You have seven days before the sky turns red.
Free. No install, no account, no launcher. Click it and you're in.
The situation
You wake up on a coast you don't recognise, with a hammer, a pickaxe and a countdown to dusk running in the corner of your eye. Somewhere inland there are three radio masts. If you can get all three back on the air, something out there will come and take you off this rock.
Nothing is going to help you do it. There is no quest marker walking you to the next thing, no shop that stays put, no map you didn't draw yourself by walking it. What there is: trees to fell, ruins to strip, a workbench you have to build before you can build anything good, and a sunset that arrives whether you're ready or not.
Daylight
Daylight is the working half of the game. You range out, you take what's useful, and you get home before the light goes. Buildings aren't scenery — you walk into them, and the wall between you and the camera dissolves so you can search the room you're standing in.
8:19 AMDay oneClear
Four floors, and something is usually already on one of them.
The loop
The clock in the corner is the whole game. It tells you how long until dusk, and dusk is not a lighting change — it's when the things in the treeline start walking toward wherever you are.
While it's light
After dusk
9:56 PMStill day oneRain, fog
The numbers over the wall are your turrets hitting things you can't see yet.
Night seven
Every seventh night the sky goes red and the count stops being a handful. They come from every direction at once, they come for the walls rather than the gate, and stone that held for six nights starts coming apart in front of you. You'll know a week in advance. It won't help as much as you think.
7:15 PMDay sevenBlood moon
Fifty-two through the gap, thirty-five still walking in, and the workbench is on the wrong side of it.
The way off
Surviving isn't winning. There is an actual end to this, and it is the hardest thing in the game.
Three transmitters, scattered across the island. Nothing tells you where. You find them by going and looking.
Each one is dead, defended, and needs parts you won't have early. Clearing the ground around it is half the job.
With all three lit you can call for pickup — then survive two solid minutes while a wave lands on you every twelve seconds, each one bigger than the last.
What's in there
The whole world is generated when you press New Game — coast, forest, highlands, roads, ruined towns and everything in them. Or type a word into the seed box and get that one instead: the same coast, the same ruins and the same things hidden in them, for anyone you send it to.
Six presets — archipelago, highlands, overgrown, scorched — and nine dials under them. Land mass, sea level and relief; how much woodland, marsh and ashland; how many places there are to find, how much is in them, and how much of the island is already occupied. Pick the season you start in while you're there.
Eleven moments across the year that tell you which part of the island matters this week — someone on the far shore who found the frequency long after everyone else stopped answering. One at a time, never two. Nothing about it is failable and nothing about it blocks, and it still won't mark your map: it says south-west and leaves the rest to you. Ignore it and it goes quiet.
Four seasons, a week each. You start in summer with the long light; by winter the days are short, the snow lies where it falls and there is far less growing out there to find.
Tools, weapons, ammo, medicine, food, armour and everything you build a base out of, on a tech ladder you climb by making the workshop first.
Shamblers you can walk away from, feral hounds you can't, and brutes that come through the wall rather than around it.
Twelve of them, levelled by doing the thing. Plus relics and set bonuses for players who like building around one idea.
The island is bigger than your legs. Nine ways to cross it faster, once you've earned them.
Survivors you find hurt, bring round and keep — up to four, each on one standing order: follow you and shoot what gets close, hold a spot, or work the ground and stock the nearest crate. They take hits, and they bleed out if you leave them. Plus a trader passing through who turns a stockpile you're sick of into the one thing you're short of, at a rate that is deliberately bad.
What's coming
This sat here as the next thing to build, and it is in the game now. Eleven moments handed over one at a time, never all at once, teaching you the island by needing things from you rather than by listing them — and never taking the run out of your hands.
Right now the horde is sized off the calendar — how many come is a question about what day it is, not about you. It should be about you. The week you finally feel equal to the nights is the week that ought to stop being enough.
It needs a keyboard, and every control assumes one. Making it work properly on a touchscreen is a rebuild of how you move and aim, not a button — so it happens only if enough of you turn up on one. That's partly what this playtest is for.
There are no dates on the two that are left, and nothing unfinished has a number next to it — both would be guesses dressed up as promises. The order is real, though. That is the order it gets built in. And when one of them lands it lands here, at this address: no download, no launcher, nothing to update. You just open it again.
Before you start
A whole day and night runs in eight. You have a hammer, a pickaxe, and no walls yet.
Loads in one file. Works offline once it has.
Declining keeps the whole site working, and never affects the game — it is one self-contained file with no third-party code in it. What this means