I didn’t expect to fall for a squid in a raincoat
# I didn’t expect to fall for a squid in a raincoat
Every now and then I meet a dev whose game sneaks up on me in the weirdest way. With Joe and Mr. Figs, it was a GIF of a bug where a ballista shot… another ballista. I laughed, clicked, then fell headfirst into this top‑down world starring a very determined squid in a raincoat. I thought it was a squid on a guy’s head at first, which tells you everything about my brain after a long edit day. Either way, I was hooked.
Talking to Joe felt like catching up with a friend who quietly built a spaceship in his garage. He didn’t set out to make a capital G Game. He poked at a prototype, added a few levels, then a story, and suddenly this little project snowballed into something with real weight. Mr. Figs isn’t just cute key art. It’s a four‑stage adventure with puzzle DNA and action bones, the kind of thing that wears its inspirations on its sleeve without feeling like a copy. Picture Bomberman energy with a narrative spine and a moody, rainy vibe. That’s the sauce.
## What we talked about
We started with the art, because you can’t miss it. Joe didn’t hire a studio or ship off concepts. He taught himself pixel art. He dropped the game’s resolution to 16 by 16, embraced the language of chunky shapes, and kept going until the screen finally matched the image in his head. That journey matters. You can feel the iterations living inside the tiles.
Then we got into the character. Mr. Figs is a lab escapee with a mission that’s simple and smart: go back for the videotapes, show the world what really happened, and unravel the mystery one room at a time. It’s a clean hook for a top‑down format, and it gives purpose to the pacing. Between the story beats you’re juggling bombs, enemies, and those little one‑tile steps that make positioning feel like chess at sprint speed.
Under the hood, Joe went full custom. The game runs on Python with Pygame, which means he didn’t just design levels. He wrote particle systems, camera logic, and all the connective tissue people take for granted when they boot up an engine template. That choice slowed him down, but it also gave him a palette that fits the project like a tailored suit. It’s lean, it behaves, and he understands every screw and nail because he placed them.
Fourth, sound is not optional frosting. We both laughed about realizing late that sound needed a plan, but the difference it makes is wild. Even with asset packs, the right scrape or squish gives weight to a tile world. The trick is orchestration. Mismatch sounds with actions and the game feels like an asset flip. Nail the envelope and timing and the same art suddenly feels premium. If Mr. Figs leans into a tactile, rainy soundscape and those pitched, bleepy voices Joe prototyped, the world will stick in your head after you close the window.
Finally, difficulty pacing. Joe loves hard games, and you can see that lineage in the way movement and timing matter. The sweet spot here will be teaching with generosity, then tightening the screws. A demo that starts generous and ends with a statement boss would do serious work for wishlists. Add a small post‑demo teaser room and a tidy feedback form and you’ve turned a slice into a growth engine.
## Closing thoughts
What I love about Mr. Figs is how honest it is about becoming itself. Joe didn’t chase trends. He followed curiosity until it looked like a game, then kept saying yes until it felt like his. That’s the indie path I believe in. A character that reads at a glance. A story that nudges you forward. A toolchain you actually understand. And a willingness to show the messy parts to strangers on the internet and let the laughs convert into wishlists.
If you’re building something similar, take the page Joe’s writing. Teach yourself enough art to express your taste. Use the tech you can ship with. Share the weird. Let players touch a piece as soon as you can, even if you cringe a little. And if your ballista starts firing ballistas, hit record. That might be the clip that finds your people.
When the Mr. Figs demo drops, I’m diving in. I want to hear the rain, light the fuse, and see how far this squid in a raincoat can run.
Episode Info
We also dug into progress and scope. Four stages, each with a big handful of levels. The first two are largely in, the third is in flight, the fourth is still fog of war. Boss fights are the current mountain. Anyone who has tuned a first‑area boss knows the pain: hard enough to feel like a test, not so hard you send people to uninstall. Joe’s finding that balance in real time.
Marketing came up because it always does for indies. Joe’s posted on Reddit and X, shared short gameplay clips, and learned the platform personalities the hard way. Gameplay clips travel on X. Bugs and behind‑the‑scenes bits get love on Reddit. That ballista‑shooting‑ballista GIF pulled real wishlists. It’s a perfect example of how the internet rewards honest dev moments more than polished trailers.
We ended on the practical stuff. A demo that covers the complete first stage is the plan. Rough target was this year when we recorded, with about an hour of play in that slice if Joe gets the boss locked and the last few levels in. He’s weighing the classic tension: ship early to learn, or wait a little so the art and feel match the bar in his head.
## What stood out and what I learned
First, self‑reliance is a superpower when you respect its cost. Building on Python and Pygame is not trendy, but it is intentional. Joe traded onboarding speed for control and portability. For a top‑down, grid‑centric game, that trade makes a lot of sense. It forced him to understand the game as a system, not just a project file. If Mr. Figs is the only thing to come out of that, it’s already a win. If there’s a second game, he’s sitting on a lightweight toolkit and a mental model that will cut months off the dev cycle.
Second, the character choice is sneaky brilliant. A squid in a raincoat is instantly readable at low resolution, inherently expressive, and thematically on‑brand with a story about leaks and surveillance. You don’t have to explain why a squid would collect tapes in a stormy city. It just fits. That kind of visual‑mechanical harmony is what small teams have to chase, because it turns constraints into identity.
Third, the marketing lesson I keep relearning. You can plan pillars and content calendars all day, but the posts that land are the ones that feel like you. Joe’s bug clip worked because every programmer has watched something ridiculous explode and thought, of course it’s doing that. Share the real stuff. Share it often. If you’re solo, don’t overthink voice. Pick two lanes you can sustain, automate what you can, and let the game’s personality bleed through. Spray and pray isn’t sloppy when it’s consistent.
