
SOFT PARTS
Your shell never grows. Everything you want costs a sprint across open sand, and the gull knows exactly what you look like without it.
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Your shell never grows. Everything you want costs a sprint across open sand, and the gull knows exactly what you look like without it.

The only safe ground is shadow — and the sun never stops dragging it across the plaza. Survive noon.

A raindrop only slides while it's heavy — and the glass drinks you the whole way down.

One beam. The ships need it to live. The things in the water need it to stop.

Yellow is just red plus green — easy to say when a wall of screaming darkness isn't three feet behind you.

Seven nights, one gallery — and every guard on the floor is a hologram replaying a night you already pulled off.

You can't steer. You can only decide, several times a second, which half of the cave is in love with you.

Six waves are just weather. The seventh comes for your cargo — stack low, brace hard, and get her loaded before the count turns red.

The road you draw is already melting. Keep the penguin ahead of your own vanishing handwriting.

Herd fast, count your flock, and trust nothing that never grazes — one of these sheep is lying to you.

Every bullet is an instrument. Dodge on the downbeat and the song plays itself — get hit and the whole band stumbles.

No jump button — just a six-shell scrap cannon. Every blast is a leap, every drone costs you altitude, and the coolant is rising.

A WWII platoon-tactics sim in the Normandy bocage — real ballistics, real suppression, and a campaign that remembers your dead.

A volumetric slime mold that grows through the memory of where your attention has been.

Every naked-eye star at its true 3D distance. Fly away from Earth and watch the constellations fall apart.

A cabinet of living systems. Twelve worlds grown from almost nothing, all answering to your touch.

Simple rules, complex behavior — six complexity-science simulations behind one set of scientific instruments.


One generative chord that has been playing since the dawn of time. Open it and hear what time it is.

Command a remote combat outpost in Kunar Province, 2011. The valley does not care who you are.

The string is the sword. Whip your kite across a rival's line fast enough and it snaps — but every cross is a chance to lose your own.