You blink. The plush walls seem to sigh, like they’re mildly disappointed in you. The low hum in the room is either judging you… or humming a catchy tune you can’t get out of your head. A velvet cushion floats lazily in the corner, spinning slowly, presumably rolling its metaphorical eyes at your life choices.

Then there’s the tray. Oh, the tray. It’s glowing. It’s pulsing. It’s holding exactly what you didn’t realise you were desperate for, and it’s staring at you like a tiny, judgmental golden sun. You can almost hear it whisper: “Go on… you know you want this.”

And don’t forget your accidental cellmate. They’re sitting there, fidgeting with restraints that might as well have been custom-made to make them look adorable and slightly tragic at the same time. Every time they glance at you, you get that mix of “please help me survive this ridiculous place” and “I hope you fail spectacularly so I’m not alone”.

Welcome to horny jail, player. The walls are soft. The objects are sentient. And yes—somehow, this is real.