First-person survival // 1-4 players
Everything you need is out there. So is the chance you never find home again.
Everything you need is out there. So is the chance you never find home again.
Loot is everywhere, and it comes back, caches restock on set waves, so ground worth clearing once is worth clearing again. Keep your eyes open wherever you are.
Pressure scales with how far you have strayed from your own ground. Wander far enough and it stops trickling and starts hunting you home.
The dark is genuinely dark, and it arrives in numbers. Your flashlight only drains while it is lit, so every battery you find is a decision about when you can afford to see.
Walls, floors, roofs, doors, windows, fences, barricades and traps. Repair what the night took, then put something heavier in its way.
Over thirty weapons so far, from a scavenged revolver to a rifle you assembled yourself out of a receiver, a chassis and whatever else you found.
Weapons drop with rolled modifiers rather than fixed stats. Prefixes and suffixes build the name, tiers decide the strength, and two of the same rifle can be nothing alike. The good one is worth the walk.
Last Acre is a first-person survival game, with optional third-person, set on a failing homestead. Days are for pushing outward: unique locations to learn, loot worth the walk, and a full modular building system waiting on the materials you drag back. Nights are for holding what you built.
Firearms run from a scavenged revolver to a rifle you assembled yourself from a receiver, a chassis and whatever else you found. Ammunition is craftable, and never quite plentiful.
There is no rescue and no evacuation. There is one acre, a house that was never built to be a fortress, and the distance between those two facts.
No cutscenes. No character standing at a marker waiting to deliver exposition. What happened here is left in the places it happened to, a note stuck to a refrigerator, a journal someone kept right up until they stopped keeping it, a supply list that gets shorter every page.
And some of the stations are still broadcasting. Whoever is left at the transmitter is still reading out what they know, on a schedule, to anyone with a receiver and a reason to keep listening.
, still holding here at the grain elevator. If you can hear this: the bridge on County Road 9 is gone, do not try it after dark. We read the list again at the top of every hour. There are eleven names on it now