Bruce Hayden feels like that tarot card nobody wants to pull: the Hanged Man, stuck and dangling, pockets empty, brain full of half-finished stories and porn tabs. He’s a washed‑up writer with the kind of bad luck that doesn’t even feel dramatic, just pathetic. Losing lottery tickets, half-written manuscripts, cold takeout, masturbation in the dark while his old laptop fan screams louder than he does. Then this fog rolls into Lake Orion, thick like old cum on a webcam model’s chest, and suddenly his boring, miserable little life gets swallowed. The game starts simple enough, him just trying to get through another shitty day, and then the mist creeps in. From there it feels like someone shuffled a tarot deck and threw all the cards in his face: Death, The Moon, The Devil, but also that soft Empress energy in the form of big-ass, big-tit milfs that really have no right existing in the same universe as his stained couch.

What I like is how the story moves in this strange rhythm. One moment you’re watching this loser jerk off to old porn in his room, the kind of sad, one‑hand on the mouse, one‑hand on the dick scene, and the next he’s pulled into this surreal fog world where everything feels a little too wet and a little too close. The women he meets there are like walking archetypes: the motherly milf whose hug looks like it smells of vanilla and sin, the tempting stranger with curves that are almost cartoon big, thighs that could crush his ribs, tits that bounce in these slow, chunky animations you keep replaying even though the loop is short. There is one scene where he’s stuck half naked in a gurney, strapped and pissed off, and there’s this older woman leaning over him, her blouse way too tight, ass pressed against the rail, and it’s so horny and stupid at the same time that I loved it. Then two clicks later he’s whining about his failed novel again and I wanted to smack him. But I also kind of get him. The game lets you make some choices here and there, yet he always keeps that bad-luck aura, like every good outcome hides a curse behind it. Sex moments hit harder because of that. When he finally gets a handjob or more, it feels like watching a cursed lottery winner: he’s touching the prize, but you just know the fog is laughing behind him.

There is a lot of masturbation in this game, and I mean a lot. Bruce jerks off, you basically jerk off with him, and sometimes the camera lingers on his hand in a way that feels almost too real. Not romantic, not cinematic, just raw “I’m lonely and I need to cum before I think again” energy. I liked that more than the big supernatural mystery at times. The fantasy stuff sits on top like a glittery crown on a hungover queen. You get these animated loops of big tits bouncing while he fucks or fingers a milf in some half-lit hallway and they are hot, sure, but what stays in my head is how messy he is before and after. One moment he’s balls deep in a thick ass that arches perfectly under him, tits pressed to the sheet, his breath heavy, her moans just on the edge of too loud. Next moment, fog swallows the room, she glitches out of his life, and he’s back, hard cock, sticky hand, no idea if it was real or in his head. Some scenes feel like lucid wet dreams, others like tarot reversals, where what should be a blessing twists on him. I wish the game would slow down more on small touches, like the way her fingers curl around his shaft in one scene then never again, but I know it won’t. It’s too in love with throwing another thick milf at him out of the mist. And I keep clicking anyway, because every time the fog thickens I wonder which card he’s pulling this time: salvation, or just another horny disaster written in his own bad luck.