Clark’s life in this game is basically every lonely porn-addicted loser fantasy smashed into a superhero comic and then left out in the sun too long. You’re this awkward Kansas kid with the “oh wow I’m an alien” thing going on, except instead of just saving cats from trees you’re trying not to fuck your whole hometown, literally and morally. One minute you’re clicking through boring school halls, pretending to be normal, the next you’re peeling back the small-town vibe and finding meteor freaks, MILFs with secrets, and people who really should not be that horny during an alien crisis. The story does that thing where it pretends you have your life under control, then throws you into some pov scene where a woman twice your age is grinding on top of you and you’re thinking, “Yeah, the universe is doomed, but this is worth it.”

The visual style is AI generated but it kind of fits the whole off-brand superhero parody mood. Faces are a bit too perfect sometimes, like Instagram filters got horny and never stopped, but the bodies, man. Tight costumes that look like they’re about to rip, soft thighs pressed together on a teacher’s chair, that stretched look when you push in deep and the belly shows a little bulge. The creampie shots are surprisingly dirty in a good way: cloudy mess dripping down, panties pushed aside, that moment where she bites her lip and you already clicked too fast but you still stare at the screen like an idiot. There’s a scene in a locker room where you’re supposed to interrogate someone, but I spent longer just clicking around the background, watching how the camera plays with pov angles, like the game knows you’re not here for the “investigation.” It calls itself a point and click and yeah, technically, but really it’s “point at who you wanna ruin and click until your mouse is sticky.”

What actually got me hooked was how your powers keep crashing into your dick. You’re supposed to be this rising hero, but half the time the “dark alter-ego” side feels more honest than the goody-two-shoes act. You’ll be in some tense meteor-related situation, and the choice is literally: save someone properly, or push them up against a wall and pound them while the sky glows outside. The game doesn’t pretend that domination is nice or clean either. There are moments where you grab her hair, force her to look at you while you’re buried inside, and the text is like, “You know this isn’t who you want to be,” while you immediately click “go harder” because self-control is for people not opening porn tabs in Chrome. It’s horny, messy, sometimes weirdly romantic when Clark accidentally says something soft after filling someone up, but you just know he’s going to screw it all up again five clicks later. Honestly, it feels a bit like my love life, if I had superpowers and people actually wanted to fuck me.

The first time I logged into this thing, I didn’t even care about the classes or whatever plot it pretends to have - the way the avatars breathe, the tiny tremor in their lips before a kiss, that’s what got me. It’s like the devs poured all their soul into making skin look touchable. There’s this one girl in a half-armored cosplay outfit, silver hair glowing like some digital eclipse, and when she leans close, her breath fogs your screen. Maybe I imagined that, but hell, it felt real. The sci-fi cities behind her hum like they’re alive, something between a nightclub and a dream you shouldn’t be having. The game doesn’t shout about its mechanics, but when you figure out how to sync movement and body sensors, it’s almost too much - like your nerves are being rewritten to crave every vibration.

Sometimes the story pretends to be about mystery - a missing player, a corrupted zone - but nobody’s really fooling anyone. The real puzzle is how long you can last before giving in to pure heat. The VR immersion slips between sweet and filthy faster than your mind can keep up; one moment you’re chatting with a student NPC about history, next she’s on her knees, glasses sliding down, eyes wide like she’s learning anatomy for the first time. There’s group stuff too, awkward at first until it’s not. Someone mentioned modders replaced the background drones with moaning echoes; I laughed until it happened in my session and I swear it made everything feel more chaotic and alive. The music, though? Too clean. Needs something grittier, maybe a heartbeat instead of these sterile synths.

I still can’t get over the fact that clothing physics act like they’ve got personalities - skirts that refuse to stay where they should, latex that remembers your touch. You can taste the future here, but it’s messy and dripping and maybe a bit too honest. Every time I log out, reality feels thinner, like a veil that won’t settle right.

FSS Lamashtu feels like somebody mashed up a cold war naval thriller with a filthy space brothel and then forgot which part was supposed to be serious. You’re the freshly minted captain of this “experimental cruiser” that is absolutely not built for exploration, unless you count exploring how many holes your crew can take in a single patrol. Officially it’s the proud weapon of the Alliance, last hope in a long-ass war. Unofficially it’s your floating fuck-lab, staffed with officers who look like they came out of a horny AI art generator after you typed “war crime but sexy” too many times. The ship layout screen is almost a character by itself: bridge, medbay, cargo, those little tucked-away compartments you quickly learn are perfect for “private disciplinary sessions.” You jump between menus pretending to care about fleet orders, but the only thing you actually remember is which corridor you cornered that technician in when she kept “accidentally” brushing her giant tits against you.

The story likes to pretend it’s about geopolitics and rebellion, and sometimes it even tricks you. You’ll get this long briefing about the Neo-Terran strategic line, convoy raids, morale of the Alliance, all that stuff. Then two clicks later, you’re watching a proud enemy pilot on her knees, mascara running, mouth full of cum while she tries to spit out her rank and serial number. The tone whiplash is almost funny. There’s a certain charm in how the game refuses to pick a lane: you capture prisoners, you break them in slowly or just slam straight into collar-and-chain slavery, you’re supposed to feel the “moral weight” of it, but the next scene has them begging for anal like they read the script ahead of time. The AI CG does that exaggerated wetness thing, where every hole looks like you dumped a bucket of lube on it, and every creampie is this ridiculous white flood that should qualify as a bio-weapon. Sometimes the faces twist into that extreme, over-the-top ahegao that doesn’t even look human anymore, more like a melted idol poster, and it somehow fits this world where war propaganda and porn have fused into one genre.

What sticks in my mind most is how physical the ship starts to feel. You’re not just choosing sex options, you’re shaping routines. That science officer who starts with stiff posture and carefully zipped uniform? A few “private evaluations” in your quarters, and suddenly she’s walking around with visible bite marks on her neck, trying not to react when you casually grope her in front of others. There’s a scene in the hangar where two captured enemy girls are supposed to be processed for interrogation, and you can decide if that means basic questions or “group demonstration of Alliance hospitality.” The way their bodies are posed, covered in semen from multiple angles, has that bukkake ritual vibe, everyone participating because the war needs “unity.” You get toy usage too, not just as accessories but as tools of control: a vibrator left inside during a formal strategy meeting, the slow dawning horror on your new slave’s face when she realizes the remote is in your pocket while admirals talk about casualties. The game never really resolves whether you’re a genius commander or just a sex-obsessed tyrant who got lucky with experimental hardware. At some point there’s a tender-ish lesbian moment tucked awkwardly between brutal scenes, two crew girls comforting each other after a mission, fingers exploring, tongues slow and hesitant, and for once you’re not in the frame at all. It feels almost like the game forgot its own premise for a second, then remembers, throws you back into forced deepthroat in a dark interrogation room, and moves on like nothing happened.

Heavy metal sky, poison fog somewhere far under your feet, and you stuck on this floating rust bucket where everybody pretends they’re professional and noble until the lights go dim and belts come off. That’s the vibe here. You’re the new guy on the elite resource crew, supposed to be all serious with scanners and oxygen levels and “mission focus,” but half your brain is already thinking about that mechanic girl in the hangar who keeps “checking” your harness straps way too slow. On the surface it’s all sci-fi gear, suits, fancy tools, but between trips it turns into something closer to a porn hub search history that learned how to walk. You go from briefing room to blowjob in a storage closet faster than Discord goes from “hey guys” to full rule 34. Some of the scenes hit hard out of nowhere too. One moment you’re watching the airship drift through this neon green cloud, listening to some low hum like a chill lo-fi playlist, next moment you’re on your knees between someone’s thighs, hands tied to a pipe, feeling her thighs push your face deeper while she rides your mouth like it’s the last oxygen tank on the ship. The animation has this slightly off timing sometimes, which weirdly makes it feel more real, like when a horny cam model’s camera lags on Chaturbate and your brain just fills in the movement anyway.

What I liked is how the sex isn’t just “reward unlocked, congrats, here is generic pose number three.” There’s this scene after a rough mission where you stumble back to your bunk, sweating, gear still half on, and this older officer follows you in, locks the hatch, pushes you to sit, then just sinks down on your cock without a word. No slow fade, no speech, just this desperate grind. You feel the airship tilt a bit, alarms muffled in the background, and she clamps down on you right when some turbine roars outside. She rides you hard, nails digging into your shoulders, and when she makes you cum inside her, it doesn’t cut away. She just stays there, full of you, breathing heavy, one gloved hand on your chest, and you see your cum leak out slowly when she finally lifts off and tells you to “suit up again, hero.” That creampie shot with the light from a cracked porthole flickering over her skin honestly stuck in my head more than the big “story” moment before it. Funny thing, the UI color drives me crazy, by the way, this weird shade that looks like someone tried to copy Spotify in low light and failed. Anyway, the BDSM bits start almost playful then escalate, like the first time they strap you to that inspection table “for a safety scan” and suddenly the restraints tighten more than they need to. There’s a scene where they gag you with an air filter strap and use you until you’re basically just a toy, and at the same time the game pretends it’s still about keeping the city alive. It lies. This thing is about mouths full of cock in maintenance shafts, messy cream dripping onto cold metal floors, and that strange feeling when you’re hanging from a cable over the toxic fog thinking about how good it felt when the captain’s boot pressed between your shoulder blades while she rode you from behind and told you you’re just another resource to extract.