Escaped!
One perfect route. Find it.
Key features
- 100 hand-built boards, every one proved to have exactly one perfect route
- Flick and he rolls — Samson never takes a step, he slides until a wall, a crate or the open door stops him
- The door wants an exact number, and food never grows back, so one bite too many ends the run
- Crates are the eraser — shove one to crush food you cannot afford to eat
- Three stars for the perfect route, and a quiet nudge when you have been going in circles
- A ladder that grows downward — five columns throughout, five rows to eight, one crate to four
- A garden music bed and a sound for every roll, bite, shove and escape, with one tap to mute
- Portrait or landscape, each a real layout rather than the other one squeezed
A hamster, a ball, and one way out
Samson is in a plastic ball at the bottom of somebody's garden, and the only way out is the pipe. Flick him and he rolls — he never takes a step, he slides, all the way until a wall, a crate or the open door stops him.
The door wants an exact number
There is a number above the door. Every carrot, pea pod and handful of strawberries Samson rolls over gets eaten, and counts down against it. Land on exactly zero and the door opens. Go past it and the run is over — food never grows back.
So every board is a small sum with one right answer, and the route that reaches it is something you have to see before you flick, not after.
Crates are the eraser
Some food is simply in the way: wrong tile, wrong amount, impossible to roll around. That is what the crate is for. Samson shoves it one tile, and whatever it lands on is crushed without being counted — the only way to take a number off the board without paying for it.
Park a crate in the doorway, though, and you have plugged your own way out.
Exactly one perfect route
Every one of the 100 boards has been proved — not play-tested, proved — to have exactly one shortest way out. Three stars are for finding it. Any other route still escapes; it just costs more tiles.
The ladder grows downward rather than outward: five columns from first board to last, but five rows become eight, and the single crate of round one becomes four. The last band is nothing but eight-row boards with four erasers to spend.
It sounds like a garden
There is a music bed and a sound for everything Samson does — the roll takes its length from how far he actually slid, food gives one bite per tile rather than an ascending scale, and the escape has its own flourish. None of it holds the game up: it arrives just after the first frame, so the board is playable before the audio has finished loading. One tap on Sound turns the lot off, and it stays off next time.
Play it anywhere, either way up
Fling Samson with a finger on a phone or tablet, or use the arrow keys at a desk. Turn the phone sideways and the board is not shrunk to fit — landscape is its own layout, with the board sized to the full height of the screen and the sign and buttons moved into a column beside it.
No account, no timer, and no lives to wait for.