The cursor hovers over Erza Scarlet's tits like a question mark. Not the real Erza, obviously, some bootleg version with bigger boobs and a criminal record. You're in a ghetto, pixelated and grimy, and the soundtrack is trying to be DMX but sounds like a man gargling gravel through a tin can. I clicked on a sleeping bum. Got 14 coins. Felt like a god.

Then I walked into a bar. The stripper pole had more polygons than the entire street outside. Multiple choices pop up, all of them horny, all of them leading to the same jiggle physics. There's a mugging mechanic that I forgot about for twenty minutes because I was too busy trying to get Erza to take off her armor. She wouldn't. Not until I found the right dialogue tree, which was hidden behind a dumpster next to a guy who kept saying "fuck around" in a loop.

The game is deliberately unpolished. Like someone smeared vaseline on a CRT monitor and called it atmosphere. The mouse control feels like dragging a wet sock across sandpaper. But there's a weird honesty to it. You're not here for story. You're here to see big boobs and commit petty theft while a bassline threatens to collapse your speakers.

I wish the stripper minigame had more than two animations. It won't. I wish the criminal tag meant something deeper than "press E to steal wallet." It doesn't. But then Erza finally got drunk enough, and the screen went dark, and I heard a sound that might have been a moan or might have been the game crashing. Either way, I reloaded.

Dare to play it alone, or invite company? Fuck that. Play it with the lights off and the volume low, like you're hiding from your own boner.