Prisoner Bob presents a humorous, non-violent escape puzzler where clever routes and timing beat brute force, casting Bob as a plucky problem-solver sneaking through tidy blueprints of corridors, vents, and laundry rooms toward sunlit courtyards; controls are simple—swipe to move, tap to hide, hold to peek around corners—and each level teaches a new trick: line-of-sight cones that rotate at steady speeds, pressure plates that require a rolling cart, keypad doors whose codes hide in posters or snack schedules, and vent covers you can loosen only after finding a screwdriver in the workshop; the fun lies in planning a clean path that threads multiple systems: distract a patrolling guard by turning on a radio, slip behind a pillar as cones sweep past, push a cart to hold a plate while you fetch a keycard, then double back through a service hatch to reach the exit; strategy tips: memorize patrol loops before moving, rotate the camera to spot vertical ladders that look flat from one angle, and carry only what you need—excess items slow interactions and can block hiding spots; later stages introduce cooperative puzzles with friendly NPCs (hand a mop through bars to trigger a far switch) and puzzle variants like blackout rounds where you rely on soft footstep audio and short flashlight cones; optional objectives—collect blueprint scraps, leave a room “tidier than you found it,” return a lost book—add charm and encourage replay without raising difficulty; accessibility options include high-contrast outlines for cones, vibration cues for “safe to go” beats, and a hint nudge that circles the next smart anchor rather than drawing an exact line; failure is playful rather than harsh—Bob gets whisked back to the last checkpoint with a sheepish shrug—and the game celebrates elegant solutions by showing a tiny replay that highlights each successful beat; what makes it satisfying is the puzzle purity: a steady escalation of tools and reads, rooms designed to be solved in multiple ways, and comedic feedback that turns “stealth” into light logic where every victory feels earned and every reset teaches something new about timing, cover, or the joy of spotting the hidden vent you missed on your first pass.