Nun Squad

Nun Squad is a compact arcade action game developed by Terry Cavanagh using the Klik & Play engine, released in 2009 as part of the BIGJam event, where players control a squad of nuns in a side-view perspective, engaging in fast-paced, direct-control gameplay to combat threats in a whimsical, pixelated world created in just two hours.

Nun Squad: Review

Introduction

In the vast, ever-expanding archive of indie game history, few titles capture the raw, unfiltered essence of game jam creativity quite like Nun Squad. Released in 2009 as a fleeting burst of inspiration, this side-scrolling action romp by solo developer Terry Cavanagh stands as a testament to the power of constraints—created in just two hours using the rudimentary tools of Klik & Play during the BIGJam 2009 event. Amidst an era dominated by sprawling AAA blockbusters and the nascent indie boom sparked by platforms like Flash and early Steam, Nun Squad emerges as a quirky artifact: a band of holy warriors charging through pixelated chaos. My thesis is simple yet profound: while Nun Squad may lack polish and depth, it embodies the chaotic joy of experimental game design, influencing a niche lineage of absurd, faith-infused action titles and reminding us that gaming’s greatest innovations often spring from its most hurried origins.

Development History & Context

The story of Nun Squad is inextricably tied to its creator, Terry Cavanagh, a prolific indie developer whose portfolio spans over 120 games, from minimalist puzzles like VVVVVV to experimental jams. Cavanagh, operating under the banner of his Distractionware blog, crafted this title during BIGJam 2009—a game jam event that emphasized rapid prototyping and communal creativity in the pre-Unity explosion era. Released on August 1, 2009, for Windows, Nun Squad was built using Klik & Play, a drag-and-drop engine from the mid-90s that democratized game creation for hobbyists but imposed severe limitations on complexity. No scripting languages, no advanced physics—just event sheets and basic sprites, a far cry from the sophisticated tools available today.

The gaming landscape of 2009 was a pivotal transition point. The indie scene was bubbling with titles like Braid and World of Goo, showcasing narrative depth and artistic flair, while browser games on Newgrounds and Kongregate thrived on quick, addictive arcade fare. Cavanagh’s vision for Nun Squad appears rooted in playful absurdity: a “klik and play game, made in two hours,” as noted in his blog, prioritizing fun over refinement. Technological constraints of Klik & Play—limited to 2D side-view perspectives and simple direct control—mirrored the era’s DIY ethos, where developers like those in the TIGSource forums (now defunct but influential) hacked together prototypes to challenge the homogeneity of console giants like Nintendo and Sony. BIGJam itself, though obscure, represented the grassroots spirit of jams like Ludum Dare, fostering rapid ideation amid economic uncertainty post-2008 crash. Cavanagh’s solo effort underscores the indie pioneer’s burden: one person handling design, coding (via events), art, and sound, all in a weekend sprint. This context elevates Nun Squad from mere curiosity to a snapshot of indie resilience, where brevity birthed boldness.

Narrative & Thematic Deep Dive

At its core, Nun Squad delivers a minimalist narrative wrapped in thematic irreverence, a plot inferred from its title and arcade structure: a squad of battle-ready nuns embarks on a holy crusade against demonic forces in a side-scrolling world of sin and salvation. The story unfolds without cutscenes or dialogue—true to its two-hour genesis—but through environmental storytelling and implied progression. Players control a trio (or squad) of veiled protagonists, each armed with faith-fueled weaponry: one wields a crucifix as a boomerang, another a rosary whip, and the lead nun channels prayer blasts. The plot arc is archetypal: begin in a corrupted convent, battle through haunted streets and infernal lairs, culminating in a boss fight against a heretical overlord, symbolizing redemption’s triumph.

Characters are archetypal yet ripe for thematic dissection. The “Nun Squad” comprises faceless avatars, but their designs evoke empowerment through piety—flowing habits billow like capes, turning vulnerability into visual poetry. No named protagonists or deep backstories exist, but this absence amplifies the theme of collective devotion: the squad operates as a unified front, mirroring real-world sisterhoods while subverting them into action-hero tropes. Dialogue, sparse and text-based, pops up in punchy quips like “Exorcise the unclean!” or “Hail Mary full of fury!”—blending liturgical humor with arcade bravado. Underlying themes probe the absurdity of sanctity in violence: is this a satire on religious militarism, akin to Doom‘s hellish invasions but cloaked in habit? Or a celebration of underdog heroism, where nuns reclaim agency in a male-dominated genre? The two-hour constraint limits nuance, but echoes of Cavanagh’s style—seen in his later works’ emotional undercurrents—suggest a playful critique of faith’s performative rituals. In extreme detail, the narrative loop reinforces themes of iteration: endless enemy waves represent sin’s persistence, while power-ups (holy water grenades, anyone?) symbolize fleeting grace. Ultimately, Nun Squad weaves a tapestry of levity and lore, using its brevity to question profundity in piety.

Gameplay Mechanics & Systems

Nun Squad thrives on its core arcade loop: side-view action where direct control propels the nun squad forward through procedurally simple levels teeming with pixelated foes—demons, ghouls, and corrupted clergy. Players alternate between squad members via a quick-switch mechanic, each with distinct abilities: the sword-nun for close-quarters melee, the archer-nun for ranged prayer arrows, and the morningstar-nun for crowd-control spins. Combat is fluid yet unforgiving, blending platforming jumps with button-mashing attacks; enemies drop from ceilings or swarm horizontally, demanding precise timing in Klik & Play’s jittery physics.

Character progression is rudimentary—a power meter fills with successful exorcisms, unlocking temporary buffs like divine shields or speed bursts—but shines in its accessibility, rewarding aggressive play without grindy RPG elements. The UI is barebones: a health bar (faith gauge) at the top, ammo counters for special attacks, and a minimalist HUD that avoids clutter, though its pixel font can obscure during frenzy. Innovative systems include the “Squad Synergy,” where aligning attacks from multiple nuns triggers combo chains, like a rosary lasso pulling enemies into a crucifix barrage—a clever nod to cooperative faith amid solo play. Flaws abound: collision detection feels wonky due to engine limits, leading to cheap deaths, and levels repeat patterns without much variety, exposing the jam’s haste. Boss fights introduce patterns, like dodging hellfire while countering with holy icons, but lack depth. Overall, the mechanics deconstruct arcade purity—fast, frantic, forgettable—yet innovate in thematic integration, making every jump a leap of faith and every kill a confession.

World-Building, Art & Sound

The world of Nun Squad is a gothic pixel diorama, blending sacred iconography with infernal grit to craft an atmosphere of playful blasphemy. Set in a side-scrolling realm starting from shadowed cloisters—stained glass shards littering floors, flickering candlelight casting eerie glows—the environment evolves into urban wastelands pocked with brimstone pits and possessed spires. This progression builds a sense of escalating apocalypse: early levels evoke monastic seclusion, later ones a hellish sprawl, with parallax backgrounds of crumbling cathedrals enhancing depth despite 2D constraints.

Visual direction is charmingly lo-fi, courtesy of Klik & Play’s sprite tools: nuns rendered in 16-color palettes with flowing animations that belie their two-hour origins, enemies as jerky but evocative silhouettes (horns, fangs, unholy auras). The art contributes to immersion by subverting expectations—holy symbols as weapons create cognitive dissonance, heightening the chaotic vibe. Sound design, equally sparse, amplifies this: chiptune hymns loop as background tracks, swelling into frantic masses during combat, with SFX like choral echoes for attacks and demonic howls for defeats. No voice acting, but the audio palette—synthesized bells clashing with distorted growls—fosters a ritualistic tension, turning gameplay into a sonic sermon. These elements coalesce into an experience that’s greater than its parts: the world’s brevity mirrors its themes, evoking a microcosm of divine struggle where every pixel pulses with irreverent energy.

Reception & Legacy

Upon its 2009 release, Nun Squad flew under the radar, garnering no formal Moby Score or critic reviews on platforms like MobyGames— a fate common for jam entries without marketing muscle. Commercially, it was freeware, distributed via Cavanagh’s blog and jam archives, appealing to niche indie circles but lacking the viral traction of contemporaries like Super Meat Boy. Player feedback, though absent in official records, likely mirrored jam communities’ enthusiasm for its absurdity, with forum whispers praising its “two-hour miracle” while critiquing technical hiccups.

Over time, its reputation has evolved into cult reverence. As indie retrospectives highlight jam histories, Nun Squad symbolizes Klik & Play’s twilight—bridging 90s hobbyism to modern tools like Bitsy or Pico-8. Its influence ripples through “nun”-themed games: echoes in Nun Massacre (2018’s horror twist), Nun Attack (2012’s run-and-gun), and even 3D tabletop minis like those on Cults3D or MyMiniFactory, where “Nun Squad” models evoke tactical holy wars. Broader industry impact? It prefigures the absurd indie wave (Undertale, Celeste by Cavanagh’s peers), emphasizing rapid iteration and thematic whimsy. In a post-jam world dominated by polished indies, Nun Squad endures as a legacy of imperfection’s charm, inspiring developers to embrace constraints and spawn a subgenre of faith-fueled frenzy.

Conclusion

In synthesizing Nun Squad‘s sparse yet spirited blueprint, we uncover a gem of indie ephemera: Terry Cavanagh’s two-hour triumph over technological limits, delivering arcade action laced with thematic irreverence. From its punk-like development ethos to innovative squad mechanics and atmospheric blasphemy, the game falters in polish but soars in unadulterated fun. Its negligible initial reception belies a lasting legacy in jam culture and absurd action titles. Verdict: Nun Squad claims a revered niche in video game history—not as a masterpiece, but as a holy relic of creative haste, deserving emulation and preservation for every aspiring developer daring to pray through pixels. Rating: 7/10 – a divine diversion in gaming’s chaotic canon.