Walls Have Eyes
A first person psychological thriller built on squash. One week to the championship, you practice alone at midnight. The court is empty. The mansion around it is not. "Every strike is judged."
Midnight. One week to the championship. The only name on the court is yours.
You came to the old squash club to practice. Alone, the way you like it. No crowd, no coach, no one to watch you miss. The court is lit and waiting. The mansion around it is dark, and old, and awake.
Play well. The building is glad of the company. It has been quiet a long time.
EVERY STRIKE IS JUDGED
You strike. The ball ricochets off four walls. You read the angle and strike again. Timing is your power. Placement is your survival.
The ball comes back from behind your head. You turn to find it. You cannot watch every wall at once, and something is counting on that.
FOLLOW THE PROGRAM
A light on the floor teaches the sport. Drives, angles, boasts, volleys. Read the bounce before it happens.
Learn it well. Then the program keeps going. And the courts it runs on stop being courts you know.
WHAT YOU GET
Real squash. Strike, angle, boast, volley. Timing is power, placement is survival, even as the court turns against you.
One building. One night. About three hours, dense, no filler.
Horror that turns on the sport itself. The wood, the lines, the sound of the ball.
A world drawn entirely in code. Every wall, every tree, every moonbeam written and painted by hand. No photo textures. No asset packs.
Sound is information. The ball tells you where it is when your eyes cannot. Play in headphones.
