The dial spins freely and you line it up with a number that matters, click by click. Lock each target and it's a point. Run out of time and a life's gone, three total. It's fiddly in a satisfying way — the dial has a weight to it, overshooting just barely, and you learn its little habits. Then the numbers multiply, the clock tightens, and you're spinning like it's a combination lock on a briefcase that holds your whole afternoon. There's a click when you nail it, clean and final, better than it should be. Miss it, and the dial keeps turning, patient, waiting for the next try. The lock doesn't care.
The dial spins freely and you line it up with a number that matters,