98%. The screen flickered. The radiation meter hit max.
Vulcan looked at his hands. They were shaking. Not from exhaustion—from absence. He had the strange, hollow feeling of someone who had lived a lifetime in a level and returned to a world that hadn’t aged a minute. The music in the vault was normal again. The cheerful electro beats of the main menu sounded obscene.
He selected the level again. The countdown didn’t begin. A new message appeared, in the same flickering, fallout-green text:
34%. A ship sequence. The passage was filled with tiny, floating orbs that looked like radiation symbols. Touching one didn’t kill you—it reversed your ship gravity without warning. Vulcan navigated by closing his eyes for half a second, trusting only the distorted beat. He opened them. Still alive. Geometry Dash Nukebound
The first obstacle was a fake. A simple spike. Vulcan jumped it easily. But as he landed, the terrain behind him dissolved into white ash. No return. The checkpoints were lies.
The door vanished.
Vulcan didn’t turn. “Nobody beats it yet .” Vulcan looked at his hands
Vulcan died at 67%. Then 71%. Then 89%. Each death was different. The first, he was crushed by a closing wall. The second, the ground literally opened into a pit of static. The third—at 94%—he was so close. The finish line was a single, intact door in the middle of the ruins. He reached for it.
And the level kept going.
He hit it.
“Don’t,” whispered a voice behind him. It was Ren, a newer player, his neon-blue cube still pristine. “That’s Nukebound. Nobody beats Nukebound.”
The vault was silent, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the Main Level selector. Vulcan, a veteran Geometry Dasher with cracked, gray cube-edges and a jump pattern worn smooth by a million attempts, stared at the final locked slot. It had no name, only a serial code: .
The song—if you could call it that—was a slowed, distorted version of a cheerful electro track from Stereo Madness . The bass notes sounded like falling debris. The melody was a Geiger counter’s scream. The drop was a low, endless rumble that vibrated through the controller and into the player’s teeth. He had the strange, hollow feeling of someone
48%. The wave. But the wave’s path was drawn in the air like a faded chalk outline, while the real collision was a ghosted copy half a second ahead. You had to aim where the level would be , not where it was. Vulcan’s cube vibrated. His vision blurred. He bit his lip until he tasted metal.
>LEVEL: NUKEBOUND >COMPLETION TIME: 37 YEARS, 4 MONTHS, 9 DAYS.