Note: This feature is written as a critical, analytical piece on a hypothetical mature-audience game, exploring its themes, mechanics, and narrative ambitions. By Elias Voss, Senior Features Editor
Enemies (called “Yearners”) don’t damage you with claws or teeth. They grapple. Each grapple initiates a rhythmic mini-game: a heartbeat pulse appears on screen. You must press a button off the beat to push them away (rejection) or on the beat to pull them closer (submission). Submission heals you but adds to a “Covet Gauge.” When full, you transform into a Thorned for 30 seconds—unstoppable, but unable to tell friend from foe. OSC The Lust of Us -Chapter 2-
One level requires you to navigate a masquerade ball where every masked figure is a hallucination of Soren’s ex-lovers. Shoot the wrong one, and you permanently lose a piece of Soren’s memory, altering the ending. The writing in Chapter 2 is devastating because it refuses catharsis. Voice actors Amira Khan (Cillian) and Jasper Reed (Soren) deliver performances that bleed through the dual-voice filter—often arguing with themselves in the same sentence. Note: This feature is written as a critical,
In 2021, the indie horror-drama OSC: The Lust of Us blindsided players. It was a raw, pixel-fleshed fever dream—part survival horror, part guilt-ridden romance—set in a city where a supernatural plague didn’t kill its victims, but instead weaponized their deepest desires against them. The first chapter ended on a gut-punch: protagonist chose to embrace the “Lust Plague,” believing he could control it to save his infected partner, Soren . Each grapple initiates a rhythmic mini-game: a heartbeat
A standout scene: The Anchor finds a working mirror. Cillian wants to smash it (denial). Soren wants to kiss the reflection (acceptance). The player must hold both joysticks in opposite directions for 45 real seconds. The screen cracks. Neither wins. The mirror shatters on its own.