Step into the worn-out shoes of an unnamed protagonist in My Journey, a raw and minimalist life simulator. After waking up with nothing but a frayed backpack and existential dread, you roam gritty streets, couch-surf in dodgy apartments, and hustle for survival. Every choice—from dumpster-diving for dinner to swallowing pride for a minimum-wage gig—shapes your path in this unsentimental ode to ordinary struggles.
Brutally Simple Mechanics, Profoundly Human Stories
1. Wandering as Gameplay: Traverse a semi-open city with no map or quest markers. Your only goals: find food, avoid eviction, and land a job—any job. Break into abandoned buildings for shelter, hitchhike with sketchy strangers, or nap on park benches while managing exhaustion meters that affect decision-making speed .
2. Procedural Encounters: Each playthrough generates unique NPCs—a meth-cooking poet offering odd jobs, a store clerk hiding immigration papers, or a stray dog that becomes your only ally. Their fates intertwine with yours through emergent storytelling.
3. Zero Hand-Holding: Failures stick. Get fired for tardiness? That diner blacklists you. Steal from the wrong person? Expect broken kneecaps. The game autosaves catastrophes, forcing you to live with consequences or restart entirely .
The Soul-Crushing (and Liberating) Job Hunt
1. No Resumé, No Mercy: Scour bulletin boards for gigs—washing dishes, cleaning septic tanks, or beta-testing sketchy energy drinks. Each job minigame reflects its misery: rhythm-based scrubbing for janitor work, tense QTE dodges for construction hazards.
2. Exploitative Economy: Earn pennies for backbreaking labor while rent skyrockets. Accept morally dubious side hustles (e.g., smuggling contraband) for quick cash, risking jail time or street cred loss .
3. Upgrade Your Rock Bottom: Use earnings to buy a $5 haircut for better interview odds, a thrift-store suit to access white-collar temp agencies, or a library card to learn coding—slowly climbing from poverty .
Aesthetic Grit & Emotional Resonance
1. Lo-Fi Visual Poetry: Crunchy pixel art drenched in perpetual twilight—rain-slicked alleys glow under flickering neon, while cramped apartments drown in melancholic blue shadows. Inspired by PS1-era aesthetics but modernized with dynamic weather decay .
2. Soundtrack of Silence: Ambient noise dominates: distant sirens, dripping faucets, your character’s stomach growling. Rare moments of warmth—a busker’s guitar, a laundromat dryer’s hum—hit harder through contrast .
3. "Boi" as Everyman: Your protagonist stays deliberately faceless and voiceless. NPCs project their biases onto him ("lazy bum," "lost kid"), mirroring society’s reduction of the unemployed to stereotypes .
