3Cats Studio — press.

A moral-descent thriller told through your phone, your feeds, and a trading terminal. Chase a California fortune one “just one more trade” at a time — through a crypto mania where every gain has a price. Six endings. How far will you go?

All Time High is a text-based thriller about the hunger to get rich. You install home theaters in hillside mansions and watch other people’s money grow on the wall — until, with $200 of grocery money, you buy your first coin and feel the first hit. A boutique fund notices you. A memecoin turns a joke into a fortune. A private token offers you the inside of a room you were only ever hired to wire.

You read the story on the surfaces where the mania actually happens: a group chat, a news feed, a live trading terminal, a bank notification at 2 a.m. There’s no combat and no map — just choices, consequences, and a number that keeps climbing until it doesn’t. Four hidden variables quietly track who you’re becoming, and six distinct endings each name what it cost.

• A story told entirely through the interface — messages, feeds, email, and a market terminal you actually trade.
• Choices with a ledger: hidden cash / greed / integrity / heat track your descent. The story remembers.
• A scripted market you trade — buy/sell moments move your net worth and bend the story.
• Six endings — clean exit, exile, a federal knock, the fall guy, the whistleblower, rock bottom.
• Adaptive music that shifts with the market and the tension, layer by layer.
• A finishable one-shot (2.5–3.5 h), built to replay for the endings you didn’t take.
• Fully offline, single-player. 10 languages.

STONKS-9800 · Emily is Away · A Dark Room · Slay the Princess — story-rich, choices-matter interactive fiction where the interface is the game.

You are a censor in a nameless war, blacking out the letters of two lovers who have never met. Their whole romance lives on paper — so every word you strike is struck from the love itself. Then the letters begin, impossibly, to answer your pen. A melancholy epistolary romance. Six endings.

You are a woman at a censor’s desk, far behind a nameless front. Across your desk pass the letters of two strangers — pen-pals who have never once met, who know each other only through the words they send. You hold a stamp, a pen, and a book of regulations, and it is your work to strike out anything a soldier must not know.

But these two have nothing but the letters. Cross out a line and it is gone from their love, not just from the page. Then a letter answers a question you only asked with your pen; a line you struck weeks ago returns, uncrossed, in another hand; and one thread stops writing to the front and starts writing to you. The game never says whether the paper is haunted or whether you are simply coming apart at your own quiet desk. You decide what you believe.

• A redaction mechanic you feel in your chest — censorship as a love language, and a weapon. The most intimate choices are the ones you cross out.
• Six endings drawn from two fates at once — what becomes of the lovers, and what becomes of you.
• A quietly uncanny story that never explains itself: realistic on the surface, wrong underneath.
• A copybook — save a single line from a letter before it leaves your hands forever; some come back to matter.
• A living document, not a menu — the paper cools and the lamp dims as the story darkens.
• Fully offline, single-player. A quiet night or two (2–4 h). 10 languages.

Slay the Princess · Scarlet Hollow · Roadwarden · Papers, Please — story-rich, choices-matter interactive fiction where the interface is the game.

Constantinople, 1453. Four witnesses — a janissary, a baker’s daughter, an engineer, a noble — live the same 53 days of the siege. Choices cross between their stories, and the city remembers. An illustrated, choice-driven historical novel where every ending is someone’s truth.

Venice, 1500. Anna Notaras — daughter of Byzantium’s last great duke, who left before the end and spent fifty years ransoming its survivors — is writing down testimonies of the siege. Four witnesses sit at her table. Their accounts don’t always agree. She writes them down anyway.

All four share the same fixed calendar, April 6 to May 29. Choices cross between testimonies — mercy shown in one story becomes an ending in another; a bribe paid at court becomes the boat a girl might board on the last morning. The tension is never whether the city falls — it’s who you will be when it does.

• Four deep routes with 5–6 distinct endings each, plus a frame story that binds them.
• Cross-story memory — completed testimonies visibly change scenes, choices, and endings in the others.
• The sources codex — after every chapter the game shows its cards: eyewitness diary, later chronicle, or legend. Honesty about contested sources is a feature, not a footnote.
• Both sides carry equal weight — Ottoman and Byzantine lives written with equal care; no side’s ending is the “true” one.
• A living visual world — over a hundred painted-realism illustrations and ambient motion vignettes.
• An adaptive score moving between mehter rhythm and Byzantine chant as the walls and the days wear down.

Pentiment · Roadwarden · The Life and Suffering of Sir Brante · 80 Days — story-rich historical interactive fiction that treats its sources seriously.

Night shift at the municipal morgue. Bodies arrive with paperwork, and the paperwork has to match the body. Weigh it, measure it, take its temperature — listen to its chest. The rulebook gains a page every night, and some of what you sign in does not stay signed in.

You are the new night clerk at a municipal morgue in a city that produces more bodies than it can explain. Death certificate, transfer manifest, personal effects, a polaroid — names, weights, causes, signatures, and one of them may be lying. You have a scale, a measuring tape, a thermometer, a UV lamp, and a stethoscope for the nights when you need to be certain.

The rulebook starts at three pages and grows every shift, and the newest page always overrules the older ones — which is how a rule you learned on Monday quietly becomes wrong on Thursday. Sign, and the choice is yours: accept and assign a drawer, quarantine, reject, or call your supervisor while you still have a call left. A mistake does not end when the shift does.

• Seven nights of intake — roughly two and a half to three and a half hours, written in advance and procedurally dealt, so no two clerks work the same shift.
• Five instruments — scale, tape, thermometer, UV lamp, stethoscope. A pulse where there should not be one is the whole thesis in one instrument.
• A rulebook that grows, newest page first — and the newest page always wins.
• It remembers. Accept what you should have turned away and the room notices. On a later night the hatch opens and the name on the file is one you have already processed.
• A wage you spend. Correct signatures pay, wrong ones cost, and between shifts you buy the equipment the job does not provide.
• Four endings, and the one you reach is the one your signatures earned.

Papers, Please · That’s Not My Neighbor · No, I’m Not a Human · Do Not Feed the Monkeys — procedural gatekeeping where the dread is in the paperwork.