A satirical workplace survival sim. You take a job. Coworkers form opinions. A manager begins writing a document you'll never read. Every email you send is doing two things — one of them on purpose. The system keeps score. You never see the score.
Twenty in-game days. A team of NPCs who remember everything you've ever Slacked them. A manager who has already started writing your performance review. A mascot watching from the corner of every screen.
A company is generated. The seat is yours. Your dock fills with apps you didn't pick. Your manager has already DMed you. Twice. The wallpaper is set; you can't change it for three days.
Hidden numbers accumulate from every decision you make and every one you delegate. You will see consequences. You will not see the numbers. The score is being kept somewhere you can't access.
A stamp arrives in the top-left of your screen. The mascot's face changes. A finale plays. There are several. You will not have chosen most of them.
Every parody is built on top of the app it parodies — Slack's pinwheel, Zoom's camera, Gmail's envelope. The colors are accurate. The joke is the accuracy.
Two desktop OSes — the one you wanted and the one your employer issued. When work starts, CorpOS boots over the top: the dock re-arranges, the wallpaper locks, a monitoring dot appears in the menu bar. When work ends, the overlay lifts. Your machine returns, slightly smaller than you remembered.
Your WacOS, off-shift. Sunset wallpaper. 🍐 pear where the apple goes. Most companies issue WacOS hardware; it's also what you boot when you're between jobs.
The legacy enterprise build. Teal-on-grey, bottom taskbar, Start menu is the Megsoft four-square. Companies still issuing Megsoft XP are usually three reorgs deep.
Six possible resolutions. Each one arrives as a screen-take-over with its own typography, its own colour, its own line of quiet recognition. The mascot's face changes per ending. We're not going to tell you what triggers what. You'll know.
Most players see one in their first Season. A few see the same one twice. Nobody collects them all on purpose.
Every workday plays out across five periods — morning, midmorning, midday, afternoon, end-of-day. Messages arrive whether you've read them or not. The schedule is dense on purpose. This one is uneventful.
Each NPC has a memory of every message you've sent them, a hidden relationship score, and a private theory about you. You will not be shown any of them. You will, eventually, feel all of them.
Sends 'quick favors' at 9:12. Always 'just checking in.' Has not slept in three days; the calendar shows it.
Speaks like a calm landing page. Adds emojis to difficult conversations. Always 'happy to chat,' never has news.
Has 47 tabs open. Thinks design is 'mostly opinions.' Will throw you under the bus politely.
Her name is still on a few shared docs. She is not coming back to answer questions about them.
Heads down. Quiet mode permanently on. Will react 👀 to a message you regret sending without ever commenting.
Conversion to FTE pending. Sends a 'just wanted to check in!' message every Wednesday at 14:00.
Posts at 06:14 about resilience. Calls the team 'family' in an all-hands you should probably attend.
Greets you every Monday. Suggests calendar consolidation. Has access to your messages 'for product improvement.'
Season 1 is free. The whole Season — every workday, every coworker, every finale. Not a demo. Not a teaser. HiPois the subscription tier for players who want the rest of the org chart. The name is real corporate HR jargon. Look it up later. You'll laugh.
A selection from our beta waitlist's last 800 inbound messages. Some are real. Some are from people who already work at Loomwave.
Built by overworked humans, in public, on a calendar the system would not approve of. Shipped this month —