Open World Vs Linear Games Are We Getting Tired Of Endless Maps With Nothing To Do

In the past two decades, open-world games have become synonymous with prestige in the gaming industry. From sprawling post-apocalyptic deserts to meticulously recreated Renaissance cities, developers have poured billions into crafting vast digital playgrounds. Yet, as these worlds grow larger, a quiet unease has settled among players: are we mistaking size for substance? The promise of freedom often collapses under the weight of repetition—collecting icons on a map, clearing outposts, and completing side quests that feel like filler rather than meaningful content. Meanwhile, tightly designed linear games continue to deliver focused, emotionally resonant experiences. This raises an urgent question: are we finally getting tired of endless maps with nothing to do?

The Rise of the Open World

The shift toward open-world design began in earnest with titles like Grand Theft Auto III (2001), which redefined player agency by allowing free navigation through a living city. The formula evolved with games such as The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, and Red Dead Redemption 2, each pushing technical boundaries and offering unprecedented immersion. These games were praised not just for their scale, but for how they made players feel like active participants in richly detailed worlds.

However, success bred imitation. As open-world mechanics became industry standard, many studios prioritized scope over innovation. The result? A wave of games where exploration is incentivized not by curiosity, but by completionist urges—green checkboxes, XP rewards, and map-clearing compulsions. What was once revolutionary now risks becoming rote.

“Open worlds shouldn’t be measured in square kilometers, but in moments of genuine surprise.” — Rana Khoury, Narrative Designer at Obsidian Entertainment

The Fatigue Factor: When Bigness Backfires

Modern open-world games often suffer from a paradox: the more content they offer, the less impactful each piece feels. Players report finishing 60-hour campaigns only to realize they’ve spent half that time doing variations of the same task—liberating radio towers, looting crates, or tagging wildlife. The thrill of discovery fades when every hilltop reveals another generic enemy camp.

This phenomenon, often called “Ubisoftification,” refers to the templated approach popularized by franchises like Assassin’s Creed and Far Cry. While effective for pacing development cycles, it leads to predictable structures and diminishing returns on engagement. Players aren't rejecting openness itself—they're rejecting emptiness disguised as abundance.

Tip: If a game's side quests all follow the same three-step structure (go here → fight enemies → collect item), it’s likely relying on filler. Prioritize story-driven objectives for a richer experience.

Linear Games: The Underrated Power of Focus

In contrast, linear games operate within deliberate constraints. Titles like Portal, Inside, Returnal, and even narrative-heavy experiences like The Last of Us Part II prove that emotional depth and gameplay innovation thrive under focused design. Without the pressure to fill space, developers can concentrate on pacing, environmental storytelling, and mechanical refinement.

Consider Half-Life 2: its level design funnels players through a cinematic journey where every corridor, vehicle sequence, and encounter feels purposeful. There are no side quests, no collectibles cluttering the HUD—just progression driven by narrative urgency and inventive gameplay. The absence of choice doesn’t diminish freedom; it enhances coherence.

Linear design also allows for tighter integration between story and mechanics. In Spec Ops: The Line, the descent into moral ambiguity mirrors the protagonist’s deteriorating mental state—a nuance difficult to achieve in a sandbox where players can wander off to shoot pigeons for ten minutes before returning to the plot.

A Comparative Look: Design Philosophies Side by Side

Aspect	Open-World Games	Linear Games
Player Agency	High – freedom to explore and choose paths	Limited – guided progression through curated sequences
Narrative Coherence	Often fragmented; main story competes with side content	Tightly woven; story and gameplay evolve together
Development Scale	Larger teams, longer timelines, higher budgets	More efficient use of resources, faster iteration
Risk of Repetition	High – procedural content can lead to monotony	Low – each segment is handcrafted and distinct
Emotional Impact	Varies – strong moments diluted by filler	Consistently high – sustained tone and pacing

This isn’t to say one model is superior. Rather, the key lies in intentionality. An open world should exist because the game benefits from exploration—not because it’s expected.

Real Example: The Case of Horizon Forbidden West vs. Returnal

Compare Horizon Forbidden West, a quintessential open-world title, with Returnal, a linear, roguelike third-person shooter. Both are technically impressive, feature strong protagonists, and take place in alien environments. But their approaches diverge sharply.

In Forbidden West, players traverse lush biomes, uncover ancient ruins, and battle robotic dinosaurs. It’s visually stunning, yet many report zoning out during traversal—auto-mapping fast travel points, skipping dialogue, and grinding errands to upgrade gear. The world is full, but much of it feels obligatory.

Returnal, meanwhile, locks players in a time-looping nightmare across five interconnected zones. Each run is different, shaped by procedural elements and player skill. Though confined in geography, the sense of discovery is constant—new weapons, cryptic lore fragments, and evolving threats keep engagement high. There’s no map to clear, no checklist to complete. Just survival, mystery, and momentum.

The contrast illustrates a growing divide: one game offers freedom without direction; the other delivers intensity through constraint.

Designing Meaningful Open Worlds: A Path Forward

The issue isn’t open-world design itself—it’s how it’s implemented. Truly engaging open worlds don’t just present space; they make players care about being in it. Consider The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, which succeeded not because of its size, but because of systemic depth. Climbing any surface, using physics creatively, and solving environmental puzzles gave exploration intrinsic value beyond ticking boxes.

Similarly, Disco Elysium creates a compelling open world through narrative density rather than physical scale. Revachol is small by comparison, but every NPC, building, and alleyway brims with political tension, personal history, and philosophical conflict. Exploration is rewarded with insight, not loot.

To combat fatigue, developers must ask: does this area need to exist? Does this quest deepen the world or distract from it? Can mechanics support emergent play, or are they just busywork?

Checklist: What Makes an Open World Feel Alive?

• ✅ Environmental storytelling that rewards observation
• ✅ Gameplay systems that interact meaningfully (e.g., weather affecting AI behavior)
• ✅ Side content that enriches the main narrative or themes
• ✅ Player choices that have lasting consequences
• ✅ A sense of danger or unpredictability in uncharted areas
• ✅ Minimal reliance on UI markers—encourage organic discovery

Hybrid Models: The Best of Both Worlds?

Some of the most promising recent titles blend structural discipline with open-ended gameplay. Elden Ring is a prime example: while undeniably vast, its world is structured around intentional level design, cryptic clues, and escalating challenge. There are no floating icons telling you where to go—just landmarks, rumors, and curiosity. Progression feels earned, not guided.

Another hybrid is Ghost of Tsushima, which gradually reduces its reliance on traditional markers as players adopt the “Way of the Wanderer”—a mode that disables objective indicators, encouraging sensory navigation via wind, animal movement, and visual cues. This subtle shift transforms the game from checklist simulator to immersive samurai experience.

These models suggest a future where openness serves theme and tone, rather than serving as a marketing bullet point.

Frequently Asked Questions

Are open-world games inherently worse than linear ones?

No. Open-world games can offer unparalleled freedom and immersion when designed with purpose. The problem arises when scale becomes a substitute for creativity. A well-crafted open world—like Red Dead Redemption 2 or Shadow of the Colossus—can be as narratively powerful as any linear title.

Why do developers keep making repetitive open-world games?

Three reasons: market expectations, monetization potential, and development efficiency. Large worlds justify higher price points, support live-service models, and allow for modular design that scales across teams. However, growing player criticism may push studios toward more innovative structures.

Can a game be too linear?

Yes. Overly restrictive design can frustrate players seeking agency. The best linear games still offer meaningful choices—within combat, dialogue, or exploration—even if the overall path is fixed. Balance is key.

Step-by-Step: How Players Can Reclaim Meaningful Play

1. Set personal rules: Disable map markers, avoid fast travel, or limit inventory upgrades to enhance immersion.
2. Prioritize story-rich content: Focus on quests with character development or world-building over generic “clear this camp” tasks.
3. Take breaks between major objectives: Use downtime to explore organically, observe NPC routines, or experiment with mechanics.
4. Seek out games with systemic depth: Favor titles where actions have ripple effects (e.g., Dwarf Fortress, Stalker 2) over those relying on scripted sequences.
5. Support smaller, focused experiences: Indie titles often innovate more freely due to lower commercial pressure.

Conclusion: Beyond the Map

The debate between open-world and linear games isn’t really about structure—it’s about meaning. Players aren’t tired of big worlds; they’re tired of feeling empty inside them. A thousand climbable mountains mean little if none of them matter. Conversely, a single hallway can haunt us for years if it’s crafted with intent.

As gamers, we can demand better. Not bigger maps, but deeper ones. Not more side quests, but fewer—ones worth doing. And as creators, there’s an opportunity to redefine what openness means: not just geographic freedom, but emotional, mechanical, and narrative possibility.

🚀 Challenge yourself: Next time you play an open-world game, ignore the map entirely. See where instinct takes you. You might rediscover what exploration truly feels like.