RICO: Sin City feels like somebody took a GTA-style sandbox, smashed it together with a superhero cartoon marathon, then poured a whole lot of porn over the top and shook the bottle until the cap blew off. You’re this walking disaster of a criminal informant, technically “helping” the authorities, but mostly getting dragged through a city that’s completely fucked. Heroes are corrupt, villains are bored, random NPCs act like they escaped from ten different franchises at once, and everybody’s horny or violent or both. The game doesn’t really care about moral lines; it cares if you’re having fun bullying the city, jerking off in places you probably shouldn’t, and abusing whatever powers and contacts you collect. One moment I’m extorting some costumed idiot for intel, the next I’m getting head from a busty “heroine” on a rooftop while gunshots echo in the street and I’m thinking, yeah, this is probably not how justice works. The tone jumps from dumb gag to filthy sex to crime thriller and then back to meme-level stupidity in like three clicks, which somehow fits this world where nobody acts like an adult unless it’s about money or orgasms.

Sex scenes are where the game goes from “okay, this is funny” to “oh shit, my browser history is ruined forever.” There’s a lot of focus on big tits, big asses, and the kind of exaggerated bodies that look like they got patched in from a hentai subreddit. The girls move, jiggle, grind on your face, ride your dick and then pause mid-thrust to crack some dumb superhero reference that only makes sense if you grew up binging cartoons and reading fanfiction at school. Masturbation is everywhere too, not just as a side thing, but woven into the jokes and the story. Caught spying on a heroine changing in some crappy safehouse? Now your character is furiously jerking off in a dark alley like a degenerate, with the camera lingering way too long on his hand and the wet sounds. There are little animated touches when you blow a load over a costume or watch her stroke you off while pretending she’s doing “evidence handling.” It’s shameless and kinda proud of it. I had one encounter where I used superpowers to pin a criminal chick against a wall, watched her tits bounce under torn fabric, then the scene turned into this half-interrogation, half-fuck session that ended with her taunting me about snitching while still dripping my cum. That’s the vibe: nobody’s clean, everybody’s using everybody, and the game laughs at you for taking it too seriously. In between all the fucking and jerking, you’re doing petty crime errands, dumb superhero parodies, and crossing over with characters who feel “almost but not exactly” like people you’ve seen in other media, like the dev is daring some lawyer to notice. The pacing is like a drunk party: too loud in some corners, too slow in others, someone’s making out on the couch, someone’s stealing the TV, nobody knows who owns the house. And yeah, the UI pisses me off in this one little menu, but I’m still clicking back in like a raccoon digging in the same trash can every night, hoping for something filthier.

Monet feels like somebody took a regular city, squeezed out all the warmth, and replaced it with glass, chrome and secrets. IRYS throws you in there like you just woke up from a dream you half remember, wearing a cheap suit and an ID badge that says you belong to Deimos. You start as this regular office guy, doing spreadsheets, watching useless meetings on Zoom while pretending to listen, getting coffee that tastes like it was filtered through somebody’s sadness. On the surface it’s that boring corporate life. Then you start noticing small weird things. People know things about you that you never told them. A coworker remembers a night you “spent together” that you’re pretty damn sure never happened. Your boss praises you for a project you have no memory of, and in the same breath hints that you owe him more than just good performance. That’s when the game starts to crawl under your skin a little.

The horny part doesn’t show up like a hentai pop-up. It slips into the routine. You’re in a late-night office review, just you and this colleague with big soft tits almost falling out of her blouse, blue light from the monitor on her skin, both of you talking about quarterly targets like robots. Then there’s a line of dialogue that feels too intimate. She leans in too close. Her hand stays too long on your shoulder. One click and you push her away and keep pretending to be a good boy. Another click and you grab her wrist, pull her into your lap, and suddenly your boring Excel sheet is sharing space with her moans and the sound of your cock sliding into her on the boss’s fancy ergonomic chair. IRYS is like that a lot. It gives you these “professional” masks and waits for you to peel them off. Sex scenes are very physical, animated just enough that when you’re fucking her against the office window or bending her over a lab table, you feel every thrust. Sometimes you are gentle, slow, like she is something you want to protect from this fucked up city. Other times the corruption hits and you use her, hand on her throat, filling her raw and hard while she begs you not to stop, even when the guilt dialogue kicks in afterward and makes you question if those feelings are yours or some Deimos script injected into your brain.

What really got me was how the romance and the sci-fi mess bleed into each other. There is this one scene where you wake up in your small apartment, naked, next to a coworker you definitely did not take home. Her hair is messy, thighs still glistening, your cum leaking out of her, and she looks at you like you have been lovers for months. You check your phone and there are whole chat logs, selfies, dirty pics, little heart emojis, like a full relationship that someone speedran while you were asleep. It feels like the universe glitched and rewrote your fate. As somebody who actually believes in destiny, that hit weird. You start asking: did I really fall for her before and just forgot, or was this romance manufactured in some secret Deimos experiment so they can pull my strings better? Later, when you take her in the back of the office, pressed against a server rack humming with data, her legs wrapped around your waist while you fuck her deep and she whispers that you were “always meant for each other”, you can’t even tell if that’s sweet or just another line of code. The game loves putting you in those moments. You climax inside her during some illegal lab test, alarms faint in the background, and instead of simple post-nut clarity you get this strange dream flash of another timeline where you never joined Deimos and she never existed. IRYS keeps poking: is your dick leading you, or is the company guiding your dick so it can own your heart and your guilt at the same time. I kinda hate that it works so well. I also kinda love it. I’m confused. It fits the city.

Solace City looks clean from far away, like a postcard you buy in an airport, but when you actually walk its streets it feels sticky, like someone spilled sex and blood everywhere and never wiped it up right. You play this guy who clearly has done some serious shit before the story starts, the kind of man who knows exactly how to break a jaw and still offers his seat on the subway. He shows up in this huge corrupt city with nothing but bad memories, a smart mouth, and that “I should probably mind my own business but I won’t” attitude. The whole thing is built around a mystery that keeps mutating. You think it is just missing girls, then suddenly you are snooping around a supposedly normal campus, watching drunk students pretend everything is fine while you know some of them might be running blackmail rings, porn stings, or worse. One moment you are joking with a cute girl outside a dorm, the next you are in a warehouse watching a guy bleed on the floor because you made a choice three scenes ago that pissed off the wrong people. The game loves this shit, this mix of flirting, violence, and “oh fuck, that escalated fast.”

Most of the time you are in visual novel mode, clicking through dialogue, picking who to help, who to lie to, and when to just grab someone by the throat and shove them against a wall. There are animated scenes for the fun parts, and the sex isn’t shy. Girls strip slow when they trust you, fast when they are angry and horny and trying to prove a point. One of the best moments for me was in a shitty little student bar: you are playing a dumb arcade-style minigame on a busted machine with this girl who looks too innocent for this city, betting clothes instead of coins. She starts losing on purpose, watching you from the corner of her eye, unbuttoning her shirt piece by piece while the neon lights flicker and some asshole pukes in the bathroom. Another time you are in a luxury penthouse, holding a gun you stole two scenes earlier, with a crime boss on his knees and his girlfriend in nothing but heels behind you, still catching her breath because you absolutely railed her to get her to betray him. Choices can swing you between “romantic protector” and “cold psycho” real fast. You might spend five minutes comforting a traumatized girl, letting her cry on your shoulder, then walk outside, grab the guy who hurt her, and pulp his face against a car hood. There is romance here, but it is romance built from bruises, secrets, and morning-after sex where nobody is sure if they are safe or just addicted. Sometimes the pacing feels like a drunk party: quiet talk in the kitchen, then suddenly someone is naked on the balcony screaming at the neighbors, then back to whispering about who disappeared last semester. You chase leads, unlock scenes, play around with minigames that pop up just when you were getting used to only clicking choices, and every time you think “ok, that’s enough crazy” the game just smiles and throws another girl, another threat, another chance to fuck or destroy someone right in your lap.