Bass Monkey

I don’t know where to begin with Bass Monkey. On one hand, it’s a game that, at first, seemed like just another quirky adventure. On the other hand, it slowly devoured my life in ways I never imagined possible, and now, I’m left with nothing but the remnants of my mind and my shattered reality. Bass Monkey is a free Hack and Slash arcade game. Up to 4 friends can compete (or co-operate!) in this short, low-stress, musical platformer, what could possibly go wrong. As I got deeper into the game, something sinister began to unfold. At first, it was harmless. I’d play for an hour here or there, enjoying the oddly addictive beats and the silly premise of a bass-obsessed monkey. But then, the hours started to stretch into days, and my obsession grew. Bass Monkey became my life. I found myself playing for 10 hours straight some days, barely eating, barely sleeping. And this was at the expense of everything around me — my family, my friends, even my dying grandmother. I’ll never forget the night I missed her final moments. I had been so immersed in Bass Monkey that I didn’t even hear my phone ring. I didn’t see the messages. The game’s insidious grip on me was so strong that it kept me glued to the screen while my grandmother, a woman who had raised me, slipped away without me. I’ll never forgive myself for that. And to make matters worse, I think the game started to mess with my head. The first sign was the voices. At first, it was just faint, like background noise, whispers that sounded like the bass lines from the game. But over time, they grew louder and more insistent. They weren’t just background noise anymore. They were talking to me, pulling me deeper into the rhythm, urging me to keep playing — even when my hands trembled, even when I had nothing left to give. The longer I played, the more I lost touch with reality. Then, things took a darker turn. I started seeing things — bass guitars flying through my walls. At first, I thought it was just a trick of the light or maybe some kind of sleep deprivation. But no. These were real. Real enough to make me question if I had lost my sanity altogether. The game didn’t just stay in the confines of the screen; it bled into my physical world. And now, I’m not just hearing things, I’m seeing things. The scariest part? It’s not just the hallucinations or the voices anymore. It’s the fact that I’m practically deaf now. The constant barrage of bass-heavy beats from Bass Monkey has destroyed my hearing. The doctors say it’s irreversible, and I’m left with only a faint echo of the world around me. The worst part is that even without hearing, the game’s rhythm still pulses in my mind, like a phantom limb. I can’t escape it. It’s too late for me. If you're thinking about playing Bass Monkey, consider this a warning. It’s not just a game. It’s an experience that consumes you whole, erasing everything that matters. It’s a game that will take your time, your sanity, and your ability to hear. It will make you lose touch with everything that is real. And, in the end, you’ll be left with nothing but the bass. I wish I had never heard of Bass Monkey. I wish I had spent that time with my grandma. I wish I had heard the final words she wanted to say to me before it was too late. Now, I can only hear the bass.