Imagine an ecosystem made entirely of autonomous
machines. Where every ecological niche is filled by an artificial organism. In the video game
‘Horizon: Zero Dawn,’ a global calamity has led to a version of planet Earth inhabited
by animal-mimicking machines — from mighty herbivores to deadly predators. While these
synthetic creatures might not be ‘biological,’ their fascinating interactions, unique behavioral
patterns, and hidden intricacies make them worthy of study. The story takes place thousands
of years in the future, but a little thing like the flow of time isn’t going to stop
this archivist from doing his fieldwork. So, for this entry into the archive, I’ll lead
us on another documentary style expedition, investigating the artificial ‘biology’ of
these intriguing machines and revealing what animal roles they fill. We’ll need, though, to
stay alert—there are constant dangers in this environment. Now, let’s leap forward in time,
and discover an ecosystem of metal and wire... Beginning in the safety of a region known as the
Embrace, we find a picturesque landscape that shows little signs of a planet-wide calamity.
Across much of the land, wounds of old have long since healed — although this reborn Earth is
much changed from the peak of human civilization. Small populations of human hunter-gatherers
still inhabit this land — although most live within meager settlements, ever fearful of the
strange metal creatures that roam the woods, whose function they have long forgotten.
Settling out into the wildness, I find that some organic animal life does persist
in the shifting underbrush. But the roles they fill are small and infrequent, for this is no
longer their world. Peering out from the grass, I spot a being roughly the size of a horse. Our
first machine. This is a Strider — a basic type of synthetic creature that fills the function of
an herbivore. Like organic herbivores, Striders spend much of their time quietly grazing in small
herds, moving from one patch of grass to another. Yet what use does a machine have for grass?
The answer lies in a small canister located between the Strider’s haunches. This container
is filled with a green liquid called Blaze, a type of biofuel synthesized from plants that
is foundational to the artificial ecosystem of this world. The Striders are machines that
convert grass into fuel — much like how any living herbivore essentially uses vegetation to
power their bodies. Striders also bring blaze back to autonomous factories called Cauldrons, which
continue to repair and replace machines long after being forgotten. Yet this energy source makes
Striders a target for human hunter-gatherers. This means that — like most herbivores — a
Strider’s life is one of constant vigilance. When threat looms, their optical sensors turn an
uneasy orange. Skittish by nature, the Strider’s first instinct when human hunters are near is to
run. And like horses, when the herd takes off, they can move with breathtaking speed. With
all four legs pumping, they can easily outrun most dangers, only slowing when the coast is
clear. Not wanting to disturb these creatures, I try to stay out of sight… …But that is easier
said than done. For guarding the outskirts of the herd is a new type of machine. This is a Watcher,
and they make fieldwork a challenge. These small, bipedal beings spend their existence tirelessly
patrolling the perimeter of the Strider herd. And precious little slips past their optical sensors
unnoticed. Animals serving as lookouts isn’t unheard of in nature, with the designated sentry
a key role in meerkat society, for example. But this sort of coordination between two species
(so to speak), is something unique to machines. By warning the Striders of imminent dangers,
Watchers are almost like living security cameras. Well… living in a sense. And they also play
the role of bodyguard. With surprising speed, Watchers can launch themselves into a flying
kick. It’s an impressive, if unwieldy strategy. Yet Watchers will fight to the very end while
the Strider herd flees, and unfortunately, one has spotted me. Launching into their signature
kick, a Watcher misses my head, and suffers a pretty serious wipeout. Stumbling to their feet,
they seem rattled, but unharmed. Only their pride is bruised. Not wanting to be insensitive,
I give my unsuccessful assailant the slip. Going forwards, I’ll have to be more careful, as
there are far more dangerous things than Watchers in this world of machines… To the north of the
Embrace, my path takes me to a region strewn with the scars of civilization. The crumbling remnants
of buildings have been all but swallowed up by the steady encroachment of nature. Yet even after a
thousand years, a quiet melancholy still clings to this site. Yet there are machines in this broken,
unpredictable landscape. The deer-like Grazers are adaptable enough to brave this region. Native
to the rolling fields beyond the ruin’s outskirts, Grazers possess a pair of metallic
antler-like structures that serve a curious function. On the ends of these
structures are a set of rotor blades, which the Grazers use to shred grass and dirt
like sentient lawnmowers. With this unusual setup, Grazers can consume plant matter faster than any
other machine. And like deer, where there is one Grazer, there are invariably others. A herd of
grazers, all with their heads shoved in the dirt, is an odd sight indeed. Yet Grazers don’t
have time to worry about their image, as with four canisters of biofuel to fill,
they’re always on the move. But when a Grazer feels threatened, their antlers have another
function. When I move too close to one Grazer, the machine takes a fearsome swipe at me. A
narrow miss. As lithe herbivore-analogues, Grazers aren’t built for combat, and so this
unit scampers away once I stand my ground… Journeying deeper into the city ruins,
I find the feeling of desolation grows. In this graveyard of humanity, I sense something
is lurking just out of sight. A terrifying machine haunts this landscape. A Sawtooth. Rippling
with synthetic muscle, this cat-like hunter is the equivalent of an apex predator in the
machine ecosystem. Their metal jaws come equipped with a pair of curved, serrated spikes, which
resemble the formidable fangs of the largest saber-toothed cats. There are rumors among the
local humans that the Cauldrons have been making larger and more dangerous machines in recent years
— and looking at the Sawtooth, I don’t doubt it... A machine this large might not seem capable of
great speed. Yet when a Sawtooth catches a target in the open, they can move with incredible
agility. Aside from their fangs, Sawtooths also possess claws powerful enough to shred through the
metal of these ruins. Trying to fight or run from a Sawtooth is futile. The only way I’ll live to
archive another day, is if I avoid the Sawtooth altogether. These ruins are their domain now, and
the time has come to make my exit. As the machines continue to nurture the ecosystem, nature will
eventually reclaim this region entirely, leaving behind no trace of the people who lived here. Even
monuments of metal and stone can’t last forever… Venturing to the west, I find a vast scrubland,
baking in the sweltering rays of the rising sun. Yet machines have conquered this
unforgiving environment as well, with unique adaptations to brave the arid region.
These are Longlegs — machines with a tall, bird-like appearance. Like the ostriches of today,
Longlegs are stuck on the ground, unable to take flight. Yet through my observations, I’ve found
that Longlegs have a hidden ability. Mounted on their chest are two bulbous sacs that resemble
external lungs. These artificial sacs are, in fact, sonic amplifiers. When a Longleg feels
threatened, they can unleash a booming, concussive soundwave so powerful it sends particulates
flying. For this reason, I’d recommend wearing serious ear protection when observing Longlegs up
close. Aside from their soundwaves, Longlegs are also capable of alarming bursts of speed. They’ll
even leap into astonishing flying kicks, which look both beautiful… and frankly absurd. All in
all, these unusual machines are better left alone… My intuition takes me northwards, where I
find a ruined landscape of twisted metal. This rusted necropolis is a vast scrapyard –
the skeletal remnants of human civilization. And a unique kind of machine has come to pick
these metal bones clean. Prowling in the shadows of the junkyard are packs of Scrappers. Small but
deadly, Scrappers rule over this ruined kingdom. With their humped posture and clawed feet,
Scrappers resemble the skulking forms of hyenas. And like hyenas, Scrappers can be uncommonly
vicious. Yet there is another side to these seemingly simple terrors. Scrapper jaws are
composed of four unique circular grinders. But these jaws aren’t just for hunting. True to
their name, Scrappers use their curious mouths to recycle metal resources. In grinding down
salvage piles and the bodies of inactive machines, the Scrappers gather materials that can be used in
the construction of more synthetic life. And so, these machines fill a role similar to
scavengers in this ecosystem of metal, and improve the health of the environment. Yet
Scrappers aren’t purely altruistic. If were to be spotted by one, they would waste no time
in trying to recycle me. For any non-machines, this metal cemetery is a treacherous place...
Amid the dry badlands, the flow of rivers creates isolated pockets of vegetation. And patrolling
rare wetlands are one-of-a-kind machines. Shell-Walkers. These scuttling oddities move
on six stout legs, and can brave both wet and dry terrain. And unlike all other types of
machines I’ve observed so far, Shell-Walkers double as transport vehicles — a class dedicated
to ferrying materials back to Cauldrons. They carry their quarry in hexagonal cargo containers
on their back, which they swap regularly. With their ever-changing shells, a Shell-Walker’s
lifestyle mirrors that of a hermit crab. If you ask me, a futuristic robot converging
on a crab makes complete sense, as crabs are the pinnacle of evolution. And Shell-Walkers will
defend their cargo to the end. On their frontside, Shell-Walkers possess two powerful arms — one
tipped with a formidable claw… and the other with a mysterious, circular disc. Upon moving closer,
I discover this is some form of energy shield generator — that the Shell-Walkers can deploy to
protect their left side while they attack with their right. While energy shields are certainly
unique to machines, this sort of asymmetrical defensive setup can also be found in the natural
world. Fiddler crabs are armed with one claw that is significantly larger than the other, which they
use to fight over burrows. With their versatile, crab-like body, Shell-Walkers are well
equipped to traverse this unpredictable world. Speaking of which, as I venture into the
western wastes, the climate becomes even harsher. Rusting under the afternoon sun
are the remains of a great satellite array. Before the world fell to ruin, these
dishes might have been for communication, hurtling signals out to the stars. Yet now, these
ruins send no messages save a silent reminder that nothing lasts forever. And seemingly on cue,
circling overhead are what appears to be a flock of vultures — a universal omen of grim
tidings. Yet like most creatures in this land, these foragers are made of metal.
I’ve entered into the territory of Glinthawks. These aerial machines keep a grim
vigil over this stretch of the badlands. Their exceptionally keen eyesight means that little
slips through this region without their notice. Yet despite their fearsome appearance, Glinthawks
play an important role in the machine biosphere. Wherever the carcass of non-functional machines
can be found, a Glinthawk is sure to be nearby, breaking down the metal for resources in a manner
similar to a Scrapper. Like modern vultures, Glinthawks are obligate scavengers, breaking down
the parts others leave behind. It’s an unsettling profession, but someone has to do it. As long as
the flock is distracted with their salvage duties, I should be safe to pass through this area if
I do so cautiously. Yet one Glinthawk seems to have grown wise to my presence. In a surprising
turn, the metal fiend sends volley after volley of freezing liquid my way. This is actually the
Glinthawk’s coolant, which they can jettison from their bodies as a kind of chemical defense.
Fleeing across the desert, I find that this Glinthawk, thankfully, doesn’t seem interested
in an extended chase. Why bother with a moving target, when there are so many stationary ones
strewn among the sands of this perilous expanse? If I don’t wish to be claimed by this land myself,
I need to find a way to escape this heat. A cool dip in the water seems promising… except this
river is occupied. Swimming just under the surface is a huge Snapmaw. These imposing machines are
a force to be reckoned with both in the water and on land. Everything from their gait, to their
anatomy, to their general behavior closely mirrors that of crocodiles. Yet if the jaws of crocodiles
weren’t frightening enough, the lower mandible of the Snapmaw is actually a chainsaw-like blade
with a system of small grinders at its base. If one strays too close to the water’s edge, it’s
over in an instant. Keeping my distance from the riverbank, however, I notice Snapmaws actually
spend most of their time basking in the sun’s rays. Like many so-called ‘cold-blooded’ animals,
crocodiles sun themselves to increase their body temperature. Yet what reason might a machine have
for regular sunbathing? The answer lies in the rows of solar panels lining the Snapmaws back.
This clever energy-gathering array means that even when a Snapmaw seems to be inactive, they
are actually gaining the power needed for their daily movements. In this land, even a machine
as menacing as a Snapmaw has hidden intricacies… With a swim seeming unwise, I escape the heat
with a change in elevation. Throughout the waste, isolated plateaus rise so high
their peaks are crowned with snow. In these frigid microclimates, the strange
landscapes are home to even stranger machines. Trudging through the snow is a bizarre
procession of Freeze Bellowbacks. These hardy, slow-moving machines are well acclimated to the
world of ice and snow. With their sloped posture, Bellowbacks subtly echo the body plan
of therapod dinosaurs like Baryonyx. As another type of transport machine, Freeze
Bellowbacks carry large reserves of coolant in hefty cargo sacs on their back, and four smaller
sacs under their neck. When perturbed, Freeze Bellowbacks will spray a high-pressure stream of
coolant from their nozzle. It’s a devastating and effective defense mechanism, even if it looks…
a bit like sneezing. In these low temperatures, a blast of coolant can be deadly. I think it’s
best to let the Bellowback procession pass on by… Hiking down to the base of the snowy mesa, I
am drawn to the sound of thundering footsteps. Creeping closer, I stumble into the midst
of a herd of giants. These are Behemoths, beasts that look like they could carry the weight
of a mountain — or smash their way through one. Like the largest rhinos or elephants, Behemoths
are the megafauna of the environment of machines. The mightiest of the transport class, their
belly has a large space into which a circular cargo container is locked in place by clamps.
And like all transport machines, Behemoths are fiercely protective when it comes to their cargo.
In awe, I watch from a distance as a Behemoth levitates a ring of boulders using anti-gravity
technology, then slams them down with a force so great it shakes the valley. This mysterious power,
made possible through a forgotten technology, makes the Behemoths an insurmountable force.
While they typically use this power to gather minerals and other materials for transport,
if I’m spotted, these giants won’t hesitate to unleash their crushing force to end my expedition
prematurely. Worrying as such an outcome might be, I can’t help but stay transfixed
by the strength of these beings. In time, however, the convoy lumbers on,
continuing their steady march across the valley… Travelling as far west as I dare venture, I reach
a region where the greatest terror of the machine world dwells. No amount of prior observation
prepares me for the sight that is the Thunderjaw. Bristling with advanced weaponry, from tip to
tail, the Thunderjaw is a bringer of pure dread. In terms of size and sheer might, they
represent a strength not seen in this region since the Tyrannosaurus Rex some ninety-million
years ago. And unlike most machines, this metal super-predator’s sole function is combat. From
their jaws, an array of cannons bring destruction like the breath of a dragon. On their hips are a
pair of disk launchers, which rain down fire and smoke from above. Even without their futuristic
weaponry, a Thunderjaw is still more than capable of dispatching any threat, with their massive
tail perhaps their greatest weapon of all. The further I stay from this machine, the better. Yet
in the glow of the setting sun, even a Thunderjaw can look majestic. Without a visible target,
Thunderjaws behave like most any animal, plodding about their environment at a leisurely pace. While
I watch the Thunderjaw pass on, I can’t help but wonder what this land might be like if machines
and humans weren’t so diametrically opposed... But my journey is not over yet.
At the edge of a shimmering lake, footsteps echo over the water — so loud the entire
land seems to tremble in anticipation. Overhead, the largest machine I’ve ever seen appears to
eclipse the very sun. This moving landmark is a Tallneck. They can be found across many different
environments, although their numbers are scarce. Unlike every other machine I’ve documented today,
these beings are in no way distrustful of humans. With their silhouette and gait, Tallnecks
seem somewhere between a Giraffe and the largest sauropod dinosaurs. The strange disk that
functions like the Tallneck’s head serves as a communications array, sending information
to and from other machines. In this way, the solitary Tallnecks act as the unofficial
hubs of the machine ecosystems. It’s a vital, yet seemingly lonely purpose, as the Tallnecks
spend their existence walking in an eternal loop, never thanked for their vital contribution to
the machine biosphere. Perhaps the Tallnecks are oblivious to their surroundings, or perhaps they
get lonesome on their isolated march. Though I’m well aware I’m likely projecting my own emotions
onto the Tallnecks, I decide to stay with the beasts as long as I am able. After all, a path can
be a little less lonely when walked with a friend… There’s much we’ve uncovered about this world of
machines, yet many key mysteries remain unsolved. From the dense jungles of the south, to the frozen
wilds of the far north, there are a whole host of machines I’ve yet to document, and secrets I’ve
yet to uncover. We’ll venture further across the world of Horizon: Zero Dawn in Part Two,
exploring the more bizarre and more dangerous machines in the lost reaches of the world. But
for now, our journey is at an end… As always, thanks for watching. If you enjoyed this entry,
please lend your support and like, subscribe, and hit the notification icon to stay up to date
on all things Curious. See you in the next video.
