The Galaxy Won’t Conquer Itself

Civilization has cost me more productive hours than sleep deprivation, bad relationships, and every social obligation I’ve ever declined combined. I’ve burned nations to ash, razed city-states for the crime of existing too close to my borders, launched nuclear strikes on heads of state from the comfort of my desk chair, and felt exactly zero remorse. The real world keeps refusing to hand me dominion, so I take it digitally, one hex tile at a time.

Which is why the announcement of Civilization: Beyond Earth landed like a genuine event. Firaxis is taking the whole apparatus—the addictive turn structure, the creeping paranoia of neighboring civilizations, the "just one more turn" death spiral—and pointing it at outer space. New planet, alien life, the ruins of humanity’s failed home world somewhere behind you. Sid Meier’s name is still attached, which should be enough to guarantee the bones are right.

I am not interested in nuking more thinly veiled world leaders. I’ve done that. I want to land a colony ship on a hostile planet, build something from nothing, and watch it collapse because I got greedy too early. That’s the Civilization loop and it works in any setting, but it works best when the setting is vast and unknown and slightly terrifying.

The game releases in autumn. From that point I am unreachable. No calls, no messages, no sexual offers. I’ll be governing a planet that, unlike this one, has the good sense to let me win.