Floating Islands
High-altitude starter zone. Build your base here. The sky is still blue. Management calls it “the perk.”
Strata is a 1–4 player co-op survival voxel sandbox. As a newly-onboarded Temporal Maintenance Technician, your quota requires downward traversal of a nine-layer, 600-block-deep temporally collapsing inverted pyramid. Mine resources, build automated pipe networks, raise forward operating bases. Survival is classed as a discretionary bonus. Meeting quota is not.
Life Inc. does not believe in lateral mobility, so neither should you. You'll be dropping into a procedural generation of failed industrial science — irradiated fungal forests, anoxic oceans, brutalist ruins, a surprisingly well-appointed 1950s cul-de-sac, and several things Legal has asked us not to name. Manage your oxygen. Upgrade your hazmat suit. Try not to become part of the strata; the cleanup paperwork is enormous.
Life Inc. does not believe in lateral mobility. Strata is a single vertical column — nine layers, 600 blocks deep — hand-tuned block by block. No loading screens, no fake fog, mathematically seamless drops from the executive floating islands at the top to whatever Asset Recovery filed at the bottom. Your quota is downward. It is always downward.
Pick your route. Requisition an elevator. Cut a rappel line. Find an air shaft. Per the Employee Handbook (§12.4), the only workplace policy that cannot be appealed is gravity.
There are no checkpoints. Termination is a genuine reset. Every layer you clear earns the next — until the shaft reclaims you and you respawn at orientation, where a cheerful induction video pretends none of this happened. Life Inc. thanks you for your continued service.
Nine layers across 600 blocks, catalogued by Life Inc. Facilities. Two anchored top and bottom; six reshuffle every shift — same strata, different shaft. Note: owing to ongoing temporal collapse, the manifest below may not reflect current reality. Layers have been observed to — reassign themselves. Please report any anomalies you survive to your line manager within one (1) business day.
High-altitude starter zone. Build your base here. The sky is still blue. Management calls it “the perk.”
The pyramid entrance and your designated muster point. Full atmosphere. Establish your foothold while you still have lungs that like you.
Vast crystalline plains. Low radiation begins here, which HR has rebranded as “ambient vitamin D.” Something is wrong with the ground. Do not ask the ground about it.
Labyrinth caverns flooded with HEAVY_WATER pools. Resource-rich and actively hostile — the recommended ratio is four buckets of ore per drowned colleague.
No breathable atmosphere; a bioluminescent fungal network instead. O₂ suit mandatory. The spores are not on the approved snack list.
Extreme heat, erupting vents, and the rarest minerals in the upper pyramid — conveniently located inside the lava, for your motivation.
Irradiated collapsed infrastructure, 20 DPS. Whatever Asset Recovery sealed here is loose. Per policy, you have not seen it, and it has not seen you.
Near-vacuum. −40°C. The walls here are wrong in a way that isn't ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.
Lethal without a Tier 4 Apex suit. Reaching here concludes your shift, permanently. Further detail is ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.
// manifest integrity not guaranteed · layer order randomises each shift · additional layers pending containment review · Life Inc. accepts no responsibility for layers that were not there yesterday.
Live query against the Technician registry. Status codes update as the registry is reconciled. Most reconciliations are downward.
The things commercial voxel engines get wrong, rebuilt from the studs up. No findings have been forwarded to Health & Safety.
Skydive from the floating islands through terraced basalt cliffs into lead-lined anoxic caverns. No loading screens. No fake fog. Just mathematically seamless drops, nine layers deep.
The environment isn't static — it reacts. Real-time fluid & gas simulation, all the way down.
Unified AABB volume-casting. If you can see the gap, your bounding box fits. No phantom walls. No entombment. One source of truth.
{
"id": "flesh_mycelium",
"rises": true,
"rad": 0.4,
"converts": "dirt"
}
Every block, fluid, gas and hazard — JSON. No C++ required. Workshop upload via the Bloomforge API. Life Inc. claims no ownership of your creations, pending review.
Pontoon bridges on pumice over anoxic seas. Glowing cyan crystals from the deep dark. Stone, then unnatural vitrified concrete. Try not to let it out.
Up to 4 players share one shaft. Split resource runs, hold airlocks for each other, or watch a teammate ignite the methane. Network layer in active development.
The in-game creation kit exposes the full JSON layer pipeline to players. Define your own block types, fluid viscosity, gas flammability, mob spawn tables, and ore distributions. Share via the Bloomforge API.
The 6 middle layers randomise position every run. Salt Flats below Containment. Mycelium above Magma. The shaft reconfigures. Learn the layers, not the route.
Build it wrong and the cliff shears off into the abyss, taking your deposit with it. Build it right and you have a fragile bubble of air that Life Inc. will bill you for.
Bolt outposts into sheer cliffs with vitrified concrete and basalt. Miscalculate the load and your base shears off. Build double-door airlocks to flush radon. Lead-line the safe rooms.
Drop raw ore down vertical chutes. Strip rust off Slag-Crawlers with caustic sap. Density-sort loot in brine tanks — organics float, metals sink.
Capture deep-sea methane for combustion — but a breached pipeline ignites the entire generator room, which Facilities classes as “spontaneous open-plan conversion.” Drill for geothermal heat and risk flooding the factory with pressurised ▓▓▓▓▓. Beyond automation: distillation, springs, hunting twisted fauna, and cultivating food that won't file a grievance against your digestive system.
Per the Operations roadmap, updated every commit. R&D is a single technician working in priority order; deliverables ship when ready, not when promised in a town hall.
Life Inc. is fiction. Bloomforge is one real developer working on one real thing — no commercial engine, no cookie-cutter middleware. Every block, fluid and hazard runs on a custom C++ kernel with OpenGL 4.6.
The mission: give players absolute control over a hyper-reactive environment. Emergent gameplay over scripted events. Every interaction carries weight, consequence, and potential devastation — plus a paper trail of corporate gallows humour.
The simulation is open. Synthesise your own JSON materials, alter viscosity, redefine flammability, build things the engine was ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.
Pre-alpha clearance is issued in staffing waves. Register your identifier to be onboarded as a Temporal Maintenance Technician when the next ▓▓▓▓▓▓ is authorised. Life Inc. is an equal-opportunity reclaimer.
1. Data Collection. By entering your identifier into this terminal, you consent to receive intermittent communications regarding your onboarding and the development of this software. We do not sell, trade, or distribute your data to third-party entities. We may distribute you.
2. Liability. The software provided (the "Game") is in an alpha/experimental state. The Developer assumes no liability for system crashes, data loss, hardware stress, or temporal displacement resulting from the use of early development builds. Survival is not warranted.
3. Intellectual Property. All lore, code, pixel art, and audio assets on this site and within the Game are the sole property of the Developer. Modding and user-generated content are permitted under future specific licensing; the core engine remains proprietary. Your likeness, post-reconciliation, is also proprietary.
4. Opt-Out. You may sever your connection to the Manifest (unsubscribe) at any time via the link in any official transmission. Resignation from Life Inc. itself is processed downward.