Discarded face masks, a Greggs wrapper, and spent nitrous oxide canisters litter the pavement beneath your heavy-booted feet. Outside Sainsbury’s, a seagull eats a dead pigeon. A branch of Maplins—long since shuttered, the unit still unrented—cuts a gloomy figure on the corner. You could be on any of London’s homogeneous high streets. Except you’re not. You’re inside a 25-year-old video game engine, and you’re on a mission. Welcome to the mildly unsettling world of Duke Smoochem.
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