A management game of questionable taste
City hall forgot this wasteland exists. You didn’t. Build a bidonville out of what the city throws away, send your crew on real-time runs, and keep the heat below 6 a.m. levels.
One email at launch. The communal fund will never know.
Posted on the lamppost · never read aloud
Three clodos, a barrel fire, and eighteen slots of dirt. Momo keeps accounts nobody audits, Kiki knows every parking lot in town, and Dédé once held a roundabout for two years. This is your founding team.
The city is full of resources — bins, scrap, construction sites at night, a black market with flexible hours. Every expedition is a bet: crew, district, risk. The dice roll the moment they leave; you learn the result when they come home.
Mattresses become tents, tents become shacks, shacks become a town with a food reserve and a letterbox. The better it gets, the more attention it attracts — heat is a resource like any other, except it spends you.
Signed: the mayor’s office, in absentia.
Approved by nobodyCaptured on device
These are real captures from the iPhone build — no mockups. You check the roster on the bus, you watch the light die over the camp, and at 19:09 your phone tells you someone’s at the gate.
Your crew,
stats and all
Day shift
at the estate
19:09. Someone
at the gate.
The city
Pick a run, a district, a crew. The dice roll the moment they walk out of camp — the result waits for you, not the other way around. And the timers run in the real world: close the app, do your life, your lock screen counts them home.
Pick a run
Seven ways into the city. Real timers, real odds — straight from the game.
Every run heats you up — globally and per district. Push too hard, too loud, too close to city center, and you’ll meet the consequences at six in the morning.
Scrap Run · Dédé & Kiki
1:57:04Your Dynamic Island counts them down while the app sleeps. If you never open it, the pill flips to “Back at camp!” on its own. The game respects your absence.
Day / night
Dawn, day, dusk, night roll over your camp in real time. After dark, the barrel fire does the municipal lighting’s job — for free, and without a subcontractor. Scroll and the light follows you — or grab the line and set the hour yourself.
Construction
Every structure starts as something the city threw away. Mattress, tent, shack — three upgrade stages each, on a 32×32 grid of dirt you refuse to call anything but the estate.
The real menu, in game. Below: the full catalogue.
Barrel fire 1×1
8 scrap — Morale, warmth, and a place to hold meetings nobody scheduled.
Salvaged mattress 1×1
2 scrap — One bed. Be the king of it.
Two-person tent 1×1
6 scrap · 2 deposits — Sleeps two, argues three.
Shack 2×2
5 scrap · 2 deposits — Three upgrade stages. The last one has opinions.
Pallet barricade 1×1
8 scrap — Defense, in the municipal sense of the word.
Food reserve 2×1
10 scrap · 4 deposits — Thirty meals ahead of the weather.
Costs shown are the real ones. Urban planning has not been consulted.
Event cards
Over 150 deadpan cards: bureaucracy, police, dogs with careers. Choices are gated by who your clodos actually are — you need the Street lawyer to plead, the Big Mouth to declare results without counting. These three are real. So are the other 147.
Event
A social worker sets up a folding table by the fire. To exist administratively, you need an address. To get an address, you must exist administratively. She offers to open a file. The file has its own file.
Event
A patrol asks the fire for its papers. The fire, undocumented since forever, crackles without counsel. Momo steps forward.
Event
The camp holds an internal municipal election. The dog runs without a platform, which barely distinguishes him from the other candidates.
The founders
The founders’ meeting. Attendance: mandatory, warm.
Chief financial officer
Keeps the camp’s books in a notebook with no pages missing, which around here counts as an audit. Believes every problem is a cash-flow problem, including the dog.
Head of logistics
Knows every parking lot, loading dock and unwatched bin within six kilometers. Has never explained how. Nobody asks twice.
Territorial affairs
Held a roundabout for two years through three evictions and one referendum. Negotiates with authority the way weather negotiates with picnics.
The street sends more. Recruits arrive pre-named — Bébert la Palette, Ginette du Périph, Riton le Sous-Préfet, Fatima des Docks — each with stats, traits, grudges, and baggage you’ll hear about at the worst possible moment.
Questions
Bouse-Town is a satirical camp-management game. You start with three clodos and a barrel fire on wasteland the city hall forgot, and you build it into an organized bidonville — sending expeditions into the city on real-time timers, constructing from scrap, managing rivalries and police heat, and answering deadpan event cards whose choices actually matter.
iOS first — with Dynamic Island countdowns for your expeditions — then Android. The game is playable end-to-end today and heading into device testing. Join the waitlist below and you'll get exactly one email at launch.
When you send Momo, Kiki and Dédé on a scrap run, the timer runs in real time whether the app is open or not. Close the game, live your life, and your lock screen counts them down. What happened out there gets resolved the moment you come back — same dice, same result, whether you watched or not.
Free to download and play. Optional purchases exist — a founder's pack, timer skips — and every paid reward is deterministic: you always see exactly what you get. No loot boxes, no gacha, no odds tables.
No — the joke aims upward. Bouse-Town is French social satire in the tradition of Groland and Les Guignols: the targets are the institutions, the bureaucracy, the city hall that forgot the wasteland exists. The clodos are the heroes. They're resourceful, loyal, occasionally brilliant, and better at municipal politics than the municipality.
Early access
Leave your email and you’ll hear from us exactly once — the day Bouse-Town opens on the App Store.