Why Chicken Fighting Games Are the Ultimate Test of Fate and Free Will

I design games for people who need to feel something real—even when the system is rigged.

I grew up between Scandinavian myth and American pragmatism: no gods, but an obsession with agency. My father taught me that fate is a mechanical rhythm—not divine, just probabilistic. That’s why I built chicken fighting games as philosophical arenas.

Every rooster’s cluck is a Nietzschean will-to-power made audible. The RNG doesn’t decide outcomes; it exposes them. When you bet, you’re not chasing profit—you’re testing whether you believe in your own choices.

The桑巴 carnival isn’t just color and rhythm—it’s a ritualized mirror of chaos theory. High RTP? It’s not generosity; it’s the illusion of control we crave when life feels random.

I’ve watched players spend hours chasing ‘win streaks’ like monks in a monastery—waiting for meaning in noise. The ‘dynamic odds’? They don’t reward skill—they reveal how deeply we deny randomness.

This isn’t entertainment engineering. It’s applied existentialism.

You don’t win by strategy—you survive by noticing when to walk away.

Last night, I played one game for 37 minutes straight. No bonus came. No loyalty plan saved me. Just silence—and then, at dawn, I walked away.