It’s weird how something that starts like a cheap parody ends up crawling under your skin, both in the horny way and the “what the hell is happening” way. The club looks like it was built by someone who never actually went to one - neon lights too bright, music looping like a fever dream, and those animatronic girls that move just a little too human when they think you’re not watching. You’re supposed to be fixing stuff, right? Checking circuits, running diagnostics, pretending you’re not staring at the tiger girl’s hips when she bends over the stage railing. Aurora purrs when you talk to her, but it’s not cute - it’s low, like she’s tasting your fear. Or maybe your sweat. I can’t tell anymore.

There’s this rhythm to the nights, like foreplay stretched across fourteen shifts. You start thinking you’re in control, pressing buttons, locking doors, teasing them with the intercom. Then one of them whispers your name through the static and suddenly you’re the one being toyed with. The bird one - Chi, I think - has this glitch where her voice doubles, and it sounds like two women moaning out of sync. It’s messed up and hot and wrong in all the right ways. Sometimes the game throws a jump scare right after a sexy scene, and it’s like your body doesn’t know whether to flinch or cum. I hate that it works.

And yeah, the humor’s filthy. It knows exactly what it’s parodying, and it doesn’t care if you get the joke or not. Half the time I laughed, half the time I felt like I needed a shower. The writing’s uneven, but maybe that’s the charm - it feels like a drunk confession typed at 3% battery. There’s a story somewhere under the tits and terror, something about prototypes and control, but honestly, I stopped trying to separate the plot from the arousal. It’s all tangled together, like wires and sweat and fur.