The city doesn’t sleep. It hallucinates.
Gameplay footage — coming soon
Stoner Horror · split-screen co-op FPS roguelite
You don’t decide when you smoke — the city does. You only decide what.
There is no smoke button: the city decides when your hands start shaking, and after a few seconds of warning come four stages you cannot cancel — light it, inhale, the trip climbs, reality breaks. How deep you are decides what is real, for both of you at the same time.
About
There is a rumor. Everyone who walks into the witches’ territory gets the first smoke free. The second one you want. And wanting, in this city, was never the same thing as choosing.
New York didn’t fall. It folded. Something opened a hole in the city’s reality and the city — being New York — mostly kept going. People still order coffee. Cops file it under noise complaints. Nobody makes a big deal out of it, which is the scariest part.
Two of you go down toward The Source through streets, subways, catacombs and folds of the city that should not exist. There is no smoke button. There never will be. Its absence is the game.
How it plays
- You don’t choose when. You choose what. The city decides when your hands start shaking. You get a few seconds of warning — a tremor, a whisper rising — and then four stages you cannot cancel: LIGHT IT. INHALE. THE TRIP CLIMBS. REALITY BREAKS. Your weapon lowers. The camera stays yours. Whatever is walking toward you does not wait for you to finish.
- The Truth Window. How deep you are decides what is real — for both of you, at the same time. Shallow, the Veil’s creatures are present but unseen. Within the window, you see what was always standing there. Too deep, the Veil starts adding: creatures that were never born, and a HUD that lies to you.
TRIP LEVEL 87%. ENEMIES REMAINING: unclear. - Tells. Every real thing in this city has one tell it cannot fake. Copies never reproduce it. Reading tells is the skill — dying is not the teacher.
- Scrap-occult. No catalogue, no clean steel: a rusty revolver, a sawed-off, a pipe club. Quiet violence buys time the loud kind can’t — swing the club and the whisper slows down.
- The witch’s counter. One stop per run, three offers, and you can afford one. Pay in ritual items, or take the witch’s term — a rule bound against you for the rest of the run. Every upgrade rewrites a rule, never a number.
- One couch, one truth. Split-screen from the ground up. Complete alone. There is no version of this where you see the thing in the corridor and your partner does not. When you go down, someone has to kneel next to you and talk you back.
First one’s free.
Nobody remembers the last one.
![Split-screen, both seats at TRIP LEVEL 74% TWISTED: in the left view the wiry one stands in a purple-lit alley beside a hunched figure in a pink coat; in the right view the big one stands in the dark. Each seat holds a rusty revolver, and the captions read [two dry cracks]](/media/badtrip/shot-03-9d084971-1920.webp)
![The ritual begins: the player's own blocky red hand rises into the lower frame, a tiny flame just visible at its top, in a narrow brick alley, a figure in a purple coat waiting by a shopping cart ahead; “first one's free.” is painted on the wall and the captions read [a breath] and [two dry cracks, far]](/media/badtrip/shot-05-d2a1349b-1920.webp)
![The same alley at TRIP LEVEL 74% TWISTED: a purple cast over the bricks, the figure in the purple coat still waiting ahead, a rusty revolver in hand at the lower right; the captions read [giggling ↑] and [heartbeat, quickening]](/media/badtrip/shot-06-659c2bc6-1920.webp)
