Zipix runs on one designer and a pipeline of AI specialists. Every discipline a studio would hire for exists as written process: design, balance, engineering, QA, release. An agent runs the process, a human audits the output, and each new game starts with everything the last one learned.
Spring 2026. Hand-ported Phaser scenes, no design docs, no pipeline. Every game re-learned the platform from scratch, and re-hit its traps.
Every lesson moved out of memory and into four skills: how to design a game, how to price its difficulty, how to build it, how to ship it. They load on demand, and a new game starts from all of them.
Every bar is one game, from the first to the newest. The two dashed lines are the days the skills landed.
Total commits touching each game, in the order they entered the repo. The late bump is globe_tap, a spinning-globe geography experiment that earned its extra commits.
Each one is a written playbook the agent loads at that moment. Names are the real file names in the repo.
Every game design ships with an interactive mockup: the real difficulty formulas behind a slider, the actual screen anatomy, the mechanic live on a canvas. Timing and feel are not reviewable in prose, so the review is a play session. Approval means it was already fun on a fake canvas.
The questionnaire designs inside these walls. When a concept collides with one, the process reframes it to keep the intent, or rejects it, and says so out loud. Constraints are what make 25 games feel like one product.
Every lever gets a cost in human seconds, and every lever steps on a tier boundary. The math gets you close; a human calibration loop lands it. Shape Count took four rounds.
Approved designs now queue up waiting to be built, and building one is the cheap part. The record so far: three games shipped in a single day.
The games are small on purpose. The pipeline is the real product: every lesson kept, every gate written down, and a human deciding what ships.