"The Incredibly True Origins of Peeb Adventures" or "Wow! I Hate It!"

Peeb Adventures began as a gift game for my long-time friend Aaron. It was simple, fun little gag that stemmed from a 3D model I made of a character he doodled during a drawpile session. I gave Peeb a grapple hook just because I wanted to experiment with swinging mechanics and felt the gag gift was a great space to toy around in without having to actually ask myself how on earth I'd want to structure a game around a grappling hook. Foreshadowing!

Eventually, the gag gift did that classic thing all developers have experienced before where your game spirals out of control and grows into a hideous monster, and what started as a fairly abstract grappling toy convergently evolved into that dreaded state we call a "3D Mascot Platformer."

I made a very short demo in the summer of 2020. It went absolutely nowhere, and after an idol of mine caught wind and asked to play it (before sending about 3 paragraphs of feedback suggesting how to improve what was, in my view, a trainwreck of baby blocks stacked on top of eachother), I shelved the project.

"The Absolutely Tremendulous HPS1 Adventure of Peeb" or "My Friend Jam Suggested I Revive the Project and So I Did"

Shortly after Peeb was shelved for the first time, I joined a community of game developers called Haunted PS1. For those not in the know, HPS1 was essentially the nexus point for "retro horror games" in the indie sphere, and a lot of the resulting deluge (non-perjorative) on itch.io can find its roots in this community.

HPS1 was a good place. Lots of nice, talented people willing to tolerate the kind of mindless riffing I often do in voice calls, anyway. I made a decent chunk of friends there, some of which I'm still quite close to, even today.

HPS1 has this tradition called the HPS1 Demo Disc that began in 2020, and with the year coming to its end, there was talk of a new one set to arrive in spring 2021.

Unlike the first demodisc, however, 2021's disc required you to submit a game in-progress to a panel of judges. They'd then give their yay-or-nay, and you were either in or out.

One day, I was musing over the fact that I didn't really have anything to submit so I would likely have to sit out of 2021's disc. My friend, Jam, who you might know as the developer of the Heilwald Loophole (or Beton Brutal) suggested I consider reviving Peeb Adventures as my submission to the demo disc.

Why did I follow through on this? I don't know. It's funny to think a scenario this simple was the launch point for my career.

Over the next 6 months, I worked on turning the absolutely horrendous gag game into... Something still kinda trite but at least playable. I had some help from my longtime teammate drurylain, my longtime friend Aaron (the creator of Peeb's original design), and my longtime spiritual uncle Tim, and with our powers combined... A new kind of demo experience where you don't do anything of particular note besides swinging around was born.

Also quite important: the very same drawpile session that spawned Peeb also spawned Orbo, who would also make his own appearance in Peeb Adventures as a recurring side character (since I felt like Peeb needed a friend).

"Go! Incredible Friendship Unites in the Gameosphere! Peeb and Orbo are Born!" or "Peeb Adventures: Coming Never"

So the demo for Peeb Adventures was finished early March 2021, and the demo disc went live on itch.io on the 25th of the month.

The demo disc then proceeded to do a backflip and pick up a LOT of traction online. Which then meant Peeb itself was catching little bits of the traction in its mouth and smacking its lips.

I went from "guy who makes games for nobody" to "guy who makes games for that one very specific brand of teen on twitter who loves the object head show", and I was riding high.

Fanart poured in. People showed a lot of love. I was dazzled by it all, really.

Despite the love for the game and the potential on hand, progress was stagnant. My group of friends and I all got together in a google doc and wrote an entire planning bible for the game. Game mechanics, story beats, twists and turns, the whole thing. Despite having the structure lined up, I had other ambitions and began working on a multiplayer deathmatch game that quickly overtook my work schedule.

Peeb sat on the backburner, but at the time I still wanted to finish it one day. My main excuse was "well, I just need more money! If I'm going to work on this game it's gonna need more than one fulltime person and I can't just ask people to work for free!" That excuse worked on me for a while.

"I Don't Think I Want to Play With You Anymore Peeb!" or "There's Such a Thing as Too Much Love"

A while had passed at this point. My ambitions hadn't just grown, they'd completely shifted. Before long, I found myself working on yet another demo for the 2022 HPS1 Demo Disc, "The Spectral Mall."

Nowhere, MI wasn't just some random toy for me, but the culmination of all my love into one game. Despite its silly demeanor, the game was a product of a lot of pain, and even now I still desperately want to finish it. Except I have to make money to live, so... Oops!

Anyhow, there was a shift in demeanor for me during 2022. You have Peeb, a game that I made on a whim as kind of a joke with friends, and you have Nowhere, MI, a game that meant the world to me during really dark times.

And you know what? There were a lot of people that wanted Peeb. People that never stopped asking me about it.

I realized while working on Nowhere that I didn't really know what I would even do if I ever had the chance to work on the full Peeb Adventures. Not only did I find the nagging kind of annoying, Peeb was also something I couldn't really... Wrap my head around?

It occurred to me that Peeb wasn't really "my" game anymore, it was "his" game. The old Johnny.

I'd changed a lot since the game had come out in early 2021. In a year and a half my world got flipped upside down, and... I don't know, Nowhere was way more reflective of who I was now. Sure the humor was still pretty asinine, but there was a shift. It was hard to picture the "Peeb Adventures" people were actually looking forward to when my own sensibilities had drifted so far.

When the Nowhere demo came out along with Spectral Mall, it did... Alright? People liked it, but it wasn't the same as Peeb's release. Hell, even in Nowhere's release there were people pushing it aside to ask the same question they'd been asking every week leading up to it. "When is Peeb Adventures coming out?"

"Goodbye Peeb!"

It was increasingly harder and harder to not look back at Peeb and kind of hate it. It was rough in every respect, and yet it whenever I met people who'd heard of me online, they always cited Peeb Adventures.

Strangers continue to ask me when it's coming out. On rare occasion I'll get someone asking about Nowhere and I'll feel a bit excited anyone else cares about that game besides me and maybe my friends, but most of the time people just ask about Peeb.

To finally answer this question I've been asked for nearly 4 years: There will probably never be a Peeb Adventures.

"Goodbye Johnny."

I like to believe one of the reasons people are attracted to my body of work is because I make games to reach out to other people. That's probably not the real reason, but it's nice to play pretend and imagine your work has more significance than just "ha ha boner."

I put a lot of myself in my games and I rarely hold back, even if an idea is insanely stupid or strange. The result usually becomes something more like a scrapbook than a game.

It's hard to try and expand on a game like Peeb when the Johnny who made it isn't really with us anymore. If I worked on Peeb now, you'd get some kind of irregular frankenstein that'd never be as exciting as the original vision was.

By the time I get around to Nowhere again, am I still going to be this Johnny? Or will the next Johnny look back at Nowhere the same way I look at Peeb now? Who knows.

The brains behind Wayzata are even more difficult to locate these days: there are only two main names credited inside of TMoAG - Michael Markowski and Maxwell S. Robertson.

The game alleges that Michael and Maxwell are well known in the art world, but any additional information about the duo is scarce beyond the confines of the museum. Attempting to search for either name online turns up plenty of rabbit holes - but none of them have anything to do with the Michael and Maxwell responsible for TMoAG.

This is particularly fascinating because it essentially means that TMoAG is the only accessible record of their lives. Before we dig any deeper into that statement, let me step back and actually address what this game is.

The Museum of Anything Goes is, by definition, a virtual art museum. Functionally it's a prerendered point-and-click adventure game where you can explore a bunch of multimedia exhibits that give the surface-level impression of a children's edutainment game, but once you start exploring further it reveals a side that firmly plants the game's feet into a haze of substance abuse and surreal humor.

Many exhibits are essentially just toying around with the astonishing new powers of CD-ROM. Everything has to make noise. Everything has to spin and flitter around. There's an air of genuine excitement for the medium, and I can't help but find it extremely charming.

The game also functions as a scrapbook, filled to the brim with photos of random trips to the zoo and snow-mobile rides with friends. At one point we even get insight into something as specific as Michael's one-year job as a tutor at a Chicago middle school, where he talks about how it opened his eyes to how poorly funded and mismanaged the school system is.

It's simultaneously quaint and chilling to see so much personal history packed into a world doomed to obscurity. As I explore the deeper parts of the museum, I contemplate if the creators are still alive today. It's a bit morbid, but imagine that - you create a single obscure game with your friend and it's all the world can see. TMoAG is currently the only surviving piece that gives any insight into who these two men were.

While many exhibits are lighthearted or nonsensical, there are occasional moments where the game dips into the eerie.

One exhibit has the player kill a man by dropping him from the sky, and after burying him you open the coffin to a video of a rotting pig carcass being put into an incinerator.

Other exhibits just feature simple 3D renders shifting around a dark screen while haunting groans play in the background.

While I would never refer to the game as "scary," its darker moments combined with the occasional mature subject matter definitely begs the question: Who is this game for?

You have to remember that this game came out long before the concept of "alt-games" had become codified in the digital space. Sure, unconventional digital art had been around before the advent of 256 colors, but TMoAG was being sold on disk as a game! It came out 2 years after DOOM hit shelves!

The trend of using the PC for entertainment was certainly on the upswing around that time, but It's not like TMoAG had a massive audience to find a niche in. With its mature themes it certainly wasn't suited for the kids market either, so who was it for?

At the end of the day, it's a moot question. We already know the target audience for The Museum of Anything Goes: Nobody. It doesn't have an audience because by its nature, TMoAG wasn't being made FOR someone, it was being made BY someone. It's a raw, unfiltered form of personal expression.

I think games like these are pivotal, because they question why people assume a game has to exist for the sake of being a consumable product. TMoAG certainly has the shape of a product: it features an intro cutscene, it has a tutorial, it features intuitive UX, it even has a map! These are all features that are solely integrated to provide comfort to an end-user. But once you actually wander around the museum for a bit, you realize how bizarrely its packaging fits its contents.

I think TMoAG is criminally underrated. It's not because its core content contains some earth-shaking truth, it's because the game defied all odds and cheated death.

How many thousands of other personal projects were deemed a little "too exotic" to be archived? How much history was lost these past 40 years as the digital space evolved and ate its old skin?

God knows how many other TMoAGs we'll never learn about because they weren't lucky enough to be preserved.

The Museum of Anything Goes isn't just some nonsensical art piece, it's a grave marker for so much lost media. Its existence is a reminder that some people's lives were fossilized, then macerated into nothing because a construction company built a skyscraper over them. The only evidence we have of those other games existing is this little fossil that somehow slipped out from under the skyscraper unscathed.

I've been a part of a private developer community for a bit now, and during a majority of my time there I felt sort of like a fish out of water. I guess it was just weird seeing people at the top of their craft while my work sort of paled in comparison. A majority of them had a background in developing character action games or platformers with intricate movement systems, and that was absolutely outside the range of what I understood.

Late 2022 I decided to try and make a movement system with a really strong focus on momentum so I could feel "at home" with the other devs. So I made a small tech demo where most of Orbo's moveset was formed.

In the end it didn't really make me feel more confident in my work, but at least I proved to myself that I could tackle unfamiliar waters and make headway. Regardless, I left the tech demo where it was and continued to work on Nowhere, MI for the next few months.

I made a lot of progress on Nowhere, and around late November a publisher reached out to me to offer help. I was desperate, after all. I didn't have a lot of money to my name and this was the kind of lifeline I needed to secure so I could finish the game.

To cut a long story short, they kept delaying talks about the game over and over and it became increasingly clear to me that my dream of being funded wasn't going to happen.

I was sort of in a bad spot now. It was early 2023 at this point, and I was going to have to make a tough decision: delay Nowhere and get a retail job to make money (potentially losing sight of the project in the process), or find some other solution to secure funding. No other publishers were going to pick me up (and I really didn't trust a majority of them so I only had my sights set on a handful I felt I could trust), so I came to a new conclusion:

What if I just made something short, say in the span of a month or two, and sell it? Surely that would be easy.

Surely.

The Game

In March of 2023, I began working on the game. I wasn't sure what sort of format I wanted for the game at first, and I had initially considered a rogue-like arena combat game where you'd use the game's momentum mechanics to fight enemies, collect upgrades to improve your abilities, rinse and repeat.

The idea ended up feeling sort of strange when I began pre-production, so I ended up scrapping it.

I thought about the movement system some more and realized that it had a strange kinship to a game I had played just a month earlier: Super Kiwi 64.

Then I thought about Siactro's other games, how they were similarly small-scope platformers that seemed to perform well on Steam and Switch, and I realized that if there was something that would suit my own development style (focused around exploration and secrets), it was a 3D platformer.

The first month was fairly strong. I moved at lightning-speed, hammering systems into the game piece by piece. Collectables were done. Time trials (and their records) were done. Movement had been refined further and felt better than in the initial tech demo. There was also a lot of underlying structuring that I won't get into because it's boring (but important).

About a week in I even started working with my friend Tim (who's a professional environment artist), and we began working together on the hub environment (we brainstormed the layout, I designed the greybox, and he wrapped it up with the environment art).

It was going great, but as March was nearing its end I began to realize what I was dealing with.

"Oh, well yeah I mean I knew it wasn't going to be possible in a month! I'm sure if I grit my teeth it'll be done by the end of April!"

So April came along. Tim and I finished the hub area, I got the world portals set up, and eventually we moved to the first level of the game, Shlarp City.

Tim managed to get a decent chunk of the decorative props done, but circumstances were changing and he had a fulltime job in the industry to attend to, so he had to leave the project.

I reasoned "well, I sort of know how to do environment art and I guess I can just go on without help."

Shlarp's greybox was done, and I was sort of happy about the layout. Some friends playtested the game and liked the movement, so I felt a bit more optimistic about the project.

Despite the boost in optimism, I was starting to feel some kind of dread leaking in. My nights were becoming more frantic and troubled, more than they already had been.

I moved onto the next level, reasoning that it'd be best to get the greyboxes for all of the levels finished first, then return for an art pass afterwards. It was the sensible thing to do, after all.

So I began work on Dunbarrow Mines, and this time I was alone. I finished the greybox, and while I wasn't a huge fan of the level, at least it was done. I moved onto Sleepytime Manor and similarly got the greybox finished. Even since the beginning of the month, something was starting to grow inside of me. April was coming to a close, and I still had another level to greybox, a boss fight, secret areas to add, and an art pass on the entire thing. I hadn't really developed much of a game at that point, just 3 barren levels.

And so May came along.

And this was where it all went to hell.

I had been suffering from a lot of issues in my personal life for a while. The year prior had been particularly traumatic and the waves coming from it weren't done passing over yet. If anything the terror was that the major event from the last year hadn't even finished coming to fruition. The stress from everything had caused me to develop a disorder that made my blood acidic, melting away at my nerves. I fought hard and managed to improve my health, but the damage was done and the occasional return of the neuropathy was just a reminder that my life was spiraling downward.

I entered a period of intense stress and depression as waves of terrible memories came over me. I became neurotic. Started having trouble designing levels. It was already an issue for me, but as my mental state deteriorated I was hitting brick walls over and over.

I had my back against the wall. Game development was my only purpose in life, after all. I had been built for it, sacrificed so many hours to it, put everything else aside for it. The only thought going through my head was that I was dying, and that this stupid game was going to be my graveyard.

So roughly two months came by, with sparing work on the game. I finished Monolith station, but it had to be redesigned 3 times to reach the version you currently see in the game today.

The neurosis made me insane. Constantly seeing my peers succeeding while I flailed desperately in a pit was definitely not helping matters.

But something changed in June.

The Garden

I always had an on-and-off again relationship with plants. I had a sort of preternatural skill with growing things, but my interest waxed and waned a lot. The main thing that stuck through this on-and-off relationship were herbs, since they were easy to cultivate and they needed very little maintenance during the periods where I was losing interest.

As I began to take game development more seriously around halfway into 2021, I stopped gardening entirely.

But something very strange happened in the June of 2023. I was frantically compelled to return to it. I raked, toiled and weeded until I had a plot. Then I started buying seeds and began cultivating vegetables again for the first time in 2 years.

And for the first time in this nightmare I was finally happy about something. I don't know what compelled me to start cultivating plants again, but whatever it was, it rescued me from a very long, dark road.

After 2 weeks, I finally finished the final boss of Orbo's Odyssey.

The game needed a lot more work, but I was finally getting a foothold after months of misery.

Eventually my friend Ben was able to help me with the project, and we made a lot of headway. We brainstormed new ideas for how the player could get gear parts. He modeled a load of props. I scripted a load of systems. Finally, the game actually began to look like a game.

Ben was really important. He was optimistic about the project and wasn't suffering from burnout the way I did, and he helped me get out of my fugue. I can't thank him enough for his help.

After around half a year of hammering, we finished the game.

3 weeks after that, we released it to steam.

And about 2 weeks after the release, we're here now.

The Takeaway

Typically in post-mortems you talk about what you would've done differently, but I think this ending might be a bit different.

I'm not really proud of the level design. I think I also could've done better with my share of the environment art in some levels. I think there could've been more details. I think there could've been more content.

But there's no use kicking myself for what could've been. Of course the next game will be better. The mental state I was in during the development of this game was dire and it had a major impact on the quality of my work. I had to break out of a really bad mindset and try to find a better way of engaging with my life. That wasn't easy.

I think some gamers like to imagine that something that's fun to play was fun to make. It's true that sometimes there are moments where you get excited during game development, but at the end of the day the majority of it is just pure work and toil.

In the end, the reviews on Orbo were very kind. Even the negative reviews were at bare minimum sorta funny.

Hilariously the reviews that bothered me the most were actually positive. The perspective of these reviews was that the game was really the story of some little kid taking his thumb out of his mouth and naively making something he thought was fun. It mainly felt like a way for the reviewers to excuse the weaker elements of the game.

These are the reviews I hate the most. I don't care that they were positive. They're infantilizing. It makes it come across as though the shoddier elements of the game weren't a product of a person having a mental breakdown, but of a child smacking blocks together and making mistakes because he didn't know better.

If you really view art like that, I want you to lean in very closely and listen: Most of the time, people suffered to make something you could enjoy. You're welcome to praise or shun the art by itself, but don't patronize the creator for their effort. I didn't have fun making Orbo. I hated it. And even though I hated it I still tried to put passion into it, because I care about my work.

Anyway I'm glad it's over with. If I attempted to develop the game now it would probably be significantly better, but that's mostly because I've found better methods of managing my mental health.

I have to get back to work on Nowhere, and eventually I have to work on Peeb Adventures. For now, though, I'm taking a break. I'm tired.

Before I go I just want to thank some people.

Thank you Ben for being supportive and helping me make this game happen. I couldn't have done it without you, and I mean it.

Thank you Socpens and Grayfruit for streaming the game and for your kind words. It really means a lot to me, and it gave me a lot more confidence about Orbo's Odyssey post-release.

Thank you Tim for helping early on. I know it was a brief period between us, but I do appreciate the work you did.

Thank you (in no particular order) Bryce, Simone, Jett, Aaron, Quinn, Drew, Ian, and Cosme for being supportive of my work.

Thank you for the folks in the private dev server who were particularly supportive as well.

I think that last part is probably one of the more haunting prospects whenever I revisit the game. 2020 was a different time. There are rooms and textures left over from people who've since faded away, and revisiting it in recent times feels like walking into the bedroom of a deceased relative. It's just a room, but the little imprints of them are still left there. It's a chilling sensation, sometimes unpleasant, but I still feel like it's something we all need once in a while.

Tallying all of the time up, I probably spent nearly a year building this time capsule. I went through a lot of growth as a game developer over these past few years, and I really think Demon's Island was core to it. It wasn't just the technical skill required to make a multiplayer exploration game, but because it was also the last place I got to store a lot of the unbridled joy I felt with my friends before I had to suit up and try to become a "real" game developer. Excitedly promising my friends a trip to a mall that we could all walk around in before I moved away to some proverbial college town.

Demon's Island wasn't the first game to serve as a time capsule for me. Years ago I had this friend who I was close with and it was actually his body of work I used as a touch-stone to come back to a time I was quickly forgetting. His work always fascinated me because while I was struggling to try and make my games evolve (to disastrous results), he went with the flow and just did whatever he felt like. I think that's probably why his games managed to capture a lot of raw emotion that I was completely incapable of in my own work. It's tragic that I failed to understand the value of what he was doing because I was too distracted with trying to "become something."

I pushed him a lot, trying to encourage him to leave his comfort zone and make something more "tangible." He always responded that his work was just for his friends. He ALWAYS responded that his work was just for his friends.

We ended up separating around late 2019 after a serious personal rift outside of game development. I disappeared and moved on to another friend group, trying to pretend that nothing ever happened. He just moved at his own pace and continued onward like always. It was a hard time.

One day I was curious about what happened to him, and I eventually came to discover that he moved to 3D art. From what I could tell it seemed like he had found an audience for himself. I was happy for him. Despite the rift, I still wanted to see him succeed in the end. Even though I pushed him in the wrong direction, that was always what I wanted to see. Maybe it was for the best that he stopped being around me.

About a month or so ago I was reflecting over the games he and I used to make to a different friend of mine (who also knew him), and this friend condescendingly described my nostalgia as "immature." I never really confronted the way he phrased it, but I fumed internally. It's funny how a single, stupid word affected me so much. It frustrated me that one of the few things I had left that connected me with a happier time was now re-framed as something to be shoved under the rug. I think it's important that you occasionally take time to reminisce so you don't forget the events that are shaping the moment you're in. Sometimes you need to look back to figure out how everything got to this point.

I think the reason I've fixated on this concept of "games as time-capsules" is because I have an incredibly hard time remembering things. Not so much that my memories are being completely erased, but recollecting things becomes more and more difficult if I leave them alone for long enough. Now, it's not uncommon to have a hard time remembering things, but I definitely lose my grip on memories faster than the average person. I'm not sure if this is something I inherited from my mother (who's also had memory recollection issues her whole life) or if it's something else, but it's definitely made it difficult for me to retain most of the things that have made me who I am today.

The reminiscing isn't just to relive happier moments, it's also one of the only things I have that's keeping me tethered to my roots. The less and less I reflect, the deeper those memories sink into murky waters, to the point that it becomes nearly impossible to bring them back up. I've already lost so much of my past self this way that I can't help but be frustrated that I never took an effort to archive stuff from when I was younger.

The reason Demon's Island still matters to me is because it was the first time I had managed to make a game (without my old friend) capable of tethering me to a time that's been slipping away so fast. It's possibly the single most ridiculous, mind numbing game I've ever made, but it might have one of the most important roles in keeping my fading memories alive.

Somehow a bunch of silly dancing rat gifs have convergently evolved into this. I don't know if it's the funniest shit in the world or just tragically pathetic. Maybe it's both?

I think the most important part of this entire blog post is what follows. This is the only reason I found the motivation to re-examine my feelings about Demon's Island and make a retrospective.

About half a year ago, a woman contacted me on Patreon to tell me a story about her husband.

I was floored by this, not only because I was offered to be a part of something so meaningful, but for the first time this... Stupid little thing I built to scaffold my failing memory actually connected with someone. I immediately offered to do more than just a personal message or a secret image: I wanted to make them a special room to celebrate their anniversary. She decided to send me some images and videos from their relationship, and I stitched them together to make a little flowers n' fruits themed space. This was eventually packaged in a private version of the game, and after giving her the files I went to sleep.

I didn't hear anything for about a month or so, but the silence was broken when she sent me a video of her husband reacting to his gift. Despite all of the memories fading and twisting out of my mind like shopping bags in the wind, I don't think I'll ever forget seeing the genuine joy on his face.

For first time in my life, I felt like I had finally done something that mattered.

Before I received that message, Demon's Island wasn't special to anyone but me. For my friends, it was just a fun scrapbook from a time that we were all rapidly moving on from. For strangers the game was even more useless: it was just an unrelatable stream of conscious chattering from inside my head. Who was Tim? What's with the weird HPS1 rooms? Why is there a guy with cream all over his mouth on this Thanksgiving poster? Just a bundle of connectomes signaling to nothing in particular.

For me, it was one of the last things I had connecting me to one of the most important years in my life. After receiving that message, I understood that someone else connected with the game the way I did. It was the first time I felt like I was actually being seen. Of all the little funny moments that have happened in my time as a developer, this is the one I'm fondest of.

If you're a game developer and you happen to be reading this, I have a single recommendation for you. I think you should consider making a little world of your own. It doesn't have to be a "game." It doesn't need any core mechanics or structure. Just make a little world filled with memorabilia, and make a little character to let you walk through it.

Stupid in-jokes with your friends, images and gifs you like, weird drawings, photos you took, whatever you want. Just build a world for yourself (and maybe even your friends too if it interests them). Even if you don't release it, I think you'll be grateful in the end.

There might come a day where your world starts to melt into a blurred puddle, where every day feels the same and the endless grinding makes you want to scream. There might be a day where you forget that you were alive once, and maybe having that little bucket of memories will be the thing that keeps you moving on to tomorrow.

Anyhow, we're nearly done here. I wanted to end on this room. It's actually my favorite area in the game.

See, during the latter part of 2020 my grandmother died, and my world sort of got thrown into insane disarray. It resulted in us moving out of our old home to take care of hers, and during that move I decided to build a room out of textures from my backyard.