Essen decided to revisit Flywrench, however, and I’m so glad he did; I missed it the first time.

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Here’s what it looks like now:

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Same idea, modern look.

If there’s a genre of games that I’d wager arguing I’m good at, it’s platformers. I’ll spend hours banging my head against the Super Meat Boys of the world, a satisfaction ingrained by many sleepless nights spent with the original Mega Man games in my youth. There’s something about playing a game with extremely precise movements that makes even the most challenging scenarios seem doable. If the controls react the way I want them to, it’s on me, not the game.

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(This is not always true, but when it works, it’s what builds a tolerance for these games.)

As much as I dug N+, N++ didn’t do anything for me. I dropped the game after a few days. It’s incredibly well-made—no argument there. But there was a been-there, done-that feeling to N++; Flywrench feels genuinely new. Though the games are operating on similar and punishing wavelengths, the mechanics of Flywrench are giving my brain (and fingers) a new challenge.

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Even though Flywrench predates the Flappy Bird phenomenon by years, it’s probably the best comparison. If you, like me, felt Flappy Bird was onto something but couldn’t get into the way it was structured, Flywrench scratches the same itch. You’re tasked with “flapping” this line and balancing weight, physics, and momentum while avoiding increasing stacks of obstacles.

It can get really, really messed up.

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Flywrench is probably the best “hard” game I’ve played all year. I can’t get enough. Wanna pick it up? Head over here.

If you want to watch a few minutes of me screaming at a monitor, have at it.

You can reach the author of this post at patrick.klepek@kotaku.com or on Twitter at @patrickklepek.