Jamie feels like that guy you see in every Discord server who’s always online, always “one more match,” and somehow still confused why his life is going to shit. The game throws you into his head and also out of it, since you hop to other points of view too, but it never asks what you think. It just drags you through this messy school-life drama where sex is basically the only honest language anybody speaks. One minute you’re in the classroom with all the usual fake politeness, the next you’re watching a hand slide under a desk, fingers pressing into thigh, then panties, then nothing. And because it’s kinetic, you don’t get that safety of “oh I’ll pick the nice option.” There is no nice option. Stuff just happens, and it gets worse, and you kind of hate it and keep clicking anyway.

Kim is supposed to be the “good girl,” loyal and patient while Jamie hides in his games, but the story keeps poking holes in that fake ideal. She’s waiting for him, horny, frustrated, touching herself alone while he’s busy chasing loot instead of her tits. Then William shows up, all calm and composed, the kind of guy who actually listens, and you know where that goes. Not suddenly, not with fireworks, more like slow rot. A shoulder touch at the lockers. A “joke” about how she could do better. Walking her home. Fingers brushing her lower back. Next thing, you’re staring at an internal view of his cock in her, thick and detailed, cum pouring straight into her like she hasn’t had a boyfriend in months. The weird thing is, the game never pauses to guilt-trip anyone. Netorare is just treated like weather: it rains, you get wet, nobody asks permission.

The sex is filthy in that very direct way that doesn’t feel like porn dialogue written by someone who never touched a person. There is anal that isn’t romantic at all, just rough and controlling, with her knees shaking and her mouth saying “no, we can’t” while her body obviously can. There’s groping on the train, hands on big tits while strangers look away, that ugly little realism of harassment where the world pretends nothing is happening. The “trap” angle sneaks in sideways, you think one character is just a shy boy and suddenly you’re watching him get pinned and used, his ass spread open, treated like a toy but there is this tiny flicker of pleasure in his eyes that fucks with your moral compass. The futa and trans stuff doesn’t show up as some big “special episode” either, it just exists in the cast, like yeah, she has a dick and she’s jerking it in the bathroom stall thinking about corrupting someone’s girlfriend later, why are you surprised?

Gay scenes hit different, more like raw territory fights than romance. Two guys testing each other, dominance games in the locker room, a blowjob that starts as a threat and turns into something way more confusing when the “victim” starts pushing back instead of pulling away. There’s interracial stuff folded in without big speeches, just visual contrast and constant power plays, like the game is obsessed with who owns who in every frame. Masturbation is everywhere, almost casual, everyone doing it: Jamie half-hard in bed with his phone, Kim in the shower trying not to say William’s name, some side character hunched over a desk in the empty classroom, panting quietly so the teacher in the next room doesn’t hear. And the whole time, corruption is the slow heartbeat underneath. Nobody wakes up a monster. They just make one small compromise, then one more, until cheating feels less like betrayal and more like gravity. The really annoying part? At one point I tried to scroll back by muscle memory, like on Telegram, to check a line I missed, and my thumb kept hitting the wrong place, and I still don’t know what that one whispered line before the creampie was. It bugs me more than it should.

Waking up naked in a city that looks like Silent Hill fucked a factory and then forgot to clean up after, that’s the vibe here. You open your eyes, have zero clue who you are, and the first real thing you focus on is this girl, Ophelia, who is hot in a wrong kind of way. Not wrong like “oh no, she’s evil”, more like “why does her body move like that and why do I like it so much”. She talks to you like she’s already decided you’re hers, and the game never really lets you feel fully safe around her, even when she’s stroking your cheek or dropping to her knees in first person view. One second you’re flirting, next second you’re both scavenging in a ruined supermarket while something wet and angry screams somewhere in the dark aisle behind the cereal. It’s messy, horny, and kind of romantic in that trash-fire way where the world is ending but you still argue about who gets to be on top.

The loop sneaks up on you. At first you just click around, pick up scrap, figure out some simple crafting, like “ok, I need this to not die, and that to impress the monster girl who can snap me like a twig but would rather tease me senseless”. Then you start thinking in turns. That nasty creature you meet in the subway? You’re watching its attack pattern, saving skills, deciding if losing here is actually a bad thing, because there is a non-zero chance it pins you down and suddenly you’re getting railed while the combat music is still echoing in your head. Sometimes it’s vaginal, sometimes it’s anal, sometimes the thing pulls out a surprise dick and your brain goes “wait what” at the same time your body goes “keep going”. The wild part is, a lot of these sexy punishments you can avoid if you don’t fuck up, but the game kind of tempts you to misplay. Like, you know that if you keep defending instead of killing her, this tall futa hunter might “reward” you by using your mouth until the screen literally fogs. I said I was going to play smart and then suddenly I am losing a fight on purpose like a clown.

The mood keeps swinging. You get this bleak, broken-city horror, ruined apartments lit by flickering signs, dead silence in one street and then some giggly banter with Ophelia as she strips piece by piece while pretending it’s part of a “strategic plan” to distract an enemy. Sure girl, it’s for tactics. She kisses another woman in front of you once, slow and deep, and you get that sharp jealous sting that hits harder than most jump scares. If you push it, they drag it into full lesbian territory and you’re just there, stuck between wanting to watch and wanting to join. There’s also these quiet POV moments when she crawls into your lap in some half-collapsed shelter, tells you stupid jokes, then casually opens your pants and starts sucking you off while still talking about survival routes like this is the most normal thing. The romance side is weirdly soft in places, with her asking little things about what you like, what you hate, how rough she can be, and from that point the dating sim brain kicks in and you start gaming her affection like it’s Tinder but with actual teeth. I wish the UI for the crafting menu didn’t look like it was slapped together in a hurry, but in a twisted way it fits the whole ruined-world energy, so I’m not even confident I want it changed. Just be warned: if you’re like me and tell yourself “I’m going to focus on survival”, you’ll still end up knee deep in sex scenes where losing a turn in combat means some hungry girl-monster is riding you in full animation and you suddenly forget completely why you came into that area in the first place.

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.

Darci hits like a wet dream that crawled out of your teenage goth phase and learned how to fuck reality. Big tiddy, crow-winged, pointy-eared trouble walking through this moody Avalonian city where every alley feels like it smells of cold rain and dirty sex. She is this tall, black-lipsticked futa elf with thighs like religion and a cock that looks like it has its own backstory. Sometimes she just stands in the mirror of her crappy rented room, eye bags dark as ink, feathers twitching, and you feel how much she hates and loves her own body at the same time. The game lets you sit inside that body, inside her head, while she tries to pretend she is just another freak in a society full of polished liars and quiet monsters.

The first time you walk into the GothHouse, the place feels less like “home” and more like someone mashed a sex dungeon with a student dorm and forgot to clean up the energy. Those girls are not just NPCs, more like walking fetishes with their own scars. There is that pale vampire-esque girl in the corner, huge tits squeezed in a corset that looks one breath away from breaking, who pretends not to stare at Darci’s bulge. Later, when you actually choose to follow her to the shared shower, the way the scene goes from awkward small talk to her on her knees, lipstick smeared on Darci’s shaft, water hissing over skin, feels messy in a good way. It is not some clinical porn flow. She gags once, laughs, then keeps going, and Darci’s crow instincts flare up, claws digging into tile, eyes glowing that sick underworld purple. The sex can switch from slow, clingy lesbian grinding to full-on “pin her against the wall and fuck her brains out” when Darci stops being scared of her own power and actually uses it. The game is at its best when it lets you drag that line between tenderness and corruption with one more thrust.

Funny thing, the story pretends to be about “finding her place in society”, but half the time you are just seeing how far you can push these girls before something breaks. There is that elf priestess type who looks holy until you get her alone behind the shrine and make her moan so loud it feels like prayer turned inside out. Darci buries her cock in her while feathers shed to the ground like black snow, and for a moment the underworld power pulses through both of them, giving you this tiny illusion of romance that the next scene absolutely ignores. Some conversations drag on too long, like the game is trying to be all deep and moody while you are just waiting to see if the big ass demon girl in the kitchen will finally bend over the table. She does, eventually, and the vision of Darci grabbing those wide hips, tits swinging, driving in hard while the demon girl laughs and claws at the wood, that wipes away most complaints. Not all, because yeah, sometimes the pacing stumbles and the “universe notes” feel like reading someone’s tumblr lore between jerk-off sessions. But then there is that quiet night where Darci, exhausted, curls around another goth girl in bed, both naked, soft boobs pressed together, dick resting lazy between warm thighs instead of pounding. It is almost sweet. Almost. Then she wakes up, remembers she is a half-crow freak with hellfire between her legs, and you go hunting again.