When one block passes next to a Sensor, the Pusher will trigger, shunting another block elsewhere on your network of conveyor belts onto a new pathway, allowing you to split the load. Soon you're provided access to Sensor Blocks, which can be paired with Pusher Blocks (using conduit pipes that link the two). But soon your employers introduce new stipulations such as particular arrangements of blocks, or cargo that's been diverted to arrive at multiple destinations.Īs the demands expand, so too does your stock of tools. Initially, you need only lay an unbroken string of conveyor bricks around obstacles to guide the cargo to its destination. This fundamental job description barely changes throughout your career, but the complexity of the challenge scales alarmingly. You can listen to their 'failure logs' to hear about their lives or how they died - usually through mental exertion, or boredom. Dead astronauts lay either in plain view or tucked away in most stages. In most cases, you need only send ten blocks to the exit to complete the day's work, at which point you're returned to your cell. The cargo must land on the conveyor and arrive at its destination intact, and in the correct alignment. When you're satisfied you've completed the task, you start the motor.
Your task each day is simple: guide an incoming stream of cargo blocks to an exit point by laying a conveyor belt, segment by segment. It's easy to forget about worker's rights when your job is, essentially, to solve spatial cryptic crosswords. For one thing, the work itself is provides a glorious challenge and diversion. It's not all bad here in the galactic factory, though. Well, let's just say there is no health and safety officer here on the Infinifactory floor. While you're provided with a jetpack, useful for hovering over your workplace to gain a better vantage point on the day's work, if you step off the edge of a cliff and forget to engage the boosters. There are no toilet breaks and you can forget about joining a union (for one thing, the only colleagues you ever meet are dead ones). Space-suited bodies of fallen workers lay slumped against rocks, usually clutching an audio recording (dubbed, miserably, a 'failure log') on which their final words are recorded. Out in the field things aren't much better. After a day spent working the craters, you must return to a cell (provided by your employers, a race of tall-shouldered, gruff aliens) where your only comfort is a pillow-free bed, a pile of brown food pellets and, if you've been performing well, perhaps an old VHS tape to keep you company ( sans player, or TV).
It turns out that the life of the average sweatshop factory worker is no more comfortable in space than here on Earth. Infinifactory is a rare and ingenious treat: a puzzle game that allows players to combine creativity and logic to craft their own solutions.
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