Rohrer scrapped together what money was left and moved the family to Davis, California. A safer neighborhood with great weather, no mold, no drive-by shootings. The city has the highest number of post-graduate degrees per capita in America. "The people are like me," says Rohrer, giggling.

In California, Rohrer took some traditional gigs with the ad agency Tool of North America and the game consultancy company Gun. Both gigs were advertising and brand focused with some game design consulting as well. Rohrer never did substantial work for these people. Occasionally he would deliver a pitch that wouldn't get picked. He never completed any projects, and thus never got paid.

In the meantime, he designed personal projects from home, independently creating two PC games. Sleep is Death, an improvisational story-telling game for two-players, andInside a Star-filled Sky, a single-player infinitely recursive shooter. Being unlike anything else, they attracted positive press, and sold copies to help pay the rent.

While Rohrer was busy developing his personal projects, the founder and creative director of Gun, Wes Keltner, reached out with a new opportunity: a potential development contract.

Mark Seremet, the new CEO of Zoo, had been brought on to turn the company around. The publisher had made a name for itself pushing shovelware for the Nintendo DS, cheap and thoughtless games that capitalized on a current trend, but with that bubble bursting, Zoo needed something else - particularly a better image amongst core gamers. According to Keltner, Seremet contracted Gun to help find such talent for its new indiePub wing. Keltner then put Seremet and Rohrer in contact, sending the head of Zoo assets and design documents on behalf of the indie game maker, playing matchmaker of sorts.

Rohrer didn't have a new game to pitch, but he did have a DS game nearly finished. Following their meeting, Rohrer e-mailed Seremet a ROM of Diamond Trust of London. The CEO was so impressed that he hooked up Rohrer with a new Nintendo DS debug unit before his company had finished drawing a contract.

And the process sort of happened all over again. There was money and an office. And after a few months, the business flipped. And Nintendo made matters worse. For seven months, it wasn't clear if the Big N would allow the game to be published with the title and box art Rohrer wanted.

At GDC 2012, exactly three years after the birth of the project, Rohrer called Semeret on a pay phone and got the bad news. Zoo had promised Rohrer a release, but Semeret told Rohrer, "heart to heart that if they [manufactured the game] it would basically end their company." Rohrer laughs, and adds, "I don't really want that to happen to anybody."

Unlike Majesco, Zoo was eager to hear Rohrer's alternative release strategies. Because this is 2012, there was an obvious choice: Kickstarter. Zoo actually allowed Rohrer to set what percentage of the profits the publisher would receive, if the Kickstarter worked. As Rohrer tells me this he lets out a big laugh, as if the absurdity of this agreement is just hitting him. Their percentage, Rohrer tells me, is higher than they'd expected.

More direct and profitable than seeking reservations via Amazon or GameStop, Rohrer built a Kickstarter page, asking for payment upfront to cover the cost of manufacturing. Zoo brokered the manufacturing deal with Nintendo, and arranged for the initial run of 6,000 units to be shipped to Rohrer's house. Where they are today.