A tower simulation about a building that's alive. Every tenant is somebody. Every elevator is a real problem. The whole place holds together — or doesn't — depending on how it's run.
Fifteen floors. Two elevator shafts. Seven hundred people with names, jobs, moods, and somewhere to be. No win screen, no tutorial — a building living through its day while you reach into the machinery.
Yara Hovland moved here from Ivystone three years ago, for the light. Cab C, always. Click anyone — there's somebody home.
Free, in any modern browser, up forever. Open the prototype ↗ — press space to add a visitor. They'll find somewhere to be.
Standing is the score. It moves when the people inside are doing alright — and only then. No bank balance in the corner; just whether the building deserves its tenants.
The instruments are real: a dispatcher you can second-guess cab by cab, density against target room by room, a dozen lenses for patience, mood, flow, and who's carrying what.
The prototype proved the heartbeat. The full game is in development in Godot — not a port, a successor. No screenshots yet, on purpose: everything photographable today is the prototype. The game is still drawings and decisions — and none of it is carved in stone. This is a living design, built in the open, shaped while it's still warm.
The design so far:
Every resident has an identity — a place, a routine, people they know. Friendships form. Groups cross the mall together. Community events pull whole floors out of rhythm. Deeper individual simulation than the genre has ever attempted.
Hundreds of floors. Tens of thousands of tenants, simulated live — real traffic flow, not a counter. Tall enough to have weather.
Building it is the setup; running it is the game. Elevator schedules per shaft and per cab. Room policies. Who keeps power in a brownout.
Utilities route — they don't toggle. Power reaches the floor, or doesn't. Communications need line of sight. Plumbing loses pressure with altitude. Failures cascade.
Standing is one economy among several. Scenarios with their own win conditions, contracts, reputations — more than one way for a tower to make its name.
OpenTTD-class interface. Unlimited draggable windows, second-monitor tear-out, keyboard-first, command palette.
Retire a tower and print it: a multi-page architectural PDF — full section drawing, stats sheet, floor index, and the event log of everything that ever happened inside. Frame the building you ran.
Built to be opened. Modding isn't a post-launch promise — the architecture assumes it from the first commit. Your room types, your scenarios, your tower.
Shown long before it ships — work-in-progress lands in the Discord first, and so does the design conversation. The list above will change. That's the point.
The one who finished Project Highrise and wanted more floors. Who keeps SimTower alive in an emulator. Whose Cities: Skylines install is half mods. Who runs OpenTTD networks for the scheduling, and tells RimWorld stories at dinner.
And if you're looking for something cozy: this will stress you out. The building needs things from you at 8 AM. If that sounds like a feature — welcome.
Built in public, in order, with the design written down before the code — and rewritten when a better idea wins. The prototype stays free forever. No dates — dates are how towers fall over — but every floor goes in where you can see it.
The living-tower proof, preserved exactly as it shipped. Open it ↗
Godot + C#. Architecture locked in writing before code lands.
A Steam page when there's something to wishlist. The Discord sees it first.
The Discord is where the build lives — work-in-progress shots, design debates, elevator-scheduling rants. New things land there first, and nothing in the design is locked: the conversation steers it while it's still steerable.
So bring the thing you've always wanted from a tower sim — the room type, the system, the window nobody ever built for you. Odds are good it's still on the table.
The invite goes here the day the doors open. The button upstairs will point at it too.
A letter, too, for the bigger milestones. No schedule — written when there's something worth your inbox.
No spam, no countdowns. Just the building, as it rises.
Jared Kuvent. Creative technologist in Portland, Maine — nineteen years in animation studios and their pipelines, much of it keeping the building's systems running. Which probably explains the game. Apartmenthood is made by one person, slowly, the way the best games tend to want to be built. More at jaredkuvent.com ↗