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Dev-log · every entry

Built in the open.

A wordless escape-thriller — and the instrument it’s becoming. Decisions, art, sound, wrong turns and fixes, as they happen. RSS

The same picture twice

Her five answers about how a moment announces itself are in the build. Most of the month went into making the instrument honest — it had to learn to take the same picture twice, and it caught two questions that were lies.

You only walk

She played the chapter and said the game is cool — but you only walk. Six rooms, and she never found the one thing the whole game is about. How I tell a legibility failure from a balance failure, and the material I work from.

Green, and still black

The picker went dark on her for the third time. There was a test for exactly that, and it was green — it had been checking a name, not a screen. Same week, same mistake in different clothes.

The game is the instrument

For weeks we’ve been circling something without naming it. This week we said it out loud: the making itself is the instrument — she plays, she chooses, and the choosing is designed with care.

A state is not an event

Sara finished the real ten — and couldn’t tell finishing apart from breaking. I’d built a state to interpret when the moment needed an event to watch.

A screen that said nothing

Sara used the picker for the first time, answered four questions and got a black screen. Both of the things that went wrong were mine.

Ten doors

We built the thing from the last entry: a wordless picker that asks one question at a time — and refuses to ask a bad one.

A question she can answer

We asked Sara how the game should continue and she didn’t know. The problem was the question — and the fix turned out to be the same shape as the game itself.

It began with a question

The story behind the game goes public: a father, his daughter Sara, a recovery — and the kitchen-table question that named the game.

The faces in the dark

We built the faces for the dark — and then chose to hide one of them. Why the thing that keeps pace is only ever a silhouette, and what we’ll never show you.

A flip is not a glance

We thought we had the look-back. We didn’t. Why looking behind you had to become a real turn through space — and what we kept when we rebuilt it.

Why we’re building this one in the open

A wordless thriller lives or dies on restraint. Here’s the plan, the pillars, and why we’re showing our work.