In Everything you play as everything. A fleet of flying sofas, a tiny ant, a string of DNA floating on the wind. You can play as giant trees, erupting forth from the ground as you sprout and slither your way across the land, or perhaps you’d prefer to lead an entire orchestra’s worth of musical instruments through the purple, unending void inside an alien spacecraft. You can even do a little dance to spawn other trees or trumpets (or pebbles, or beetles or a drawer full of spoons) to grow your empire of assorted sentient objects until you can see nothing but trees and trumpets (or rhinos, or giraffes or ten-pin bowling bowls). As that old-fashioned saying goes, the world is truly your oyster in Everything, and I absolutely love the idea of being able to see the world through a million different pairs of eyes. The only problem is that some of those eye sockets are more fun than others.