[CC#01] The Fusion of Fantasy and Logic – FANTASY ZONE (Patreon)

I love driving games. But it’s not because I’m seeking realistic driving sensations. I just want to control a car as my in-game vehicle. That’s why I always play from a third-person perspective where the car is visible. Cockpit or hood views are thrilling and immersive, but they feel more like simulators, which I’m not too comfortable with. That’s why flight simulators are especially tough for me to get into.

In my ideal vision, video games are wildly imaginative, otherworldly spaces with boundless possibilities.

That, for me, is what games should be, and it’s also how I define my own view of games.

I want to create the rules myself. But if I relied solely on my own sense of fun, the result would probably be a game that no one else could understand. That’s why certain common elements have to be included, a shared understanding with the player. Things like gravity, how fast a person can run, or the idea that getting hit hurts—without those foundational rules, you’d have to explain everything. And if you eliminate those basic assumptions altogether, you’re no longer making a game, you’re venturing into the world of contemporary art.

When I first started working in game planning, I spent a lot of time observing different games, including titles from other companies. No one taught me how to make games. There were no books or schools about game development back then. The only things we could learn from were the existing video games on the market.

Capcom was a company that created and sold arcade games, so it had a different lineage from the 8-bit home consoles that came later. The biggest difference was in how the graphics were made. Arcade machines used large boards packed with chips, and they demanded more detailed and realistic visuals.

It was during that time that I encountered Fantasy Zone.

That game seemed to be made from a philosophy that was the complete opposite of Capcom’s. At the time, the standard model for shooting games involved realistically rendered fighter jets defeating enemies.

But Fantasy Zone existed in a fantastical world that ignored conventional realism, and it created a strange, almost dissonant sense of wonder.

Normally, a game’s visual image should immediately communicate its world to the player. Especially in arcades, where you only have a few minutes to grab the player’s attention and immerse them, the world needs to be clear and grounded in a coherent setting.

But where did Fantasy Zone’s visuals even come from? Who designed these characters that looked like nothing I’d ever seen before? It was honestly baffling.

After playing Fantasy Zone several times, I noticed something: each stage boss was built around a completely different gameplay mechanic. Compared to other shooters at the time, this was striking. And that’s when it clicked for me.

Most game worlds are built from real-world inspirations; historical periods, specific regions, or depictions of outer space. Characters are then designed to match those settings. Knights in armor for medieval Europe, space fighters for galaxies far away. So naturally, the shapes and attack styles of characters are dictated by their world’s setting. A knight in armor can’t shoot lasers from his sword, and a space fighter can’t cast magic.

No matter how much the scenery changes, the world logic can’t be broken. That means the enemies must be designed to match the player’s method of attack. In a side-scrolling shooter, if the player shoots sideways, the enemies have to be placed and programmed accordingly.

But what if you wanted to broaden the range of play? What if, even in a horizontal-scrolling shooter, you didn’t restrict gameplay to just sideways attacks? If that’s the goal, deciding on the world setting before thinking about gameplay makes things very complicated.

The bosses in Fantasy Zone had all sorts of attack patterns: Some fired wide-spread bullets, some disrupted the play space, and others just repeatedly split and merged. In short, the game’s greatest strength was how seriously it focused on the logic of gameplay. Rather than being obsessed with realism, it prioritized fun: designing enemies first based on gameplay mechanics, and then crafting their appearance around their behavior. Even if the fantasy world seemed confusing at first glance, there was a solid rationale behind it.

When I started planning Mega Man, I aimed for that same kind of fusion: merging gameplay logic with worldbuilding. In cases where gameplay ideas came first, rather than visuals or story, Fantasy Zone was a major reference point for how to construct everything around them.

I wonder… are there still creators today who make games with this kind of mindset? Are there developers who see games as otherworldly spaces, and believe that creating a new, free world inside that space is what making games is truly about? Thinking back on Fantasy Zone always brings those thoughts to mind.

Our generation had freedom. That’s because we were kids before video games existed. We didn’t know what was supposed to go inside this brand-new box, and that’s why we had no preconception of something like “virtual reality.” There was no reason to drag the real world into a space that was so completely free. Since then, devices have advanced, and visuals and movement have become increasingly realistic. Car races, sports games, all realistic.

Mountains, rivers, trees, grass—all realistic.

I don’t want to dismiss those games at all. But now more than ever, I think it’s okay for game development to head in a completely different direction.

Fantasy Zone

1986 / Arcade

SEGA Enterprises