Scrap everything. Power everything. Survive one more round. Fifteen minutes to a day, one disaster a day, seven kinds of them and counting, and a severity dial that is the day number itself. Nobody can raid your base. Scrap everything. Power everything. Survive one more round. Fifteen minutes to a day, one disaster a day, seven kinds of them and counting, and a severity dial that is the day number itself. Nobody can raid your base.
Everything Here Washed In From Other Islands
You wash up on a generated island with nothing, and so did everything on it: the tide brings other islands ashore in pieces. Trees, rocks and scrap are health pools, not swing counters, and a crane magnet steals whatever you cannot take apart yet.
You Are Not The Only Thing Here That Is Working.
Every prop on the island comes apart, and none of it with a swing. Hold a tool on a washing machine and it rattles harder the closer it is to paying out; a torch heats it red instead. Nothing draws a progress bar, and a better pick gets the ore sooner, not more.
No health regeneration, ever: treating yourself is the only heal, and a bandage never profits, it limits a loss. Hunger and thirst bill you for effort, and sprinting costs double. Die and you keep your tools and drop the rest in your own backpack, where you fell.
Fifteen minutes to a day, ten of light and five of dark, under a sun that swells at the horizon and a procedural Milky Way. Seven weather states are scheduled off the world seed, so every island has its own history, and the rain beads down your windscreen.
Seven species with a life that is not about you. They forage, sleep at night, flee when afraid and go for carrion before live prey, and nothing starves: a neglected animal goes quiet, not dead. A boar's warning has an end to it, and grudges expire.
The sea has a bottom and you can dive to it: forty-five seconds of air, the world gone muffled, a vignette that closes late so the panic arrives at the end. Swim too far out and the water quietly stops letting you get further. There are sharks past it.
A 128-inch cube is the module: a slab, four walls, a roof that is the floor above, in steel, stone or brick, with staircases that take any edge. Your perimeter is the shape you walked: click a start post, walk it, close the loop, and the claim is that exact polygon.
Log off and the island keeps what you left in it: fence runs, machines with their fuel and charge still in them, welded pipe, cable, your parked car and your own inventory. And the claim seals shut behind you: storage locked, nothing left to raid.
Electricity Is A Connection, Not A Fuel You Pour
Three sources designed to fail differently: a diesel genset good for ninety-five minutes a tank, a windmill that only truly peaks in a storm, and solar that gives you exactly nothing every night. A damaged windmill turns slower on screen, so the gauge cannot lie to you.
Pick A Frame. Bolt An Engine Into It.
Four frames, nine engines, forty-two parts across nineteen sockets, all of it found. Swap the engine and the car re-tunes itself: idle, redline, torque and top speed come off the part, not the chassis. A blown V8 is a different car, not a bigger number.
A Roof Solves The First Heatwave. Not The Eighth.
One a day, two minutes long, with about twenty seconds of warning, and the severity is keyed to the day number, so you know how bad before it lands. What it wrecks stands as rubble for ten minutes: long enough to get home, see it, and pay to fix it.
Tier Six Is Designed And Not Built Yet
Builds go to the Discord before they go anywhere else, and the list of things that are finished but nobody has played yet is long. Break one of them early, while it is still cheap to fix, and your name goes in the credits.
Spawn NowA Spawn Beach gameFive Behind Us. One Underway. Three To Go.
The five behind us are ranges of commits that actually landed, counted off the branch they landed on. The one underway is the wire between players. The three ahead carry no number yet, which is exactly what marks them.
An Island, And A Way To Take It Apart
A procedural island with a beach on it, nodes that come apart under the right tool, an inventory, a hotbar and two benches to spend it all at. Then a sky that turns, weather that arrives rather than cuts, and a run of fence that closes into a claim.
Shipped
299The Car Comes Apart Into Parts
Frames, bodies, engines, driveline, suspension corners and wheels, each one a part you find and fit. A dash that reads, mirrors that work, and a crane arm on the back with a magnet or an auger on the end.
Shipped
144Animals, Cooking, And Fuel
Boars, wolves and chickens with a food chain running between them. Meat you butcher and grill on a deployable cooker. A cracking station that splits crude into three fuels, and a fuel system built, played and tuned inside a day.
Shipped
97The Water, And Assets Of Our Own
The longest run of the three months. Cable and pipe that persist across a restart, a sea with a bottom and sharks in it, a well to drink from, a jeweller's bench, and twenty-nine borrowed props deleted and replaced with meshes of our own.
Shipped
352Four Days On Paper
The editor was out for four days, so nothing could be built and everything got designed instead: storeys, shelter, locks, the orbs, the ring rolls, and the cut that decides what launch actually contains. Two thirds of that window is planning, and it is what a dead editor is good for.
Shipped
43The Disasters, And The Wire
Seven disasters landed in three days: the tsunami at +205 inches, the storm, the heatwave, the aurora, the orbs, and a wolf director that goes from one pack of three to four of five. Then multiplayer started: sixteen players, spawn points, and two clients holding a session.
In flight
152Voice, Teams, And A Car Worth Showing
The rest of the wire, in the order that leaves a coherent game if it stops early. Voice first, because a verbal alliance comes before a roster. Then teams of up to six, which double as the access list on a claim. The car and its paint go last, and they are the largest unknown.
Next
·The Playtest Converts The Backlog
There is a long list of things that are finished and that nobody has played yet, and a playtest is the only thing that turns one into the other. The sessions are ordered by where you have to stand rather than by feature, because getting into position is the expensive half.
Next
·Launch
On s&box, with the playtest running in the Discord until it does. What is deliberately not in it: diseases, shelter, locks and the bar, each one a build and then a playtest in a run whose constraint is validation rather than build capacity.
At launch
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