Renga in Blue

I’ve got two major projects in progress: Madrigals of Love and War, and another secret one.

However, those still need a lot of work I’d like to push to finish something. I have three shorter works in progress hanging around. All of them are of a science fiction flavor. I’d like to have at least an alpha (playable to the end on a walkthrough) version done by the end of the year. Which one should I work on?

(Vote in the comments, and give a reason. I won’t necessarily be going by a plurality here.)

• #1 Working title of “Theme Park”: Two beings of the deific-power sort are attempting to meddle with the time stream by averting a tragedy. You don’t play the deities, you play the one being meddled with. The opening is a touch misleading and might get changed, but I’ll quote it anyway:
  

  Ah, a day at the park! The Fourth Open Symposium On Genetics has been more grueling than expected, so you’ve skipped a day to relive your childhood. You storm the gates of MedievalLand right at opening, and make it to the The Loop Ourborus before a line begins to form. A car all to yourself — what bliss!

• #2 No working title: I suppose this one could be best considered a cross between Little Blue Men, Bad Machine, and The U.S. Men’s Hockey Team Olympic Challenge.
  

  So, those fellows at R3694 think they’re better than you? Floating eye units get no respect. Look at the retractable arm — look! — see, it can hold things and move things and fix things, how about a station on the Galactic Border where the war is going on? — but no, their wonderfully infallible artificial intelligence is sending you down from “abandoned space station” duty to “completely lifeless mining asteroid” duty. They’re going to refit this place into a zero-g handball court, hm? Perhaps a little mischief before you depart is in order.

• #3 Working title: Beautiful Things. The main character’s brother just died. It’s time to retrieve the family album from his basement. The prose is a bit less straightforward on this one.
  

  Pity on your brother. Good chap in soul, but got all gummin in the drink and what can you do. Cops weren’t sure how he fell like he did, ragdoll body on the pavement, but autopsy and testimony tracked down “astronomical” amounts of the sour clear stuff like it was his blood of life.

  Sure, he didn’t like you, but he didn’t like anybody. All the rage. Called his mum (different from yours) a “swine-swilling-hag-bag”.

  Clearing out the house all’s left. There’s a family album in the basement. Step sprightly. What have you but the jamb jars loose and the door skittles shut and you’re all locked in. Should be a key in the toolbox. No worries.