Starship discipline is completely fucked here, in the funniest, dirtiest way possible. You get handed the captain’s chair on the Cerritos, but it feels more like they dumped you in a floating frat house filled with horny degenerates in Starfleet colors. Everyone is used to Admiral Freeman looking the other way, so when you start trying to clean things up, the crew basically tells you to suck it. Half the time you’re walking down a corridor and some ensign has their uniform half open, covered in cum, trying to hide a hard-on or wiping drool off their lips after “checking the sonic shower.” The ship looks like Star Trek, but the mood is more like a super trashy porn parody where nobody remembered the part about “professional behavior.” And you are absolutely encouraged to abuse that.

The center of the chaos is Beckett Mariner, of course. She knows you can’t just throw the admiral’s daughter out an airlock, so she tests every limit she can. One moment she’s lounging in your chair with her boots on the console, tits almost spilling out of her uniform jacket, fake-innocent face and those stupid ahegao eyes when you finally snap and drag her into the ready room. The game really likes that shift from “smartass brat” to “corrupted little cumtoy,” especially when you start using blackmail. You catch her in compromising spots, collect dirty data, and then slowly push things from “get on your knees and swallow” to “bend over the tactical console, I want to see just how tight that ass is.” She resists in that playful way at first, talks back, but the art leans heavy into humiliation: tears in the corners of her eyes, tongue out, mascara a mess, expression halfway between hating you and begging you to creampie her again. The AI-style CG is weirdly perfect for this kind of parody, everything slightly exaggerated, breasts too big for regulation uniforms, cumshots overdramatic, but it fits the whole “cheap bootleg holodeck program” vibe. And it is animated, so you really sit there watching her get filled, milk leaking, mouth drooling, your choices affecting if she ends up more broken-in, covered in bukkake like a used toy, or still pretending she’s in control while she rides you and moans your rank.

What caught me off guard is how the game doesn’t just stop at “straight captain dominates bratty officer.” Lower deck kids and random crew open up way dirtier routes. You walk into the cargo bay and spot two male ensigns “wrestling,” cocks out, one already dripping. That can spiral into you forcing them to service you as punishment, lining them up and choosing who takes you in the ass, who licks your balls clean, who drinks the load. There is gay stuff that doesn’t feel like an afterthought, more like the ship is just completely horny and nobody cares about orientation anymore. Then there is the whole trap and futa angle, uniforms hiding surprise dicks, big tits paired with a throbbing cock that strains the Starfleet fabric. One minute you think you’re punishing a cute, shy communications officer, next moment she drops her pants and you’re staring at a hard shaft and a wet slit both, and the game just goes “yeah, use all of it.” You can force them to suck you, fuck them until their own cum sprays on the control panel, or take it yourself if you lean into being a greedy captain who wants every hole filled. There are scenes where you make an officer pump milk out of her huge tits right onto the floor while everyone watches, or you order a line of crew to kneel and finish them off one by one, covering faces and mouths until they look like someone set a bukkake filter over a still from Lower Decks. Then there are cheating bits, too: married officers getting reamed in your quarters, whispering that their partner doesn’t touch them like this, while you record everything for later blackmail. It’s unapologetically trashy, sometimes mean, and occasionally so over the top you just start laughing, but it keeps that Star Trek parody flavor through all the corruption, like a filthy holodeck program somebody forgot to lock with a command code.

The heat sits on that tiny apartment like a wet towel you can’t shake off. It sticks to skin, to clothes, to Rei’s thin tank top when she bends over the sink, pretending she doesn’t feel your eyes on her ass. She’s supposed to be “aunt,” or “family friend,” or whatever label makes it less fucked up that every time she passes in the hallway your cock twitches. She moves slow, tired housewife kind of slow, but every curve on her body screams she knows exactly what she’s doing. Soft big tits that fight against cheap fabric, hips that fill the doorway, that slightly sad smile of a woman who’s been lonely way too long and pretends she’s okay with it. Except she isn’t. Not really.

Then the old man shows up. Claims to be your grandfather. Smells like cigarettes and sweat and something rotten. Sets his suitcase down like he just decided this is his house now. You want to laugh, but Rei’s face drains of color and Sora’s eyes narrow like a cat that spots a mouse. She’s the daughter, sharp tongue and short shorts, always with a game console in hand, pretending she doesn’t notice how her mom starts flinching whenever the old bastard “accidentally” brushes against her. You watch from the crack in your door as he starts touching Rei longer than needed, his wrinkled fingers on her waist, on her ass, talking about “helping with stress.” At first she stiffens, then she forces a smile, then she starts making excuses to be alone with him. For “adult talk.” You know that tone. Corruption doesn’t happen in one big step; it happens cup of tea by cup of tea, “thank you” by “it’s fine, just this once.”

The fucked up part is how the game lets you poke at this situation, not like a hero, but like a horny parasite. You’re not stopping anything. You’re deciding how much you want to see. You can sneak to the bathroom door and hear Rei choking on something that is not a cough. The wet noise of forced oral turning into desperate, hungry sucking, where her gagging shifts into little muffled moans she would never admit are real. Or you stay “loyal” and still end up spying through keyholes while she rides that old bastard, her big ass bouncing on his lap, tears in her eyes but her pussy creaming around him like it belongs there. Sometimes she resists and then folds, sometimes she looks like she’s almost enjoying the rough grip on her hair, the way he talks to her like property. Sometimes you even get pulled in, not as savior but as another man claiming a piece of her, sliding into her raw and leaving your cum deep inside, while her womb already full of someone else’s seed. Interracial mix of bodies and age and power, all wrapped in that cramped apartment where walls are thin and secrets thinner.

Sora’s the little devil in the corner, seeing everything, pretending she doesn’t care. She catches you peeking once, smirks, and the next time she “borrows” the old man’s wallet she demands he plays along. Trading games is not about consoles anymore. She comes back to your room with flushed cheeks and messed hair, chewing on gum that wasn’t hers before, and throws a wrapped bill on your bed like a joke. She teases you, spreads her legs just a bit too far when she sits on your chair, talks about how “grandpa” is disgusting while her eyes sparkle with something way darker. If you push, she might open those legs more, might ask what you’d pay for a peek, or for a taste, or for the chance to paint her face white while her mom moans in the next room on someone else’s cock. This whole summer turns into a slow, sweaty spiral where ownership is just a word men use when they shove their dick somewhere and leave it dripping. Who gets Rei in the end, who marks her womb, who Sora decides to toy with, who really controls the house… that all comes down to the tiny choices you click while your hand is already around your shaft, trying to decide if you want to feel guilty or just enjoy watching everything good rot from inside.