The Fantasy of Control
In videogames, strength is usually the foundation, the default setting, the thing that always wins. Strip away the narrative fluff and what remains is a world where the solution to every single problem is domination. The gun, the sword, the fists of a hero whose only metric for success is who they can overpower. There’s a reason why the appeal of the lone warrior remains unchanged, after all these generations. The mythology of force as the ultimate virtue has been cultivated for centuries and refined through politics, media, and culture until it became invisible. Until it became obvious. A truth so ingrained it doesn’t feel constructed but just the way things are.
Once you start to see the pattern, though, you can start seeing it for what it is. It looks deliberate. There’s a reason why so many of gaming's most popular characters feel strong and almost inevitable. The master assassin. The hardened soldier. The last survivor. The silent, faceless, unkillable force that barrels through enemies who is always right, always righteous, never ever questioning the systems they uphold. Even when a game postures as “rebellious” or “not the usual”, the alternative it offers is a new king on the same throne. A different face in the same fucking war machine. Even stories that move towards resistance often fall into the same trap. You’re fighting for freedom, but only through force. The only way to change the world is to blindly kill your way to the top.
Fascist aesthetics don’t need to be obvious to be present. Sometimes they show up in the shape of a world too clean, efficient and too perfectly organized around a singular, unchallenged hierarchy. Other times it’s in the art itself where it’s hyper-masculine, militarized and obsessed with form over function. It’s the shine of a gun, the hyperspecific details of a mech suit, the framing of a hero shot that lingers just long enough to admire the muscles, the armour, the absolute dominance of the protagonist over the frame. The fantasy of complete and utter control.
The Individualist Fantasy
The lone hero doesn’t need anyone because he operates outside of the system, but somehow upholds it anyway. The system is corrupt, but he’s the exception. The world is broken, but through his hands, his righteous anger, his sheer brute force, it will be corrected. The individual triumphs. The individual is what matters. It’s always the individual, because anything else like collectivism, cooperation, reliance, starts to sound too much like weakness.
Power is about the absence of vulnerability. It’s why these heroes never ask for help and why they don’t need to rely on anyone. The world is something they will and must carve their way through. The protagonist as a sculptor, shaping everything to their own will. This is what makes them heroic, what makes them right. The universe orbits them, and never the other way around.
This vision of power as something that must be wielded alone, isn’t an accident either. It’s a cultivated belief, reinforced through fiction and history alike. Power isn’t shown as just desirable, but what makes a person real. To be weak is to be disposable. To be strong is to live forever. Think at how these games frame failure, it isn’t framed as part of the experience, it’s usually framed as humiliation. You have a killcam rewinding the time of death. Reload. Try again. Get better. Do not allow yourself to be lesser than.
A Hollow Resistance
Even the games that try to subvert the formula often fall right back into it. You are the underdog, and you are fighting against an empire or a corrupt government. And how do you win? The same way your enemies do, becoming stronger. By outgunning, outmatching, overpowering them. Your rebellion is just a better army, your revolution a shinier throne. You’re not even trying to dismantle the system, you’re replacing it with the same thing in a shiner coat. And the games that do let you do something different are far and few between. They’re mostly niche, and exist on the fringes, barely acknowledged by the industry because they refuse to play by the same rules.
Even then, the rebellion itself becomes an aesthetic. The neon lights, and cool jackets give the illusion of freedom while keeping the core mechanics untouched. You’re just playing dress-up inside of the system. The machine doesn’t care if you call yourself a hero or an anarchist, as long as you keep playing the game.
A Different Route to Power
There are games that explore power as something shared and cooperative, something that isn’t about tearing others down but lifting them up. These games are the exception, not the rule, but they do exist. Games where survival is about community and where success isn’t defined by dominance, but by resilience, connection and persistence. Where the point isn’t to be stronger than everyone else but to find ways to exist together.
But these aren’t the games that get glorified, because they don’t fit the fantasy. Because these games ask something of the player that’s far more uncomfortable than just being strong. They ask them to rethink what strength even is.
Dismantling the Power Fantasy
It isn’t that all power fantasies are inherently bad, but power is not neutral. The way power is framed, rewarded and worshipped shapes how we see the world. If every game reinforces the idea that strength is the only path to victory, that force is the only solution, that control is the only thing that matters, then what does that say about us as humans? What does that subconsciously train us to believe?
The alternative does exist. But it requires thinking beyond the self, beyond the individual. And that’s never been an easy fantasy to sell.