Escape from mom 1
Control
Seamless mouse-driven navigation powers cursor-guided interaction, enabling precise point-and-click mechanics for intuitive interface navigation and player-directed movement systems.
description
The clock ticks louder each time you glance at it—your friends leave in two hours, and you’re trapped in your bedroom. Mom never took your trip seriously, but padlocking the door? That’s new. Her footsteps creak down the hall, a reminder she’s serious about “keeping you safe.” Desperate, you scan the room. Clues hide in plain sight: the half-open drawer with her old keyring (none fit the lock), the cryptic grocery list taped to the mirror (“eggs, milk, combination 7-22-19”). Wait—Dad’s dusty toolbox under the bed jingles when kicked. Inside, a screwdriver’s missing, but a rusted hinge from last summer’s shed project lies tucked beneath a rag. Could that hinge fit the loose vent cover by the floor? Prying it open reveals a cramped crawlspace. Dusty, but navigable. The path splits—left toward the kitchen (Mom’s humming ABBA by the fridge), right to the garage. A flickering flashlight from the toolbox barely illuminates the right tunnel. Halfway, your phone buzzes: a text from your best friend. “Train leaves in 90 mins. You in?” The garage door’s keypad glows red. Four digits. Mom’s birthday? Denied. Your birthday? Denied. The grocery list numbers… 7, 22, 19. Too many digits. Wait—the calendar in the hall had this week circled: “Anniversary Dinner, 7 PM.” July 22nd. 07-22. You punch in 0722. The pad beeps green. Tires screech outside—your ride’s here. But the garage door groans loud enough to wake the neighborhood. You freeze. Mom’s humming stops. “Sweetheart? Was that the—” The kitchen door slams. She’s coming. Sprint to the waiting car or double back to plant a decoy? Her spare keys dangle from the hook by the lawnmower. Grab them, toss them into the bushes. She’ll waste minutes searching. You dive into the backseat as your friend floors it. Freedom smells like gasoline and poor life choices. Mom’s shouts fade. Next stop: chaos.
