We humans are territorial creatures, like many other mammals, and we've demonstrated this throughout history by waging wars to conquer land and exercise power over it. This is nothing new. We all recognize this perpetual reality. We've been doing it for millennia, and we continue today; the Russian aggression against Ukraine, the Sudanese Civil War, the Gaza-Israel conflict, and many more. Conflicts over land and resources remain as present as ever. In this brief essay, I will examine how human territorialism is relevant and depicted in popular culture, more specifically in video games. While doing so, I want to explore the themes of power and isolation, but more specifically, the player's intimate sense of dominion over space and time within the universe of a video game. There are many titles I could include as examples, such as Civilization, Age of Empires, Rise of Nations, Far Cry and Empire Earth. However, I'll focus on just one: Generation Zero.

The human obsession with territorial control has been explored in video games for decades. In the world of open-world gaming, few titles capture both the thrill of domination and the eerie dread of isolation as effectively as Generation Zero. Developed by Avalanche Studios, this post-apocalyptic first-person shooter takes place in an alternate-history version of 1980s Sweden. Humanity has nearly vanished, and hostile machines now dominate the countryside. You rarely see another human being. While the game's premise is compelling on its own, what truly sets Generation Zero apart from many other similar games is how it makes me feel; not just as a survivor of some vague catastrophe, but as a quiet master of a vast and hauntingly diverse, captivating landscape. And that land is beautifully rendered. There are stunning vistas, dramatic mountains and open plains, dark and foreboding forests, and picturesque villages, sometimes perched by the sea and other times nestled deep in the woods. The game doesn't just show a version of a possible world; it invites you to inhabit it. But why is this human obsession with territories and control of land significant for this essay's topic?

A stunning vista, Generation Zero.

Dominic D.P. Johnson and Monica Duffy Toft write in their article "Grounds for Hope: The Evolutionary Science behind Territorial Conflict" that "[...] territorial disputes are more likely to lead to war than other types of dispute, more likely to lead to recurrent conflict, and more likely to result in high fatalities if war occurs. Areas regarded as 'homeland' are particularly volatile and violently contested." This can certainly be said about Northern Ireland, Palestine, Nagorno-Karabakh, and Kosovo, being real examples of human conflicts. The sobering truth is that interstate territorial conflicts are on the rise. The concept of homeland and fighting for land is very much visible in the video game Generation Zero. While this game is a compelling example of digital conflict in which humans are on the brink of being annihilated by mechanical invaders, it is also fascinating to explore how it depicts humanity's countless attempts at restoring control over land in their fight against a vastly superior invader.

From the very beginning, the player is dropped into a massive, detailed, and eerily empty environment. Hills roll into forests, coastal towns lie abandoned, and bunkers sink into the ground like forgotten secrets. The map doesn't just stretch far; it feels enormous. Yet that massive scale never feels overwhelming. Instead, it creates a slow-burning sense of ownership. As you explore, scavenge, and survive, you begin to assemble a mental map. Eventually, what was once a cold and unfamiliar landscape becomes a place you recognize and understand. You begin to know the land, from a specific hilltop to a certain stretch of forest or a quiet lakeshore. We move from the so-called "fog of ignorance" to the known and charted land. There is no terra incognita here. I mean, the player is not aware of all the lands in the game at the very beginning, but on a philosophical level, the player knows what needs to be done to accomplish the major goal.

Landscape by night, Generation Zero.

There is a unique sense of power in this gradual process of exploration, survival, and recognition. Every safehouse you unlock, every ambush you survive, and every region you clear of machines adds to your sense of control. This isn't domination in the traditional gaming sense. There are no empires to build from scratch, no armies to lead to victories. The control in Generation Zero is more subtle, and definitely more personal. It comes from knowledge, knowing the land better than your enemies. You learn which roads are safest at night, which ruins hold the best loot, and how to use the terrain to ambush a group of Hunter-class machines. Still, every location, whether a gas station, a supermarket, or a forest clearing, can be equally dangerous. It's a powerful feeling to reclaim a small town from the mechanical beasts that stalk it.

Perhaps the clearest expression of this feeling is found in the game's large battles. In the vast fields of Sweden, epic confrontations unfold between huge mechanical walkers and smaller, more agile robots. Sometimes, you'll witness machines fighting amongst themselves, often involving massive and deadly Russian drones armed with rockets and bullets. These are not your allies. You're often caught between factions, each with the same goal: to destroy the others and claim the land. In those moments, you're not just surviving; you're asserting control. It is interesting how my friend and I, while playing this game in co-op mode, very quickly developed jargon and nicknames for some of the most hated opponents: Samurais, ticks, metal dogs, and Rullemarie. For the record, they all have official names. Ticks are, funny enough, called ticks, metal dogs are actually Runners, Samurais are Hunters, while the biggest ones are either Harvesters or Tanks. All of them are despised because they are so detrimental to players' health. The last mentioned one is a type of robot that somewhat resembles the EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal robot), which is often used by police when it is dangerous to use a human being in certain situations. In Denmark, that type of robot is called colloquially Rullemarie.

When thinking of the assertion of control in Generation Zero, one specific scene in the game comes to mind. I was trying to reach a lighthouse. On my way there, I encountered and defeated a group of machines, the so-called metal dogs. I passed several police vehicles with fallen officers around them, searched for supplies, and continued toward the lighthouse, which stood only about a hundred meters away. Climbing to the top, I looked out across the landscape. I could see the narrow road behind me, nearby islands, distant forests, and mountains. But more than that, I could see the territory I had cleared. It felt like it belonged to me... at least for now, and until the next major fight.

The view from the lighthouse, Generation Zero.

Still, this feeling of power is never complete. The game constantly reminds me of my vulnerability. The silence of the forests, the absence of any NPCs, and the distant sounds of mechanical movement all maintain an atmosphere of tension. I hate those beeping noises, but I also love them, because they signal an oncoming fight. The adrenaline kicks in, and I know I'll have to defend myself once again. I might feel like the ruler of this quiet kingdom, but my reign is always under threat. This constant tension between control and fear is what gives the game its emotional depth.

One of Generation Zero's most striking features is that you almost never encounter another human enemy. You are truly alone. At first, I assumed this was a design choice rooted in political correctness, avoiding human-on-human violence. But the more I played, the more I realized it was something else entirely. You, as a player, are quite possibly the last person capable of resistance, and it falls to you to reclaim the land. Your task is to rid it of these foreign, terrifying machines that are unafraid to engage you in order to destroy any resistance. Only then can you take back control. And that's something humans have done for thousands of years. We struggled, fought, and sometimes committed atrocities, all in the name of land and resources. And fame and honor, but these themes are beyond the scope of this text. We understand and define reality through the control of physical space. It's a grim realization, but I am quite confident that unfortunately it's true.

Engaging a Runner aka metal dog, Generation Zero.

In the end, Generation Zero offers a unique take on the open-world power fantasy. It doesn't make you feel like a god at any given time during play. It makes you feel like a cunning survivor in a dangerous, watchful world, infested by mechanical invaders who wish to annihilate any human resistance. The game celebrates your growing mastery not through brute strength, but through patience and clever strategy. After all, these are some of the traits that made humans masters of this planet.

This game is about quietly learning every corner of ghost-filled landscapes, even if the shadows never stop shifting. And make no mistake; the shadows are always moving, and getting closer. You will keep fighting to gain and hold ground. Because let's face it: who doesn't want to be the ruler of vast territory? That's what we do, and that's why we're here.

The same essay, but for those who don't read.

Bibliography
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“Generation Zero | Open-World Action Game.” Generation Zero, https://generationzero.com/en. Accessed 28 June 2025.
Johnson, Dominic D.P., and Toft, Monica Duffy. “Grounds for Hope: The Evolutionary Science behind Territorial Conflict.” Https://Www.Belfercenter.Org, https://www.belfercenter.org/sites/default/files/pantheon_files/files/publication/johnson-toft-policy-brief-march-2014-final.pdf. Accessed 28 June 2025.
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