The lab tiles are that sickly green from the original RE2, the kind that makes your eyes hurt after a while. But Ada's sprite, good lord. Someone spent way too much time on her chest and not enough on, I don't know, the door textures. Her breasts are practically their own character, bouncing with a physics system that feels both completely wrong and exactly right for this kind of thing. You click around, trying to find three keycards before your moves run out. That's it. That's the whole thing. A stripped down board game with Ada Wong's ridiculous proportions as the main attraction.

Movement is limited. You get a set number of clicks before game over, which means every wrong turn stings. I found myself staring at the same corridor three times because I kept forgetting which door led where. The lab layout makes no spatial sense. Rooms connect in ways that would make Umbrella's architects weep. But then Ada bends over to pick up a card and suddenly I don't care about architectural logic anymore. The game knows exactly what it's doing. Each successful action pushes the scene further, the text descriptions getting more explicit while somehow maintaining that clinical, almost detached tone. Like reading a lab report written by someone who's very horny but trying to stay professional.

There's a card on the bottom level that took me forever to reach. Kept running out of moves right before the door. The frustration is real. Not the fun kind of frustration either, just the regular kind where you question your life choices. But the payoff scene, when you finally unlock that door, is something else entirely. Ada's expression barely changes through the whole thing, which is either a limitation of the art or a deliberate choice about her character. Knowing Ada Wong, probably deliberate. The whole thing feels like a fever dream you'd have after playing too much Resident Evil and then scrolling through certain websites. Not scary in the cosmic horror way I usually prefer, but there's something about the sterile lab setting combined with the increasingly unhinged scenarios that scratches a similar itch. The clinical meets the carnal. Like if Herbert West had designed a dating sim instead of reanimation serum.