Something got into the punch at the bake sale.

It was twenty to four on a Saturday. There was a second set to play, two songs and an encore if the ladies asked for one. Now the whole block shuffles — and it still wants recess.

ONE BLOCK, AND YOU KNOW EVERY METRE OF IT

A seaside neighbourhood you can learn by heart: a ring road, houses you can barricade, shops you can walk into, a market, a canal, a ferris wheel, a cemetery that has been there since long before any of this, and a bandstand worth holding. The road north runs downtown, where the hot sauce is. The block is still alive around you: pigeons that scatter, rats that bolt for the drains, a stray dog that chases the cat, traffic that honks at you.

FOUR WAYS TO PLAY

WAVES — hold the block. Waves, breaks, shopping trips. How long can you last.
CRUISE — the same city with the ladder taken off. Zombies, shops, your radio and your car. Going down just wakes you at the refuge: nothing is counted, and nothing is lost.
ESCAPE — pistol only. Loot fills the bag, and the bag is worth nothing until you carry it to the pad. Die and you lose the lot.
SHIFT — eight minutes on the clock, every job pays double, and the board never empties.

SUGAR BUYS BULLETS

There is no money worth carrying any more, so the bake-sale till became the currency. You start with a twelve-round pocket popgun; sugar buys ammunition, patching up and six more guns nobody should be selling — up to a four-round rail that hits as hard at a hundred metres as it does at thirty — and, for when the shop is closed, a candy-striped bat. The guitar Ray never put down does not cost a thing. The guitar was hers. It is in your hands from the first minute of every run, and it plays a chord every time it lands.

FOURTEEN KINDS OF WORK

Between waves the board fills up: burn out a nest, walk a neighbour to safety, hunt something specific, drive a family to the refuge, hold a spot, run a delivery, chase down a car, raid a shop, catch a supply drop before the gang does, beat the clock, find a gang car hiding in a marked zone, hold the refuge gate under a siege, pick up taxi fares, and one job at the cemetery that only opens after dark. Most jobs — and every street race — have a bronze, a silver and a gold. Get into the tow truck or the ambulance and the city starts calling you.

THE STREET DOES NOT WAIT FOR YOU

Twelve things can happen out there while you are busy: screams on the corner, a robbery, a car alarm pulling the horde, a neighbour stuck under a bonnet, a hostage, a flare somebody lit a minute ago — and someone waving for a lift who is wearing the wrong jacket. Some days start with fog over the bay, a market day or a blackout.

SIX NEIGHBOURS, EIGHTEEN FAVOURS

The people who stayed have names, and each one has three jobs for you. Finish them and they pay you back for good: half-price patching up, a mechanic, a discount on guns, a militia that holds fire, and more.

FOURTEEN THINGS THAT WANT YOU

The shambler is the least of it. There is one that runs, one that screams for the others, one wearing armour, one that spits, one that crawls, one that bursts, one that charges, and one that is four metres tall and does not care what you are driving. And three that own a corner of the map: the Operator at the ferris wheel, the Champ, and the Drowned down on the beach.

THIRTY-SIX VEHICLES, AND THEY ALL BREAK

Twenty-three cars, a tow truck, an ambulance, four motorbikes, two armoured trucks, two jet skis, a boat, a school bus — and the band's van, the one the two of them arrived in. Panels crumple, glass goes, wheels come off, and a crowd is a perfectly reasonable thing to drive into once. You can shoot back from the driver's seat with the pistol. And the gang races: win five street races and their car is yours.

AN ARCADE THAT STILL WORKS

Four games on eight cabinets you can sit down at and actually play — GRAVE WAVE, DEAD END DRIVE, HOP OR DIE and SWEET STREETS — with high scores that stay.

THE REFUGE GROWS BETWEEN RUNS

Everyone you bring to the refuge stays saved. The camp climbs tiers, and the tiers pay you back: a pantry that starts you richer, an armoury that throws in a gun and spare rounds, and a second chance when you go down.

A STORY, IF YOU WANT ONE

Seven illustrated cards tell what happened at the bake sale and what became of the other half of the band — and six cases with deadlines in days find out who spiked the punch. They open before a run, never in the middle of one, and one switch turns them off for good.

AND THE REST

A day-and-night cycle that changes what comes out. A car radio. Twenty-two achievements. Full gamepad support, and every gameplay action can be rebound. English and Brazilian Portuguese. A difficulty dial in words instead of percentages, colour-safe mode, HUD scaling, adjustable camera shake and damage flash — because a game this bright should be playable by everyone who wants it.