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Cliko Games
Guide your radioactive snake around the arena. Eat glowing pellets to grow longer and earn points. The longer you survive and the more you eat, the higher your score.
Desktop: Arrow keys or WASD to steer. Space or P to pause.
Mobile: Tap above, below, left, or right of the snake's head to turn that way. Tap the ⏸ button to pause.
Hitting your own body ends the game at every difficulty. Walls wrap around on Beginner–Hard (you pass through one side and appear on the other), but are solid and deadly on Very Hard and above. Toxic pellets (☠) appear on Hard+ and cause instant death on contact.
After eating a pellet, a bonus item may spawn. It disappears after 10 seconds if not collected. ★ Star doubles your score for 8 seconds. ⚡ Boost gives a speed surge plus 20 bonus points. ❄ Freeze slows you down for easier control. ◈ Shield saves you from one wall collision (Hard+ only). ☠ Toxic is instant death — avoid it.
Eat pellets within 3 seconds of each other to build a combo chain. Each consecutive eat adds +0.5× to the multiplier, maxing out at 3.5×. Miss the window and the chain resets to zero.
From Beginner to Cyborg ☠ — seven difficulty levels change speed, wall behaviour, and hazard density. Change difficulty any time using the dropdown at the top.
Radium Snake takes the snake you grew up with and gives it teeth. You still grow by eating and still die if you hit yourself — but the walls, the speed, and the hazard density all shift under you, so the comfortable autopilot of classic snake never quite settles in. The longer you survive, the more the board fights back. Seven difficulty levels change exactly how mean it gets, and your best run is saved on your device.
The first time I played a game like this, it was on a Nokia 1100, back in 2006. I loved it so much that years later I built my own version — this one. So Radium Snake is a bit of a dedication: to that little monochrome screen, to the long bus rides spent chasing a pixel snake, and to everyone who remembers playing it the same way. This one's for us, the nostalgic ones. Radium Snake is the arcade end of the catalog — if you want more of that fast, reactive feel, try Bubble Zap or Block Drop next.
Radium Snake is pure nostalgia, and I'll name the sources: a handheld gaming device from my childhood, and an old Nokia 1100 whose snake game was one of its levels of joy — pure fun from before touchscreens came calling. If you had one of those phones, you know exactly the feeling this page is chasing: a game so simple it fit in a few kilobytes, and so right that people played it until the buttons wore smooth. My personal record with the old snake: two hours straight, one game, so long the snake ate itself — a proper Ouroboros. And the reason this build exists at all is stranger than plain nostalgia: I saw an Ouroboros tattoo on a girl's arm while waiting at a grocery store in Toronto, and the whole two-hour memory came flooding back in line at the checkout. Some games get built from market research. This one got built from a tattoo and a queue.
The game needs no introduction — eat, grow, don't hit anything, especially yourself — so let me go straight to the mistake that ends more snake runs than every wall combined: cutting corners too tight and clipping your own tail. Early on, tight turns are free; the snake is short, the body clears the corner before you return to it, and aggressive cornering feels like skill. But here's the property players always feel too late: the safe turning radius grows as the snake lengthens. Every apple makes yesterday's turn tomorrow's collision. The tight U-turn that was stylish at length ten is suicide at length forty, because the body now occupies the space your turn needs — and the player is still steering the short snake they remember, not the long one they've actually become.
The discipline: leave a lane. Never turn back alongside your own body without an exit — a visible gap your head can reach before the corridor closes behind you. The strong pattern is perimeter-and-sweep: run wide loops that keep your body organised along the edges, harvest the middle in clean passes, and treat every approach to your own body as a standing question: where do I leave from here? The moment you're travelling parallel to your own tail with no exit planned, you're already dead; the collision just hasn't been scheduled yet. Long-snake play is city planning — keep your roads wide, your blocks tidy, and your escape routes drawn before you ever enter the street.
The daily run lands at midnight, same seed for everyone. Play long enough and maybe you'll meet the Ouroboros yourself — two hours, one snake, tail in mouth. It's a strange badge of honour. I wear it still.
And embrace the pace change: the early game is a sprint, the long game is chess at speed. The players with the highest scores aren't the ones with the fastest reflexes — they're the ones whose snake never surprises them.
