And somewhere, in the compressed void, a tiny Rico Rodriguez grappled a star and laughed.

Leo’s cursor became a grappling hook. His mouse wheel fired invisible tethers into his dorm room walls. His desk lamp? He latched onto it. The ceiling fan? He yanked himself upward and crashed into his roommate’s bunk.

The game ended. A single message appeared:

Leo closed the laptop. The room was trashed. His hands were bleeding from grappling-hook burns that shouldn’t exist.

He blew up a bridge using only a rubber band and the concept of momentum.