RANDOM GAME # 1
How can such a simple game be so hard to rate? Reviewing Hexxagon 2 feels a bit like reviewing chess—not a specific chess implementation, but the abstract concept of chess itself. It is too generic to get a proper grip on, and too dependent on human opposition to form an honest judgment. For it to be enjoyable, you and your opponent need to be on the same wavelength. You both have to appreciate the same stripped-down strategic pleasures. In that sense, Hexxagon 2 is less a game than a tool—one that can unlock hours of competitive fun, provided the circumstances are right. The score, then, depends more on the situation than on the software.
Unfortunately, my situation involved only a single-player opponent: the AI-controlled light bulb named Craniac, who proved to be as nondescript as it sounds.
This is a relic from an earlier era of computer entertainment, when games were still feeling out their own identity. I’m talking about the 1970s—before my time—when state-of-the-art experiences meant Pong, and everything else was little more than digitized versions of board games like Backgammon or Tic-Tac-Toe. By 1993, when Hexxagon 2 appeared as a shareware release, that kind of design had largely fallen out of commercial favor. The medium had evolved, discovering its own mechanics, genres, and ambitions, for better or worse. And yet, here came Hexxagon 2: a solid board game concept still waiting to become something distinctly videogame-like.
The rules are simple and elegant, somewhere between Chinese Checkers and Othello. Two players—human or AI—compete for control of a board made up of hexagonal tiles. One side represents a spreading virus, the other a counteracting medicine. The game includes a level editor that allows you to shape the board yourself, adding or removing tiles or applying handicaps to either player.
On your turn, you can either clone one of your pieces into an adjacent hex or jump it two spaces away. Cloning is slow and steady, gradually expanding your territory. Jumping, on the other hand, can dramatically shift the balance by converting up to six opposing pieces at once—but it leaves an empty space behind, potentially opening the door to a devastating counterattack. The entire game hinges on this risk–reward calculation. Once the board is full, the player with the most pieces wins.
I can’t say whether this design is based on a pre-existing board game or is an original invention by designers Jason Blochowiak and Abraham Edlin. I’ve never seen it in physical form. What I do know is that it bears a striking resemblance to the infamous microscope puzzle from The 7th Guest—released the same year—which uses a similar conversion mechanic, albeit on a square grid rather than a hexagonal one.
I returned once more for a couple of games against the normal AI: one loss, one win. I could have kept going, experimented with custom boards, or tried to conquer hard mode again—but why? This is not a game designed for solitary play. It is meant to be shared. It thrives on laughter, rivalry, petty grudges, and triumphant gloating. Beating a friend you secretly can’t stand. Cheering on someone who desperately needs a win. Without another human presence, whatever happens on the board simply evaporates.
In its clean simplicity, Hexxagon 2 is a clever and elegant design. But my time with it wasn’t. The hardest AI is sluggish, the easier ones uninspiring, and the single-player offering too thin to sustain interest. The idea is solid; the context is missing. And without someone on the other side of the board, the outcome—win or lose—feels strangely inconsequential.
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