Hierarchy is vital to how species adapt to the world around them. Following a ladder of what creatures are the strongest, which are the weakest, and the abilities they possess that make them better or worse at surviving in their habitats. You can call this many things. Classes. A pyramid scheme. Some might even call it… A food chain.

The idea of adapting the concept of Pac-Man into an existential cosmic horror might seem odd to somebody who only has a basic knowledge of how the game performs. From the outside, you see a little orb guy picking up pellets while avoiding ghosts in a maze. Collect them all, move on to the next level. Get caught by a ghost, and you have to start again. The repetitive nature of the challenge makes it seemingly easier to achieve on the next playthrough, or if you don’t achieve it, you at least have a chance of performing better. An addictive cycle.

Looking deeper you’ll see that you’re not just collecting the pellets. You eat them in order to rack up a higher score. It’s satisfying to see that number rise. A high score meant everything in an arcade. Your three little initials sitting at the top of the leaderboard meant you’ve achieved higher than anyone else before you. You’ve eaten more pellets and have moved up the hierarchy. The pyramid. The food chain. It’s a sense of accomplishment to reach that much higher than somebody below you.

The winning tactic to eat more and more to gain a higher score has some nuance though. Yeah, you could simply eat all of the pellets and claim your score. Finish the level and move onto the next. Maze after maze. Satisfaction in repetition. It can pay off in the end. You’ll feel more satisfied the further you reach. But what if there was a way you could prove to be better even faster? What else is in this stage that could boost that high score? You couldn’t possibly eat the ghosts. They’re so much stronger than you. They’re higher in the hierarchy. The pyramid. The food chain.

It may be challenging to fight monsters larger than you. The power of a dragon compared to a lowly knight, why that’s preposterous. The dragon should win every time, of course, because well, it’s a dragon. But the knight has something the dragon wasn’t prepared for. That sword and shield are awfully strong and sharp. If the knight managed to swing at the correct time, maybe he could come out on top. Maybe with just the correct timing, you could catch that power pellet in the corner and sweep out the ghosts for an even higher score count before you move on to the next maze. You could prove to be better than them. You could be more powerful. Higher class. Higher on the pyramid. Higher in the food chain.

Failure hurts. That feeling of getting too close, but failing. You couldn’t consume enough. Weaker. Just a little further and you’d have had that high score. That S-Rank. That gold medal. You’ll start again. That repetition. Keep throwing yourself into that maze until you escape. Until you come out on top. Until you’ve consumed it all and see yourself better than those below you. You seem hungry. You deserve this, don’t you? This vicious cycle.

Devouring the ghosts, clearing the pellets, seeing your name rise on the scoreboard. Higher than anyone before you. It feels good to be better than those beneath you, doesn’t it? Doesn’t that feeling make you surge with joy? Perhaps a little adrenaline. This is how you were built. To always push yourself to do better and better despite what pushes you down. Despite those higher in class. Higher on the pyramid. Higher in the food chain. There’s something primal about it. About striving and pushing and repeating and eating and collapsing and getting back up and devouring and winning and losing and going and consuming until there’s nothing left, but there won’t ever be anything left and there will never be an end to the maze and there is no exit and you can’t help but keep pushing in case there is because there has to be, because if there isn’t an end or a next level or a higher score or higher class or a tip to the pyramid or another link in the food chain then what was it all for?

What if all of this consumption and challenge and fear of not being good enough was just… Pointless? What if there is no high score? What if the goal all along was to just live. But if the goal was just to live then why are we so challenged? Why is it all we can do to just consume and drive and push higher and higher against a power that’s stronger than us? A power that we can only beat when we’re lucky? When we find that one pellet that lets us go further beyond? Why do we have these classes? These pyramids? This food chain. This fucking food chain.

There can be beauty in repetition. There can be bliss. Finding a cycle that is fulfilling, non-challenging, and still satisfying. But it’s so easy to turn these things into just more consumption. More to eat. More high score. When we could create art and music and friendships, we’re often told we have to work to deserve those things. We can’t just have them. Because we need to compete for them. We need to compete for our art and for our music and our food and our friends, because there’s only so much of it that can be valuable. Only so much we can have for free. We don’t engage in art and expression. We consume it.

We’re all challenged every day to keep going through this maze. We’re all pushed to do better at it, and to come out on top, and to have the highest score. Be the peak performer. The employee of the month. Get that new promotion. Get the best car. Get the most handsome boyfriend. Go viral. Get famous. We live in a time where just having fun with the game isn’t the point. Push. Grind. Consume. Every day. Repetition. Being enough isn’t enough. You put your quarter in that slot, now put in the fucking work. Don’t you want to see your name on that scoreboard?

We overwork. We overeat. We burn out. We’re taught to lead our lives being addicted to being bigger and better than ever. Bloated and still consuming. Because we’re almost at the end of the maze. And the ghosts keep coming back. And we keep challenging them. It’s not enough to get by on pellets alone anymore because you can’t make the leaderboard with just pellets.

Some days I can’t. Some days I just don’t want to. It’s my quarter, and if I want to spend it, I want to choose how to play. I’m not good at this game every day. Most days I don’t need to be good at it. Some days I just want to play a game for the sake of the game. Maybe I’m low class. Maybe I’m not climbing the pyramid. Maybe I’m not high on the food chain. Other animals have gotten by. I’m not that hungry today. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be pushed again. But for now, I think I’ll just put in another quarter.