You're a square in space. The universe still wants you dead.
Hostages, explosions, and a top-down mess you somehow signed up for.
The stack is rising. Your next piece is never the one you wanted.
A floppy boat, angry physics, and a finish line that hates you.
Train a pigeon. Punch above its weight. Meet god. (Also a pigeon.)
Your ship is a junkyard with guns. The machines want it anyway.
Twenty-two rooms. Every door wants a key. Every key is hiding.
The floor is the controller. One tilt too far and you're gone.
One paddle. One ball. A wall that really wants to stay.
Light is the enemy. Dive into the wall before it sees you.
Pixel-perfect jumps. One slip, and the stage remembers.
Just one more merge. That's what you said last time.
Aim the cannon. Wait your turn. The castle on the hill is personal now.
Roy's junk is loose in the wild. eBay is already circling.
Two blobs. One ball. Dignity optional.