Cosmo D’s newest release, Moves of the Diamond Hand, picks up directly after Betrayal at Club Low. Even though it’s still in early access and the roadmap is still taking shape, the overall vibe so far has been genuinely striking. The story centers on a major, pulse-pounding mayoral contest that plays out across the whole city as you chase your own shadowy goal: getting involved with the enigmatic Circus X. I’m currently running the game as a pizzaiolo, and this time I’ve got a wider toolkit (I can busk and do laundry and sew), plus fresh dice-based systems to dig into. Circus X seems to be managed by Murial—who served as the handler in the earlier Off-Peak entries. It’s still not clear whether this group is connected to The Circus spy organization, which was my previous workplace during the Club Low period. The first two chapters are live now, though it may take a while—most likely during the second half of this year—for us to see how all of this comes together.
Looking back at my time with Betrayal at Club Low in 2022, I was moved by how quickly it carried me back to the carefree highs of my twenties—bar-hopping, going out, and those late-night detours that naturally come with youth and bad decisions in a loud, thriving city. I once lived in a Brooklyn apartment that was crawling with roaches, worked nights with pizza Fridays, and barely saw daylight. I’d be lying if I said those were the absolute best years of my life, but in spite of all the struggles—some chosen, some not—I tend to remember the whole stretch with a calm that feels well-earned. In 2026, Cosmo D has pulled me back again into a dim, hustle-heavy micro-world that isn’t quite New York, though it comes with less stress, better financial footing, and a clear path for my character to grow—at least from a starting point that’s literally just “up,” since we begin stuck in a subway station.
There’s no doubt this is Cosmo D’s biggest and most wide-ranging project yet, offering a lot more space to explore. It isn’t just a city—it’s a sprawling one on the verge of something monumental, even if you could argue that cities like this are always changing, second to second. The election contenders and their platforms are everywhere: printed on campaign posters and flyers, sitting on the spines of books, and repeating themselves in the things people say to you. Diamond Hand pushes you to ask what truly matters to you—and what you’re willing to do to reach it—while reinforcing those urges through a strong sense of place. Scattered throughout the streets are quiet nudges toward deeper questions: what does this place mean to you? And maybe, in an even more reflective vein: who do you think you are to this location?
When I measure it against my personal baggage tied to New York, the answer feels “complex”—but when it comes to how Diamond Hand plays, my experience is frustratingly direct. This environment smartly draws out the most ridiculous and wildly over-romantic emotions I’ve ever attached to New York, even when the city was, in a figurative sense, stabbing me and swiping the last remaining piece of my sanity. I’m eager to wander the routes Cosmo D has laid out, hit the laundromat, and drift through the library like the most baffled, wide-eyed fool imaginable. There’s real excitement in how I get to be here—stepping in as a stand-in for a famous street artist, growing plants while music plays, and making pizzas. Just like Club Low, I fall into an almost otherworldly flow when I’m absorbed in these routines. The dice seem to speak in cryptic ways, and my pizzaiolo clicks into a chaotic rhythm that wouldn’t last a minute in real life.
As Election Day gets closer, the city feels thick with tension—like a restless current moving through everything, strong enough to feel almost drug-like. I’m intentionally putting off deciding how I want to shape my relationship with this place. So far, I’ve been leaning hard into my Cooking stat, but that won’t be enough by itself. The game is pushing me toward a decision. Supporting any of the three candidates comes with its own clear stat benefits. Take Mike Broonan, for instance—based on his look, I’ve nicknamed him “Fuckboy Gale of Waterdeep.” He’s a former boy band member who puts a spotlight on Physique. Meanwhile, someone like Sonny Koln speaks passionately about arts funding, which should directly strengthen Music.
By laying out these direct stat boosts, the game becomes surprisingly tactical—it makes it hard for me to vote based purely on values, especially since mine are admittedly biased. I feel stuck inside a tug-of-war between my own practical interests, in a world built from unpredictable, surreal reinterpretations of New York, where my choices are tied to dice that somehow feel like they have their own intentions. I’m greedy, suspicious, and driven. I want to have my cake, enjoy it, and indulge in it here—right in the public square between a stall selling bootleg library cards and the roaming salesmen pitching pizza ovens. So, who am I in all of this, and what does this place really mean to me? For now, I’m essentially fortune itself—caught between a paradise and a personal hell I helped create—and I won’t step away until it’s all settled.