Your Cozy Corner of Chaos in The Survival Genre
How often do you walk or run?
In real life? Enough to keep the legs working. In survival games? Constantly — usually while over-encumbered, freezing, starving, and being chased by something with teeth. My cardio stats would be legendary if pixels counted.
(Plenty more digital marathons at Survivor Incognito.)
Do you see yourself as a leader?
Only if we’re counting survival games. I’m great at leading digital characters straight into blizzards, zombie ambushes, and the occasional tragic wolf encounter. In real life? I’d say I’m more of a storyteller than a leader — recording the chaos so others can laugh, learn, or at least feel better about their own survival skills.
(Plenty more questionable leadership decisions at Survivor Incognito.)
Day 9 in SnowRunner: Delivering fuel to the wrong farm, braving flooded roads, scouting with Red for upgrades, unlocking a long trailer, and freeing Frank from a rogue stone.
Missed the start of the series?
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Why Permagear Works
Previous Entry: SnowRunner Survival: The Permagear Diaries – Day 8
The day began with what I thought was a simple task: take a load of fuel on Frank over to the farm in Smithville Dam. The mission briefing seemed straightforward enough, and I had coffee in hand, confidence at maximum. I set off, happily trundling my way to the farm… or so I thought. There was one small problem: the farm I arrived at was in Black River. Wrong farm. Wrong map. Right truck, though, so points for consistency.
The moment of realisation hit when the delivery prompt didn’t appear, and I stared at the job list wondering why the game had suddenly decided to ignore me. After a closer look at the contract, I realised the truth: I’d wasted fuel, time, and what little dignity Frank has left after the last eight days. With a sigh, I plotted the correct route to Smithville Dam’s farm and promised myself I’d read the brief properly next time.
The road to Smithville’s farm was less of a road and more of a seasonal river. Every puddle was a knee-deep swamp, and without raised suspension for Frank, I had to pick my line like a tightrope walker with commitment issues. Each dip threatened to drown the engine, and I could almost hear Frank grumbling in protest.
Somehow, we made it without stalling. But I’ve decided that finding that raised suspension is now a top priority. The truck can’t keep doing its best submarine impression every time it rains.
With Frank resting at the farm, I swapped over to Red for a little exploration. A nearby Watchtower looked promising, and Red’s smaller size made it a safer bet for off-road detours. Still, caution was the name of the game — one wrong move and Red would be cartwheeling down a slope again, and I’m still not over the last incident.
The Watchtower revealed an upgrade not too far away, so I crept towards it, carefully negotiating mud pits and narrow bends. The prize? An engine upgrade for an International Transtar. Useful if I had one, but otherwise about as helpful as a snorkel on a fish. The search for Frank’s suspension continues.
Back at the logging station, I noticed a stack of wooden planks and got my hopes up. My excitement dimmed when I realised they were attached to a rather long trailer I didn’t yet own. A quick detour later, I unlocked the ability to purchase it and, as a bonus, hit Rank 5. Sure, it wasn’t the suspension I wanted, but new toys are always good for morale.
With options running thin, I headed to the warehouse beyond the dam to collect bricks for the farm. Along the way, I activated the Smithville Bridge task, which — naturally — also requires wooden planks. Luckily, I know Black River has a stash, though it’s going to mean a lot of back-and-forth tomorrow.
On the way back with the bricks, disaster struck. Frank found himself completely immobilised on what can only be described as a rogue stone — the kind that hides in plain sight until your truck is perfectly balanced on it like some kind of unwanted hood ornament. With no winch points nearby, I had to call in Red for rescue duty. In an uncharacteristic display of teamwork, Red dug in, pulled Frank free, and somehow managed not to flip in the process. Small victories.
Tomorrow will be all about wooden planks. Lots of wooden planks. I’ll be running between Black River and Smithville like a glorified delivery service with mud in its teeth. The bridge won’t build itself, and neither will my suspension — though if I find that upgrade in the process, it might just be the happiest day Frank’s ever had.
What’s your favorite word?
“Respawn.” Not something I get in permadeath runs, but I love the idea of starting fresh. In games it’s a do-over, in blogging it’s a new post, and in life it’s a reminder that even disasters can lead to something new (unless a wolf got you — then it’s just the end).
(Plenty more respawn-less disasters at Survivor Incognito.)
Difficulty: Default Survival
Optional Rules: Permadeath, one horde night per week
Like every survival game worth its salt, the tutorial goes like this: punch nature until it gives up resources. Twigs, stones, and grass became my new currency. Before long I’d cobbled together a stone axe, wooden bow, arrows, a club, and some basic armor. The Duke’s instructions? Go see Trader Rekt. Fine. But I’m docking him points for management style.
On the way, I found the Papaw Residence. Inside: zombies, a cooking pot, and — after several panicked swings and one deeply ungraceful bow shot — victory. A few quick wood frames in the doorways, some repair slapdash on the windows, and I served my first eviction notice to the undead. I dropped the land-claim block because… the tutorial said so. It’s just me out here, but sure, paperwork matters.
Rekt handed me a shovel and told me to dig. When I stepped back outside, a zombie was loitering like security had gone on break. A couple of club taps later, the parking lot was clear and my cardio stat was emotionally damaged.
Quest in hand, shovel in pocket, I marched out to unearth supplies. Within seconds of my first swing, the dirt complained — and so did a nearby zombie, who arrived to file a noise complaint with his teeth. One frantic scuffle later, I was back to the dwarven anthem: “I’m a dwarf, and I’m digging a hole.” Every thunk felt like ringing a dinner bell for the next groaner, but the stash popped and I grabbed the goods.
On the return leg I spotted a snake. Compared to the zombies outside Rekt’s place and the dig site, this was stress relief with scales. One arrow later, dinner. The bone knife I’d made earlier turned it into tidy cuts for the pot.
Back at Papaw, I set up a campfire, boiled every drop of murky water I’d hoarded, cooked snake meat, and tossed a couple of potatoes on for good measure. The house creaked, the wind howled, and distant moans reminded me that the homeowners’ association here is very hands-on.
Base secured (ish). Water safe (mostly). Food cooked (definitely snake). I’ve got another buried supplies quest from Rekt lined up for tomorrow and the horde clock has quietly started ticking. One day survived. Seven? We’ll see.
Platform 8 is the companion nightmare to Exit 8. Same rules: walk, notice anomalies, survive. Miss them and the world resets. Only this time, you’re trapped on a subway train that never stops. Played on the Steam Deck with Loop = Life: every reset is a dead survivor. Only one makes it off the train. Like Exit 8, this was my very first time playing — learning the rules on the fly, with resets as my only teachers.
First survivor: Reached the end of the carriage and saw a figure standing at the exit. I didn’t realise you’re meant to move when the lights flick on. The lights came, the figure moved faster than me, and I was erased.
Second survivor: This time the exit door stood wide open, platform beckoning. I trusted it. I stepped toward freedom. The world snapped back to the first carriage, and so did I. Survivors don’t get second chances for gullibility.
Third survivor: Red water pooled in the aisle. The right move was to sprint. I didn’t. Instead, I shut the door on the carriage like that would help. The reset came anyway, cruel and quiet.
Fourth survivor: I let curiosity win. Instead of spotting the anomaly, I pushed through to the next carriage just to see what would happen. The answer: reset. Straight back to carriage one, another survivor erased for being too nosy.
Final survivor: Paranoia sharpened me. I ran when I had to, stopped when the lights demanded it, and turned back from lies. At last, the train gave up its prisoner. I stepped onto the real platform, escaped the loop, and lived. Luck played its part too. Some of the anomalies repeated from earlier failures, familiar traps I finally knew how to dodge. That memory, plus paranoia, was enough to carry me to the platform.
Here’s the full successful run, captured on Steam Deck:
The corridor in Exit 8 felt endless. The train in Platform 8 feels worse — claustrophobic, restless, each carriage identical until it isn’t. Four survivors erased before one finally broke free. That’s the real distinction: Exit 8 is a test of attention, Platform 8 is a puzzle box. Both erase you for mistakes, but in different ways.
See where it started with Exit 8 – Lost in the Corridor, or browse more nightmares in the Survivor’s Dread Hub.
I’ve just joined the Prologue: Go Wayback playtest on Steam. It drops you into a massive, freshly generated wilderness with nothing but your wits, a map, and the eternal hope you can light a fire before hypothermia claims you.
I’ll be playing this on my Steam Deck, so when the first impressions post goes live I’ll not only talk survival mechanics, but also how it runs in handheld mode. Portable chaos, as always.
I’ve got three extra invites to hand out. If you’re a friend of mine on Steam (Survivor Incognito) and want to try Go Wayback for yourself, give me a shout. First come, first served.
Once I’ve had a proper session in the woods, I’ll be back with a full write-up — controls, survival systems, Steam Deck performance, and whether the fire-making is as fiddly (and satisfying) as advertised. Keep an eye on the blog if you want to see how gloriously wrong it goes.
Describe your ideal week.
A balance of real calm and digital chaos. In real life: quiet mornings, good coffee, and no surprise blizzards. In games: just enough wolves, zombies, and survival disasters to keep the stories interesting. My ideal week is one where I can relax, play, and then laugh about how badly things went in the write-up.
(Plenty more ideal weeks ruined by wolves at Survivor Incognito.)
Name the professional athletes you respect the most and why.
Endurance athletes. Marathon runners, ultra-cyclists, mountain climbers — the ones who push themselves to the limit and keep going. In survival games, I’m exhausted after jogging across a frozen lake with a backpack full of sticks, so I have huge respect for people who do the real thing without a pause menu.
(For digital endurance tests — usually ending worse — Survivor Incognito has the stories.)
How do you relax?
By doing the exact opposite of relaxing: playing survival games. For some reason, dodging wolves, zombies, and blizzards calms me down more than meditation apps ever could. If I can unwind while starving in The Long Dark, real life feels positively restful.
(Plenty more questionable relaxation methods at Survivor Incognito.)
Survivor Incognito 