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Yesterday, something beautiful happened. Luck and insight collided, and the result was spectacular. I was playing a Knockout game against stoical old Mentor Brack of Team Redemption. His guys had the ball, and he opted for a straight run down the left side of the field, bringing other players in close to defend against any blockers. Bold stuff, but potentially dangerous. I guessed he'd spend most of his defensive energy on the first half of the journey, and I was right, I felt a real jolt of happiness as I saw his ball carrier racing to the bottom half of the field where three of my guys had gathered at the goal to greet him. The thrill of it! The thrill of a careful plan foreseen and scuppered. Even better, though, Brack's careless play meant he had left all of his team - all five of them - wallowing on the far left of the field, which gave me something you almost never see in Frozen Cortex: an open path from the bottom of the pitch to the very top, over on the right. I couldn't believe it was happening. With the ball in my hand, I raced the whole length of that field, hitting four points zones and then landing a goal. (4 x 2) + 7: a 15 point play. "I need to profoundly rethink my defence," said Brack. He wasn't wrong. In the end, I beat him 31-0. You can tell a lot about the quality of a strategy game by trying to decide if a one-sided outcome still feels fair. This felt fair.
Like Frozen Synapse, Frozen Cortex is a turn-based tactics affair in which everybody's turns play out at once. You decide on your move at your own leisure, you position your pieces, you hesitate, you commit, and then the beautiful mess you've created unfolds - your actions, your opponent's actions, the whole hilarious disaster. It's a double-blind kind of deal, I think, and the fun of this approach comes from anticipation and adaptation. It's surprisingly tense, and surprisingly involving. It cuts right to the heart of strategy gaming.
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