Games, serialised fiction and books about people inside systems that already decided what they are worth — and what they become to survive it.
The Registry measures every awakening. It could not find a single word for his.
A lifelong outcast is beaten nearly to death and wakes able to command the dead. What comes back with him is not a weapon — it is every part of him that already died, standing nine feet tall and wearing chains nobody remembers putting on it.
Malachee is scored, filed and dismissed by a state that grades people on how useful they are. The power he gains never heals him. It only changes who pays for it.
Campaign map · 20 stages
Hold the block. Nobody else is coming.
A gritty urban tower defense game across a twenty-stage campaign — from the harbour and the rail yards up through the refineries to the tower under the eclipse — with sixteen heroes who each hold a corner differently. Built for phones, played in portrait, designed to be picked up in the gaps in a day.
It is a real beta. Rough edges are real, and what you tell us shapes what ships.
It will rate a 1.8 and nobody will remember it. Some weeks that is the job.
You book the guests. Four episodes at a time, choosing which story goes on air out of the two or three that will still take your call — the volatile one, the sad one, the respectable one, the one who is only available because somebody sold him to you.
Ratings and reputation move in opposite directions, and the game keeps both on the board alongside viewers, cash and your rank against Spruell in the Afternoon. Finish Daytime in the top three and Primetime takes your call.
Who gets to decide what a human being should be?
Thirty administrative districts sealed themselves after the war. The water carried something meant to calm people down, and it worked — the infected stayed intelligent, stayed human, stayed themselves, and became part of a network that decides what they do next.
Attacks are built from components rather than picked from a list, the same inputs mean different things in different hands, and every faction has a point. Single purchase. No energy timers, no loot boxes, no ads.
Seven days to settle it. The clock does not care who you are.
A novel, releasing with a short film alongside it.
In development. Dates get announced when they are real.
Everything on this page was made by one person in the hours left over.
There is no publisher behind Lower Mercy and no advance paying for any of it. If a beta held your attention, or an episode stayed with you after it ended, you can put something toward the next one.
This is a tip, not a charitable donation — Lower Mercy is a trade name of a for-profit company and nothing here is tax-deductible. What it buys is plain: art, voice work, engine licences, store fees and the time to finish what is already started.
Payments are handled by Stripe. Lower Mercy never sees your card details.
Lower Mercy makes games, serialised fiction and books that share one preoccupation: ordinary people inside systems that have already decided what they are worth.
Everything here is built independently. Nothing is licensed from anyone, nothing is made to a committee's notes, and the slate moves at the pace one person can actually sustain.
If a project on this page says "in development," that is what it means. Dates get announced when they are real.