The blue gem in engagement rings — rubies are its red twin.
The dentist's giggly anaesthetic — and the whipped-cream propellant.
The sharp smell in window cleaner and smelling salts.
The corrosive liquid inside a car battery.
Most beach sand — and every glass window starts as this mineral.
The classic explosive stencilled on cartoon crates.
The red pigment ore miners once roasted to get a liquid metal.
Gunpowder's oxidiser, once scraped off cellar walls.
Covers most of the planet and falls out of the sky.
Smoking-cold blocks for stage fog — it never melts into a puddle.
Burnt limestone that hisses and heats up when water touches it.
Fertilizer pellets with an explosive reputation. The name decodes the recipe.
The old-school laundry mineral from desert lake beds.
The white plastic of drainpipes and window frames.
The cubic crystal that glows under UV light — it named one of its own elements.
The soap-maker's alkali — it dissolves grease and worse.
Blackboard sticks, seashells and the white cliffs of Dover.
The bath soak for sore muscles.
The chalky white antacid drink.
Natural gas: the blue flame under a kitchen pot.
Twenty everyday compounds, and for each one you name the chemical elements inside it. Water is hydrogen and oxygen. Table salt is sodium and chlorine. Rust is iron and oxygen.
This is the easy room of the periodic table: every compound is a household name, and the card tells you how many elements you need. You get ONE attempt per compound, and the game grades each answer the moment you fill its last slot.
The bank holds 31 compounds and every run draws a fresh 20.