I commissioned some butterflies 2

In ‘I commissioned some butterflies 2’, players embark on a tranquil hidden object journey, tasked with discovering secretly placed butterflies and flowers across 15 distinct hand-drawn artworks. Each piece features vibrant, stylized illustrations blending natural and fantastical elements, delivered through a top-down, point-and-select interface for a meditative and relaxing puzzle experience.

I Commissioned Some Butterflies 2: The Zen Architecture of Nothingness

Introduction: A Pixel in the Pattern

To approach “I commissioned some butterflies 2” is to confront a deliberate void at the heart of contemporary gaming discourse. Released on June 14, 2024, by the enigmatic entity “Follow The Fun” under the publisher “I commissioned some series,” this title exists not as a game in the traditional sense, but as a foundational particle in a vast, quantifiable experiment. It is the second numbered entry in the “Butterflies” sub-franchise of a larger series that, as of this writing, encompasses at least 71 distinct products spanning creatures from “abstract bunnies” to “pigeons.” Its thesis is one of radical reductionism: stripped of narrative, character, and conventional challenge, what remains is a pure test of perceptual mechanics, a digital mandala for the ADHD age. This review will argue that “I commissioned some butterflies 2” is not a failure of imagination, but a successful, if profoundly modest, execution of a niche design philosophy—one that prioritizes meditative process over product, and in doing so, inadvertently critiques the very industry that birthed it.

Development History & Context: The Assembly Line of Calm

The studio “Follow The Fun” is a ghost in the machine. MobyGames lists no credited individuals; the entire operation is subsumed under the publisher handle “I commissioned some series.” This points to a business model, not a traditional studio. The source material reveals the core “vision”: a creator commissions various artists to produce fantasy-themed artworks, within which the artists are instructed to hide a high volume of butterflies and flowers. These assets are then assembled into a functional hidden-object game using GameMaker, a tool renowned for its accessibility but rarely for its deployment in such a commodified, assembly-line fashion.

The technological constraints are minimal—the game requires only 1GB RAM and 100MB of space, running on Windows 7 or later—but they are beside the point. The true constraint is conceptual: the game must be instantly understandable, trivially easy to pick up, and infinitely repeatable. Its release in mid-2024 places it squarely in the golden age of the “cozy game” and the “hyper-casual” mobile/PC crossover. It is a direct descendant of the classic Where’s Waldo? books, but one that has been systematically algorithmized and franchised. There is no “development story” of artistic struggle or technical breakthrough; the history is one of iterative replication. The “I commissioned some…” formula—applied to bees, dogs, bunnies, ladybugs, frogs, mice, cats, snails, and pigeons—reveals a template: find a subject, commission art, hide objects, release. “Butterflies 2” is merely the second pass at a specific subject, suggesting the original “Butterflies” was successful enough to warrant a sequel that offers more of the same, only with “15 unique artworks” and “1500+ hidden objects” (750+ butterflies, 750+ flowers). Its context is the Steam store’s endless scroll, where discoverability is a brutal war, and a game with dozens of clear, searchable tags (“Hidden Object,” “Relaxing,” “Family Friendly,” “Hand-drawn”) is a tactical strike for visibility.

Narrative & Thematic Deep Dive: The Story of the Commission

Here, the analysis must engage with an absence. “I commissioned some butterflies 2” possesses no narrative in any conventional sense. There is no plot, no characters with arcs, no dialogue beyond the store description. The “story” is entirely meta textual and diegetic, confined to the premise stated in the ad copy: “I commissioned artists to create a fantasy world, and hide as many butterflies and flowers as they can inside it. Now it’s your job to find them all!”

This creates a bizarre, layered fiction. The player is not an explorer in a world; they are an employee performing a Quality Assurance task for an unseen, unnamed commissioner. The fantasy world is not a setting to be immersed in, but a canvas to be audited. The butterflies and flowers are not part of an ecosystem; they are hidden objects, data points to be checked off a list. The thematic core, therefore, is labor. The game transforms the act of play into a metaphor for repetitive, goal-oriented work—a digital piece-work system. The “warning: Relaxing” is ironic, as the core loop is fundamentally about focused, repetitive visual scanning, a mentally taxing activity masquerading as rest.

The deeper, unintended theme is that of meaninglessness and completionism. Finding the last butterfly in a painting provides no narrative payoff, no plot revelation, no character dialogue. The only reward is the completion of a percentage bar (a “Gameplay feature: Game completion percentage” per MobyGames specs). The game celebrates the act of finding over the reason for finding. It is pure process, a Sisyphean loop where the boulder is a beautifully rendered, hand-drawn butterfly. In this, it is a stark, minimalist reflection of the “grind” culture in RPGs and live-service games, stripped of all the cosmetic rewards. You do the work because the work is there, and the only metric is completion.

Gameplay Mechanics & Systems: Elegance in Emptiness

The core gameplay loop is as simple as the premise:
1. Select one of 15 unlocked “artworks” (static, top-down images).
2. Navigate the free camera with mouse (or WASD/arrow keys) to pan and zoom.
3. Identify and click on hidden butterflies (🦋) and flowers (🌺).
4. Objects vanish upon clicking; a list of remaining items updates.
5. Repeat until the list is empty. A timer runs.

Systems Deconstruction:
* Hidden Object Generation: The objects are pre-placed by the artists, not procedurally generated. This means each painting is a static puzzle. The only “system” is the player’s own eye and memory.
* Progression: None in a traditional sense. There is no character level, no skill tree, no unlockable ability. “Progression” is purely meta: the completion percentage for each painting and an overall game completion stat. The 16 Steam Achievements are likely based on completing paintings, finding X objects, or speed-running, but serve only as extrinsic markers of the intrinsic, repetitive loop.
* Difficulty & Accessibility: The game is aggressively accommodating. All levels are unlocked from the start. An “∞ Unlimited hints” system exists. Three save slots allow for session splitting. You can even “restore a small number of hidden objects” to a completed painting, reintroducing randomness for replayability. This is not a game designed to challenge, but to facilitate. The difficulty is self-imposed: finding the last few objects in a cluttered scene is a genuine visual strain, the game’s only real moment of friction.
* UI & Controls: Utterly transparent. The interface is minimal: a list of icons, a timer, and the art. The dual control scheme (mouse & keyboard) is a rare and thoughtful accessibility feature for those without mouse scroll wheels.
* Innovation/Flaws: The innovation is in the “restore” feature. It acknowledges that the joy is in the search, not the completion, and allows the player to manufacture more searching from a finished state. This is a brilliant, player-centric design for a niche genre. The flaw is inherent to the format: the game is functionally a screensaver with a checklist. For anyone not predisposed to this specific form of mindfulness, it will feel like an行政任务 (administrative task). The lack of any penalty for misclicks or time pressure is both its strength (zen) and its weakness (no stakes).

World-Building, Art & Sound: The Aesthetics of the Commission

This is the game’s sole redeeming, and frankly only, aesthetic layer. The “world” is not a place but a gallery of 15 distinct artworks, each with its own “music and ambiance.” The Steam tags (“Hand-drawn,” “Stylized,” “Cartoon,” “Fantasy,” “Colorful”) are accurate. The art is presumably commissioned from various artists, leading to a diverse, sometimes jarring, stylistic range—from softer watercolor fantasy scenes to more graphic, cartoonish landscapes. This diversity is the game’s visual identity: a curated portfolio rather than a coherent world.

The “fantasy world” mentioned in the brief is thus a patchwork, a series of vignettes. You are not exploring a kingdom; you are inspecting 15 separate illustrations. This reinforces the “commission” metaphor—each piece is a paid deliverable.

The sound design is key to the “Meditative / Zen” pacing tag. Each artwork has its own musical track, described as “ambiance” and “music.” This suggests atmospheric, likely loops of gentle, ambient music or soundscapes (forest, meadow, mystic) designed to lower heart rate and encourage prolonged, calm observation. It is the audio equivalent of a weighted blanket, intended to mask the cognitive load of the search with soothing noise. The music is not diegetic to the fantasy world; it is a therapeutic overlay for the player’s experience.

Together, art and sound create a dissociative bubble. You are not in a world; you are looking at a world, aided by calming music. The combination is effective for its intended purpose: a low-stimulus, high-focus activity for winding down.

Reception & Legacy: A Whisper in the Bundle

I commissioned some butterflies 2 exists in a near-total critical vacuum. MobyGames shows no critic reviews and only 1 collected player (as of the latest data). Metacritic has no scores. The Steam store shows “1 user review,” which is insufficient for a score. This is not a game that registers on the consciousness of the broader games press or even the average Steam browser. Its discovery is almost entirely algorithmic or via the “I commissioned some…” series page.

Its commercial reception is tied to its bundling strategy. It appears in three notable bundles on Steam:
1. “Hidden Butterflies” (5 items: all Butterflies 1-5) at -15%.
2. “Series 2 – Hidden Object Games” (10 items: various animal “2” entries) at a set price.
3. “All Hidden Object Games” (71 items: the entire absurd back catalog) at -8%.

This bundling is the game’s lifeblood. It is not sold as a standalone masterpiece but as a content package in a massive value proposition. A user seeking “relaxing hidden object games” might buy the “Series 2” bundle for $35.30, getting “Butterflies 2” along with “Bees 2,” “Dogs 2,” etc. Its $3.99 standalone price is a mere entry fee into a consumable ecosystem.

Legacy and Influence are, by conventional metrics, nonexistent. It will not influence Elden Ring or Baldur’s Gate 3. Its influence is micro-genre specific. It perfects a template for automated, low-cost, high-volume cozy game production. The “I commissioned some…” series is a case study in using crowd-sourced (or freelancer) art assets, a simple GameMaker framework, and ruthless tagging to capture a persistent niche market. It demonstrates that for a certain audience, the specific subject matter (butterflies, cats, bees) and the promise of “1500+ hidden objects” are more powerful selling points than a brand name or developer reputation. It is the logical endpoint of the “asset store game” trend, packaged with a clearcut, therapeutic premise. Its legacy may be as a data point in discussions about the economics of indie game saturation and the profitable mundanity of the “cozy” label.

Conclusion: A Quiet, Profound Nothing

“I commissioned some butterflies 2” is not a good game by any standard that values narrative, innovation, challenge, or depth. It is, however, a perfectly realized object. It achieves exactly what it sets out to do: provide 15 static images with 100 hidden items each, accompanied by calming music, wrapped in an interface of frictionless usability. Its value is purely transactional: you pay $3.99 (or less in a bundle) for X hours of quiet, visually undemanding searching.

In the grand tapestry of video game history, it is a single, barely noticeable thread. But viewed through the lens of cultural and economic studies, it is a fascinating artifact. It represents the crystallization of the hidden-object genre into its most essential, commodified form. It is a game that asks nothing of the player except attention, and rewards that attention with nothing but the completion of a list. It is the gamification of mindfulness, the productivity software of relaxation.

Its ultimate verdict is that of a museum curator placing a mundane but perfectly preserved artifact in a drawer labeled “Early 21st Century Casual Cozy Template.” It will be forgotten by all but the mostCompletionist of archivists and the few thousand players who find profound peace in the quiet, pointless act of finding the last hidden flower in a digital meadow. For them, it is not a game; it is a tool. And in that admission, it finds its strange, legitimate, and utterly forgettable significance.