Your Cozy Corner of Chaos in The Survival Genre
What historical event fascinates you the most?
The Apollo 11 moon landing. Not just because humans actually did it, but because of what it represents — a mix of courage, chaos, duct tape, and sheer determination. It’s the ultimate survival story, just in space suits instead of bearskin coats.
The idea that we looked up at something impossible and said, “Yeah, let’s go there,” always hits me. It’s proof that even when everything could go wrong, sometimes we still make it back home.
What’s something you believe everyone should know.
Everyone should know how to make a fire — literally and metaphorically.
In survival games, it keeps you alive. In life, it keeps you moving forward. Sometimes it’s a spark of curiosity, a bit of motivation, or just remembering why you started. Either way, it’s worth learning how to light it — and how to keep it going when the wind picks up.
Also, always cook the meat before eating it. That one’s universal.
(Bonus lesson: don’t stand on the campfire to check if it’s hot.)
“Two eggs to go. One murderous locomotive. And a sermon that really didn’t age well.”
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.
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 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.
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.
What does it mean to be a kid at heart?
To me, being a kid at heart means keeping that spark of curiosity alive — the same one that makes me explore every corner of a game map I clearly shouldn’t be in. It’s laughing when everything goes wrong, building forts out of whatever’s nearby, and still getting excited about fireflies, campfires, and finding snacks in unexpected places. Basically, it’s survival — but with a sense of wonder instead of panic.
(Also, kids nap. So technically, being a kid at heart means I’m just staying true to form.)
You have three magic genie wishes, what are you asking for?
Wish one: infinite coffee — survival fuel for both late-night writing and in-game near-death experiences.
Wish two: a portable base that works across every survival game I play. Same storage, same bedroll, no matter the planet, tundra, or haunted fishing town.
Wish three: immunity from permadeath — because I’d like to actually finish a game for once without something exploding, biting, or derailing me.
(If the genie can’t manage that, I’ll settle for a working flashlight and a full inventory upgrade.)
“Apparently Charles had other plans today. Which is fine — I had a date with destiny… and Gertrude.”
⚙️ Survival Status: 3 Strikes Total
Only Charles can take them away.
Each egg restores a lost strike — but I can’t exceed three.
When the last one’s gone, the run ends.
Watch: Fighting Charles twice and storming the northern mine (Steam Deck Gameplay).
I half-expected to hear that ominous whistle the second I loaded in, but the island was unusually quiet. No ambush, no chase — just eerie calm. I took it as an omen (probably a bad one) and rolled out to find my next local resident: Gertrude. She asked me to retrieve her late husband’s weapon and name it BOB in his honour. Honestly, she could’ve asked me to name it after her cat and I’d still have agreed — I need firepower more than morals at this point.
Not far down the line, I met Gale, who kindly handed over the final key I needed to access the last egg mine. Suddenly, everything clicked into place: I had all three egg locations and the coordinates for my potential final weapon. The problem? Reaching them alive. Step one: get BOB.
I arrived at the scrapyard where cultists had taken BOB and barely had time to blink before that familiar whistle echoed across the valley. I slammed the train into forward and grabbed the Bug Spray. No visual — so I backed up, regrouped, and tried again.
That’s when I discovered two things. One: my train is a surprisingly effective cultist-flattening machine. Two: overshooting the area guarantees a personal visit from Charles himself.
The ensuing fight was messy. The Bug Spray pushed him back; the machine gun chipped away; the Boomer — well, let’s say my aim was more “creative fireworks” than “effective combat.” Eventually Charles retreated, but I somehow triggered a second encounter almost instantly. Double chaos for the price of one. After the rematch, he finally slunk away to lick his metallic wounds.
With the area silent again, I cleaned up the last surviving cultist (the train helped) and looted every scrap in sight. And there it was — BOB, shiny and furious. Welcome to the team, you beautiful piece of overkill.
I debated my next step. Theodore’s mission was still on the board, Sasha’s definitely wasn’t, and the thought of climbing cliffs for a single scrap felt… inefficient. The choice was clear: time to start collecting eggs.
The northernmost mine seemed like the least terrible option. A lone cultist patrolled outside — I introduced them to BOB. Inside, I discovered something new: I could actually lean left and right. Whether it’s a mine-only feature or some unintentional stealth buff, I’ll test it later.
I crept through the tunnels, listening to a cultist whistle a cheerful little tune that made the situation feel way too casual. I tried sneaking past — failed spectacularly — and took a bullet for my efforts. Panic mode engaged. I sprinted, found the glowing egg, yanked a few random levers, and bolted for daylight.
One egg secured. One strike restored. Back to three lives remaining.
Need a guide? Explore every stop, scrap pile, and spider sighting with the Aranearum Island Map Guide — your unofficial atlas to surviving the rails.
Describe a family member.
The closest thing I have to a family member in my daily routine is my inventory screen. It nags me when I carry too much, reminds me I’m starving, and never forgets that one ruined can of peaches from 20 days ago. Reliable, slightly judgmental, and always there when I need it — basically family.
(We don’t talk about the time I accidentally ate the raw meat.)
[Signal detected…]
Six months ago, I started this little corner of chaos thinking I’d maybe post a few survival stories, get a handful of clicks, and quietly freeze to death somewhere in The Long Dark. Back then, it was just me, a Nintendo Switch, and the idea of documenting how many ways I could die before breakfast.
Since then, the blog’s grown far beyond what I expected — from Switch survival diaries to Steam Deck expeditions, from small guides to full-blown playthroughs and embracing chaos. And somehow, it’s still alive — which feels like a small miracle, considering most blogs don’t make it past the first few months. Hundreds of clicks, countless laughs, and a few subscribers later, I’m still here — fuelled by caffeine and questionable decisions.
So first and foremost — thank you. Whether you’ve clicked, read, liked, shared, or just wandered in wondering how someone can die to a rabbit, I appreciate every single bit of support.
To mark the occasion, I decided to put together a short video. Some of you might’ve thought this would finally be my voice reveal. To that I say… really?
A brief burst of static, gratitude, and one very loud Godpigeon scream. Full credit, of course, to the brilliant Animaniacs team for that glorious noise.
I’ve also quietly launched a Ko-fi page — emphasis on quietly. I didn’t make a big announcement about it because I didn’t want it to feel like a sales pitch. Everything I create will always stay free to read and free to enjoy. That’s a promise.
I know times are tough and not everyone can spare a few pounds — and that’s perfectly fine. Your clicks, comments, and time already mean more than enough. The Ko-fi page is just there for anyone who genuinely wants to toss a tip into the mug to help keep the coffee flowing and the generator humming. Please don’t go overboard; keep the lights on at home first.
Down the line, I might look at adding a few ads on the blog or YouTube channel, but I’ll do my best to keep them minimal and non-intrusive. I’d rather focus on sharing stories and surviving the next storm than filling screens with banners and pop-ups.
There’s still a lot left to explore — new games, new disasters, same portable chaos. I’m excited (and mildly terrified) to see what the next six months bring.
So here’s to six months of frostbite, fuel shortages, and unexpected victories — and here’s to making it a full year of portable chaos. Thank you for being part of this weird, wonderful journey.
[Transmission terminated. Coffee levels: critical.]
“I saw it. It saw me. I screamed louder.”
You know that moment in Subnautica when you realise the ocean doesn’t just want you gone — it wants to make a spectacle out of it? This was mine.
Recorded on Steam Deck, this short captures my first (and very unwanted) close encounter with a Reaper Leviathan. Let’s just say I left the area faster than the PDA could update my vitals — and somehow survived with a sliver of health left.
From: Submerged: A Subnautica Survival Diary – Log 3
Platform: Steam Deck
Series: Survivor’s Shorts
Sometimes survival isn’t about bravery. It’s about panic-swimming in the opposite direction and hoping the monster gets bored first.
What is your favorite form of physical exercise?
Does running from virtual wolves count? Because if so, I’ve clocked enough cardio in The Long Dark to qualify for the Olympics. Real-world me prefers walks — usually with a podcast or just the sound of rain. It’s less “gym grind” and more “calm before the next survival disaster.”
(Exercise is just stealth training with extra steps.)
Survivor Incognito 