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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Surviving the Backpack: My b4nny-Gifted Stickybomb Launcher Is Now a Page

A quick update — the write-up about my b4nny-gifted Stickybomb Launcher from the i52 fundraiser has now been moved to a dedicated page.

This piece of TF2 history deserved a permanent home, not just a slot in the blog feed where it might eventually get buried.

➡️ You can read the full story here: Surviving the Backpack: My b4nny-Gifted Stickybomb Launcher

Future survival logs and shenanigans will keep rolling on as normal, but if you want the full provenance, screenshots, and esports history behind this launcher, the page has it all.

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Surviving the Milky Way: An Elite Dangerous Survival Diary – Day 5: Day 5 – Rustbucket Retired, Rustfang Rises

Day 5 – Rustbucket Retired, Rustfang Rises

Difficulty: Standard Piloting
Optional Features: Tradepad-assisted profiteering

“These are the voyages of Commander Incognito: to deliver questionable amounts of data, dabble in Tritium trading, and retire ships faster than common sense would recommend.”

Courier by Day, Trader by Accident

I began the day staring down a tempting 13-jump courier mission and immediately said “absolutely not.” Instead, I poked around the mission board until I found something saner: data delivery for the Casual Crew over at Stargate’s Pride in Col 285 Sector II-P B20-8. Two jumps, easy life. Or at least that was the plan.

Meanwhile, the station was plastered with “donate to the cause” missions. Good causes, I’m sure. My cause, however, is not going broke. Instead, I tried my hand at trading. Thanks to the ED Tradepad app (my new best friend), I saw Tritium could net me a tidy profit. In-universe justification? A friendly dockworker at Tenn Terminal whispered: “You’ll make a few credits shifting this stuff.” Sold.

Three Jumps, Not Two

The trip was supposed to be straightforward. Supposed to be. With the cargo on board, my plotted course decided it wanted to add a bonus jump. I blame the Tritium, because blaming fuel makes me sound like I know what I’m doing. Still, it was a useful chance to fumble around the galaxy map and pretend I understood what all those filters do.

I delivered the data without trouble, pocketed my Tritium profit, and looked around Stargate’s Pride for what else it could offer. The answer: temptation.

Goodbye Rustbucket, Hello Rustfang

The shipyard beckoned. The ISS Rustbucket had been my loyal workhorse, but it was time for an upgrade. After much internal debate (and wallet screaming), I settled on a Cobra Mk IV. Tougher, meaner, and actually able to hold its own if someone looked at it funny. After some kitting out, I proudly christened it:
ISS Rustfang (RFN-5).

Naturally, I also gave it a vehicle bay and a shiny new Scorpion, because if you’re going to upgrade, you may as well go full “space SUV with off-road capabilities.”

First Spin in the Rustfang

To break it in, I accepted a modest courier job to Farris’ Remembrance in the Col 285 Sector DC-R b19-7 system. Easy enough — though I somehow managed to plot my course to an entirely different system on the galaxy map. Don’t ask. Let’s just say the navigation computer and I are still getting to know one another.

Despite the detour, the Rustfang flew beautifully. Nimble for its size, sturdy, and most importantly: mine. Mission complete, credits banked, and one very satisfied Commander.

Day 5 Wrap-Up

Rustbucket has been retired, Rustfang is born, and I even made a little profit along the way. Courier work? Handled. Trading? Profitable. Galaxy map? Still confusing. Tomorrow might be the day I finally see if bounty hunting agrees with me… emphasis on might.

Continue the journey:
Day 4 | Day 5 (You Are Here) | Day 6 (Coming Soon)
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Isolation Protocol – Log 4: The Joes Aren’t Alright

Rule Set: Three Strikes (Xenomorph only)
Location: Seegson Communications
“I’ve seen enough sci-fi to know that when the friendly android offers you a seat, you probably shouldn’t sit down.”

Back Upstairs, Back in Trouble

After possibly releasing the galaxy’s worst houseguest, I have no choice but to keep moving toward Seegson Communications. The other survivors? They can fend for themselves—if they’re still breathing.

I creep upstairs just in time to hear the Xenomorph deal with the group who wanted me dead. That’s… justice? Karma? Either way, I don’t plan on joining the casualty list. I get a quick glimpse of the creature before ducking behind a box. No thanks, not burning Strike One yet.

Moments later, I slip into the elevator, tuner in hand, praying it doesn’t decide to test its claws on the doors.

Welcome to Seegson Communications

The elevator opens, and who’s waiting? A Working Joe android. I can tell the designers blew the budget on “creepy plastic skin” and “unsettling stare mode.” Still, the first one politely offers me a seat. I decline. I’ve already got chairs at home.

Exploring further, I try to explain I need to contact the Torrens. The Joes, in their usual customer-service-death-mask tone, tell me that Communications is off-limits. Naturally, this means I’m going to have to sneak in.

Tracker, Toys, and Trust Issues

In the middle of poking around, I find something glorious: the motion tracker. Not only does it point toward objectives, but it immediately informs me that something is behind me. Cue panic—until I realise it’s just another Joe, calmly asking if everything is alright. (No, everything is not alright, pal.)

I also stumble on a blueprint for a noisemaker. Given how much stomping and hissing I’ve heard lately, this feels like crafting salvation.

But then I see it: Joes can’t be trusted. A human survivor argues with one, pulls a gun, fires—does nothing. The Joe responds by snapping him in half like a breadstick. Great. Now I know they’re not just weird, they’re actively homicidal. Thanks, random gun guy. You doomed us all.

Shut Down the Cameras

My objective: disable the surveillance cameras so I can sneak through. Problem: I have no idea where I’m going. Solution: follow the magic beeping rectangle.

The tracker points me toward the controls, while also telling me there are two Joes nearby. Excellent—nothing like disabling security while feeling like the least secure person alive.

I find the panel, turn off the cameras, and pocket a survivor’s ID tag because looting under pressure is apparently my thing. Then I wait. And wait. And wait for the world’s slowest elevator. I swear it was coming from the far side of the station.

Hope on the Airwaves

At last, I reach Communications. And then I hear it: the voice of the Torrens, cutting through the static. Actual hope, actual contact, actual chance of escape. For a moment, Sevastopol doesn’t feel like a tomb—it feels like a finish line I might actually reach.

Of course, the Joes are still wandering the halls, the Xenomorph is still on the loose, and the whole station feels one breath away from falling apart. But right now? I’ve got a signal. And that’s enough to keep going.

Log 4 Pro Tips

  • Never assume the Joes are harmless. They’re not.
  • Motion tracker = survival MVP. Treasure it.
  • Don’t trust other survivors with guns—they’ll get you all killed.
  • If an elevator takes too long, assume it’s mocking you.
Continue the journey:
Log 3 |
Log 4 (You Are Here) |
Log 5
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Failure Is Just Part of the Run

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?

“Don’t be afraid to fail.” In survival games, failure is inevitable — wolves, blizzards, zombies, you name it. But each disaster makes the next run better (and funnier). Turns out the same advice works outside of games too.

(Plenty more entertaining failures turned into lessons at Survivor Incognito.)

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Powered by Coffee and Chaos

What things give you energy?

Coffee, comfort food, and the thrill of not freezing to death in a survival game. There’s nothing like narrowly escaping wolves in The Long Dark or fixing a flipped truck in SnowRunner to wake me up faster than any energy drink.

(Plenty more chaotic boosts of “energy” at Survivor Incognito.)

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Soundtracking the Survival

What’s your all-time favorite album?

I don’t really stick to just one, but I’ll say this: any album that makes a survival game session feel like a movie soundtrack is my favourite. If I’m trudging through a blizzard in The Long Dark and it feels cinematic instead of tragic, the music’s done its

(Plenty more survival chaos that could use a soundtrack — at Survivor Incognito.)

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SnowRunner Survival: The Permagear Diaries – Day Ten: Bridges, Bumps, and Broken Dreams

SnowRunner Survival: The Permagear Diaries – Day 10: Bridges, Bumps, and Broken Dreams

Mode: Permagear Rules | Optional Features: Winch-assisted woodland detours

Back to the Dam

I start the day by taking Red back to the Smithville Dam garage to decide on my next move. Both of my current main objectives need wooden planks, and as far as I can tell, the only viable source is back in Black River. The plan: build the bridge first, then worry about the rest.

I hop into Frank for the job, only to be faced with the first challenge — actually getting him there. Instead of taking the standard road, I opt for a less-beaten path through the trees, using the winch liberally and clambering over rocks like a determined mountain goat in truck form. If Frank had feelings, I’d say he was trying to prove something.

Frank: The Reliable Workhorse

Once in Black River, I load up the planks and head back to Smithville Dam. Along the way, I can’t help but admire Frank’s handling — reliable, sturdy, and never letting you down. He’s the truck equivalent of that one friend who always brings snacks and never cancels plans.

I top him up at the fuel station as a precaution (he probably didn’t need it, but who doesn’t like a full tank?). Crossing the Dam, I briefly flash back to the Dam level in GoldenEye 64, half-expecting to see polygons of Soviet guards wandering about.

Bridge Complete

The delivery goes smoothly, and with the wooden planks in place, the bridge is now a reality. Objective one: done. Frank earns a well-deserved rest while I swap into Red for some post-bridge exploration.

Red’s Bouncy Adventure

Immediately, I’m reminded of the difference in handling: Frank sticks to the ground like he’s got magnetic tyres; Red prefers to bounce along it like an over-caffeinated pogo stick. Past the bridge, I find a promising-looking track and decide to follow it.

The path is a mix of mud, stones, and one dodgy river crossing that all but confirms Red will need a raised exhaust if such a thing exists. After wrestling through, I spot an upgrade ahead and let my hopes soar — could this be the elusive raised suspension for Frank I’ve been searching for? In my head, I’m already firing him up for a triumphant drive back to the garage.

Reality Check

It isn’t. Instead, it’s Engageable AWD for a White Star truck — a vehicle I don’t own. Still, at least it’s unlocked for the future. I follow the road and, somewhat anticlimactically, end up back on the other side of the bridge.

That’s where I call it for the day. Tomorrow, Red will keep exploring, and maybe — just maybe — I’ll finally complete The Essentials task.

Continue the Journey

Day 9 | Day 10 (You Are Here) | Day 11

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Seven Days to Survive – Day 2: Chickens, Bandages, and Pipe Bomb Decisions

Difficulty: Chill Solo
Optional Features: XP set to 150%

“The chicken wasn’t faster than me — it was simply playing 4D chess while I was stuck with a stone axe.”

Adjustments and Priorities

Loading back in, I realised I’d left my XP multiplier at default. Rookie mistake. Bumped it up to 150% — because if I’m going to die to zombies, I’d at least like to die while leveling a little faster.
First order of business: a buried food stash quest. Second: the elusive dew collector. The recipe calls for 100 scrap polymers, 4 short iron pipes, 4 duct tape, and ideally a water filter. Since I don’t have the filter yet, I’ll only get murky water — but with a cooking pot in the campfire, I can still boil it into something drinkable. Not glamorous, but thirst makes you less picky.

Survivor’s Tip: Dew Collector Water

  • With Water Filter: Collects clean water directly — no cooking needed.
  • Without Water Filter: Collects murky water. Use a cooking pot on the campfire to boil it safe.
  • Murky water is better than no water — just don’t forget to boil it, unless you enjoy dysentery roleplay.

The Chicken Incident

On the way, I decide to test my hunting skills. Enter: chicken. Exit: all my dignity. The little feathered gremlin zig-zagged through the grass like a professional sprinter, forcing me to waste more arrows than I care to admit.
After some zombie interference (probably hired muscle for the chicken mafia), I finally down it. A bone knife later, I had meat for dinner and a stockpile of feathers for arrows.

Blood and Bandages

At the buried stash location, a zombie ambushed me and managed to inflict a bleed. Thank you, starting bandage — you’ve earned your retirement.
Note to self: learn how to craft more. Turns out all you need is cotton → cloth fragments → bandage. Problem solved. My feather surplus also became arrow surplus. Feeling slightly more capable, I dug up the stash and headed back to Trader Rekt.

Pipe Bombs for Later

Rekt offered me a tough choice of rewards. I went with five pipe bombs, because nothing says “Horde Night insurance” like handheld explosives.
Next stop: Papaw residence to unload my loot, then scouting a new Horde base location.

First Steps Toward Horde Night

I laid out the foundations of a 6×3 base. Not glamorous, not reinforced, but it’s a start. I’ll reveal more of its design on the big night — for now, just know it exists, it’s square-ish, and it’s mine.
With daylight fading, I tried to squeeze in a fetch quest, but after one zombie fight it was already 9pm. Jogging zombies are not on my wishlist, so I postponed.

Evening at Papaw’s

Back at Papaw’s, I cooked up my chicken, learned eggs can be eaten raw (filed under: desperate measures), and salvaged what I could.
A zombie came knocking on my door uninvited, so I introduced them to my club. Afterwards, I excitedly crafted an armor crafting kit — only to immediately discover I had no clue how to use it. Survival irony at its finest.

Looking Ahead

Day 2 ends with preparations in motion but confidence on shaky legs. I’ve got pipe bombs, a half-built base, and one less chicken in the world. Tomorrow, I’ll knock out that fetch quest early and dedicate daylight to shoring up my defenses. Horde Night is coming, and I need all the help I can get.

Continue the journey:
Day 1 | Day 2 (You Are Here) | Day 3
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Surviving the Milky Way: An Elite Dangerous Survival Diary – Day 4: Pirates, Powerplay, and Pointless Terminals

Day 4 – Pirates, Powerplay, and Pointless Terminals

Playstyle: Courier–Bounty Hybrid (very heavy on the “hybrid”)
Optional Features: Unplanned NPC babysitting, mild existential dread

“These are the voyages of Commander Incognito aboard the Rustbucket: to dodge charity collectors, fail gracefully at space combat, and boldly lean on NPCs where no pride has survived before.”

Ramaswamy Point greeted me with the kind of smile you see on a fundraiser who’s already holding your wallet. Donation missions everywhere. Worthy causes, sure—if your definition of “worthy” includes me being broke. I decided to invest my credits in something more sustainable: self-preservation and very questionable career choices.

Mission Board Math: Credits Out vs. Hull Intact

After declining the interstellar charity gala, I grabbed two bounties that looked doable (or at least survivable): Emily Santopietro lurking in Col 285 Sector GJ-I a39-0, and a flamboyantly named menace called The Universal Alchemist in HR 7674. The order was obvious: Emily first. Why? Because between me and the Alchemist was a moon, and contrary to popular belief, I can’t Frame Shift through solid rock. Goals are good; physics is better.

Target #1: Emily Santopietro (Featuring: My Aim)

I dropped into the instance with the confidence of a pilot who’s watched several tutorials but retained none of the important bits. Pulse lasers primed, target locked, heroic music in my head—then reality. If I landed a single shot, it must have been by accident. Thankfully, the galaxy delivered: a few NPC bounty hunters showed up and treated Emily like an overdue library book. I contributed… moral support. And evasive maneuvers. Mostly evasive maneuvers.

Result: Emily down. My pride? Also down, but technically not on the mission summary screen, so we’re calling it a win.

Target #2: The Universal Alchemist (and the Loosely Organized Lunatics)

Next up: the Alchemist, a local headache apparently on the radar of an outfit calling themselves the Loosely Organized Lunatics. They asked me to “deal with him,” which feels like strong wording for someone who just discovered their own safety is optional. Still, I accepted and engaged.

Combat went much like the last one—lasers buzzing, shields whining, me squinting at the reticle like it owed me money. Once again, NPCs took the hint and piled in. Team effort! Where “team” is doing a lot of heavy lifting and I’m mostly yelling “pew pew” in the background. Nevertheless: bounty complete, hull intact, dignity negotiable.

Back to Ramaswamy Point: Rewards Claimed, Dreams Denied

I returned to Ramaswamy Point, strutted into the Contacts office like I alone had saved civilized space, and cashed out both bounties. Then I did the sensible thing: straight to Outfitting to improve my “combat performance,” which is a generous phrase for “I would like my lasers to hit things now.”

Outfitting, however, had the vibe of a pawn shop at closing time. No better pulse lasers. No real upgrades worth selling my soul for. The Rustbucket remained exactly that: rusty, bucket-shaped, and underarmed.

Courier Hop to HR 7674 (A Detour Into Powerplay)

Spotting a courier contract to HR 7674, I took it and set course for Tenn Terminal, hoping their stock list wasn’t just “no.” En route, the nav panel dangled a shiny new concept: Powerplay, where twelve galactic powers offer perks in exchange for loyalty and a suspicious amount of paperwork. Interesting, but I’m still figuring out how to keep my nose pointed at the enemy. Filing under: research later, pledge never (for now).

Tenn Terminal: Nothing to See Here, Keep Moving

I delivered the courier package, collected the pay, and jogged over to Outfitting like a kid on Life Day. The shelves? Empty of anything useful. Not a single upgrade I needed. Not even a pity laser. Apparently, HR 7674 believes in character growth via disappointment.

The mission board was heavy on bounties, which would’ve been poetic if I hadn’t just proven my lasers are purely ornamental. I parked the Rustbucket, powered down, and promised myself tomorrow would be more… accurate.

Ship Log: Rustbucket Status & Notes

  • Combat reality check: Pulse lasers feel like sternly worded emails. Consider gimballed weapons or multis when I find a station that isn’t allergic to upgrades.
  • Allies matter: NPC bounty hunters are my current business model. Must not rely on this forever (or at least learn to pretend I don’t).
  • Route planning: “There’s a moon in the way” is a valid operational constraint. Add to checklist: confirm approach vector before heroic declarations.
  • Powerplay: Interesting benefits, but I should actually win a 1v1 before choosing a galactic overlord.

Lessons Learned (So I Stop Re-Learning Them)

  • Target practice is not optional: Practice in a Resource Extraction Site (Low) or a training scenario before accepting anything with the word “notorious” in it.
  • Shields save lives: If I can’t upgrade guns yet, upgrade survival: boosters, better shield generator, maybe a hull reinforcement or two.
  • Stations aren’t equal: When looking for gear, prioritize High Tech / Large starports. “We sell dreams” is code for “we sell nothing you need.”

Continue the Journey

Elite Dangerous Hub |
Day 1 |
Day 2 |
Day 3 |
Day 4 (You Are Here) |
Day 5

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