A living-city crime RPG in your pocket. Start with nothing on the docks — hustle, deal, invest, and climb. Every choice writes your legend. Go legit, or run the streets. The city is yours to take.
MOGUL is a deep, living life-crime RPG built for mobile. Every system feeds the next — grind a job, flip a car, launder the take, buy the block. This is how empires are made.
Climb the housing ladder from a dockside bunk to Harborview heights. Rent by the day or buy on a loan, place tenants unit by unit, and collect while you sleep — or let it out and forgo the bed for the carry.
19 combat classes — Gunner, Medic, Marksman, Hacker, Getaway Driver, Juggernaut, Demolitions and more. Earn their contact on the street, win their trust, then call them from your phone when it's time.
On-hand cash is dirty; only the bank is clean. Launder through fronts to buy what matters — homes take clean money, the fence takes anything. Buy the trading license and play the stock ticker for more.
Witnesses talk, Heat climbs, and Officer Reyes learns your routes. Lay low, hire a white-shoe firm or a shady attorney — or do the time and run the prison yard until you're out.
78 named characters who remember your first meeting. 200+ street encounters that spawn off-screen and pull you in. A real day/night clock, crowds with routines, and a ferry that actually runs.
Buy the shop, not just the stock. Hire managers, chefs, and shift leads to run ventures while you're gone — or run illicit operations on a dial from Cool to Reckless and pray the raid never comes.
Nothing here is a menu screen pretending to be gameplay. Each system feeds the others — and all of it is in the game at launch.
Seventeen apps, one device. Bank and launder, call contacts to recruit, take jobs, browse the registry, track your standing, watch the markets, read your mail — the phone is the empire's remote control. KORA, the companion AI, rides shotgun.
Landlord, day-trader, dealer, boss — saint or sinner. A closer look at the deep systems that turn spare cash into an empire, and your name into a legend.
Every building you own splits into real units — Apt 1A, 1B, 2A. Vacancies draw three applicants apiece, each with a payment profile: Stable pays like clockwork, Premium pays more but demands more, Feast-or-Famine is a gamble. Screen them, sign them, and rent lands in your account every single day.
Renovate a tired unit to lift its rent ceiling, or hand the whole portfolio to a legal manager and collect from your phone while you're across the island.
A 24-quirk pool across three buckets means no two tenants play the same. The good ones carry their weight — the Handyman fixes issues himself, Bank Wire auto-pays, Green Thumb raises the unit's rent ceiling, Connected slips you the odd lead.
The bad ones cost you. The Late Payer makes you chase rent; the Party Host throws blowouts that spike neighbor Heat; the Violent tenant turns collection day into a fight; the Squatter won't pay and won't leave. Each has a daily chance to fire an event you have to show up and resolve — confront, renovate, or evict.
Buy the trading license from Hassan the broker and the whole exchange opens up. Prices move in real time with a live 24-hour change on every security, your portfolio marks to market as you watch, and a steady hand turns clean bank money into a lot more of it.
It's the cleanest money in the game — and the most patient. No Heat, no witnesses, just timing, nerve, and the ticker.
Buy product by the gram from Ray Okonjo, then take it to the corner. Buyers walk straight up and name a price — most offer 60–115% of street rate, a lucky one-in-ten are eager high-rollers willing to pay up to 150%, and the lowballers will walk if you push.
So you haggle. Freeze the crowd, counter the offer, and read the buyer: eager ones cave, tight ones leave. Every gram sold is dirty cash — and every deal on the corner nudges your Heat a little higher.
Every choice you make writes to one of two 0–100 spines. Civic Standing climbs from No Standing to Known Face, Reliable, Pillar, and finally Civic Patron — the lawful world's measure of you. Street Standing is read two ways depending on who's looking: as Respect on the corner (Nobody → Made → Feared → Kingpin) and as Infamy to the straights (Clean Name → Marked → Notorious → Most Infamous).
Standing isn't a number for show — doors literally check it. Premium leases and the professional ladder want Civic rank; the Cut's back rooms and the protection racket want Street. Rise on one side and whole districts open; lean too hard on the other and they slam shut.
You don't just work businesses — you own them. A bar that fronts your dirty cash, a laundromat that washes $600 a week, a garage that's quietly a chop shop. Every operation posts a real net-per-day and a Decline meter that bleeds if you ignore it.
Run it yourself and stay present for the fattest cut, hire a Shift Manager to auto-handle the day-to-day at a steadier ~65%, or set it to Neglect and watch it rot. Then the Decisions land — a supplier dispute, a health inspection — and you either resolve them in person, rolling your Presence and Wits for a bonus payout, or let the manager eat the loss.
Infamy and Heat aren't a life sentence — clean money can wash them off. Sister Agnes keeps the ledger. Donate to St. Mary's shelter, pay restitution to a family you wronged, fund the youth boxing club, or eat a public apology on LokaNet.
Every act costs clean bank money and trades it back for Civic standing, less Infamy, and cooler Heat — a quiet donation, no press. Agnes remembers who shows up when the plates are empty, and so does the parish. It's the crime path's only exit — and it isn't cheap.
From the salt-worn docks to the ferry-only Heights, every block has its own rhythm, its own power, and its own way in. Tap any district to open its city file.
Where every mogul starts. Cargo, cheap rooms, and a foreman with a job — if you're willing to sweat for it.
Neon, money, and appetite. Shops, the bank, the casino — and the people who own them all.
Old money and locked doors. The top of the ladder — respect and clean cash are the only keys that fit.
Every face in Lokabay answers to somebody. Standing with one bloc costs you another — tap a faction to read its file and meet its people.
One early choice splits your story in two — and both doors stay open. Build a clean empire, run a criminal one, or blur the line until nobody can tell.
Earn it clean. Businesses, licenses, reputation, and standing. Slower, safer, and respected — build something they can't take away.
Take it. Heists, turf, contraband, and infamy. Faster, richer, and hunted — burn bright and rule the streets before they catch up.
A real top-down driving model — earn your licences at the driving school, buy at Larry's Auto or Premium Deluxe, then run deliveries, time trials, street circuits and sanctioned grand prix. Park it yourself or trust the valet.
From a taped-up baseball bat to The Crown Jewel itself — six damage types, six rarity tiers, and seventeen named legends with a story of their own. Tap any weapon for its full file.
A taste of the city in motion. Drop your captures into the frames below — sized and ready.
Seventy-nine named characters — bosses, brokers, lawyers, lookouts, one very loud parrot — each with a voice, a role, and a first meeting you won't forget. Tap any name below to open their full dossier, or filter by faction.
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