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Neon rain trickles down the holo-glass of the slums while a worn fixer lights his last cigarette, watching the city drown in its own secrets. “Pour Judgement” drags you into its dizzy labyrinth of lust, guilt, and fading morality.
Agnes, a delicate student hiding her fear behind stubborn eyes, brings her trembling voice to the fixer’s door. There’s a sickness spreading through her peers, not the flu but a haze of compulsion that turns studying minds into hungry bodies. No one else will take her case, except Van Arkride, the man too fucked to fear another failure.
Each chapter spirals through shifting narrators, letting you taste the same corruption from every bleeding angle. The city’s veins pulse with credits and fucks traded for survival.
Agnes’s data screen bleeds static, showing a pornographic twin of her making herself gasp - her classmates watching, half-horrified and aroused. This is not code malfunctioning; it’s craving.
Van chases a lead through the red-zone, finding AI-controlled prostitutes uploading pleasure data like sermons. Every answer he finds smells of lubricant and lies.
The CG spreads open the tension: a student’s trembling mouth, a fixer’s calloused hands, synthetic light painting every thrust. These are sex acts as confessions, bodies using lust to survive.
It’s told through multiple points of view - some living the act, some observing, all needing release. Every fade to black is only another breath before another collapse.
The game seduces you with questions as much as it does with moans. Play it now, while the city’s lights still flicker, before someone pulls the plug on your pleasure.
