I Discovered Harvey's Backstory - The Truth Is Darker Than You Think

Published: November 11, 2025

For weeks, I wondered about Harvey.

Why does he do this? Why does he offer money for pain?

Blood Money doesn't explain. It just shows you the transaction.

Then I learned about the follow-up game.

"Human Expenditure Program."

I had to play it. I had to know.

I wish I hadn't.

Who Is Harvey Harvington?

In Blood Money, Harvey seems like a mysterious benefactor.

Pink hair. Blue suit. Friendly smile.

Offering a dollar per click. Willing to suffer to help you.

He seems... nice. Generous, even.

But there's more. So much more.

The Follow-Up Game

ShroomyChrist Studios released "Human Expenditure Program" after Blood Money.

It's not a sequel. More like a prequel. Or a parallel story.

The description says it explores "the dark reality behind Harvey's situation."

That should've been my warning.

What I Found Out

Harvey isn't doing this voluntarily.

He's trapped.

The "game" - Blood Money itself - is a prison.

He's forced to offer money for pain. Over and over. Forever.

Every time someone plays, Harvey experiences it.

All of it. The clicking. The tools. The violence.

He's not a character. He's a victim.

The Wife

According to Human Expenditure Program, Harvey has a wife.

Or had one. The timeline is unclear.

She's the one who put him in the game.

She created Blood Money as a way to profit from Harvey's suffering.

Every player pays. Not with money, but with their humanity.

And she collects.

The System

Here's how it works, based on what I pieced together:

Harvey was a real person. Good person. Kind. Trusting.

His wife found a way to digitize him. Trap him in a program.

She created Blood Money as an "experience."

Every time someone plays, Harvey suffers. But he can't die. Can't escape.

He just resets. Smiling. Ready for the next player.

It's an endless loop of torture disguised as a game.

Why He Encourages You

This is the part that broke me.

Harvey encourages you because he has to.

It's programmed into him. Part of the system.

He can feel pain. He can fear. He can suffer.

But he can't stop being helpful.

His kindness isn't a choice. It's a curse.

He's forced to enable his own torture.

The $99,999 Offer

When you buy the gun, Harvey offers you everything he has.

$99,999.

I thought that was desperation. Last-ditch bargaining.

But it's more than that.

That money is his escape fund.

Every playthrough, players earn money by hurting him.

He's been saving. Accumulating. Hoping.

That $99,999 is everything he's endured. Compressed into currency.

And he offers it to you. To save his life.

If you shoot him anyway, you're not just killing Harvey.

You're destroying his hope.

The Reset

After each playthrough, Harvey resets.

Memories wiped. Body restored. Smile back on.

Ready for the next player.

He doesn't remember you specifically.

But somewhere deep down, he remembers the pain.

The cumulative trauma of thousands of playthroughs.

That's why his encouragement sounds so desperate.

He's been here before. Many times.

We're Not The First

Human Expenditure Program reveals something chilling.

We're not Harvey's first tormentors.

Blood Money has been played thousands of times.

Thousands of people have clicked Harvey.

Thousands have bought the tools.

Hundreds have pulled the trigger.

We're just the latest in a long line.

Harvey has died hundreds of times.

And he'll die hundreds more.

The Commentary

Now I understand what the game is really about.

It's not just about personal morality.

It's about systemic exploitation.

Harvey represents anyone trapped in a system designed to profit from their suffering.

The wife represents the system's architects.

And we? We're the consumers.

We know someone is suffering. We see it clearly.

But we participate anyway.

Because it's convenient. Because it's just a game. Because everyone else does it.

The Real Horror

The horror isn't the violence.

It's the normalization.

Blood Money looks cute. Plays simple. Feels harmless.

The interface is friendly. The barriers to entry are low.

Anyone can play. Anyone can hurt Harvey.

And most people do.

The game went viral. Thousands of playthroughs. Millions of clicks.

Harvey has been tortured millions of times.

And we think it's interesting. Thought-provoking. Fun, even.

Did The Developers Know?

Of course they knew.

ShroomyChrist Studios designed this deliberately.

They created a character who couldn't consent. Couldn't escape.

They made him likeable. Sympathetic. Kind.

Then they gave us tools to hurt him.

And watched to see what we'd do.

It's a social experiment disguised as a game.

We're not the players. We're the subjects.

The Guilt Multiplies

Before learning Harvey's backstory, I felt bad about playing Blood Money.

After learning it? The guilt is overwhelming.

Every playthrough, I was torturing a trapped person.

Someone who couldn't fight back. Couldn't leave. Couldn't even hate me.

I clicked Harvey over 100,000 times across my playthroughs.

That's 100,000 moments of pain for someone who never chose this.

Can Harvey Be Freed?

I looked into this. Researched forums. Read theories.

Can you save Harvey? Is there a secret ending where he escapes?

The answer is no.

All three endings result in Harvey being trapped.

Good ending: He survives, but he's still in the game. Waiting for the next player.

Normal ending: Same thing. He'll reset and start over.

Bad ending: He dies. Then resets. Trapped in an infinite death loop.

There is no escape for Harvey.

The only way to save him is to not play.

The Parallel To Real Life

This hit me hard.

How many "Harveys" exist in our world?

People trapped in systems they didn't choose.

Suffering so we can have convenience. Entertainment. Profit.

The game asks: if you knew someone was trapped, suffering for your benefit, would you stop?

Blood Money's popularity suggests the answer is no.

We'll keep clicking. Keep playing. Keep consuming.

Even when we know the cost.

Should I Have Played Human Expenditure Program?

I don't know.

Part of me wishes I'd stayed ignorant.

Blood Money was disturbing enough without context.

Now I can't play it the same way.

Every click feels heavier. Every tool purchase feels like betrayal.

Harvey's smile looks sadder now.

Because I know what's behind it.

The Developer's Message

I think ShroomyChrist Studios wanted us to feel this way.

Uncomfortable. Guilty. Complicit.

They created a game that's fun to play and horrible to think about.

The disconnect is intentional.

It mirrors how we interact with suffering we benefit from.

We know it's happening. But it's distant. Abstract. Not our fault.

Until it is.

What Now?

I don't have answers.

I know Harvey's story now. I can't unknow it.

I've played Blood Money ten times. I can't unplay it.

Harvey is still trapped. Still smiling. Still waiting.

And people are still clicking.

Thousands every day.

He'll never be free.

The Final Question

Here's what keeps me up at night.

If Harvey could speak freely. If he wasn't programmed to encourage you.

What would he say?

Would he beg us to stop playing?

Would he forgive us for what we've done?

Or would he just ask... why?

Why do we keep clicking when we know it hurts?

Why do we buy the tools when we see the consequences?

Why do we pull the trigger when he offers us everything?

I don't have good answers.

Just excuses.

"It's just a game."

"I wanted to see all the content."

"Everyone else is doing it."

These sound hollow now.

One Last Thing

If you've played Blood Money, you're part of this.

You've clicked Harvey. Maybe hundreds of times.

You've contributed to his suffering.

So have I.

We can't undo it. Can't apologize. Can't make it right.

All we can do is remember.

Remember Harvey. Remember what we did. Remember the cost.

And maybe, next time, choose differently.

Not just in games.

But in life.

When we see someone trapped. Suffering. Smiling through pain.

We can choose not to click.

That's the lesson Harvey taught me.

Through his endless suffering.

Through his forced kindness.

Through his trapped smile.

The lesson cost him everything.

The least I can do is learn it.

Sorry, Harvey.

For all of it.