All That Glitters Is Not Gold

(An Icarus Field Report, written with bitterness, splinters, and wolf saliva)

We did a couple of missions.
This is an important phrase. It sounds modest. Reasonable. Manageable.
It is, in hindsight, a lie.

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Mission One: The Tutorial, or “Nine Minutes to Glory”

Mission brief:
Land on planet.
Pick up sticks.
Build a hut.
Make a bed.

Time investment: 9 minutes.
Reward: 50 credits.

We barely had time to emotionally bond with the sticks. The hut went up, the bed went down, and suddenly the mission was over. No wolves. No suffering. No existential dread. The game patted us gently on the head and awarded us Baby Steps (Complete the tutorial), which felt less like an achievement and more like a passive-aggressive reminder that we had successfully not eaten the controller.

We thought, foolishly, “Oh. This isn’t so bad.”

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Mission Two: The One with the Ore, the Wolves, and the Horse Incident

Second mission: 225 credits.
Objective:
Land on planet.
Mine a huge amount of ore.
Put it in the delivery pod.

Simple. Clean. Deceptive.

This mission took over two hours.

Zaph did most of the mining, because Zaph is a machine. A tireless, methodical, laser-focused mining machine. Meanwhile, Craig and I ran around getting eaten by wolves, which felt less like a gameplay loop and more like a lifestyle choice.

At some point during this operation, Craig decided that what our carefully constructed hut really needed was… a horse.

Not outside the hut.
Not near the hut.
In the hut.

This was not a design choice. This was an omen.

We killed the horse.
(There is photographic evidence. See screenshot. History will judge us.)

The dead horse, apparently broadcasting on a frequency only wolves can hear, immediately attracted wolves. Wolves arrived. Wolves killed Craig. Wolves killed Dave.

I blame Craig.

We never had a wolf problem until Craig joined. This is not correlation. This is a law of nature.

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The Mines That Lied to Us

There were two mines near the delivery pod. This felt promising. Hope bloomed.

They did not have enough ore.

This is where the mission quietly shifted genres—from “Survival Crafting” to “Endurance Running Simulator.” A lot of time was spent running around looking for new caves, each discovery accompanied by the hollow optimism of “Maybe this one?” followed shortly by “Nope. Still poor.”

And then there was gold.

Gold was the killer.

It took an hour to find the last gold we needed. An hour of caves, cliffs, scanning horizons, questioning life choices, and slowly realizing that the real resource being depleted wasn’t ore—it was morale.

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Meanwhile, in the Alt World…

While all this was happening, progress occurred elsewhere, quietly and competently, like a different group playing a different game:

• Zaph and Dave both achieved:

  • Highly Skilled (reach the bottom of a talent tree)

  • Engineering (alter an item)

These achievements happened without wolves. Without horses. Without Craig-related incidents. This feels relevant.

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Conclusions, Recommendations, and Blame Assignment

We did succeed. Eventually.
The pod was filled. The mission was completed. The credits were earned.
But at what cost?

Suggestion for next Friday:
We start fresh on a world at normal difficulty, so we aren’t getting penalised 50% on mission rewards. This seems fair, reasonable, and in no way influenced by two hours of trauma mining gold while being stalked by wolves drawn to horse-based crimes.

In summary:

• The tutorial lulled us into a false sense of competence.

• Ore is plentiful until it isn’t.

• Gold is a myth invented to waste time.

• Wolves are attracted to Craig like heat-seeking missiles.

• Bringing a horse into a hut is never the correct answer.

All that glitters is not gold.

Sometimes it’s just another cave, empty, mocking you quietly in the dark. 

It’s a Tough Day Down in the Mine

 

It’s a Tough Day Down in the Mine

If we had to pick a vibe for this week’s brand-new descent into Icarus—RocketWerkz’s charming survival experience about corporate neglect and breathable air being optional—it would be best captured by the spirit of a certain Johnny Cash song. You know the one. The cautionary tale about young men, bad decisions, and places where the sun politely declines to visit.

Not quoting it. Just… gesturing broadly in its direction while shivering.

Think:
Don’t go underground chasing riches, because the darkness gets into your bones, danger multiplies, joy goes missing, and eventually even your blood feels like it’s been replaced with coal slurry.
That sort of energy. Delivered, naturally, by Johnny Cash, patron saint of bad ideas with excellent rhythm.

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Welcome to Icarus (Please Sign the Waiver)

Welcome to the new frontier: Icarus, a planet orbiting a gas giant, famous for its failed terraforming project and complete lack of breathable atmosphere. Yes, it’s true—you don’t just have to worry about hunger, thirst, or wildlife that wants to wear you as a hat. You also can’t breathe the air.

But fear not. The company has thoughtfully issued us cheap spacesuits. And while it’s true that in space no one can hear you scream, on Icarus you can still hear Craig whining, which is honestly worse.

Craig, of course, did not read the backstory. He got as far as “Icarus is” and then stopped, presumably because the sentence did not immediately contain an explosion or a ladder. While “Icarus is” is technically accurate, it does omit some key details—like “actively hostile to human life” and “operated by people who hate you.”

According to the company flyer, Icarus is about exploration, exotic materials, and getting rich.
“What even is exotic material?” asks Myles.
Dave responds: “Think the floating rocks in Avatar.”
This is, as usual, complete nonsense, confidently delivered.

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Touchdown Expectations vs. Reality

We arrive at the space station, pick our favorite-colored spacesuits, and strap into rockets for a dramatic, high-tech plunge to the surface. The landing is spectacular. The valley is beautiful. The pod door opens.

We leap out, sprint to the storage crate, ready to collect our guns, automated mining tools, self-assembling houses, and helpful robot assistants.

We open it.

It’s empty.

Nothing. Zip. Nada.

“CRAIG,” we all yell in unison, “did you throw out the gear to make room for your fluffy toys?”

“I did mothing,” says Craig—and for once, it’s true.

Inside the crate is a single piece of paper. We read it:

Welcome to the new frontier. We’re still waiting on your delivery of high-tech equipment. Good luck. Don’t get eaten by a bear.

WTF. No, seriously. WTF.

We cross the universe in a spaceship and are immediately reduced to picking up sticks and stones like particularly stupid cavemen in space pajamas.

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The Birth of Island Fort Dumb

Myles and Zaph, clearly suffering untreated PTSD from Riftbreaker, decide we need defenses immediately. They choose an island base—natural moat, poisonous water, bitey fish. A tactical masterstroke.

We build a hut. It has walls. Sort of. And a bedroll. Which is optimism in fabric form.

Dave eventually arrives to “check progress,” at which point we formalize our division of labor:

• Zaph: Hunting, mining, industrial production. First invention: an oxidizer that turns rocks into oxygen, which feels illegal but appreciated.

• Myles: Medical supplies, bandages, splints, clean water. First invention: a water filter, because someone has to be responsible.

• Dave: Architect, botanist, farmer. First invention: a double-storey barn, because of course it is.

• Craig: Lumberjack. First invention: a fire pit and the complete ecological annihilation of our island.

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Progress, Storms, and Structural Criticism

Zaph builds a bridge so we don’t have to swim through the poison water. We hide from storms. Zaph complains that half the walls Dave built are backwards—logs inside, smooth side out. Craig fells a tree, which lands directly on our hut and caves in the roof.

Soon we have water bags, oxygen pouches, stone tools, and weapons. It’s all coming together. At this rate, another hundred years and we’ll invent electricity.

Dave expands the base with crafting stations. Zaph hunts. Myles gathers medicinal plants. Craig breaks rocks. We acquire a workshop bench, an anvil, a smelter, then later a mortar & pestle, herbalist bench, and skinning table.

Civilization. Briefly.

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Down in the Mine (Cue the Cash Vibes)

Zaph and Myles go mining. Hence the theme song energy. It’s cold, dark, cramped, and full of poisonous worms that absolutely should not exist. The tunnels hold copper, iron, aluminum, titanium, coal, gold—basically everything except joy.

We can mine copper and iron with stone tools, which feels like the universe mocking us personally.

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Missions, Storms, and Corporate Disappointment

Zaph builds a mission board so the company can provide us with additional ways to die. We also gain the ability to call down resupplies—like shiny backpacks that let us carry 15% more crap, which is exactly how much hope we had left.

We take a survey mission. Zaph builds a tower. The rest of us clear-cut an entire forest to supply it. A storm warning comes in. Dave panic-builds walls and floors at the tower base. We huddle around a fire like traumatized scouts.

The scanner completes. The company gives us a reward. Zaph claims it instantly, then runs back to camp and hides it while we argue about how we were cheated.

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Corn, Pumpkins, and Questionable Animal Ethics

Craig discovers corn and harvests every stalk. Dave gathers it all.
“Where are you guys?” asks Myles.
“Sheesh, corn doesn’t pick itself,” replies Dave, immediately spotting wheat and hoarding that too.

Craig embraces the Halloween spirit, collecting pumpkins and roasting them.

Zaph kills a horse so he can emotionally manipulate its foal into becoming a mount, feeding it raw meat so it grows up feral and hostile. This is somehow effective.

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The Bear Incident (Plural)

Flushed with success, Myles suggests another mission: hunt and kill an epic creature. Off we go, practicing on wildlife. Lessons learned:

• Deer run.

• Wolves attack.

• Rabbits just… die.

Eventually, we find it. A level 56 bear.

We sneak up and open fire. Arrows everywhere. The bear notices and ignores them. It murders Dave immediately. Craig runs.
“STOP RUNNING,” yells Myles. “We can’t hit it!”

The bear resolves this by killing Craig.

Zaph draws aggro. The bear eats him, chews thoughtfully, and spits him out. Myles hides until the bear wanders off, then patches us up and we flee in shame.

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Revenge Planning & Achievements

We swear vengeance. We mine iron for hours. We slaughter animals for bone armor and arrows. Myles learns how to make hedgehogs to hide behind.

We are coming for you, Mr. Bear.

Be afraid.

Very afraid.

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Achievement Summary

We survived. Which is, frankly, miraculous.

And we answered humanity’s great questions:

• Does a bear poop in the woods? Yes. And it resembles Dave.

• If a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound? Yes—especially through your roof. Craig.

• Why are we here? We work for the man and didn’t read the fine print.

• Can you starve on an island full of food? Absolutely.

• Should you fear storms and darkness? Yes. These suits are paper.

• Will Dave ever build walls correctly? Let’s not get unrealistic.

And that’s a wrap.
Join us next week, when we forge crossbows and remind the epic bear who da boss.