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Every click pushes the game forward but also pushes the character closer to something unnatural. Buying upgrades speeds things up, yet strips control away from you. Auto-clickers keep the numbers growing while the world on screen slowly collapses. There are no cutscenes. No clear warnings. The story is told through visual decay, distorted faces, and short lines that hint this thing was once human. You’re not fighting enemies; you’re feeding the transformation.
The game is short, but every decision feels heavier the closer you get to the end.
Fun Clicker doesn’t test skill; it tests restraint. The real question isn’t how fast you can click, but whether you know when to stop. Once you cross certain thresholds, there’s no going back.