I.T. Never Ends: I genuinely did this job, and ticket 666 did nothing to me, unlike the user

Fair warning, I am not objective about this game. I used to be an IT manager. Not at a company run by cosmic horrors, at least not officially, but I knew the rest: tickets piling up, people turning up with a problem that is not your job, and that permanent sense that something in the building is not working the way it should.

And yes, I once had a ticket numbered 666. Nothing happened. Well, the user disappeared, but I maintain that was not the ticket's fault.

The tone, and it is perfectly calibrated

That is the first thing that strikes you, and it is what holds the game together. Studio Dadbod Games understood that cosmic horror and tech support have a great deal in common: in both cases you face something incomprehensible with inadequate tools, and nobody wants to know how you manage.

The examples speak for themselves. Ticket 404: user cannot find their soul. Ticket 500: the printer is breathing again. Ticket 237, urgent: floor 3.5 will not stop existing. Marketing CC'd the summoning ritual to the whole company, again. Legal needs remote access from somewhere redacted. The elevator now serves a floor that does not exist.

And then there is Gary, who wants his password reset to GaryRocks123. Again. The brute-force bots are thrilled. That joke has nothing supernatural about it, which is precisely why it is the funniest of the lot.

The company was founded in 2015, whatever the USB drive buried in the wall claims. You are employee number 47. Or 48. The numbers keep changing. And it is best not to ask what happened to Marvin.

What you actually do

The core mechanic is deliberately minimal: swipe right to approve, left to deny. Both options have consequences.

What gives that simple gesture its weight is the four gauges you hold at once: productivity, budget, morale and entropy. If any one flatlines, your shift ends permanently. And if entropy climbs too high, the building starts remembering things.

That is a proven structure, the one used by games of binary decisions and antagonistic counters, and it still works because it turns every small choice into a trade-off. Approving costs budget, denying costs morale, and both feed entropy.

Added to it are manual minigames that break the rhythm, and they are what saves the format from monotony. Redacting a document before someone reads it and loses their mind. Stabilising the network in a server room that has developed its own weather, patching packet loss and rerouting power before rack 7 floods, knowing that it rains at 2:47 PM precisely. Or hunting volatile data entities through the architecture before they find you first.

What sets the score

This score comes from our own playthroughs, the game having just launched. It rewards genuinely funny writing that lasts because it mixes supernatural absurdity with corporate absurdity, the second often being the more effective. It also credits the minigames, which stop the swiping from becoming mechanical.

It accounts for how narrow the format is. A binary-decision game lives on the variety of its tickets and nothing else. If the catalogue runs dry, the loop becomes visible immediately, and no gauge will rescue the repetition. That is the only real risk here.

A practical caveat: it is offered in English only, and the humour rests entirely on wordplay and IT jargon. Without comfortable English, half the appeal disappears.

So tell us, because we know you have one: what is the most absurd ticket you have ever received in your working life?

Played it too? Tell us how it went on the InsertCoins Discord.