You were the "good at that web-browser game, Fishy, guy" in High School. It's been a while since you last had the luxury to zone the ♥♥♥♥ out and mess with some stupid ♥♥♥♥ of the underwater variety, but, in from the rain, Osmos drunkenly stumbles.
He slurs, "Y...I-I fff...♥♥♥♥ing remem...ember you!" A breath.
You don't remember him.
"I w...was always butter at Fishy...th-than you
You contest Osmos. But Fishy is a different world than you left it.
You can't lose this descriptor of indescribable importance, this life-defining title! You are
the "good at that web-browser game, Fishy, guy"!
As you extend the ropes into Osmos's damp, squishy depths, you reaffirm your ideas of yourself as a patient individual, capable of persevering in the face of a challenge.
But as you lose sight of that purple sphincter and are drowned in ambient music and a heavy blue palate, you realize that Osmos wasn't drunk those eight hours ago. He's just a snaggle-toothed, half-♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥♥♥♥bag.
And I've come to thoroughly enjoy this "puzzler", which, steeped in millennia of the old gods' hatred, is utterly unforgiving and luck-based, altogether betraying its image as a "zone the ♥♥♥♥ out and mess with some stupid ♥♥♥♥ of a microbial variety"-kinda game.