So, imagine if Scott Cawthon released the first 2 nights of the first fnaf game (let’s imagine that the concept of a “children’s horror franchise” already existed as it does today), and then promised to release the rest as standalone pieces, but before that: released merch, had insane amount of YouTube videos, started work on a movie and announced a line of whatever the 2014 equivalent of NFTs were. Poppy Playtime is less of a game and more of an experiment to see how much money a guy can make off an incredibly safe (and apparently stolen) “videogame”. This is everything that indie games shouldn’t be.

With abunded composure, Akinator gestured with his open palm to dismiss my attempts to best him. Eyes closed, he didn't think it was necceserry to even look at my mortal coil. I had failed again and he was the winner once more. ''How could he guess Sonic the hedgehod, my second cousin or the mytochondria (powerhouse of the cell) ?! '' I asked myself, pulling my hair in bewilderment. One time the turbaned thaumaturge started sweating, after I said NO to him ten times in a row. I couldn't hide my smirk of pleasure as I anticipated for him to announce his defeat. It was a sure victory. Yet, that sly countenance met me again. The whole time he was pulling my leg and I was at his mercy again.
Fifteen year old me was so flabbergasted, that I tried showing it to my mother, so she could too marvel at the great genie's prowess and maybe offer some explanation. Could an adult make sense of what a child couldn't? It turned out, she was just as mystified, if not more. Her theory was that Akinator could hear me through the crappy built in microphone of my Microsoft camera, so we did his bidding in complete silence. If someone came into the room, I quickly raised my index finger to my mouth to hush them, like I was hinding from some beast and my survival depended on it. Of course it didn't work out, and my mother updated her theory that he could read my lips like HAL fro 2001: A space oddysey. I jacked the usb out from the pc, disconecting my camera alltogether so he could not have access to my sences. Failuire again. The only thing that remained for me to conclude was that he really read my thoughts. So, I tried sending ''fake'' signals to him, while still answering thruthfully. I just thought of the wrong thing, so I could swindle him. Again, I was toast. Every now and then I managed to beat him, but it felt unearned, like it was my fault somehow. He was living rent free in my head. It seemed I faced God himself, and he had come to teach me to be humble.