A fashionable suit of armour

Like, the overwhelming majority of the mechanics of that genre would lend themselves absolutely perfectly to that. The tank controls early in the genre? character handling and turning their chair. The oft-joked part of you can't climb over knee-high obstacles? Well, yeah, even if the protagonist has enough mobility to stand and climb over, unless they can get their chair through with them they're out of luck. The often semi-cumbersome relationship with melee weaponry and use of firearms? A wheelchair user is someone who would have even more reasons to not want a demon from hell practically on top of them- both their body and their primary means of mobility is at risk.

Heck, Silent Hill even loves scattering wheelchairs around and using them as imagery anyway, just put the playable character in one.

Even the way these sort of games often herd and control the player character's movement through the setting, and how they have to solve puzzles to progress- that would have perfect intertextuality with someone who's not just lost in the middle of nowhere but also has to figure out how to, say, get up to a second floor of a space that doesn't have an elevator and they can't climb the stairs.

I know the game Endoparasitic has a protagonist with only one working limb as its central conceit but as-said it baffles me how few games feature mobility-limited protagonists when so many genres but especially survival horror feel like they'd lend themselves perfectly to that sort of thing.

Almost every survival horror concerns itself at least partially with navigating an environment that seems set against you and often having to specifically solve problems to get place to place in crumbling environs.

if YOU were turned into a zombie right now, and I caved your head in with a shovel, what kind of bra would i find on your corpse?

liberal neil peart: don't forget to vote for the new priests of syrinx in the upcoming temple midterms

communist neil peart: philosophers and ploughmen, each must know his part

christian neil peart: i will choose a ready guide in some celestial voice

agnostic neil peart: we just don't know who created the motor law

atheist neil peart: i will choose freewill

bicurious neil peart: hand over hand doesn't seem so much hand over hand is the strength of a common touch

cyberpunk neil peart: net boy net girl send your signal around the world put your message in a modem and throw it in the cyber sea

reaganite neil peart: and the men who hold high places must be the ones who start

Nothing is Perfect, by Metric.

Nothing is perfect, it's gorgeous, the sky meets the sea but nothing is perfect, nothing is perfect for me

This song came up on shuffle yesterday when I was driving up into the foothills. It's a striking drive at any time of year, but it's maybe especially lovely right now with all the seasonal rains greening up the mountainside -- so lush and luxurious that it can be seen from miles down the valley, growing brighter and more distinct the further up you drive.

Some people say the desert is empty wasteland, and of course they're wrong. Nothing really can be on this planet. It's harder to remember that some times than others, even if you know better. But it's not just thorns and heatstroke here. It's entire life cycles born from and sustained by puddles. It's sunrises and sunsets that light the whole sky on fire. It's wintering eastern songbirds and really robust conservation efforts and trees of all sizes lining the banks of underground rivers.

Even knowing all that, something I've always struggled with in living here, and probably always will, is how much I miss the way nature works itself out in Ohio: deciduous trees, the green, the damp, a good cold winter with snow, bodies of water. There are things I love about nature here, too: how infrequently I have to worry about getting rained on, gentle sunshine on winter days, the stars, the sky islands, the prevalence of fruit trees and other edible plants.

Nothing is perfect, it's gorgeous...

It probably says something about me that this happened when I was looking at the greenest time of year here. But...driving into the foothills to an appointment I wasn't thrilled about keeping after a long day at work, on one of the hottest and stickiest days we've had recently in a summer full of what seems like dangerously hot and/or sticky days worldwide, looking at that indistinct fuzz of mountain greenery as it focused and sharpened itself to my eyes and slid in and out of shadow and took up more and more of my view...

That's when I felt it. Like finally punching through a wall only to find the brick was an illusion the whole time. They say the desert is empty nothingness. But nothing is perfect. Nothing is worth it. Nothing provides.

Nothing is real, and it can hurt us. So can anything. It's not endless; nothing is. But it doesn't have to be. It's gorgeous. It's gorgeous.