Raise cash fast—at a cost

Race the clock while your conscience keeps score

BloodMoney drops you into a desperate countdown where every click is a compromise and every compromise moves the needle on a life-or-death bill. You guide Harvey, a talented but broke musician staring down a hospital invoice that has a hard deadline and a harder truth: cash buys time. In BloodMoney, progress is never free—your choices eat away at stamina, sanity, and relationships even as they swell the bank balance. This is a compact, browser-based odyssey that plays in one sitting yet lingers like an unfinished conversation, daring you to ask what you’d sacrifice when the meter never stops ticking.

Click to choose, choose to change

At the heart of BloodMoney lies a stark loop: pick a gig, take the hit, stack the funds, and decide if you still recognize the person doing the work. The interface looks minimal, but the trade-offs cut deep. One option keeps your integrity intact while paying pennies; another throws quick cash on the pile but gnaws at mental health. BloodMoney makes arithmetic feel personal. Minutes and dollars oscillate against stress and fatigue, and you learn fast that a padded wallet won’t matter if the body—and the mind—can’t keep pace with the grind.

Because BloodMoney is a clicker, momentum feels intoxicating. The first payouts pop like tiny victories. Then, as the deadline looms, the arithmetic twists: the ‘best’ choice becomes the one you promised you wouldn’t take. With each run, BloodMoney trains your instincts, then tests what happens when instincts collide with empathy. You are never just optimizing a build—you are negotiating with yourself.

Mechanics that mirror moral math

BloodMoney builds its systems around a few simple bars—cash, time, energy, stress, and relationship status—and wrings surprising complexity from their interactions. Straight gigs replenish reputation and keep your conscience light, but they chew up hours and produce modest returns. Dubious shortcuts pump income fast at the price of exhaustion and fractured ties. In BloodMoney, even rest has a cost: the clock keeps grinding forward while your body recovers, and the hospital’s invoice doesn’t pause.

Each action in BloodMoney feeds back into the narrative. Overwork pushes mistakes that can lock you out of safer paths. Cutting corners may open contacts who only call when the light is low. Tender moments with the people who care about you can soothe the meter, but they also siphon precious hours you cannot spare twice. BloodMoney doesn’t moralize; it simulates scarcity and lets the simulation speak.

Story beats that reshape the road

BloodMoney weaves branching events through its clicker skeleton. A neighbor’s request might become a lifeline—or a trap—depending on how wrung-out you are when you answer the door. Phone calls that once offered hope can curdle after you take that one unsavory job. BloodMoney rewards foresight but punishes certainty; the city remembers what you did to it. The writing keeps a light touch, trusting you to read meaning in the margins, and the minimalist art makes room for your own projections and doubts.

Endings you earn, and own

BloodMoney culminates in multiple outcomes that reflect not just your bank balance but the path you walked to get there. Pay on time with your values mostly intact and you might limp out with relationships that can mend. Miss the deadline by a hair because you refused a final compromise and you may gain a quiet, bitter pride. In BloodMoney, paying the bill the ugly way can leave an aftertaste that feels worse than losing. The best ending isn’t obvious; it’s subjective, and it belongs to you.

Play sessions that fit your day

BloodMoney respects your time while challenging your resolve. A single run is short enough for a break yet layered enough to invite experiments: What if you rest earlier? What if you decline every shady shortcut until the last hour? In BloodMoney, repetition isn’t busywork—it’s reflection. New routes reveal late-game offers you never saw, and tiny mid-run choices can tilt the final emotional tone without moving a single number on the ledger.

Systems that stay readable

The UI in BloodMoney is intentionally lean, designed to keep your eyes on the ethical algebra rather than buried in submenus. Tooltips make it clear which meter each action touches, while precise numbers remain a little fuzzy—just like real risk. BloodMoney uses that ambiguity as friction; you will never be fully certain how much a compromise will sting until after you commit. That uncertainty keeps clicks meaningful.

Accessibility through restraint

Because BloodMoney runs in the browser and favors text-forward presentation, it plays smoothly on modest hardware and old laptops. Every animation and effect is there to serve clarity. BloodMoney is not about spectacle; it’s about pressure. The minimal visual identity and clean typography let the stakes breathe, and the muted palette mirrors the protagonist’s narrowing options.

Replay with a different spine

On subsequent playthroughs, BloodMoney encourages personal rule-sets: only legal gigs, no all-nighters, or a hard cap on stress before you must rest. These self-imposed constraints transform BloodMoney into a character study. The scoreboard is the same, but the victories feel different. You can chase perfect efficiency or choose a principled loss, and either way BloodMoney tracks the arc of your willpower as closely as it tracks currency.

Guidance without judgment

Subtle prompts nudge you without scolding. When you hover over a tempting shortcut, a remembered conversation might bubble up and color the decision. BloodMoney avoids heavy-handed morality plays; instead, it shows the downstream ripples. Skip a rehearsal because you need cash and a bandmate goes silent on your messages. Accept a late-night favor and discover that daylight friends stop asking questions they used to ask. BloodMoney is a mirror more than a manifesto.

Sound and silence as tension

Audio cues in BloodMoney punctuate the grind: a soft chime for a clean payout, a clipped click for stress spikes, a low thrum when time compresses. The soundtrack works like a pulse, steady until your choices make it stumble. BloodMoney knows when to hush, too; moments of quiet before accepting a risky job give the page room to breathe, and your next click lands with extra weight.

Why this clicker matters

Clickers often celebrate exponential growth. BloodMoney inverts that fantasy. Growth happens, but the curve has thorns, and the numbers alone won’t tell you whether you’re winning. In BloodMoney, you learn to balance spreadsheets with soul. It’s a game about money that refuses to reduce people to math, and it trusts players to hold two truths at once: sometimes the right choice hurts, and sometimes the easy choice won’t let you sleep.

Your run, your reckoning

If you want a compact story that hits harder than it looks, BloodMoney belongs in your queue. It’s approachable, replayable, and unafraid to ask what a price tag measures when life is on the line. The rules are simple; the reflections are not. Stand your ground, bend a little, or break a lot—BloodMoney will meet you wherever your cursor lands and mark the path you took to get there.

Try a straight-arrow route first to feel the pace of honest work. Then load BloodMoney again and flirt with the dark shortcuts to see how the tone shifts when the deadline breathes down your neck. Map the city’s small economies, notice which favors open doors, and pay attention to the quiet moments that say the most. With every experiment, BloodMoney teaches you how pressure reshapes a plan and how values bend when numbers dictate terms.

By the time the final bill comes due, you’ll know exactly what you bought along the way—and what it cost you to buy it. That’s the promise of BloodMoney: not just a meter that fills, but a memory that lingers.