You owe Big Sal ten thousand dollars. He gave you a basement, a computer running TrumpOS 2000 and a phone line full of lonely grandmothers. Pay him back. Then keep going.

Calls are the heart of the game. Over forty callers ring your line: grannies, crypto bros, Karens, a deaf grandpa, a vampire. Each has a file with a pet, a hometown and a weak spot. Pick the lines they like or type your own, fill their TRUST and they read out their card. Type it into the terminal before they get suspicious. Some of them are scambaiters, and they hack you back.

Seven places, each bigger than the last: the basement, an apartment, an office, a whole call-center floor, your own tower, a private island and a base on the Moon. Every cousin you hire sits at a desk with a phone at his ear, so your empire is something you can walk around in.

Earn too loud and the law comes knocking: a city cop, detectives, the FBI, a federal task force, Interpol and finally the Space Force. Talk your way out at the door, bribe, send a cousin, or slam it and wait for the warrant. At full heat the squad raids the room and you have seconds to hide the cash. Lose in court and you do the time.

From the office on, your money comes in dirty: buy fronts on the city map to wash it. Climb a ranking of a hundred crime families, answer the dons at the family council, recruit victims who liked you a little too much, run TV ads, and deal with Tony Two-Phones before he deals with you.

A parody. Every caller, bank and company in this game is made up. Contains crude humour and fictional crime.