The first thing that hits you is how unfinished everything looks. The lab backgrounds are flat, the character sprites have that weird sheen like they were rendered on a potato, and the UI feels like a prototype someone forgot to polish. But then you start clicking through the dialogue and realize the jank is almost the point. You're this professor guy with a god complex and a syringe full of bad ideas, and your students are just... there. Waiting. Trusting you. It's uncomfortable in a way that works.

There's this one scene with a girl named Yuki, I think, or maybe it was Yumi. She volunteers for a "metabolic acceleration" trial and ends up with her chest swelling so fast the buttons on her blouse pop off one by one. The game lingers on that moment way too long, like it knows you're watching for the wrong reasons. The writing is clunky, full of typos and weird phrasing, but somehow that makes it feel more real. Like a creepy professor's actual notes. You can almost smell the formaldehyde and cheap coffee.

The body modification stuff gets wild. You can push a slider too far and suddenly a student has extra limbs or their skin changes color. The game doesn't judge you for it, which is both refreshing and deeply unsettling. There's no real fail state, just a series of escalating "oops" moments that leave you staring at the screen wondering if you should reload or keep going. I spent twenty minutes trying to fix a botched experiment on some guy named Kenji, only to realize the undo button was hidden behind a menu I never opened. Classic.

Honestly, the whole thing feels like a fever dream you'd have after falling asleep in a biology lecture. The science is nonsense, the characters are paper thin, and the animations are stiff as hell. But there's a weird pull to it, like picking at a scab. You know you should stop, but you don't. Dare to play it alone, or invite company? Probably alone. Definitely alone.