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About Miskolc

What pisses me off? Dumb games with no soul. This one’d be raw, messy, real. Happy? When it clicks—bam, players hooked! Surprised? How damn dark it gets—like Ida findin’ her aunt’s truth. “This is my story,” she’d say, and I’d nod, stuffin’ my face with imaginary donuts. Game’d be sloppy, fun, a lil’ wrong—perfect, right? Whaddya think, pal?

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, they get it under control. I’m exhausted, but I can’t go home yet. I’ve got paperwork to do. So, I head back to the office on Kossuth Lajos utca. The streets are buzzing with life. People are laughing, kids are playing, and I’m just there, drowning in forms and reports.