Coilborn

You ride a program. Behind you, a wall of light. Every turn is ninety degrees, every lane is a lane you can die in — and the wall you leave is the one that kills you. NINETY DEGREES, ALWAYS The cycle glides between cells and the turn snaps at the centre of one, so you can press early and it lands where it should. No diagonals, no drift: the wall you leave is perfectly orthogonal, and so is every mistake. THE WALL IS THE DANGER Absorb the identity discs and your wall grows longer. It never tapers and it never forgives. The arena shrinks with every disc you take, and it shrinks because of you. 100 PHASES ON ONE CIRCUIT Eight sectors and a hundred phases, each with its own grid width — from twelve columns to forty. They live on a printed circuit you walk node by node, with badges and a record on every one. Data walls, firewall gates that open and close, and sentries that patrol a lane.…