Category: Rules of Survival

Unprepared: An Interloper Survival Diary in The Long Dark Log #5 – Final Day: Sixteen Days, One Mistake

Unprepared Final Log: Sixteen Days, One Mistake

Difficulty: Interloper
Region: Forlorn Muskeg → Mystery Lake
Platform: Steam Deck
Survivor: Will

Video: Return to Mystery Lake and final encounter (no commentary)

The plan today was simple. That should have been the warning sign.

The goal was clean and sensible: get back to Mystery Lake, collect the materials for a bow,
and spend tomorrow crafting. I sleep a little longer while the forge fire is still going,
pull as many torches as I dare, and head out.

After yesterday’s success, I let myself believe the hardest part was behind me.
That belief does not last long.

Across the Muskeg, Again

I stick to the snow wherever possible. Thin ice has ended too many runs to gamble with it now.
The trade-off is wildlife, and the game is more than happy to collect.

What I initially take for a deer turns out to be a moose.
I reroute, lose time, and remind myself that this is still Forlorn Muskeg.
Nothing here is free.

Wolves shadow me on the approach to Mystery Lake.
They don’t commit, but they don’t leave either.
By the time I reach the Camp Office, I’m threading paths between animals again,
including another moose loitering exactly where I don’t want it.

The Derailment Detour

Near the train derailment, I spot circling birds.
It takes longer than it should, but I eventually find the deer carcass.
The wind is picking up, so I work quickly, harvesting some meat and finally giving
the improvised knife a proper test.

I pause to think.
The smart move is turning back to the Camp Office.
Instead, I press on.

The Bridge

Wolves appear again, keeping their distance.
I keep a flare ready and tell myself I’m prepared.
When things seem quiet, I put it away.

That’s when I see the wolf on the bridge.

It reaches me before the flare burns out.
My condition collapses into the red.
I need a bandage immediately.

I don’t have one.

Crafting would take too long.
I gamble on an old man’s beard lichen dressing, forgetting — too late —
that it treats infection, not blood loss.

I bleed out on the bridge.

Epilogue

This death stung more than most.
Not because it was unfair, but because it was entirely avoidable.
The temptation to cheat death was there, and it nearly won.

But this run mattered.
If the rules bend at the end, they never mattered at all.
So this is where it ends.

Sixteen days is the longest I’ve survived on Interloper in
The Long Dark.
It’s no longer a record.

It’s the number to beat.

Continue the Journey

Previous Log | Final Log

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Isolation Protocol: An Alien Isolation Survival Diary – Log 4: The Cost of Opening Doors

Isolation Protocol Log 4: The Cost of Opening Doors

Platform: Steam Deck
Difficulty: Medium
Rule Set: Apex Predator Rule Active

Video: Lockdown disabled, Xenomorph encounter, motion tracker acquired, Working Joes escalate (no commentary)

I need to lift the lockdown. I’m not convinced that is the right move.

The corridor I needed was sealed off completely. Doors red. Shutters down. No obvious way around it. I checked a nearby terminal first, hoping for something reassuring in the logs, but all I found was confusion. Staff unsure what was happening. Systems failing. No one really in control. It read like a station that already knew it was in trouble.

Eventually I disabled the security measures. There wasn’t another viable route forward. The moment I did, there was a metallic shift above me — subtle, but unmistakable once you recognise it. I barely had time to register the sound before it dropped from the ceiling.

The Xenomorph.

It landed with control. No rush. No panic. Just deliberate movement. I slid under the nearest desk and stayed perfectly still, forcing myself not to adjust position or overcorrect the camera. Its tail moved in and out of view at the edge of my vision, slow and patient. I couldn’t tell if it genuinely hadn’t seen me or if it simply hadn’t decided I was worth the effort yet.

After a stretch of silence that felt far longer than it probably was, it moved through the doorway I had just reopened. That was when it settled in. I hadn’t cleared an obstacle. I had expanded its territory.

The Rule Becomes Real

This was the moment the Apex Predator Rule stopped being theoretical. Five deaths to it and the run ends. If I complete the station and finish the game, I win. Everything else is background noise. The humans don’t decide the outcome. The androids don’t decide the outcome. The thing in the vents does.

Narrowing the threat makes it sharper. I don’t have to fear everything equally. I just have to respect it.

The Room Beyond

The next door required another hack. I matched the symbols more carefully than usual, fully aware that the ceiling mattered just as much as the floor. When the door opened, I heard screaming before I saw anything. It was already in the room.

I stayed back and watched it move. It was quick and disturbingly controlled. There was no frenzy in the way it hunted — just intent. Then it climbed into a vent. Right above where I needed to go to progress.

For a moment I stood there weighing whether to wait or gamble. I also noticed something I hadn’t seen before: it left someone alive. I’ve watched it clear this exact room without hesitation in previous playthroughs. This time it didn’t. That unpredictability unsettled me more than the violence did.

I moved carefully after that. Another terminal. Another quiet hack. When the door shut behind me, I saw it further down the corridor. Not charging. Not searching wildly. Just present.

That felt intentional.

The Working Joes

The Working Joes were calm at first. Polite. Neutral. One instructed me to sit down and wait for assistance. I declined. Waiting has not proven to be a reliable survival strategy here.

I explained that I needed to contact the Torrens. The response was measured but unhelpful. Whether they couldn’t assist or simply wouldn’t was impossible to tell. Their tone never changes, and that makes them difficult to read.

I kept moving and eventually found something more useful than conversation: the motion tracker.

The Motion Tracker

It’s a small device, but it changes everything. For the first time, I wasn’t relying purely on sound and instinct. When it pinged behind me and I was already prepared for movement, I realised how exposed I had been before.

It doesn’t remove the fear. It just gives it structure.

The Shift

The change didn’t build gradually. It flipped.

A man panicked. I didn’t fully understand what he was trying to do, but his actions triggered something within the station’s systems — within Apollo itself. Whatever line the Working Joes had been standing behind vanished.

Their tone flattened further. Their posture shifted. The polite distance disappeared. It wasn’t random aggression. It was a response.

His decision caused it.

From that moment on, they were no longer passive obstacles. The station had reclassified the situation, and I was now part of the problem.

The Elevator

An elevator blocked the path forward, monitored by a security camera. I watched its sweep pattern carefully before slipping into a nearby room to disable it. Even after turning it off, I waited a few seconds longer than necessary. This station punishes impatience.

Calling the lift felt louder than it should have. The wait stretched. With the tracker in hand, every quiet second felt temporary.

When the doors finally closed, I caught sight of the Torrens again through the glass. Verlaine was still broadcasting for help. I don’t know who is left on this station capable of answering her.

The Xenomorph moves through the ceilings. The Working Joes control the corridors. I’m trying to survive in the narrow spaces between them.

Continue the journey:
Isolation Protocol Log 3 |
Isolation Protocol Log 5
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Eight Pages – A Slender: The Arrival Survival Diary Log 2: Strike One

Eight Pages – Log 2: Strike One

Platform: Steam Deck
Rule Set: Apex Predator Rule Active (1 / 3 Strikes)

Video: First strike recorded, a choke point mistake, and a second attempt under pressure (no commentary)

The forest drew first blood.

A little transparency before we begin properly. I had already stepped into this map once, collected the scrapbook items, and then realised I wasn’t recording. That’s why those pickups don’t show the usual notification. A strong start. Completely intentional. Obviously.

We continue where Log 1 left us. Survival instincts of a potato fully engaged, I head deeper into Oakside Park. As I pass what I assume is the canoe rental building — based entirely on a large sign suggesting that it is — my character slows. I hear something. It sounds like whispers carried on the air. Or maybe just wind doing a very good impression.

The pace returns to normal, but something has shifted. This is where the chapter really begins.

I reach the park layout sign and stop. The paths are mapped out clearly. Landmarks marked. I try to commit as much of it to memory as I can. I know this is going to matter later. Behind the sign is the first page. I take it.

And then I hear that sound.

It’s been over ten years since I last heard it, but it hasn’t lost its edge. That low, deliberate cue that signals one thing and one thing only: Slender has taken his first step.

Eight pages are scattered across the park. I need to collect them before he catches me. Simple objective. Complicated execution.

I didn’t make it to eight.

On page five, I entered a building. It had one entrance and one exit. I knew that. I went in anyway. I grabbed the page and turned around. He was already standing in the doorway.

No dramatic chase. No narrow escape. Just a blocked exit and rising static. I tried to push past him. He didn’t move. The screen filled with noise and the forest claimed its first strike.

Strike One.

Before going back in, I want to peel the curtain back for a moment.

This map never changes its shape. The paths stay where they are. The landmarks don’t move. There are nine key locations across the park, and eight of them will contain a page. Which eight changes each run, but the layout itself remains constant.

Slender’s behaviour escalates with every page collected. The more you gather, the more aggressive he becomes. By page seven, he is relentless. Sprinting feels like control, but stamina drains quickly, and once you commit to a bad position late-game, there’s little room for error.

Entering a single-exit building at five pages wasn’t unfair. It was poor timing. The forest didn’t cheat. It capitalised.

So I went back in.

Same park. Same layout. Different page placements. This time I found that same building early and cleared it immediately. I didn’t want to face that choke point near the end again. With the landmarks fixed in place, it becomes possible to track where you’ve been. Once you confirm a location has no page, you eliminate it from consideration. The park starts to shrink.

He appeared several times. Close enough to raise the static. Close enough to make me question my route. But not close enough to end it.

Seven pages collected. One missing.

I reached a fork in the path and hesitated. I took the right route first. It led back toward the car. Not what I needed. I doubled back, expecting him to be waiting. He wasn’t.

The other path led to a tent. And pinned against it, almost casually, was page eight.

I grabbed it. The footsteps stopped.

He appeared behind me. My character suddenly decided cardio was a priority and broke into a sprint before everything faded to black.

Map cleared.

But the forest has already taken one strike.

Two remain.

Log 2 Takeaways

  • A single-exit building at five pages is a calculated risk, not bad luck.
  • The map layout stays the same — page placement does not.
  • Slender escalates with every page collected.
  • Clearing choke points early changes the late-game pressure.
  • Strike One proves the Apex Predator Rule is active.
Continue the journey:

Log 1 |
Log 2 (You are here) |
Log 3

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Isolation Protocol: An Alien Isolation Survival Diary – Log 2: Guns, Generators, and a Very Bad Introduction

Isolation Protocol Log 2: Guns, Generators, and a Very Bad Introduction

Game: Alien: Isolation
Platform: Steam Deck
Location: Sevastopol Station – Arrivals & Transit

Video: Arrivals scavenging, orange-lock hunt, Axel meet, stealth tutorial, and first Xenomorph encounter (no commentary)

I saw people run. I decided copying them was a solid life choice.

The last log ended with survivors sprinting for their lives. I followed.
They rewarded that decision by locking the door behind them.
So, plan B: keep moving, keep quiet, and keep pretending I’m not the most lootable person on Sevastopol.

I drifted through what felt like the off-duty end of Arrivals/Departures and caught a glimpse of the Torrens.
Of course, they didn’t see me. Of course, the shutters chose that exact moment to drop like they had opinions.
New objective: find a way to contact the ship before I become another unread terminal entry.

Loot Goblin Behaviour (With Added Dread)

Progress is slow. Not “enjoy the scenery” slow — more “every door is either locked, unpowered, or mocking me” slow.
I kept scavenging anything not bolted down, reading terminals, and listening to messages from people who used to live here.
I still don’t know what happened on Sevastopol, but I’m confident it was loud, messy, and not solved by good manners.

Then I found it: a door with a big orange lock.
Not my problem yet, but definitely my future problem.
And it wasn’t the only one. The station’s decorating theme is apparently “sealed access points and regret.”

The Maintenance Jack Incident

A message mentioned someone going nuts with a maintenance jack, and that they’d been locked in a room.
I eventually found them… and it looked like one of two things happened:
something killed him, or he killed himself.

The room had an orange lock. If he had the tool to open it, he could’ve walked out.
So I’m leaning toward something got in — and that “something” didn’t leave a note.

Before committing to the obvious route, I did a quick sweep through the one other door I could open,
grabbed what I could, and then headed back toward the big, bright, orange problem.

Meet Axel: The Gun-Point Welcome Committee

Cutscene time. I meet Axel, who opens negotiations by putting a gun to my head.
I offered him a way off Sevastopol: help me contact the Torrens, and he gets a seat.
Fair deal. Mutually beneficial. Sensible.

Axel doesn’t share that offer with the two other people we bump into, though.
Which, in hindsight, should’ve been my first clue that “teamwork” isn’t exactly thriving here.

Flashlight, Batteries, and the Stealth Crash Course

Axel takes me to his hideout — apparently where he’s been camping for the past week —
and hands me a flashlight and batteries.
Great. Useful.
Also: we literally just avoided armed survivors, and he told me to avoid armed survivors,
so giving me a beacon-on-a-stick feels… optimistic.

Then it’s stealth school.
I get sent to turn off a generator so a group of people — who have been told to shoot on sight —
go and investigate it.
At this point I’m already regretting offering Axel a lift.
I didn’t realise “help me escape” included “use me as bait.”

Axel Immediately Does the Opposite of His Own Advice

Axel’s big survival tips are: stay low, keep quiet, don’t draw attention.
Five minutes later he’s standing around like he’s waiting for a bus.
Not even hiding. Just… existing loudly in a corridor.

I ended up taking charge and basically herding him where he needed to go,
because apparently I’m the responsible adult now.
Which is terrifying, considering my main skill so far is “pick up scrap.”

And then Axel does it again: he headshots someone.
Loud. Clean. Final.
The exact opposite of “keep it down.”
So now we’re sprinting, because subtlety is dead and we’re trying not to join it.

The Xenomorph Introduces Itself

Another cutscene. And this time the station finally shows its real problem:
the Xenomorph.
It appears, it moves like a nightmare, and it removes Axel from my list of concerns.

I had a brief moment of wondering why Ripley doesn’t grab the gun.
Maybe it feels wrong. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe the game isn’t letting me.
Either way, I’m unarmed, underqualified, and very aware of how loud my breathing is.

Transit becomes the next lifeline — a long, stressful wait while my brain replays what I just saw.
The Xenomorph took Axel out like it was swatting a fly.
There’s absolutely no reason it wouldn’t do the same to me.

Transit finally arrives, and I step in like it’s salvation.
I’m hoping I’ve left the Xenomorph behind.
I’m also not stupid enough to believe that will last.

Log 2 Survival Notes

  • Loot everything, but assume every corridor has a consequence.
  • Orange locks = future progress gate. Make a note, don’t spiral.
  • Terminals and recordings tell you what happened here. It isn’t comforting.
  • Stealth matters, even when NPCs refuse to participate.
  • If someone says “keep it down” and then fires a gun, don’t follow their life advice.
  • Transit is safety… until it isn’t.
Continue the journey:
Log 1 | Log 3
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Submerged: A Subnautica Survival Diary – Log 7: Islands Ruins, and the Question

Submerged Log 7: Islands, Ruins, and the Question

Game: Submerged: A Subnautica Survival Diary
Platform: Steam Deck
Survivor: Riley

Video: Southern exploration and island discovery (no commentary)

This log took longer than it should have. Not because nothing happened, but because I wasn’t ready to write it.

A brief peek behind the curtain: I wasn’t in a great place mentally for a while, and these logs stalled because of it.
Things are steadier now, and I’m ready to keep going.

The last time I stopped, the Sunbeam had been destroyed.
Not delayed. Not diverted. Gone.
Whatever hope I’d attached to rescue went with it.

After the Sunbeam

With no clear direction left, I returned to the lifepod and spent far too long doing nothing useful.
Eventually, the obvious thought landed: if there’s one island, there have to be others.

I chose to head south of the Aurora first.
If that turned up nothing, I’d sweep left or right until I hit land or found the island with the weapon platform.
It wasn’t a good plan, but it was a plan.

Limits of the Seamoth

I set off in the Seamoth, aware of its limits.
I want depth modules, but that means a Moonpool, and that isn’t an option yet.
Soon, hopefully.

I checked scattered wreckage along the way and came up empty.
No upgrades, no breakthroughs, just debris and reminders that others tried and failed here first.

Then I spotted something that wasn’t wreckage.

The Second Island

Another island broke the surface ahead of me.
Solid ground, at last.

The wildlife made it clear I wasn’t welcome.
I launched a couple of them into the sea out of necessity and irritation.
They were persistent. I was done negotiating.

The upside is food.
Real food.
For the first time in a while, I’m not entirely reliant on a fish-only diet.

More importantly, the island holds man-made structures.
Old ones.
Weathered, decaying, and clearly abandoned.

The PDAs fill in the gaps.
Whoever lived here didn’t leave recently, and they probably didn’t leave by choice.

Blueprints and Bad Construction Ahead

As I scanned the ruins, another idea took hold.
I don’t need to live out of the lifepod forever.

A new base is possible.
Not today, but soon.
I’ll need materials, a location, and a rough design.
I will almost certainly ignore that design halfway through.

If you thought my Minecraft bases were questionable, this will not reassure you.

The island does at least reward me with progress:

  • Stasis Rifle blueprint
  • Improved swim fins blueprint

Useful upgrades.
Comforting ones.
Which usually means the game is about to escalate.

A Message, Then a Voice

With nothing else pulling me forward, I head back toward the lifepod.
I’d received a radio message earlier and ignored it long enough.

Another lifepod signal.
Another reason to leave safety behind.

On the way, I notice something in the distance.
A shadow that doesn’t quite exist.
It moves, but there’s nothing there to see.

Whatever it is, it waits until the radio message ends.

Then it asks a single question:

“Who are you?”

Continue the Journey

Previous Log | Next Log

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Survivor’s Log — Cold-Blooded: The Hub Page Is Now Live

Cold-Blooded: The Hub Page Is Now Live

Game: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Mode: Survival Mode

This run needed a foundation before it needed a first entry.

The hub page for Cold-Blooded: A Skyrim Survival Diary is now live.

This series follows an Argonian mage in Skyrim’s Survival Mode, using the Apex Predator Rule: three deaths total, and the third ends the run.

The hub outlines the rules, the format, and why this run exists, without jumping straight into the diary itself.

What You’ll Find on the Hub

  • The full ruleset, including the three-strike system
  • Build focus and combat restrictions
  • Context from the previous Skyrim Survival run
  • Space for future logs as the run progresses
You can find the hub page

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Outlast – Entry 1: Red Flags as a Route Map

Platform: Steam Deck
Run Type: Apex Predator Rule (3 strikes and I’m out)
Location: Mount Massive Asylum
Status: Alive, unsettled, and still walking forward

Series Hub:

Outlast – Apex Predator Run Hub

I’m driving toward Mount Massive Asylum with a camera on the passenger seat and an email from a whistleblower glowing like a warning label.

The message is simple: bad things are happening here. Come see it for yourself.

My character treats this less like a warning and more like a treasure map.

The red flags stack up quickly. Trespassing. Isolation. A building that looks abandoned even when it isn’t.

I break in. The asylum responds by killing the lights almost immediately.

I continue onward anyway.

The First Hint (Ignored)

The atmosphere is wrong. Not just old or decayed — more like the building is aware I’m here.

I find a man impaled on a massive spike. He’s still alive long enough to give me advice.

“Get out.”

It’s the clearest instruction I’ll receive all night. I ignore it.

I try to leave. I can’t. The only way forward is through the security room.

Going back the way I came is no longer an option. Horror logic has made that decision for me.

Chris Walker Makes a Point

I don’t reach the security room before the asylum escalates.

A very large, half-naked man appears, calls me “little pig”, and throws me through a window.

I land one floor below, alive, shaken, and very aware that my camera is not a weapon.

He doesn’t chase me.

That somehow makes it worse.

A Higher Calling

Not long after, I encounter a man dressed like a priest — or at least someone borrowing the aesthetic.

He tells me I have a higher calling.

Then he leaves me alone in the dark.

I explore further. The inmates are hostile. Interviews are cancelled.

Eventually, I find what I actually need: the keycard for the security office.

Security Room Problems

I swipe the keycard and prepare for progress.

Instead, the religious man reappears. He knows I’ve been watching him through the cameras.

To prove the point, he shuts down the generator.

The asylum drops onto backup power.

Objective: restart the generator in the basement.

The game tells me to hide.

I listen.

Through the door comes the large man again. I record him, because my character keeps confusing documentation with safety.

Files I’ve picked up finally give him a name.

Chris Walker.

I now need to go to the basement.

I have a feeling Chris Walker will be there first.

Video

Apex Predator Rule Reminder

  • Every death counts as one strike.
  • Three strikes ends the run.
  • Panic, curiosity, and bad decisions are not exemptions.

Continue the journey:
Outlast – Entry 1 (You are here) |
Outlast – Entry 2

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🩸 Derailed & Doomed: A Choo Choo Charles Survival Diary Log 6: Three Eggs and a Funeral (Probably)

“Two eggs to go. One murderous locomotive. And a sermon that really didn’t age well.”


🎥 Watch Log 6: Three Eggs and a Funeral (Probably)

Faith, Paint, and Poorly Sighted Cultists

With two eggs remaining, I decide I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Time to face destiny — or at least, sprint toward it screaming.

The first target: the mine in the middle of the island. On the way, I stumble upon a church, complete with a sermon that sounds more like a cult recruitment speech than holy scripture. I also find a can of black paint — clearly divine intervention — so I treat my train to a new coat before heading inside the mine.

The cultists here… well, let’s just say the masks are doing more harm than good. One could’ve had a clean shot on me, but apparently, I was invisible. What begins as a stealth mission quickly devolves into “grab the egg and run.” I sprint out, bullets whizzing past, praying my train hasn’t wandered off without me. Once the shooting stops, I open the map, mark my train, and plan my route to the final mine.

The Bug Spray Revelation

Two mines down, two eggs in hand, one to go — and Charles knows it. His whistle cuts through the air as I make my way toward the last mine. This time, though, I’m prepared.

I’ve learned that the bug spray isn’t just for keeping his ugly mug at bay; it deals slow, steady chip damage if used sparingly. It’s not glamorous, but it’s something. I’ll need to remember this for our inevitable final showdown.

After a short skirmish, Charles retreats. I let him go — we’ll finish this soon enough.

The Final Egg

The southern mine awaits. Inside, I get another chance to show off my lockpicking skills — not that anyone’s watching. For a brief, glorious moment, I think the place might actually be abandoned.

Then I hear the whistling.

So, back to the classic strategy: Run. Grab. Run again. I burst out of the mine clutching the last egg, a cultist hot on my heels. Fortunately for me (and unfortunately for him), I reverse my train right over him. Efficient, if a little messy.

The three eggs are mine. One final stop remains — the shrine, the signal, the point of no return. Either I end Charles… or he ends me.

Next Stop: The Final Fight

I take one last look at the map. Every track, every encounter, every scrap of metal has led to this. The next log will be the last — one way or another.

It’s time to finish this.

Continue the journey:
Previous Log (Log 5) |
Final Log
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Submerged: A Subnautica Survival Diary – Day 1: The Peeper in the Pod

Submerged: A Subnautica Survival Diary – Day 1

Difficulty: Survival Mode (Steam Deck Edition)

Welcome to 4546B

I wake to alarms, a smoking console, and one extremely calm Peeper hovering in the middle of my lifepod like it pays rent. Fire out, situation stable, roommate secured. I catch it. I cook it. Breakfast of champions.

The PDA boots into Emergency Mode with the sort of cheerful corporate tone that suggests HR wrote it. Regardless, it’s my lifeline now, so I listen.

First Steps (and First Swims)

Before diving, I pin the essentials:

  • O₂ Tank — lungs are optional, but preferred.
  • Fins — I’d rather swim fast than panic slowly.

A few quick foraging runs later and I’ve got both crafted, plus a Repair Tool and a Scanner. The ocean is being cooperative… for the moment.

Right on cue, the radio chirps in with an update: rescue ETA 9… 9… 9… 9… 9 hours. So, roughly eleven and a half years. Excellent. I’ll, uh, keep busy.

Nightfall, Notes, and New Blueprints

Scanner built, I point it at everything that moves (and several things that don’t). The shallows hum with life — coral pulsing softly beneath me, strange silhouettes drifting just beyond visibility. It’s beautiful in a way that feels like a warning.

Darkness drops quickly, and scanning in pitch black is just guessing with extra beeps, so I pin a Torch for tomorrow.

At first light I spot Seaglide fragments. One scan later and the blueprint unlocks. New goal: build it before the day ends — because slow swimming is a lifestyle choice I refuse to adopt.

Then: a ping from Lifepod 3. Marker acquired. I’ll head there once the Seaglide is humming.

Crash Fish Chaos

While hunting materials, I discover two facts in rapid succession: Crash Fish hate visitors, and they express this by exploding in your face. Two back-to-back detonations later, my health bar looks like a bad stock chart. I limp to the lifepod, patch up, and get back to work. Controlled recklessness: unlocked.

The Hunt for Copper

Finding copper is like looking for hope in a horror movie — technically present, rarely where you expect. I comb the shallows, finally crack the right limestone outcrop, and sprint-swim home to craft Copper Wire.

Moments later, the Seaglide is mine. Sleek, fast, and probably not covered by warranty. I take it for a celebratory lap around the pod and call it a day. Tomorrow: Lifepod 3.

End of Day Reflections

The sun sinks below the horizon, painting the shallows gold and the deeper water black. My vitals are stable, the pod is repaired, and I’ve managed not to die — all major wins in my book. The ocean hums quietly around me, equal parts beautiful and unnerving. Somewhere out there, Lifepod 3 is waiting. Hopefully with snacks.

Watch the Chaos

🎥 Subnautica Survival – Day 1
See the full adventure — from surprise Peeper roommate to Seaglide success — on YouTube:

Continue the Journey

Day 1 (You Are Here) |
Day 2 – The Voyage to Lifepod 3 (Coming Soon)

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Seven Days to Survive – Day 3: Honey, Zombies, and Home Improvements

Difficulty: Default Survival
Optional Rules: Permadeath, one horde night per week
“If you ever find yourself cornered by two zombies in a stranger’s living room, just remember: honey is nature’s antibiotic. Who knew bee juice would keep me alive?”

The Fetch Quest of Doom

The morning began with me jogging toward the latest house that Trader Rekt wanted looted for supplies. From the outside, it looked quiet — shutters drawn, roof sagging slightly, just another abandoned suburban home. But this is 7 Days to Die, so I knew the interior would be less “suburban charm” and more “screaming corpses.”

Sure enough, as soon as I hit the flag at the back of the property and stepped inside, the soundscape turned into a zombie alarm clock. Two of them barreled toward me, cutting off my escape. I managed to fight my way out, but not without a parting gift: infection. Perfect.

After clearing the stragglers and pocketing the supplies, I searched my pack for antibiotics. Nothing. A return trip to Papaw Residence confirmed the same — unless you count decorative piles of junk and a near-useless jar of murky water. But buried in a chest was salvation: honey. Exactly the right cure for my low-level infection. Bee magic saves the day.

Medical Centre Run

I staggered back to Rekt’s, handed over the supplies, and chose skill books as my reward. Then I spent some coin on more honey, because clearly zombies see me as a chew toy. Another fetch quest? Why not. This one sent me toward what looked like a pop-up medical centre — white tarps, overturned stretchers, and the distinct impression that the last patients didn’t leave voluntarily.

The zombies inside were fewer and slower, which suited my still-throbbing wounds. Looting the shelves, I stumbled on something that felt like Christmas morning: a cooking grill. Finally, the days of choking down charred snake meat are behind me. Now I can prepare food that doesn’t taste like it came out of a campfire accident.

I cleared the building, snagged the supplies, and returned to Rekt. My reward? Charred meat. Honestly, I think the man is trolling me. “Here’s some food, survivor.” Yes, Rekt, I literally just looted the thing that makes your reward obsolete. Thanks for nothing, champ.

Dew Collector Dreams

Back at Papaw, I started eyeing my supplies. Between yesterday’s scavenging and today’s haul, I realised I was close to crafting a Dew Collector. After a bit more rummaging and resource-gathering, the parts came together. I placed the contraption outside, whispered a hopeful prayer to the condensation gods, and waited.

After five minutes of staring at a metal bucket with mesh, I admitted that Dew Collectors are not exciting to watch in real time. With thirst still an issue, I decided to channel my boredom into base-building. The first layer of the horde base is now fully cobblestone. The second layer is patchwork, half cobble, half wood. The third layer? Still dreams and dust. At least I can say progress is being made, even if it looks more like a construction site than a fortress.

Thirst, the Silent Killer

The Dew Collector is great in theory, but water production is glacial. By mid-afternoon I was dehydrated again — stumbling around with blurry vision like I’d been on a pub crawl with the undead. Tomorrow, water is priority number one. Either the trader sells me a stash, or I’m boiling every murky puddle I find.

Still, the looming problem isn’t just thirst. It’s the horde night clock. Day 4 is practically here, and my base is still an empty shell. If I don’t switch gears soon, the zombies will be less “contained threat” and more “unwanted guests knocking down my half-finished walls.” Tomorrow, the hammer and cobblestone get priority — fetch quests can wait.

Continue the Journey

Day 2 | Day 3 (You Are Here) | Day 4 (Coming Soon)

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