"My factory is held together with anxiety, cursed belts, and the silent judgment of my inserters."

I didn’t build a base. I created a post-apocalyptic spaghetti shrine to inefficiency. The belts don’t flow — they suffer. My copper line crosses my oil pipes four times. My iron plates do a scenic tour of the entire base before reaching the smelter again. And the inserters? They’ve seen things.

They don’t speak — but I feel them judging me. Every time they pick something up, I swear I hear a sigh. A click of mechanical disappointment. One of them refuses to rotate anymore. I didn’t program that. That’s a statement.

Sometimes I zoom out to admire my chaos, and it looks like someone dropped a bowl of wires and rage onto a map and said, “Good luck, idiot.”

There’s a wall around the entire base — five tiles thick, lined with laser turrets, and surrounded by land mines and more anxiety. Not because the biters are aggressive. No. Because I know what I’ve built and I fear retaliation.

10/10 — would be silently judged by my own robotic children again while crying into a misaligned circuit line.
This game doesn’t ask for perfection. It just waits until you break.

"My factory is held together with anxiety, cursed belts, and the silent judgment of my inserters." I didn’t build a base. I created a post-apocalyptic spaghetti shrine to inefficiency. The belts don’t flow — they suffer. My copper line crosses my oil pipes four times. My iron plates do a scenic tour of the entire base before reaching the smelter again. And the inserters? They’ve seen things. They don’t speak — but I feel them judging me. Every time they pick something up, I swear I hear a sigh. A click of mechanical disappointment. One of them refuses to rotate anymore. I didn’t program that. That’s a statement. Sometimes I zoom out to admire my chaos, and it looks like someone dropped a bowl of wires and rage onto a map and said, “Good luck, idiot.” There’s a wall around the entire base — five tiles thick, lined with laser turrets, and surrounded by land mines and more anxiety. Not because the biters are aggressive. No. Because I know what I’ve built and I fear retaliation. 10/10 — would be silently judged by my own robotic children again while crying into a misaligned circuit line. This game doesn’t ask for perfection. It just waits until you break.