Despite being made by a solo developer, Fear and Hunger 2: Termina absolutely gets what gamers like me need—despair, horror, and just enough glimmers of hope to make you suffer more effectively. But let me start with my current, agonizing reality. Last Friday, my right hand was absolutely obliterated in a horrific industrial accident. It was crushed so badly that I’m amazed it’s still attached. Now, here I am, typing this review with one hand, painfully pecking at each key like I’m chiseling my words into granite. Every letter is a fresh reminder of my destroyed hand. It’s like the pain is mocking me, daring me to quit—but I won’t.
And thank the heavens this game saved me from total boredom. It’s playable with just a keyboard and one hand. Do you understand how rare that is? The developer must have been sent from the gaming gods. While my left hand heroically carries the burden of typing and playing this game, my right hand screams in betrayal. Every time I move my fingers even slightly, it feels like I’m being punished for some terrible sin. But guess what? This one-handed design lets me push through the agony and actually enjoy gaming again.
Oh, and one of the characters in the game is also crippled, which honestly feels like poetic justice. Watching them limp helplessly through the cursed world of Termina filled me with an almost sinister joy. Sure, my hand is pulsating with unrelenting pain, but at least I’m not them. Their suffering makes mine feel almost tolerable—dare I say, enjoyable. Is the game telling me we’re all broken, just struggling to survive? Maybe. But honestly, seeing someone else worse off than me feels like a win. My hand might be screaming at me to stop typing, but knowing I’m not the only one enduring misery keeps me going. Misery loves company, after all. Speaking of my hand, yeah, it still hurts. Every tap of the keyboard feels like I’m slamming my fingers into a brick wall, but Termina makes it worth it. The game’s haunting atmosphere, punishing gameplay, and oppressive dread somehow make me forget the pain for a few glorious moments. I’m basically living the game at this point—dragging myself forward, battered and broken, with only sheer determination keeping me going. 10 out of 10. I may never use my right hand again, but I’ll still be here, one-handed, playing this masterpiece.