Pawsecuted is a kind of crunchy survival simulator thing, and normally I'm super not about those. I find their worlds usually are canvases of despair that I'm expected to paint a frown emoji on somewhere. Pawsecuted isn't a bright and happy setting. It's full of poison and bleeding out in a ditch, or racing between bleeding out and dieing of poison because you fought a pissed off wallaby and his pet snakes or whatever. But it's absolutely grim and dark in a way that doesn't make me immediately want to put it back like the lid on a box of stink.

Something about it has really gotten lodged in my think wrinkles, and I keep finding myself wondering about the world inside. In my most recent session (per writing), I helped a cult build a shrine to a precursor, delivered someone who was forced to survive donner-party style in a closet to their hometown, accidentally entered (and won) an eating contest that was explicitly not geared towards herbivores, and dug up a vehicle that I intend to repair if possible.

The game has shown me tooltips that mention "establishing settlements", and every time I feel like I've got myself figured out, I awaken to some new primal survival trait like the nose wiggles that help me suss out dangerous encounters. I haven't nailed down if it's the pacing of new things, or the general whimsy about struggling to survive in the outback as a genetically engineered rabbit-person in a time beyond humanity.

Whatever the reason, this game's livin' in my head rent free and it's a cool roommate.

Pawsecuted is a kind of crunchy survival simulator thing, and normally I'm super not about those. I find their worlds usually are canvases of despair that I'm expected to paint a frown emoji on somewhere. Pawsecuted isn't a bright and happy setting. It's full of poison and bleeding out in a ditch, or racing between bleeding out and dieing of poison because you fought a pissed off wallaby and his pet snakes or whatever. But it's absolutely grim and dark in a way that doesn't make me immediately want to put it back like the lid on a box of stink. Something about it has really gotten lodged in my think wrinkles, and I keep finding myself wondering about the world inside. In my most recent session (per writing), I helped a cult build a shrine to a precursor, delivered someone who was forced to survive donner-party style in a closet to their hometown, accidentally entered (and won) an eating contest that was explicitly not geared towards herbivores, and dug up a vehicle that I intend to repair if possible. The game has shown me tooltips that mention "establishing settlements", and every time I feel like I've got myself figured out, I awaken to some new primal survival trait like the nose wiggles that help me suss out dangerous encounters. I haven't nailed down if it's the pacing of new things, or the general whimsy about struggling to survive in the outback as a genetically engineered rabbit-person in a time beyond humanity. Whatever the reason, this game's livin' in my head rent free and it's a cool roommate.