Peter’s tie is too tight. That’s the first thing I noticed, watching him sweat through a boardroom pitch about corrugated fiberboard margins. The art style is deliberately rough, almost like storyboards that got left in the sun, and the voice acting has that hollow, tinny quality of a bad Zoom call. It’s not a bug, it’s the whole point. This is corporate desperation rendered as a fever dream, where sealing a deal means your subconscious starts peeling off its cheap suit.

The negotiation minigame is basically just clicking on dialogue options while a stress meter fills up, but then Peter’s fantasy life intrudes without warning. One moment you’re discussing quarterly projections, the next the client’s biceps are straining the seams of his jacket and the conference table becomes irrelevant. There’s a scene where a supplier visit turns into a three-on-one situation in a warehouse that’s all shadows and exposed brick, the kind of place that smells like dust and bad decisions. The anatomy is exaggerated to the point of absurdity, cocks so massive they’re practically a logistical problem, and the titsfuck sequence is animated with a kind of clumsy, hypnotic loop that feels like a gif from 2004. I wish the sound design during these bits wasn’t just the same wet slap on repeat. It needs more grunting, more fabric tearing, something to sell the sheer physical impossibility of it all.

The gay dreams tag isn’t a side path, it’s the main road. Peter’s ambition curdles into these visions of muscle-bound men in hard hats and tight slacks, their skin glistening for no reason. It’s less about plot and more about texture, the feeling of a mind unraveling into pure, transactional lust. A DLC where you actually fail a negotiation and have to work your way back up through increasingly degrading fantasies would be a perfect fit. The game already understands that the real obscenity isn’t the sex, it’s the quarterly earnings report.