When a forty-man tribal raid hits your base, the average player builds grand walls. The cowards build killboxes. But those people have no soul. They lack flair. Why waste precious bullets when you can provide a proper 'warm welcome' with the Forbidden Sauna? The raiders won’t even have time to scream before their internal organs reach a nice, succulent medium-rare. They’ll succumb to the heatstroke, collapsing into a heap of sizzling, pre-cooked meat. Best of all? No bullet holes in the apparel and organs means maximum profit when you strip the corpses. This game is the ultimate truth about ethics and moral relativism; and yes, people fear the truth. They complain about "war crimes" in this game. They are fools. If raiders comes to my colony and seeks to exterminate the populace, it is my God-given rights to forfeit their kidneys. You call those war crimes, I call them consueqences.

Let's go, let's go, let's crush fufufafa!
Let's crush fufufafa right here and right now!

Factorio is not merely a game, it's a testament to righteous engineering. You are cast down like Adam into a polluted Eden, a crash-landed soul with nothing but iron ore and the burning desire to automate. You mine. You smelt. You build. You make conveyor belts sing like choirs of angels, transporting iron plates like offerings upon an altar.

Every machine is a verse in the gospel of production. You see, the game is about creating an exponentially growing factory that produces more things to build more machines to produce more things. It’s the Divine Recursion, like the Holy Trinity of assemblers, inserters, and belts. You automate everything, until your base is a symphony of logic and movement.

"God said: Let there be inserters. And there were inserters. And they placed the copper cable with righteous speed."

Year 1: I'm gonna build the best fortress ever, strike the earth!
Year 15: The Road by Cormac McCarthy

This game successfully captures the essence of playing as the Western and Eastern Roman Empires. Choosing these factions, especially on the legendary difficulty, gives you a sense of once being a dominant power, an empire beyond imagination, the pinnacle of human achievement, and the envy of the world. But those glory days have long faded. The old wolf lies wounded by jackals, circled by vultures. Your economy is in shambles, and merely surviving becomes a daunting challenge. Maintaining your borders everywhere feels next to impossible because your enemies have superior numbers and stronger armies. After approximately 30 grueling turns of struggling, a glimmer of hope appears as you gain access to better troops and your economy starts stabilizing. You finally acquire the means to fend off hostile migrating tribes at your borders.

Then, Attila the scourge of God, rides with a million warriors and bringing the end of days.