NINE OVENS, ONE PAIR OF HANDS
Every order is its own timer. Start them together and you lose track of which is which.
Game studio. Software shop.
If it runs on a screen, we’ve built it, and it shipped on the day.

A world that froze and never thawed. You work the window of the last warm booth on the road: food comes in frozen, you warm it, you hand it back. The queue doesn’t stop, every oven runs its own timer, and your grip on the night is the thing that gives first.
Every order is its own timer. Start them together and you lose track of which is which.
They arrive faster than you can serve them, and there is no closing early.
Sanity is a bar at the top of the screen. When it goes, the booth goes with it.


keep them warm. one more night.
Event software that couldn’t crash, and a game we’re building for ourselves.
Multiplayer, mobile, and PC on Unity and Unreal. Games people actually play.
We build our own original games, not work-for-hire demos. Multiplayer, mobile, and PC on Unity and Unreal, shipped to real players on Steam and the stores.
We prototype fast, find the fun, then build the vertical slice that proves it. If it isn’t fun in five minutes, we change it before we scale it.
Authoritative servers, rollback where it counts, and tooling built for the specific game rather than a generic engine dump.
Steamworks, storefront builds, and the boring release plumbing done right, so launch day is uneventful.
A software studio out of India. Small, with no layers, so you talk to the people building it.

Writes the software the day depends on: games, backends, and the load-bearing parts nobody notices until they break.

Designs the interface, the motion, and the whole visual system down to the last pixel. Makes it look inevitable.

Keeps the ship on the date. Owns scope, logistics, and the live floor, so launch day stays quiet.