It’s weird, the way *A Fortnight at Frenni Fazclaire’s 2* plays with tone - like, one moment it’s soft lighting and syrupy teasing from an animatronic wolf with silicone lips that catch the club’s pink glow just right, and the next second you’re hearing metal sc*** in the next room like something mechanical trying to breathe. I couldn’t decide if I was turned on or spooked half the time, which maybe is the point. The writing leans into that uncanny space where synthetic skin meets real loneliness, though sometimes it feels too self-aware about being a parody. It’s as if it winks so much it forgets to blink. Still, when Mia Mangle leans across the security desk and says things she shouldn’t know - stuff only the player would think - it hits that strange nerve of digital intimacy that good adult games sometimes stumble into by accident.

The furries here aren’t played for cheap fetish fuel (okay, not *just* that). There’s tension in every movement, more like stage performers improvising after hours than machines following code. I kept thinking about Nabokov because yeah, it’s sexy, but it’s also about control and play and being observed while pretending not to care. And then there’s the mobile version, where tapping through dialogue feels like petting something alive that pretends to glitch. Sometimes choices freeze for no reason - probably a bug - but it almost fits the mood: desire interrupted by static. The horror bits creep slow; shadows twitch behind velvet curtains even during explicit scenes, and the sound design hums under your skin like anxiety that smells faintly of perfume.

Honestly, the worst part is the damn loading screen image - I hate that smug smile they gave Aurora. Every time she flickers in before the menu loads, I kinda want her to malfunction just to break the eye contact. But when she starts singing that low note (yeah, she sings), everything stutters into this mix of comedy and obscene tenderness. Maybe I imagined that part. Or maybe the game wanted me to. Hard to tell where the line’s supposed to be anymore.