How Sexism Pervades through the Story of Horizon: Forbidden West, and Why Character Development Matters

[WARNING: Major story spoilers for Horizon: Zero Dawn and Horizon: Forbidden West beyond this point.]

When I was in college, I went to a creative writing seminar with a message that really stuck with me. The professor stressed that modern writers, within the next decade, needed to shift towards a specific trend. It was not only important to portray a female protagonist that tackles real-world issues, but it was vital to show how that process fundamentally transforms her in the most blatant way possible. When I think back to that seminar, the best example I can think of that models this advice is Horizon: Zero Dawn. The game's protagonist, Aloy, wrestles with problems in her post-apocalyptic world that most people are too scared or ignorant to challenge. It's a core reason why the game amassed such a beloved community, too. Even though Aloy lives in a fantastical version of our world, she deals with conflicts that we see in our neighborhoods, our newsfeeds, and our everyday lives. We can easily put ourselves in her shoes, while being inspired by the path she walks at the same time. Aloy's story was built to push the boundaries of how stories are typically told, and it's nothing short of special.

With the anticipated release of Horizon: Forbidden West, the franchise's sequel, I was excited to see how Guerrilla would continue that story. I was ready to explore the world of Horizon through Aloy's eyes again- I wanted to revisit the feeling of walking beside her as she carved out a place for herself in the world. Through Aloy, I wanted to learn more about the struggles that the world faced, particularly the ancient machines that were built to protect life from the mistakes of her ancestors' past. Ultimately, I wanted to see that sliver of hope that Zero Dawn offered: the creation of Aloy's character undoubtedly made a positive change in the video game industry, and I was betting on Guerrilla doing it again. So, I preordered the game, and wrote and speculated and discussed within the community I had joined, and made plenty of great friends in the process. And we waited.

I have to start by stressing that I really, truly wanted to love this story. But I want to be honest, too. The game is absolutely worth playing, despite the critiques that I have, and it's worth coming to your own conclusions about what I intend to discuss here. There is still so much that this game excels in, too. The gameplay is incredible, and Forbidden West makes the world far more rich and complex in a lot of satisfying ways. The attention to detail on gameplay and immersion is jaw-dropping, to say the least. It's obvious that a lot of hard work went into this, and I hope the folks at Guerrilla are proud of what they've achieved. And, of course, I wouldn't be writing a whole article if I wasn't still passionate about this franchise and what it can stand for. I'm still enjoying the game as I explore the last bits of the map, but now that the majority of the story is behind me, I can safely say that something was sorely missing from Forbidden West's writing. I couldn't quite figure out what was bothering me at first, but with each interaction Aloy had with other characters, old and new, that gaping hole in Forbidden West's story became more obvious the longer I played. It followed me until the end, and has left me ruminating. I keep thinking back to that college seminar, and it's hard not to feel disappointed by what Aloy's journey could have been.

To illustrate this change, I have to start with the end. Specifically, the final scenes for both Zero Dawn and Forbidden West. I think the comparison pinpoints exactly where things shifted between the feel of each game, and illustrates how Forbidden West lost its predecessor's emotional depth.

First, Zero Dawn. The final scene opens with Aloy, alone, riding through a desolate landscape. At first glance, there's not much to be found here- just the remnants of an old ranch, surrounded by a cluster of pines that survive despite the harsh climate. There are no machines of awesome might here, not like the ones that we've grown accustomed to. But despite the simplicity of this place, Aloy approaches the ranch with quiet reverence. We know this place is important, without having to be told so.

There's a gentle swell of music- and a voice. Elisabet Sobeck, a great scientist of the Old World (and the woman from whom Aloy was cloned), talks into her Focus with gentle care. Elisabet spoke these words more than a thousand years ago; they were meant for somebody else, in another time. But Aloy listens in, as if this conversation was meant for her. Elisabet tells a story to GAIA- the sentient AI born of her creation, and the closest thing Elisabet ever thought she had to a child. Elisabet talks about her own childhood, weaved into a bedtime story. It's a moment of bittersweet connection between mother and daughter who are never destined to meet one another.

It's during the retelling of this story when Aloy finally finds Elisabet. The camera pans to the corpse, left amongst the rubble of her home, preserved for thousands of years by armor that now lies damaged and withered into the rock itself. But even as Aloy stands at the foot of her grave, the Elisabet from the past keeps talking in her ear- she hasn't finished her story, not yet. As Aloy shuffles close, GAIA asks a pertinent question into her ear: If you had had a child, Elisabet, what would you have wished for him, or her?

And Elisabet answers honestly. With each quality she lists, Aloy has proven to show within herself through countless hours of quests, challenges, and heartfelt cutscenes we've bared witness to as the player. Even as Aloy scans Elisabet's remains, attempting to uncover the mechanical wonders that her natural eyes cannot see, Aloy is still proving to grow into the qualities that Elisabet had hoped for. At this realization, Aloy never speaks her emotions out loud. She doesn't have to. She clutches the gift that her mother has given her- an ornamental globe. It's a fragile little trinket, but it still holds its color in defiance to the decay around it. Aloy looks out towards what lies ahead, and she smiles, despite the tears in her eyes.

We hear Elisabet's last words from this installment of the story. Time to tuck in. I'll catch you tomorrow. It's a tomorrow that her mother ensured, and a tomorrow that Aloy can experience for herself.

God, just thinking about that ending makes me teary-eyed. It's one of those scenes that makes me want to be a better writer. Contrast that with the final scenes in Forbidden West, and the change in tone is pretty clear to me.

Forbidden West's end is a race through a warpath, created by what's left of Elisabet's greediest peers, now immortal and driven by self-preservation. We find Beta, another clone of Elisabet, in the base of her abusers, her face scrunched in pain and arms tied down to the interface she's been imprisoned by all her life. Once Beta is freed, Aloy asks if she is okay- but before we get a chance to reflect on the trauma that's occurred, Beta throws us into a depiction of our next threat. The main motif is an angry ball of color, the literal consciousness of broken, immoral people, and it towers over them both. Aloy and Beta discuss the story we've been told of how the Zeniths arrived to Earth, and they describe where the new plot twist lies. There's another fight to be had, and another game on the horizon, it seems.

Tilda, Elisabet's former lover turned immortal, joins them in a grand entrance- offering the corpse of one of her peers, smoking dead on the table. She explains this new galactic threat to Beta and Aloy in more detail. Tilda states her intentions plainly: she suddenly admits that she viewed Beta as an inferior copy of her ex-girlfriend all along, and now sees Aloy as the better version that she covets. She demands that Aloy escape from Earth with her, and colonize a new planet. When Aloy objects, Tilda follows to the next logical conclusion: she enters a giant mecha and allows the final boss fight to commence. She melds into a metal beast, Beta flees the battleground, and the violence begins. And when Aloy finally kills Tilda, there's no turn-your-face-to-the-sun moment. There's a shadow of a limp hand that hangs out of the smoking rubble, briefly glanced at before Aloy brings our attention back to the new threat that she and Beta found. She doesn't get a chance to let the terror of Tilda's intentions to settle in, or to celebrate her sister's safety.

They discuss as the other companions arrive. Sylens announces that he's leaving forever to avoid Earth's doomed fate (which makes perfect sense for his character-he never held any attachment to this world, anyway). But when he glances at Aloy and her friends, standing together and talking amongst themselves, he suddenly changes his mind. There's no globe for him, no wayward audio file to guide his way. There was only a decision that needed to be made, so that the player could watch him stray from his misguided worldview.

And the story wraps up with Aloy and her friends looking toward the sky, standing side by side. Erend suggests a drink after a victorious fight, and Alva suggests a nap. The final line comes from Erend: I hope it's really over this time, he says, even though the player knows better. As the screen fades to black, all that remains is that angry red ball: it's another reminder that yes, there's another threat coming soon, this isn't over yet.

It feels like there's something missing here, right? Sure, Aloy gives a monologue afterwards, mainly to reassure us that she's not alone anymore. But that's just it: even though Aloy tells us that she's grown, it doesn't strike a strong emotional chord like the first ending did. We don't get that blissfully-grateful smile or those fresh batch of tears that were vulnerable enough to make me mirror the feeling. We just get Aloy, the hero who succeeded, and who must succeed in the future.

In describing the second game's ending, I realize that there is a lot of repetitive language I use: "discuss", "explain", "reminder", and "player" are a few. The characters certainly discuss and explain a lot, but they never connect with each other beyond talking or fighting their way through Point A to Point B. They never get a chance to stop, breathe, and notice the gravity of their situation. There is no sense of knowing here, only witnessing. To me, Forbidden West's end was the equivalent of taking the end of Zero Dawn, cutting out the story about the child's toolkit and the pine tree, slashing the metal-weaved corpse in the flowerbed, and only keeping a shot of Aloy looking out into the horizon, and saying, "I've found you, Elisabet. And I won. Now, I have to find GAIA and finish what you started." Fade to black.

At the start of the game, I was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. By the end, I was forcing myself to care about what happened next. I've taken some time to mull things over, and I think I know where things fell apart for me. It boils down to the characters and their lack of development. Guerrilla put painstaking detail into the unique mannerisms and facial expressions that bring each NPC to life, and the acting performances are unbelievably strong. But when I focus on the words that each character speaks, and the actions they take, everything suddenly falls flat. I don't think it was an issue with the story's vision, or a lack of detail. The plot sets up a LOT of potential character dynamics that could have propelled the story in many wonderful ways, but in practice, the story avoids exploring any of those paths at all. And when character dynamics are explored, they are stated blatantly, so that the player has no opportunity to speculate. The writing in Forbidden West just wasn't as vulnerable as its predecessor, because the characters weren't given a chance to show their vulnerabilities.

Now, I realize that I can't make a big statement like that without explaining myself. And I haven't forgotten that I wrote "sexism" with big scary lettering in the title. So, here are a few examples of how characters lacked vulnerability, consistency, and self-direction in Forbidden West, and how each of these writing choices negatively impacted Horizon's overall message.

Ultimately, this problem first reared its ugly head with Sun-King Avad. In Forbidden West, there is still a gentleness to the way he carries himself from the previous game- a statement to his peaceful reign over the Carja people. However, Avad also exhibits his tendency of "always trying to make [people] into someone they're not", to quote him directly. In Zero Dawn, this character flaw manifested through the death of Ersa, the Oseram woman whom he fell in love with, and who played a large role in the rebellion against his father. In grieving for Ersa, Avad latched onto Aloy, recognizing bits of Ersa's characteristics within her. He asks Aloy to stay in Meridian so that they can get to know each other. Regardless of player choice, Aloy points out the self-centeredness of the situation- she has a near-impossible task set before her, and he's clearly speaking through his veil of grief. At this moment, Avad isn't thinking of Aloy's needs when he asks her to stay. Avad recognizes where his grief made him think selfishly, and apologizes, saying that "even a King can learn his lesson". At this point in the story, I only grew to respect him. Avad asks for forgiveness and then moves on, proving to be a deeply empathetic listener to others.

But in Forbidden West, Avad doesn't move forward at all. When Aloy visits Meridian, Avad propositions Aloy again, in the exact same way, without any mention of the lesson he learned in the previous game. Even as Aloy recognizes what he's about to do and tries to stop the conversation, he insists that she hear him out. And in doing that, he backtracks against his previous character development-he actively chooses to cross the boundary that Aloy has placed. The whole interaction comes off as creepy, desperate, and emotionally inconsiderate, and all I wanted to do as a player was to get Aloy out of that situation as quickly as possible. I don't think the writers meant for Avad to come off that way, since they added other things to his dialogue that contradicted this immature decision. But it was clear that this scene had little interest in Avad's future, and more of an interest in revisiting his story in Zero Dawn.

I remember going through this scene, and feeling a strange sense of apprehension begin to trickle in. My gut told me that something was up, that I had seen a red flag like this before. But this was just a small scene in Meridian, a callback moment meant to prepare the player for the actual story ahead. Maybe, it was a one-time writing choice that wouldn't happen again. So, I tried to shrug it off, and move on. But the problem persisted as recurring characters returned back into the spotlight- or, when the spotlight often didn't shine on them brightly enough. And that uncomfortable feeling only grew worse.

Petra had her issues next. She still feels like her old self, to a degree-loud, independent forge worker and all-but there are major parts of her character that are clearly missing from the original game. For one, Petra never gets a chance to get her hands dirty, not like how she stood by Aloy's side through her sidequest and the Battle of the Alight in the past. She hangs out in the bar in Chainscrape to tip Aloy off to the next quest, then takes over the town once Aloy's heavy lifting is finished. Again, Petra's story acts as a reminder of a beloved Zero Dawn character, but Forbidden West fails to offer anything substantially new. And although her dialogue is filled with new Oseram phrases-several new ones that seem to come up in every other sentence-her flirtiness towards Aloy is cut out of the new game entirely. That flirtiness was one of the major ways she connected to Aloy (and therefore, the player), so it felt strange to me that Forbidden West would water down that part of her character in comparison to the first game. But I kept shrugging it off, and kept trying to move on.

Erend got my hopes up in the beginning of the game, too. I love the strength of his opening scene, where he confronts Aloy about leaving him behind in Meridian. He takes a moment to bare his teeth and express his hurt, and we get a taste of the brash, less-than-graceful Erend that we know and love. He isn't afraid to loudly proclaim the issue that everybody is thinking but not saying, even when it's an issue with someone he holds immense respect for. And he's right to feel hurt, too- it makes Aloy consider where she went wrong, and how she creates consequences by taking on her quest alone. Yes, this scene has a hint of that same past-game nostalgia that Avad and Petra exhibit, but there is something else that makes it stand out from the other characters' opening scenes: Erend pushes himself into territory that hadn't been discussed before, and it opens up an opportunity to make Aloy think.

But after that scene, his character development quickly falls apart. Once Erend joins the Base, all of his lines devolve into three categories: his obsession with ale, how much of a "usual screwup" he is, and how much he either hates himself or doesn't like somebody else. I shook my head at the screen every time he brought up alcohol, especially when used to make himself the butt of the joke-it seemed so insensitive to him, after how his drinking habit was explored as a byproduct of his grief in the previous game. As he learned about the Old World, his comments were often shallow-most of his interactions devolved into "Erend likes rock music", or "Erend likes sports", or "Erend is talking about beer, again". It gets bad enough that Erend forces others to act out-of-character, too. In one of the dialogue lines in the Base, Varl explicitly states that "if there are two of you [referring to Erend], I'm running for the hills". Not only is Erend taking the harsh personal blow from Varl, but the Varl I knew from Zero Dawn would never have put down a friend like that-he was always a deeply compassionate guy, guided by his spirituality while taking others' perspectives into account as best he could. And sure, that could've been written as a joke between two friends, but with Erend constantly being treated badly by himself and others, I just wanted to hug the guy rather than laugh at him.

In the end, interactions in the Base grew stark and simplified, and it limited the depths of the characters within its walls. While playing, I realized how much I started to miss the old Erend; the vulnerable Erend, the drunk-for-somber-reasons Erend, the "I was lucky just to get a minute of your time" Erend. The Erend that was unsure of himself, that put himself down sometimes, but always showed up for himself and his friends in the end. This new Erend feels like a stand-in with a hammer that Aloy can utilize when she needs it.

At this point, I was pretty confused by my reaction to the game, and I started second-guessing myself. Did I just not like where the story was going? Were my expectations too high after having anxiously anticipated Zero Dawn's sequel for so long? But even as I tried to excuse and ignore my concerns, the issue was only getting worse. Key story moments made me put the controller down at times, and many writing choices thoroughly broke the immersive quality of the game outright.

This treatment was given to some of the new (and semi-new) characters, too. GAIA was someone who I was excited to interact with-we'd seen remnants of her in a hologram or two, but Forbidden West offeres an opportunity to meet her in person. In an interview with GamesRadar, narrative director Ben McCaw stressed that GAIA is the only person that can fully, objectively understand Aloy's situation. This opens up a lot of possibilities-until now, Aloy's perspective has been foreign enough to prevent many of her peers from offering the kind of listening ear she needs. Speaking with GAIA in the flesh must be a strange combination of relieving and challenging for her. And GAIA may feel equally emotional, seeing the face of her creator while hearing the words of a stranger. But in the actual narrative, none of this is explored, only glossed over. Aloy goes through her initial shock of discovering GAIA, but after that, it's a deep dive into explaining plot and answering questions about the game's lore. Even as the story progresses, GAIA only interacts passively with friends: she offers information about the Old World, and recalls their conversations that occur off-screen. The illusion of her humanity dissipated once I tried to piece her wants, needs, and motivations together, and I started to see GAIA as more of a robotic caretaker than the empathetic AI that she claimed to be. This could have been avoided in several ways-I understand that GAIA can't physically do much, being stuck on a pedestal and incorporeal, but she still could play a more active role in the story. At one point, GAIA says that she doesn't like the idea of using her technology to kill enemies; Aloy responds by saying "That's good....It means you have a conscience". But it shouldn't have left off at that; what if GAIA had to kill, for Aloy's sake, and then lamented over her actions? What if she was physically there for Varl, Erend, and Zo as they processed their grief over the Old World and its terrible fate? What if she told stories to an eager audience, sitting cross-legged on the atrium floor-and realized that she had this new team of Alphas that had grown to adore her? What if Aloy's expectations got the better of her- what if Aloy and GAIA debated and argued and fought over who Elisabet was, and over what had to be done to save her legacy?

But instead of anything like that, GAIA is just... there. She offers Aloy direct confirmation that she has the ability to succeed, because her predecessor told her so, not because of any conviction in GAIA's heart. Ultimately, GAIA is a prime example of how Forbidden West focuses so much on lore that it brushes aside the characters that are meant to derive meaning from it.

Ultimately, this writing problem affects Aloy, too. The game repeatedly brings up her need to rely on friends, even though she believes the burden of her mission must be carried alone. After playing Zero Dawn, I was excited to see Aloy wrestle with her outcast ways in the next installment. I was hoping to see her stumble, and maybe fall, but ultimately learn to take a stand beside the people she had grown to care for. After all, her companions are her greatest proof that the people of Earth are worth saving. Even as the game's release date grew closer, it was hinted that Aloy would have a major "dark night of the soul" moment. Maybe she would fail to act as a one-man army, or perhaps she would face the fact that she couldn't protect her friends from grim reality, no matter how she tried to prevent it. But as I played the game, this particular character arc fell apart, too. Certain scenes with the Zeniths try to accomplish the sense of Aloy being in over her head, but in the end, the power of friendship with her Earth-born friends doesn't prove to be all that powerful. It's Aloy's personal mission to save GAIA, Sylens' secret machine, and an uneasy pact with a Zenith that actually saves the day. Sure, Aloy's companions provide fire support a few times, but none of them are given a chance to affect the plot in the end. It's such a far cry from the ending of Zero Dawn, where Aloy did manage to gather her friends together to take down the final boss at the Battle of the Alight.

When Aloy is surrounded by a cast that has been simplified into vessels that further the plot, her own development comes off as stunted. With returning friends like these, what proof does Aloy have that she needs to rely on others, other than that she's told to do so over, and over, and over again? By the game's end, Aloy still doesn't show a drive to connect with others, because she's hardly left her comfort zone. Beta, the Zenith's clone of Elisabet Sobeck, had huge potential to flip Aloy's world upside-down, and is the only one that ever comes close. The game even hints that Beta's pessimism of the outside world is due to the lack of a loving presence in her life-she could be Aloy's perfect proof that it's love, not burdensome expectation, that gives her the drive to succeed. Yes, Beta changes Aloy's plans and acts as a critical piece in the puzzle of defeating the Zeniths, Aloy's sense of judgment does not shift as a result of meeting her sister. Aloy certainly announces that she views Beta as a sister, but it feels hollow when we've only seen one genuine bonding scene between them. Even their bonding scene was a situation of telling vs. showing- it consists of the two of them coming to the conclusion that Beta is different from Aloy because she wasn't raised by a parent, and then they part ways so that the plot can move on.

For the sisters, this is the essence of the problem. The player can't connect with Aloy after just being handed a list of her values; the player connects with Aloy by standing by her side during crucial points of her life, just like how friendship forms by seeing someone day-to-day. Beta seems like a fascinating character, but there's never a moment to reflect on her presence. We never watch her crawl out of that basement on her own accord, or stumble through her first interactions with Aloy's friends. But she sure does say a lot.

Looking back on both games, Aloy's comfort levels are vastly different. In Zero Dawn, Aloy's way of life falls apart during the Proving massacre: she's left restless, desperate for answers, and driven to venture where her own people can't follow. The person she is at the end of the game is vastly different from the young Nora outcast who's biggest dream was to find her mother. In Forbidden West, the Aloy at the beginning of the game isn't much different from the Aloy at the end. The enemies get bigger, and meaner, but they never force her to fundamentally change the path that she is determined to follow. Aloy is still a highly-driven female character, but the plot never challenges her enough to stop, reflect, and strengthen the weight of her actions in a way that the player may relate to.

That's where the sexism bleeds in. This is not meant to be accusatory, and I don't think the sexist aspects of this game were intentional on Guerrilla's part. But it's still worth addressing that sexist storylines and tropes show up in Forbidden West as an unfortunate symptom of the bigger problem: a lack of agency in characters, and the avoidance of any emotional subtext that would otherwise give them depth. I personally noticed this pattern in male characters as often as in female characters, but it tended to frame many of the women of Forbidden West in a bad light in several ways.

Firstly, Regalla was a poorly underutilized villain for this exact reason. Her role is to stand in Aloy's way, particularly when it comes to any quests that involve the Tenakth. Brutality stands at the forefront of each of her scenes, especially with the massacre she causes at the Embassy. But despite how the story succeeds at detailing how ruthless Regalla can be, it never answers the question of why. Sure, Regalla lists her reasons why she built her rebellion- for her siblings killed long ago, for the pride of burning Meridian to the ground, for proving she can win a vendetta-but none of these reasons really stick. Compared to villains in Zero Dawn, Regalla's brutality doesn't tell a story, but it does provide an excuse for her to be there. Helis stands in stark contrast to this-he holds just as much hatred as she does, but it's deftly honed and diversified. He holds himself to the will of a false god's teachings, and weaves his rage through his unwavering belief in prophecy. His moral code guides all of his actions, no matter how twisted, and his personal reasonings about the world weighs on every sentence he speaks. Regalla, on the other hand, does what she does only because Tenakth culture compels her to. Technically, this is true for Helis as well, but he forms a clear, personal relationship with his cultural beliefs that Regalla never gets a chance to reveal. Ultimately, Regalla only feels rage for rage's sake, and cites Tenakth values when it's convenient, and the plot overshadows her agency heavily. To me, Regalla's choice to refuse Aloy's challenge at the massacre, or her choice to join the fight against the Zeniths, was clearly made to keep the story consistent, and not for any reason that held any personal significance for her.

Because plot is often favored over character, many of the women in this game have characteristics that outright contradict one another. Zo had a particular problem with this throughout the story. Her past paints her as an Utaru hungry for war, vengeful enough to go against the will of her people, and someone who was willing to spill blood until she was satisfied. But at face value, Zo appears to be a peaceful and mostly amiable person whenever Aloy interacts with her. This stark contrast within Zo's personality could have been very interesting, and could have spoken heavily on the collective trauma of the Red Raids and her particular pathway of coping with it. But this dichotomy within Zo is never explored- and because of that, these two sides of her don't seem to align well within her, because of that lack of a closer look. And sure, Zo can show off her toughness when interacting with Aloy at times, but that inner strength never shows any sign of spilling into an outright lust for war. This vengeful side of Zo is hardly seen beyond what the Utaru tell Aloy about her-and it's never clear why she was motivated to retaliate rather than follow her people's advice. If she has some kind of moral code that calls for an eye for an eye, Zo never has the chance to actively utilize it. I would have liked to see Zo thrown into a difficult decision in real-time- a decision where she had to choose violence or peace for the sake of an outcome she wanted, like keeping her friends safe or foiling the Zeniths' plans. I think this kind of conflict could have made her more complex and heartfelt, and would have made her presence more memorable.

Zo could have had a chance to shine if Aloy had spent time with her- and not just talking on a Focus, or chatting idly at the Base, but truly exploring the Forbidden West on a quest that required her physical presence. Most critically, it would have been easier to connect with Zo if she had spent less time at Varl's side. As cute as Varl and Zo are together, it seemed that Zo revolved around Varl's character arc far more than Varl revolved around Zo. That's where Zo follows another trend that occasionally arises in Forbidden West- the tendency to halt a woman's character development for the sake of a man's own story. This doesn't get solidified until the end of Zo's story, where she falls into what TV Tropes calls "Someone to Remember Him By".

Zo, while grieving over her boyfriend's death, suddenly announces to Aloy that she's pregnant with his child. Despite how fundamentally life-changing of an admission that is, Zo's pregnancy is never brought up beyond the span of a few sentences. Zo touches her belly, and Aloy offers a smile of approval, and the pregnancy is never mentioned again. It doesn't come up during the battle, where she risks her life with a child in her womb, or in her dialogue after the fact, when she returns to Plainsong with her people in preparation for what comes next. Zo could have been more deeply vulnerable in these moments, if the story let her- motherhood can bring a wildly complex range of emotions, a great sense of sorrow and joy, and can provide an outlet for many deeply honest and thought-provoking stories, and Zo deserves to explore that story and grow as a result.

If Forbidden West wanted to strive for a feminist outlook, the start of a family amongst Aloy's friends could be a goldmine. It could have shown them a future where relationships are respected, and interactions with their found family could be peaceful. But none of this matters- because Zo's story was not the perspective that was intended to be written. The point of this pregnancy was to solidify Varl's legacy, and Zo merely acts as a vessel. I think Zo loses her voice in the story for the sake of her boyfriend's, at this point. Her pregnancy could have been more than a vague gesture of hope after grief. We don't need tropes like these to create scenes that allow raw emotions and truths to settle in.

Then, there's Talanah's questline. Oh boy, where do I even begin?

This questline showcased the worst of Forbidden West's character issues through the use of tropes and blatant character inconsistencies. By the end of "Need to Know", Talanah is robbed of her personality to the point of being virtually unrecognizable. The Sunhawk abandons a Lodge she once put her pride and joy in, leaves behind one of her Thrushes that she once swore to never abandon, and acts openly irritated in the presence of struggling commonfolk who she once would have empathized for without hesitation. To top it all off, Talanah acted this way for the sake of pursuing a man she hardly knew. This man, Amadis, takes greater priority than any of the hopes and dreams she had in the first game. He's the only one who truly drives the quest, and he doesn't even know that Aloy and Talanah are on his trail for the majority of the time. Even Aloy and Talanah's camaraderie falls to the wayside, for the sake of Amadis- they banter about the good old days when they first run into each other, but exploration of their relationship quickly gets overshadowed by Talanah's desire to track the man down.

And despite this "wild goose chase" that Talanah drags Aloy through, the outcome ends up being pretty bleak. Amadis travels through Tenakth lands to find out the fate of his ex-girlfriend, a Carja soldier who he still holds deep feelings for. And when he finds her, and she outright rejects him for a new life, everybody parts ways. Amadis goes back to his loner lifestyle in the woods, Talanah goes back to the Lodge, and Aloy continues her mission with no new key information or lessons learned to guide her. That's the final break of Talanah's character that stings the most- after she swore to be by Aloy's side on the day they defended the Alight in Zero Dawn, Talanah never shows any concern for Aloy and her new mission in Forbidden West, and promptly never joins the Base as a result. She never even asks her Thrush why she's there in the first place- she's far too wrapped up in Amadis's story to think like herself.

Now, it's possible that the writers wanted to explore the consequences that happen when someone acts foolish over love. That kind of story, on its own, is absolutely worth telling. But it's a story that requires a lot of tricky nuance, too- and it requires deep introspection into the lovesick character's wants and needs, if the message of "acting like a lovesick fool is bad" is going to be executed properly. And it's one of those subjects where, if the character is not well-scrutinized, their original intentions can crumble into shallow appearances and questionable lessons learned. In a case like Talanah, the way it was written was pretty unbelievable to me. I could see her acting brash and making a few poor choices over dealing with new emotions like this, but her calculated, level-headed Zero Dawn counterpart never suggested that she'd let her entire life slip out of her grasp before stopping to think.

The lack of attention to character also makes Talanah fall into several sexist tropes, and with little excusable nuance. Talanah's actions read like a crazed ex-girlfriend, or an obsessive stalker unaware of the boundaries she crosses- all a far cry from the responsible, independent Sunhawk that we once knew. She falls into the "I can fix him" narrative, seeing that Amadis is a loner with a bounty on his head, and with a pretty bleak future ahead of him. And her actions are highly contradictory, to the point that it makes the entire narrative fall apart. She wouldn't dare be anyone's second choice, she tells Aloy, even though she happily ditched her job to chase after someone who didn't choose her in the first place. Ultimately, even Amadis doesn't get the chance to develop, because his main purpose is to act as bait for Talanah to chase after. He never gets a chance to look at his terrible position in life and take a risk at changing his circumstances- it never seemed like the thought crossed his mind. In a way, Amadis's character exists so that Talanah's character can stagnate.

This story was featured in a female-led, Triple A game. In 2022. If not for her conversation with her Thrushes at the questline's beginning, Talanah likely wouldn't have passed the Bechdel Test. The only way I can fathom Talanah's questline is by accepting that the writers needed Aloy to watch someone fall in love in order to highlight her own loneliness. Aloy's presence through the questline wasn't even necessary- she was just there to witness Talanah's heartbreak. She was never given a difficult choice to make, and she never dealt a heavy hand in the outcome. If Forbidden West really wanted to explore this "lovesick fool" kind of story, they should have utilized another character or created a new one that had narrative room to explore the role properly. But Talanah already had her own story, and she should have been allowed to flourish and grow within her own boundaries. There's nothing wrong with letting a female character fall in love, and Talanah's exploration of love could even be an interesting take to explore- the problem is that this questline makes her sacrifice her own character in the process.

Then, there's our big bad villain: Tilda van der Meer. As interesting as she is, her plot twist at the story's end allocated her into a sinister stereotype, one that effects queer women specifically. I got pretty excited when it was revealed that she was the ex-girlfriend of Elisabet; this not only confirmed Elisabet's queer identity, but it opened up the possibility Aloy being queer as well. Knowing that many queer fans like myself relate to Aloy's story thus far (particularly with her outcast upbringing, and her defiance against societal norms), this turn of events was promising.

Tilda decides to side with Aloy after finding her old Focus, and scouring it for information on Aloy's private life- something that Tilda apologizes for, but insists that she had to do. It's her first red flag. And at the end of the game, Tilda's true intentions reveal that she always had predatory intentions towards her ex-girlfriend's clone. She tries to kidnap Aloy while escaping to new world, without any concern for how that would affect Aloy's wellbeing. I'm all for Tilda being a secret villain, but this writing choice blatantly falls into the old predatory lesbian stereotype that keeps many queer women deep in the closet to this day. This is a byproduct of the Hays Code-era of filmmaking, which led many queer characters to be portrayed as predatory in an attempt to make queer people seem morally reprehensible, on principle. Though the Hays Code is long gone, it still influences a belief that actively fuels several anti-gay hate groups and permeates in everyday interactions. Oftentimes, and most likely in Guerilla's case, the stereotype is reinforced passively. Tilda needed to get in Aloy's way, and since the predatory lesbian trope feels familiar from our exposure to older media, it makes sense that it will inevitably be brought to a writer's room in the modern day. But even with harmless intent, characters like Tilda reinforce this assumption of queer people having inherently predatory qualities, especially when coupled with the fact that Tilda kept up an act of harmlessness to eventually get her way.

There's nothing wrong with exploring these kinds of storylines and the trauma they cause, per se, but making it a major facet of what little queer representation is offered can be damaging. Perhaps in the future, this kind of story can be told with genuine complexity and care, but using a predatory queer character as a sudden plot twist- and a boss fight-is certainly doing more harm than good. Before the twist, I personally assumed that Tilda's character was leading towards an overbearing mother role- that she saw Aloy as the perfect daughter for Elisabet, and felt the need to step in and "raise" the younger girl to follow her own twisted goals and morals. This take on Tilda could have led to a similar betrayal at the end, executed for slightly different reasons. And since both Aloy and Beta have been desperate for a mother figure from the start, putting Tilda in a toxic motherly role would have been narratively satisfying. Learning how to break away from this kind of abuse would be both difficult and rewarding for them. 

With Tilda in mind, it's clear that it's not just sexism that sneaks into the story. While I'm beyond happy that Forbidden West tried to shed light on the queer perspective, this constant characterization problem made the effort fall flat. When queer characters do appear, we never see their relationships unfold on-screen. Their partners are either dead, or they are vastly separated from each other. Characters speak of their significant others through backstory only, and it's often hidden behind optional dialogue wheels. Because of that, the lack of emotional subtext is painfully obvious. Alva, for example, has dialogue that reveals that she has a girlfriend waiting for her across the sea. Alva's bubbly personality adds to the sweetness of the sentiment, but just like Zo's pregnancy, that story isn't expanded upon beyond a few sentences, or incorporated into a larger story arc that benefits her. There could have been ways to explore that relationship- Alva could have found a way to communicate with her via her new Focus, or Alva's girlfriend could have joined her on the expedition to Legacy's Landfall. Otherwise, Alva's coming out only reads as a supportive nod to the queer community, without any true interest in embracing a queer story. 

Tilda falls into this trap, too- her admission of having a relationship with Elisabet only occurs if the player chooses to speak with her in the Base, and only if optional dialogue is explored. Even though Tilda's feelings toward Elisabet are key to her core motivations, the game doesn't require the player to discover this side of her- which felt off to me. Not only does that show that same lack of priority for character development, but it also undercuts the meaning to the story's end. Honestly, part of me wonders if the relationship between Elisabet and Tilda would have been spoken of on clearer terms, if Tilda had been a man.

If queer representation was truly a goal in this game, then it should be treated as seriously as the relationship between Varl and Zo. Characters should express that side of them to further the story, especially when it holds such a huge significance to the plot. Exploring underrepresented groups in storytelling really shouldn't be about stepping on eggshells; representation is about showing how characters experience the world from their perspective, plain and simple. Forbidden West just acts as proof that flat characters lead to flat, and often stereotypical, outcomes. If focus had been shifted towards actively showcasing these characters' experiences rather than simply identifying them, then these sexist and queer-phobic elements in the game would have easily fixed themselves.

Now, do I think that all of these writing issues were done on purpose? Absolutely not. I'm not going to pretend to understand what it's like to deliberate ideas within a writer's room, or what must be done to work against the power structures, processes, and necessary decisions that go into making a game like this. But this is also the successor to Horizon: Zero Dawn, one of the few games that puts female representation at the forefront of its story in one of the most honest, heartfelt ways I've seen. As a fan, this feels like a pretty big letdown, and I'm genuinely nervous about how the series will continue. Will the characters contradict themselves or fall flat again, or will they finally shine in the next installment?

It goes so far beyond this franchise, too. This game will undoubtedly receive many accolades in the near future, despite all the critiques I've made. And by all means, it deserves those accolades: if you take core writing problems out of the picture, Forbidden West is still a fantastic video game, and maybe even the best of its kind in many aspects. In the video game world, the story is still groundbreaking in its discussion of social issues such as climate change awareness, insight into authoritarial abuse, and yes, even exploring feminist themes in a historically male-dominated space. But this is only true because the bar has been left so low. And this constant comfortability with the status quo misses the point of why many people feel drawn to stories in the first place. When it comes to Aloy and her journey, that lack of risk-taking in her character development takes away from a core reason why she is adored by so many fans, all of whom live vastly different lives and yet connect with her in their own unique ways. Personally, Aloy was a spark of hope to me in a bleak time. Between living through a pandemic, dealing with death in the family, and having an ugly parting of ways with a friend, Aloy's sense of loneliness in Zero Dawn felt familiar to me. For others, Aloy's story means something entirely different. But with the degradation of character development in Forbidden West, that breadth of availability to players shrinks significantly, and the storyline may fall into the background noise for many people as a result. And now, I worry that Forbidden West has just set a somber precedent- and I worry that when the next big game tries to tackle similar goals, fans and game devs alike will continue to settle for less.