packed finale, and the conversations with their estranged mom and the community she's found are nice despite being fairly shallow.
However, in a choice I'm still baffled by, LIS2 chooses to directly link itself to LIS1 by bringing David Madsen back as one of the residents of Away. At the very beginning of LIS2, it asks you if you've played LIS1; and if you answer "Yes", it follows up by asking you if you sacrificed Arcadia Bay. These are the only two out-of-character questions the player is prompted to answer, and they form the entire basis of what David is going to talk about.
David explains that he, along with Chloe and her friend Max (the game specifically uses the language "her friend"), were some of the only survivors of the hurricane. He makes it pretty clear that any other named character you could think of is dead, including Chloe's mother. He then describes his changed relationship with his daughter like this:
"Took me a while to acknowledge the past was the past and move on, like they did. Once I realized that, I reached out to them, and we made peace with each other. They stayed here for a while. It felt good to connect with my daughter, at last."
I was flabbergasted. This how you decide to tell the story of what happened to Chloe and Max after the storm? By having Chloe's control-freak, chauvinist step-dad tell it for them? Why is he the one who gets to define who they are now?
David acts nothing like he did in LIS1. He's quiet, understated, and seems genuinely concerned for Daniel and Sean's well-being. He does his best to impart some wisdom and then gives them tips on evading the cops. The implication here is that David is being honest when he says he's grown as a person. That what he describes as his new life and relationship with his daughter is accurate. So with that in mind, let's remember how David just described Chloe and Max:
"[...]my step-daughter and her friend were among the only survivors."
"Took me a while to acknowledge the past was the past and move on, like they did."
There are two things being done here. The most obvious one is the erasure of Chloe and Max's queerness, so I'll tackle that first. LIS2 has not previously been shy about calling gay couples gay (or pansexual, in Finn's case), so the use of "her friend" feels very deliberate here. One could argue they're just trying to account for players being able to define Max's feelings in LIS1; but if that were the case, why wouldn't they just have a third question when you start Episode 1 that asks if Max kissed Chloe? The game already asks you to decide if Arcadia Bay got destroyed rather than dictate which ending was canon, so it doesn't seem like it'd be much of a hassle to add one more question and a record a single line variation. And if you didn't know ahead of time you'd be calling back to LIS1 in this specific way, well, acting like "her friend" is the default, neutral option is it's own statement of intent, isn't it?
The other possibility, of course, is that David is wrong. That Chloe and Max call each other "friends" around him, because Chloe still doesn't feel safe outing herself. But that would contradict how LIS2 tries to portray David in every other moment. If David had truly changed--if he was truly the new, caring man who supports his community and selflessly helps the Diaz brothers--then why wouldn't Chloe be honest with the only family member she has left? If you assume David is wrong--that Chloe is still hiding her identity from him--then it's impossible to square that with what the game tries to portray him as.
The second interesting choice that's made by this scene is so subtle it nearly slipped by me the first time. The way David phrased his decision to reconcile bugged me, but I couldn't put my finger on why until I was looking through my screenshots again and could dissect the individual lines. Specifically, David states that the turning point for him was when he could "acknowledge the past was the past [...] like they did." David not only gets to define Max and Chloe's relationship, but also their reasons for leaving Arcadia Bay. He assumes that they were able to move on from the tragedy more easily than him. That they simply accepted that Arcadia Bay was gone more quickly than he could. But that's not the only possibility, is it?
Because LIS1 and Before The Storm are influenced so heavily by Twin Peaks, Arcadia Bay is often talked about like the town itself is a character. Max, Chloe and Rachel frequently talk about the town's dark side: the interests of the rich slowly taking over and corrupting everything they touch, the relentless bullying of people who don't fit in, frequent use of drugs among students (sometimes for the explicit purpose of spiking drinks), and, of course, murder. As much as Arcadia Bay is there home, all three girls have moments where they talk about Arcadia Bay like a weight around their ankles that's slowly dragging them down into the abyss. Arcadia Bay killed Rachel, and it nearly got Chloe, too. But thanks to Max's powers, Chloe got out. It wasn't just a sacrifice, it was an escape. For Chloe, the question isn't, "Why did she leave?" It's, "Why would she ever want to stay?"
But this isn't how David sees it. He just assumes Chloe felt the same way about the town as he did. In a few short lines, David has flattened her story, removed all nuance and complication, wrapped it all up in a tidy little bow.
I don't understand how this scene wasn't the one that inflamed the fanbase. Say what you will about Chloe being gone from Double Exposure in both possible canons, at least Max gets to talk about what happened in her own words. At least she gets to define who Chloe was to her. In Life Is Strange 2, Chloe and Max don't get the chance to tell their own story. They don't get the chance to explain why they left or why they've been traveling together.
After Sean's chat with David, he can listen to him talking to Chloe on the phone, but we never hear her voice. We can only guess at what she's saying by analyzing what David says to her. Her story--her existence--is entirely filtered through the perspective of a man whose introduction involved him harassing a victim of sexual abuse.
"But it's okay!" the game insists. "He's a different person now! He's learned his lessons, despite any evidence to the contrary!"
