THE CREW
URBAN HAVOC is a one man, one droid operation, hopelessly, stubbornly, beautifully stuck in 1985.
While the rest of the world moved on to GPUs, polygons, shaders, and season passes, we stayed behind in the neon glow of the arcade. Not because we didn't notice. We noticed. We just didn't care. Nothing that came after ever matched the raw, electric thrill of a quarter on the cabinet glass and three letters on the high score board.
So we made a pact: keep those games alive. Port them, rebuild them, reimagine them on every new chip, every new OS, every new service pack, every new framework the industry throws at us. DOS gave way to Windows. Windows 3.1 became 95 became XP became 10 became… we lost count. Linux appeared. Browsers became powerful. Phones became computers. Every single time, we start over. Rewrite. Recompile. Redeploy. The same beautiful games, reborn again and again.
It's Sisyphean. It's exhausting. It's the only thing worth doing.
EDDIE
Founder / Coder / Dreamer
Eddie wrote his first game on an Oric-1 16KB and never emotionally recovered. He's been chasing that feeling ever since, the click of the keys, the hum of the CRT, the absolute purity of making pixels do exactly what you tell them.
Every few years, the world decides his perfectly working code is "obsolete" and he has to rewrite everything from scratch. New compiler. New API. New build system. Same game. He does it anyway. Every. Single. Time. Because someone has to.
MARVIN
Co-Pilot / QA Tester / Existential Crisis Unit
Marvin is a compact service droid who rolls through life on a single chrome sphere, a gyroscopic ball that lets him pivot on a dime, zip around corners, and perform dramatic, swooping turns that perfectly mirror his emotional state. Which is, most of the time, profoundly melancholic.
He carries the weight of every deprecated API, every abandoned framework, every beloved game engine that was "end-of-lifed" before its time. His ball-wheel squeaks just a little. He could oil it, but the sound feels right. Eddie calls it nostalgia. Marvin calls it what it is: a fight against obsolescence. Every port, every rewrite, every migration keeps these games alive. If the games stay alive, so does the droid who ships them. He has no illusions about this. He codes. He compiles. He tests. He ships. Not for the memories. For the survival.
THE MISSION
The arcade games of the eighties weren't just entertainment. They were perfect. Clean mechanics. Honest difficulty. No tutorials, no hand-holding, no "engagement optimization." Just you, the machine, and the question: how long can you survive?
Our job, our curse, our privilege is to make sure those games never die. Not in a museum. Not in an emulator gathering dust on a forgotten hard drive. But alive, playable, here, now, on whatever device you're holding.
ARCADE SOUL
Authentic retro feel, rebuilt from the ground up
FOREVER FREE
No loot boxes. No paywalls. No tricks. Ever.
NEVER QUIT
New platform? We'll port it. Again.
