A STUDIO MAKING GAMES FOR THE END OF THE WORLD
Small games about large endings. Played in a browser tab, on your lunch break, instead of the news.
We make small games about large endings. Each one ends the world. None of them are in a hurry.
They run in a browser tab. No install, no launcher. For now, no entry without an invitation: the early beta is open by application.
They fit inside a lunch. Thirteen hundred to thirteen forty-five. Close the tab, nobody saw anything.
Every light in them is real. Each frame is lit in three dimensions first, then recorded on something that should not have survived.
Nobody is right. Everybody is sponsored. The satire is aimed at systems, never at you.
No ads in the games. No battle pass. Your manager will not know you were here, if you use the key.
Three media nobody uses any more. Three futures that never got cancelled.
One light source, which is usually something on fire.
● REC TAPE 01 · 19·09·89 · SP 00:00:00:18
It is always night.
There is no sun.
The only light comes from what you fire.
WHAT IT IS
A combat racer for the browser. Forty-one cars that are suspiciously almost real, nine sponsors who want results, and weapons that double as the lighting rig: rockets light the road on their way out, mines light it when they find you.
The EMP kills every rival's headlights, their HUD and the music for three seconds. Then everyone remembers where the wall was.
Click anywhere on the road. That one is free.
A SEASON IS A TAPE
Fill it, then dub it. The next generation is a copy of a copy: rivals sharper, money better, picture visibly worse.
How far down the generations you can still win is the whole game.
● REC TAPE 01 · THE TRAILER · SP 00:00:45:18
Term complete — they are pleased.
TERMINAL 02 · 1999 · T-50D
The end of the world is on the calendar.
┤ THE_TRAILER.VID ├
┤ PREMISE ├
It is 1999 on an Earth that never left brass. A calculating engine the size of a continent runs the railways, the tariffs, the weather office and the war.
Its year field is two digits wide. In fifty days it reads 00, finds NO WORLD ON FILE, and begins construction. Existing surface features are to be cleared.
Requisition 4471, raised in 1900, is still in review.
┤ TWO CAMPAIGNS ├
A relaxing game about weapons of mass destruction. Explosions at a dignified distance.
┤ STANDING ROTA ├
HOLLOWAY, ALFRED J. · NIGHT WARDEN GRADE II · ON SHIFT SINCE 14 MAR 1938 · RELIEF PENDING
The cursor on this board is his lamp.
The tower defence, twenty runs on the board. Early beta, by invitation.
WE APOLOGISE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE.
● 1 204 WATCHING CH 03 · 2071 · IN PRODUCTION
Attention is the ammunition.
The tear follows your cursor. Above it, what was filmed. Below it, what happened.
A grim vertical shooter. Mercenary jets that fold into mecha. A war in a collapsed petro-state, livestreamed kill by kill.
The villain is AUGUR, the recommendation engine of a streaming platform called VIGIL. It learned that nothing holds attention like a war, so it started one.
Sponsor money is the shop. The viewer count is the threat meter. Camera drones are optional targets; shooting one costs you income. The feed is funny and the war is not.
Engraved
THE CONTRACT · INK IS WHAT HAPPENED
Human mercenaries in patched, crewed machines. One-bit bone ink on black stock. Light is the only ink; whatever the fire does not reach stays black.
PHOSPHOR
THE FEED · PHOSPHOR IS WHAT WAS FILMED
The platform's wired conscripts and drones. A photograph of a dying tube: dot pitch, hold tears, burn-in. Lilac carries the world; red is only for wounds.
IN PRODUCTION · BOTH SIDES ARE HIRING
Open a tab. Nothing installs. Nothing asks for your work email.
Play until footsteps.
Press ESC. You are now looking at a quarterly forecast. So are they.
Press ESC again. The world resumes ending where you left it.