MOUSE. A shadow darts through the neon-lit underbelly of the city, claws skittering across rusted pipes and cracked concrete. Its eyes—glowing faint amber—scan the labyrinth of debris and flickering holograms, hunting for heat signatures, discarded tech, whispers of danger. Small, fast, unseen. It navigates traps with twitching whiskers and primal instinct, a creature honed by survival in a world too busy to notice the tiny things. But underestimate it, and those needle-sharp teeth will sever wires, disable alarms, leave systems bleeding. MOUSE isn’t prey. It’s the quiet calamity in the walls, the flicker at the edge of your security feed—the one that gets away. Always.
Stack the shapes carefully, placing each one atop the last without letting the tower collapse. Every piece—cubes, triangles, cylinders, spheres, and rectangles—must balance as you build upward. Once all parts are placed, a brief stability check begins. If even a single piece tumbles during this countdown, the tower fails and the level restarts. Each attempt shuffles the order of shapes, ramping up the challenge as you climb through 50 unpredictable levels. Precision and adaptability are key—will your steady hand conquer the chaos?
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