TRANSMISSION // FROM THE NOISE FLOOR
A home for experimental web toys — each one imagined, prompted and built with generative AI, then shipped straight to the edge. Nothing here is finished, polished, or promising anything. That's rather the point: poke it, break it, let it break back.
Twelve toys out in the field — and space at the back of the car. The grid grows every time another experiment survives the prompt.
A living escapement, rendered in full 3D. Spin the case, fan the gear train apart, drag time backwards up to a full hour per second — and hear the dead-beat tick through your speakers.
A dieselpunk scroller in pure pixel art: drive the last train through a dead city, haul scrap, patch the boiler, and keep the line moving past the things that want it to stop.
The same fever dream, rebuilt on a bigger engine — Godot 4 running straight in the browser on WebGL, threads and worklet audio included. Heavier rails, deeper dread.
The same last line re-rigged on the Phaser 3 engine, and this time every sprite is drawn live into a canvas texture at boot — headlight beam, smoke column, two-layer horde closing in, all of it generated pixel by pixel. No art assets on the box. Ever.
No sea textures, no filmed footage — the whole ocean is computed live on the GPU, swell, spray and a little tinny boat in a fragment-shader frame. Sail with the arrows, swing the camera, drag the sliders until the water stops making sense.
An armored locomotive, a manifest of conscripts, and a slow tide of the dead between you and the coast. Manage turrets, plating, crew stations and boiler steam across an eight-sector FTL-style line map — and burn the Leviathan waiting past the railhead.
Pick a starting station off the manifest — the rest of the network stays locked in the fog of war until you've actually run it, revealed only as the line slides forward. Then the fever dream: corridors where the data has them (free Natural Earth 10m geometry; honest dashes where the tracks aren't recorded), the leg's kilometres and your position ticking over in the corner readout, marker riding the line on a dark, living globe.
A blocky mine-and-place world that ships as a single 749 KB HTML file — zero CDN, zero internet afterwards. 16×16×96 chunks, caves tuned low, trees that stay rooted; hold to break, click to place, and read the exact reason when the world says no.
The same rusted line, the engine rebuilt. A real-time FTL-style gauntlet: a forward-only map you can't step back from, hordes that swell into a Static Siege, a two-phase Leviathan past the railhead, and a cargo of passengers who desert in the dark. Split your power between speed and guns, run the boiler into Overload, and gamble on the Depot — every run leaves something in your permanent workshop.
A top-down canvas gauntlet on a dying line: the last ten-car convoy keeps rolling while zombie waves pour in from the rail. The plow flattens, three turrets punch holes in the swarm, window riflemen cover the flanks, and X-stop gates hold the car when the pressure peaks — smoke and sound all synthesized right in the file.
The two train survivors are merged into one: a top-down rail gauntlet where a crew of five rides a freight line through zombie waves, picks expeditions into the dark for salvage, and watches the whole journey unfold across a live Cesium globe. The zombie-trail and the last-convoy DNA, spliced into a single build — top-down characters, synthesized sound, one file per module.
A sandbox rail-world with a brain: sculpt the terrain, lay track that auto-paths through the land, span bridges that make real under-passes over your existing lines, and signal your way through interchanges, diamonds, bypasses and cargo runs. Trains and freight keep rolling while stations, factories and a growing city close ranks around the tracks — the DEMOS menu puts the first trains in motion by your second click.
The next experiment is still being prompted into existence. When it ships, this card becomes it — the deck is built to keep growing.