First thing, this game feels like someone mashed together Pornhub search history and a political sim in Nutaku on a cracked tablet, and somehow it works way better than it should. You’re not the president, you’re the creep in the shadows tugging the strings while this poor bastard in the White House is basically your remote-controlled sex dispenser. One moment you’re forcing him to sign some “anti-drug” bill so your company can sell even stronger shit under the table, next moment you’re sending him to a “private negotiation” where he has to suck up to a foreign leader’s “secretary” who looks suspiciously like Tifa Lockhart with a bigger ass and that lazy ahegao smirk. There’s this scene where you blackmail him using a video where he gets milked by a domme that looks like a mix of Lady Dimitrescu and Lara Croft, towering over him in heels, slapping his face while he whimpers, and the game is like “approval rating down 5%” and I actually laughed because yeah, sounds American enough.

Touch controls on phone are super scuffed but in a hot way. You’re dragging dialogue options like “humiliate the president publicly” or “sell your own daughter to a lobbyist for influence” and it’s messed up, but the UI is light enough you can play with one hand on Chrome while pretending you’re checking Telegram. The scenes themselves use those 3dcg models with a lot of jiggle and shiny skin, and the camera really likes big tits and big asses. Sometimes you’re in an office corruption scene with some cyberpunk style escort that’s obviously a D.Va cosplay girl turned prostitute, sometimes it jumps hard into bestiality or tentacle stuff with no warning, like you’re in a normal blackmail route and suddenly the “experimental biotech partner” is tentacles teaching the president what “real diplomacy” is. My brain went wait, what, but my other brain already accepted it. There’s a really nasty incest subplot too, where you can push your “family protection” angle into full-on corruption, trading your own sister’s ass to a senator for votes, with a voiced line where she sobs and still moans a bit, and that hit a particular degeneracy button that Harem Hotel style games love. One thing that annoyed me: the game keeps teasing Judy Hopps and Cyberpunk 2077 style chrome hookers in ads inside the world, but doesn’t let you actually click into all of them yet, just little exhibitionism events where the president is forced to watch while you test new toys on some slave girl. Also they said no soundtrack, and yeah, it’s dead quiet, only voice and sex sounds, which weirdly makes the humiliation scenes feel more raw, like some leaked OnlyFans set, but my phone speaker clicking with every tap is still more immersion than I asked for.

In a gritty cyberpunk future where the line between man and machine blurs, digital viruses no longer just target hardware but latch onto human hosts. As a skilled cyber-infiltrator, you’re painfully aware of the chaos this infection brings.

Treading cautiously through the labyrinth of codes and secrets, you try to remain lawful, the challenge hits harder than ever. This new digital plague doesn’t just damage circuits; it triggers a profound physical transformation.

Your own reflection morphs into something unrecognizable, a stranger trapped in your skin. Scour the underground networks and shadow markets for a way back to who you were, or accept this irreversible change and unlock the potent powers hidden within this transformation.

Each choice shapes a story woven with grit and raw emotion. Will you dive headfirst into the world of black market tech and underground resistance.

The hum of neon signs matches the electric pulse running through your veins. Plug yourself into a brutal game of survival and transformation.

Dive into this electrifying saga where identity is fluid and power is skin-deep.

You wake up wrong. That is the first thing that hit me. Not heroic, not cool cyberpunk badass, just this sick, half-loaded feeling like your soul got dragged through a glitchy Pornhub ad. You’re in your backup sleeve, lying in some cheap future med-bay, the kind that smells like burnt plastic and sex lube, and your own body doesn’t quite fit. Your fingers are a bit too long, your chest feels heavy in a way it shouldn’t, heart rate monitor chirping like a horny bird, and your vision keeps tearing like a bad stream on xVideos. Crew’s a mess, ship’s a mess, and your upload is corrupted enough that if you calm down, you die. Which is a fucked up way of saying: you literally need to be kept turned on just to keep your brain from shutting off.

The “keep his heart rate up” thing sounds like a cheesy porn excuse, and yeah, it is, but here it actually wraps around into the story surprisingly tight. You’re surrounded by these thick-thighed, short-haired, neon-dyed space girls that look like someone smashed together a strip club and a hacker bar, then sprinkled futa on top for good measure. They are not gentle nurses. You’re not in some healing crystal spa. You are meat they are determined to keep pumping, with hands that wander the second the monitor dips below a number they like. One moment the medic is calmly explaining your neural corruption, next moment her gloved hand slides under your hospital sheet and she squeezes like she’s testing a weapon part. The captain leans over you, short hair brushing your face, tits spilling out of a half-open suit, and she’s pissed you almost died but she’s also grinding on your thigh with this lazy, practiced dominance that says she has done this before with other poor fucks on other poor ships.

I liked how the game doesn’t even pretend to be subtle about the body stuff. Your sleeve is customizable, but not in that boring “pick eye color, done” way. It’s big asses that bounce when you get grabbed, heavy tits that strain cheap fabric, cocks and clits and both, because why not if you’re paying for a synthetic body anyway. Cyberpunk setting, sure, there are glowing cityscapes outside the porthole and some talk about data smuggling and black clinic surgeons, but honestly the real sci-fi here is “how far can we push this body before the heart flatlines.” There is this one scene that stuck with me: you’re strapped into this sloopy auto-doc chair, and a futa crew engineer, all colorful undercut and grease on her cheeks, is pretending to “check your reflexes” while she slowly strokes you with one hand and plays with the med panel with the other, watching the HR line spike when she squeezes your balls just a bit too hard. And the worst part? She keeps half-talking about thruster repairs, like she’s multitasking you like any other ship component.

Not everything lands. Some of the dialogue comes out a bit stiff in the wrong way, like someone tried to write badass one-liners while also jerking off and lost the balance. There is a moment where a character calls a neural buffer a “quantum RAM thingy” and I still don’t know if that’s on purpose or just lazy, but I kind of love it because it feels like late-night shitposting turned into a game script. The pacing jumps all over: one second you’re gasping, being ridden hard by a thick-hipped futanari officer who pins your wrists to keep your pulse up, the next second someone brings up fuel dates and cargo lists like we didn’t just watch you cum all over the med bed. Also, tiny complaint that bugged me way more than it should: the damn heart rate sound is slightly too high-pitched, like my Fitbit having an orgasm, and it made me reach for my phone twice, thinking I got a notification. Still, when the girls crowd around you, colored hair brushing your skin, their hands greedy, their voices low and bossy, using your overheating body as both patient and toy, that shrill little beep just disappears into the background like any other cheap future noise. Sex as life support. Literally. It’s messed up, and it works.

Moonlight throws you into this dirty, glossy future where everyone pretends they’re happy because their brain is on a leash. Neural implants drip little shots of pleasure in your head while an app rents out your meat-suit to whatever corpo wants a warm body. It sounds ridiculous but it feels… too close. You’re this burnt-out detective with more regrets than friends, poking around a death that smells like murder but is written up as “unfortunate malfunction”. Classic. Except here the corpse has an implant history that doesn’t add up, a porn subscription tied to a dead identity, and an ex who cries like she’s rehearsed but still clutches his jacket like a real widow. The game keeps you in that sweet spot where you’re never sure if people are lying or if the tech is lying for them. Also there is so much teasing it’s almost rude. One moment you’re going through encrypted chat logs, next moment a milf corporate handler is leaning over your shoulder, blouse half open, casually asking whether you’ve ever tried orgasm lock with a neural override. The flirting keeps cutting through the bleakness in a way that feels very queer to me, like everyone is using horniness as armor. I relate too much probably.

Sex scenes don’t come flying at you every two clicks, they crawl up slowly, like bad decisions at a bar. You talk, you joke, you push someone too hard in an interrogation, they push back, things snap. I had one scene where I was questioning this older lab tech, soft belly, tired eyes, very “I have seen some shit”. We start arguing about consent when your body is on remote control, and suddenly she’s grabbing the collar of your coat, pressing you against a sterile glass wall, telling you she wants to feel a real tongue, not a programmed rhythm. The game lets you decide if you go down on her right there among the humming machines while security cameras pretend to sleep, or if you pull away and keep playing the noble asshole. The animation sells it in a very unpolished way; sometimes the lips clip a bit or the angles look too porn-hub, but honestly it kind of fits. It feels like underground smut recorded in a shitty rented apartment, not some corpo-funded sex sim. There’s blood too, real rough stuff. One route turned into a total mess when the guy I was tailing got his implant fried right in front of me, smoke out of his nose, body twitching on the ground while my character is still half hard from a blowjob in the alley five minutes before. It’s uncomfortable and hot and confusing, and the writing never stops to hold your hand and tell you how to feel. Queer vibe shows up more in the edges than in labels: guys checking you out in clubs, women in sharp suits who don’t care what’s in your pants as long as you can keep up, trauma and desire tangled together. Some romance paths clearly want you to think they’re soft and wholesome, then they will turn around and ask you to choke them while they’re jacked into a virtual beach. And I swear the text messages you get on your in-game phone remind me of my ex who used to sext from the metro, like there is this messy, non-perfect English in some lines that actually hits very close to home for me as a non native speaker. Nothing feels translated for a straight American audience, just tossed at you to deal with. It’s horny, fucked up, a bit clunky, and somehow that makes it more honest.