#translating the gameplay mechanics of Purgatory into a realistic scenario while writing this fic has got me thinking

[ravenw1ngs]

Thinking about the reality of living under the physical conditions of Purgatory.

How the first days were a fight to make their corner of the island habitable. Survivable, not comfortable, because the first was necessary and the second felt impossible. How Soulfire stepped onto the island and froze, every member coming away with scarred hands from frostbite, hypothermia nearly taking them out on day one. How Green Gay Ninjas entered their jungle and had to quickly secure a safe water source, fighting off the heat exhaustion and dehydration that is inevitable with such a humid place. How Bolas scrambled to make shelter but couldn’t stay under it forever, and the harshness of Purgatory’s sun burnt their skin and sapped their energy.

And the food was scarce and spoiled so quickly, they start living off of tea, instead of anything solid. It doesn’t fill them up but it takes the edge off, keeps them going a little longer. Sometimes they have a mission to submit meat and they struggle to weigh whether the points are worth it or if they should just eat something, for once. They make stew with what scraps are left behind, scavenge berries and try to pretend they’re not all starving. This is only made worse by how much energy they’re burning each day—far more than they really have to spare.

The disasters don’t help. Even when they survive them, the burning sky kills their crops, the radioactive rain poisons everything it touches, and what few animals survive the deadly weather turn vicious when they least expect it. And they can’t afford to be caught off guard. If they aren’t prepared when the weather turns or the ground begins to shake, then they die. They help each other out when they can, but sometimes there’s nothing they can do but respawn and start over. They start over every single day.

Respawning doesn’t even fix everything, because respawn here is worse. It’s quick, which lets them get back into the fight faster, but it comes at a cost. It only ever heals enough to get them back on their feet. Wounds linger, and they don’t have the potions needed to finish the job, so they just patch each other as best they can and hope things heal the right way. They teach each other how to clean a wound, stitch it closed, and check for signs of infection. Their strategy for warding off said infection is mostly just to pray it doesn’t happen.

The boat ride back to Quesadilla Island is quiet. Not silent, but subdued. No one has the energy to do much but curl up and try to rest. Nobody really sleeps. Back home, everyone copes in their own way. Some of them carry more food, store extra in their backpacks just in case. Others spend more time indoors, under shade, or in the water to avoid too much of the sun. It’s always sunny. This is better for some, who do everything to seek out warmth, wearing layers and adding new fireplaces into their homes. No one can look at a cup of tea the same anymore.