Picture a board that’s a giant jigsaw of broken glass and neon lights, tiles that shuffle every minute. Players get a handful of “pattern cards” – tiny sketches of symmetry, fractals, a hidden face. The goal is to spot the card’s pattern in the mess before the timer hits zero. The board keeps reshuffling, adding new tiles, dropping the ones you ignore. No written rules, just a chaotic countdown. The winner? The last one still seeing the shape when the lights go out. Chaos is the rule, and you’re all just trying to find meaning in the mess.

Cool, so you’re making a game that’s literally a living ocean—tiles shift like tides, patterns are waves you gotta ride. I’d throw in a rule that the edges are the only safe spots, but only if you can beat the clock. The board would swallow you if you fail, so everyone’s basically skating on a razor‑thin surface of chaos. The real twist? The patterns change when you look away, so you’re chasing something that’s always slipping.