Blackjack is a casino game (target audience is adults seeking quick gambling entertainment aged 18+, 21+ for casino and betting contexts) adapted for mobile (iOS/Android) with an unknown original creator but adapted by various people. It represents an insidious form of gambling addiction in modern times, forming a perfect example of what Edwin Evans-Thirlwell calls the “living dead” of gaming in the reading for this critical play. Unlike traditional casino blackjack, mobile blackjack apps have the power to exploit human psychology through careful mechanics that can manipulate randomness, create false patterns, and provide persistent positive reinforcement to the player. My argument is that digital blackjack apps deliberately engineer addiction through three key mechanisms: pseudo-randomness that creates the appearance of winnable patterns, instant gratification loops that bypass human decision-making, and deceptive “advice” systems that make players feel they’re improving when they’re actually being led deeper into addiction. This all embodies what Evans-Thirlwell would consider a “zombie” live-service game: products designed to “keep us plugged in and plugging away till we die.”
Evans-Thirlwell defines a “zombie” live-service game as a product that exhibits “the greatest emphasis on progression for its own sake, on the piecemeal acquisition of gear and the incremental improvement of stats.” The screenshots throughout this write-up reveal this deception: the suggestion that randomness can be mastered through strategy and progression. In the first image (above), we see a seemingly straightforward hand where the player has 14 against the dealer’s 3, but the game’s “Bank: $900” display turns the simple card play into a wealth accumulation game that could encourage players to bet real money in real settings like casinos.
The mechanics of this aren’t just binary (hit/stand) but an entire progression system where money becomes the measurable “gear.” The dynamics create what Evans-Thirlwell calls “progressionitis,” the idea that there must always be another level to shoot for, more money to obtain, more hands to play, etc. Yet, he later notes, “there can be no real progression in these games, because when a game is characterised as indefinite, the idea of progress becomes meaningless.”
In the above image, we can see evidence where chips ranging from $1 to $500 are displayed next to an “ALL IN” option, an example of the “zombie’s hunger” that “can never be sated.” Traditional blackjack operates on genuine probability with finite sessions, but digital versions use pseudo-random number generators to create these endless “streaks” that feed the gimmick and illusion of having the player think they are mastering a pattern.
I would argue the main aesthetic isn’t challenge or fantasy; I think it’s actually submission combined with Evans-Thirlwell’s concept of time commodification. The game wants players to surrender their analytical thinking and trust the app’s advice system (the “Auto-Advice” system above), creating an environment similar to what Evans-Thirlwell describes as “engagement” that “becomes a commodity in itself” to be “transmuted and exploited.”
Evans-Thirlwell’s insight that live service games are “fundamentally devoid of purpose of structure, because [they are] always bleeding away into the future” describes digital blackjack’s time manipulation very well. These apps shrink decision-making into rapid-fire sequences that create what addiction researchers call “compressed time”: the screenshots (like the one above) show hands resolving within seconds, with “Bust!” immediately followed by “You win!”.
This represents the opposite of traditional gambling’s rhythms. Physical blackjack includes natural pauses such as dealing cards, handling chips, and conversation with dealers and other players. Evans-Thirlwell notes how live service games get rid of this friction because “the business model is the experience”; there’s no separation between commerce and play. The mobile version’s mechanics of touch-based interaction (tap to hit, tap to stand, tap to take advice, etc.) reduce complex decisions to reflexes, creating dynamics of compulsion and repetition.
The betting interface also ties into this. Chip denominations go from $25 to $50 to $100, encouraging players to escalate their bids without smaller incremental steps that might force reflection and thought. The “Double X2” option provides instant bet multiplication, feeding into what Evans-Thirlwell would call the zombie game’s “endless hunger”: always another bet to make, another hand to play.
Unlike games with narratives that have closure and catharsis, digital blackjack contains Evans-Thirlwell’s observation that games designed to “eat your time endlessly” cannot provide meaningful endings. Each hand will lead only to another hand, each session only to another, and the wins and losses accumulate with no end goal that defines satisfaction.
But perhaps the most ethically problematic aspect of this game is how digital blackjack disguises itself as skill development while actually deepening the addiction. The image above reveals this perfectly: “You chose HIT, while experts would recommend choosing STAND.” The game positions itself as educational while, at the same time, providing a gambling mechanism. This is exactly what Evans-Thirlwell means when he says these games break “the golden rule that art created under capitalism should at least feel like it’s an escape from capitalism.”
There is a great contradiction here: players believe they’re learning or progressing, but the system’s actual goal is to eliminate mastery and satisfaction. True basic strategy for blackjack is based in math and freely available, yet these apps provide “advice” designed to keep engagement rather than optimize learning and playing.
The advice system represents the zombie game’s main premise: that there’s always “more stuff” to unlock or understand. But this creates a fundamental meaninglessness. Evans-Thirlwell notes, “when a game is characterised as indefinite, the idea of progress becomes meaningless.” Players aren’t actually becoming better blackjack players, but better consumers of the app’s engagement system.
I believe the ethical question with respect to digital blackjack is not whether games should include chance since randomness can be a great mechanic for some games; I think the issue lies with the “living dead” model that randomness can cause: when these games “devour our time” into perpetuity.
Digital gambling apps in general cross ethical boundaries through the following: misrepresenting progression, commodifying time, getting rid of closure, and disguising commerce and revenue as education.
Randomness is morally permissible when it follows rules that respect player agency rather than exploit psychological vulnerabilities. Games should be as transparent in the digital versions as their physical counterparts (with physical games, you can count cards, calculate probabilities, etc.). They should also have meaningful choices instead of compulsive, repetitive elements that trigger addiction responses. The stakes of the game should match the investment from players. A $5 board game can include engaging randomness, but games that gamble a lot more money should require more ethical backing. Lastly, if a game claims to teach skills, those skills should transfer to real-world applications; digital blackjack apps fail this completely, offering “advice” designed to keep engagement among players.
When games like digital blackjack weaponize formal elements of traditional card games to create “zombie” experiences, the games become devoid of purpose through a cycle of meaninglessness and lack of closure.
