Returnal: A Love-Hate Relationship with a Ruthless Universe
It’s 2 AM. My hands are sweating, my heart races, and I feel the weight of failure yet again. The familiar sound of my character Selene breathing heavily greets me as I rise from the wreckage of my crashed ship, Helios. Returnal—a game I hated, then loved, and hated again—is punishing, relentless, and yet utterly addictive. It’s a masterpiece that plays with your patience, sanity, and obsession with redemption.
First Steps: Desperation#
When I first launched Returnal, I was mesmerized. The hauntingly beautiful yet hostile alien planet, Atropos, immediately sucked me in. The visuals, the atmosphere, and the eerie soundscapes wrapped around me like an uncomfortable blanket. But soon, the awe turned into frustration.
Returnal doesn’t hold your hand. It doesn’t care if you’re new to roguelikes. It throws you into a procedurally generated gauntlet of enemies and traps, demanding you learn through trial, error, and plenty of death. And die I did. Over and over again.
At first, I hated it. Dying in Returnal doesn’t just sting—it resets your progress. That powerful weapon you found? Gone. Those upgrades you worked so hard to earn? Vanished. All that’s left is the bitter taste of defeat and a nagging feeling of “What now?”
But here’s the thing: death isn’t failure in Returnal. It’s progress.
The Mental Toll: Clueless and Trapped#
The game doesn’t just punish your mistakes; it makes you live with them. Selene, the protagonist, is trapped in a time loop, reliving her crash and subsequent journey through Atropos every time she dies. It’s not just a gameplay mechanic—it’s a psychological burden. The game immerses you in her desperation and confusion, making you feel as trapped as she is.
You’ll find fragments of her story scattered across the world, cryptic logs recorded by… well, other versions of Selene. Each discovery raises more questions than answers. Who am I chasing? Why am I here? Is this my punishment for something I can’t even remember?
There were moments I wanted to quit. Moments where the game felt unfair, like it was laughing at me for daring to try. But every time I hit that “quit” button, I found myself back at it an hour later. Something about Returnal kept pulling me in. It wasn’t just the challenge—it was the need for closure, the burning desire to conquer Atropos and uncover the truth.
The Love Affair: Addiction to Redemption#
Once I started to accept the pain, something magical happened. I began to love the game. I started seeing patterns in the chaos, learning enemy behaviors, and mastering the tight, responsive combat. Every death became a lesson. Every respawn, a chance to improve.
There’s an intoxicating rhythm to Returnal. The fluidity of movement, the satisfaction of dodging a barrage of enemy projectiles, the thrill of finally defeating a boss that had humiliated you countless times—it’s all a symphony of challenge and reward.
And when I finally broke through to the next biome or unlocked a new piece of Selene’s fragmented story, the euphoria was unmatched. I felt like I had earned every inch of progress, every sliver of understanding. The game didn’t hand me victory on a silver platter; it made me fight tooth and nail for it. And that made it all the sweeter.
Embracing the Cycle#
Returnal isn’t a game you play casually. It demands your full attention, patience, and willingness to endure failure. It’s a mental battle as much as a physical one. But in its punishing loops, there’s a strange beauty. The game mirrors life in many ways—forcing you to learn from your mistakes, to persevere through hardship, and to find meaning in the struggle.
Hating and loving Returnal is part of the experience. It’s a brutal, unforgiving journey that tests your resilience and rewards your determination. And when you finally emerge victorious, you don’t just feel like you’ve beaten the game—you feel like you’ve conquered a part of yourself.
So, to anyone daring to step into Selene’s shoes: prepare for pain, embrace the chaos, and find beauty in the loop. Because in Returnal, dying isn’t the end—it’s just the beginning.