On the hot floor of a bathroom in the centre of the World Zone is a bloodless hand clutching a controller for the water temperature. The water has all spilled out, over the sides of the bath, still running hot. It’s leaking out under the apartment door, and someone, eventually will notice.
The person who noticed worked on a game called Ero Normalis, a gacha clicker with horror RPG elements tied to the purchase of real world items like chewing gum and bullets. The person writing this account has just been playing Cyberpunk 2077.
It’s unseasonably hot in Bristol right now, still, a cool 28 or something by the standards of the great burning regions of the world. They say it’s the humidity that makes it so uncomfortable in the UK, that the sweat, clinging to your body and the air like soup is the actual Bastard of it. I believe them, whoever they are.
In the hand that pulls the trigger on calling someone about the water under the door is a hard penis. It’s not theirs. They enjoy watching its owner squirm with pleasure. When that owner grabs for the game developer’s penis they will remark at it’s small size. The game developer doesn’t want to cum, not here, just to watch someone else get pleasure through them.
The body is burned. Cremated, is how to say that politely. The body is burned and the ash is pressed into a capsule held around the neck of the person who that body had one day birthed. Eventually she will dump the capsule over the side of a cruise somewhere out on one of the great lakes of Moon-5.
I don’t know if I like puzzles, just I get annoyed. I get annoyed about a lot of stuff though. My friends online are playing puzzle games and visual novels and you know stuff they care about seemingly. I’m playing crap I don’t care about, and as soon as I find myself caring I’m disgusted.
It’s abject, the idea that there’s a reason to talk about billion dollar vanity projects for trillion dollar industries as if they provide anything other than further sunlight shone in your eyes. I trample on the glass from a milk bottle and that’s the same effect, outdated, curiously detailed musings about blood being drained from one of my orifices. The one on the foot that opened up while my body was severed from dimensional time.
It’s cruelty. A doctor drops the penlight they were using to shine in my eyes on a visit to my dying grandma. Pull me aside for the stress in my face is showing. Show me a mirror where the clouds in the back of me are rendered with enough detail to crash the world.
If the device for changing the water temperature and the device for changing the height of the bed and the device for navigating Night City and the device for ejaculation were all brought together in one moment of union it would probably tell you a little something about machines. About how machines are there, with processes, ready to pulse movements into the world. The naked player character is hidden from view by the machines, cover up your penis woman.
In Cumcock City, You Can Be Cum, If Your Cock Can Pay The Price.
When the world’s up and running again, in a few hours of my slow, nation defined clock, and the blood is again pumping, I expect to be hungry and thirsty like Dracula and to have left the city for good. Roll on the atrocity parade. Welcome home Level Designers from all around. Our selection of Nuts and Butters will coat your stomach with a thick layer of oil best washed down with 300 dollars of Exit Wound iced coffee.
Immersion therapy is helping soldiers get back into the desert. World Begins From Zero.
GlitchOut 