“You need to look after the few to understand the needs of the many”
Trying to be a woman of the people in Frostpunk.
After another year that felt as if it’s hidden a few extra years inside of it, it’s the season to be grateful that I’m warm and cosy inside when outside it’s anything but. Time for the game that takes the meaning of winter blues to a whole new level. The very premise of Frostpunk always made me apprehensive to pick it up. It’s not just a city builder about building, a management sim about management. Instead, it’s about compromising and watching well-laid plans fail. As realistic as that is, I just want my little virtual citizens to be happy and whole.
On the outside, there’s no reason for my instant attachment. Frostpunk doesn’t let you zoom in closely to your citizens. They’re just a bunch of grey-cloaked Johns, Jameses, and Marias, but they’re all equally worthy of my attention. They’re modest, too. They just want shelter, a place to work, and a way to treat their sick.
I’ve built whole civilizations, micromanaged the lives of tiny humans and designed theme parks with enough distance between food stands and rollercoasters to stop visitors from barfing immediately, but this is a colossal task.
A Hard Day’s Night
Frostpunk wields my citizens against me by using them to demonstrate the consequences of my actions. I will never forget the man so terrified of an amputation that he begged me not to go through with it. He died as a result of my actions. Not just a number that blinked out at the end of a hard day, but someone I built a graveyard for and whose family could only take a single day off to mourn him. Elsewhere, a man gets up at 2am to build a street I’ve carelessly decided on. When he falls ill, I feel terrible. Not wanting to raise anyone’s ire, I dole out medical posts like candy and let people languish at home whenever the temperature drops to critical levels until I can afford to keep everyone warm.
Although Frostpunk confronts you with extremes, it makes me wonder what being in a position of responsibility such as this would be like. It’s likely I would internalize the issues of my constituents to the point of paralysis. Every notification seems to herald the arrival of a problem. If this is what being a world leader is like, I’m not surprised that little gets done. I start to consider real-world cases of people lacking the bare necessities and the time it seems to take to restore supply lines after a disaster. Shouldn’t there be more people who feel equally frantic to help in these situations as I do now?
Frostpunk makes its position clear—people should survive and work together to create a space that makes life worth living. It’s this decisiveness I miss in real life. If anything, Frostpunk has heightened my conviction that sometimes you need to look after the few to understand the needs of the many.
NOT WANTING TO RAISE ANYONE’S IRE, I DOLE OUT MEDICAL POSTS LIKE CANDY