Freedom and Reason is concerned with late capitalism and, heretofore, has, for the most part, dwelt in the real world. However, I am a boxing aficionado and a science fiction fan, and I believe both subjects have their place here. I may publish essays in the future on boxing, and I have previously written about science fiction (long ago), however I have frequently incorporated its themes—artificial intelligence, robotics, etc., albeit no longer science fiction—into my writings. The present essay is a long time coming, much of it sitting for some time in my collection of draft essays (which is enormous). I am moved to finally publish the piece, extensively revised, because of recent developments in the worlds of Blade Runner and Aliens. So science fiction is on the menu today.
The recents developments are exciting. Blade Runner is making a comeback with a new live-action TV series called Blade Runner 2099, set 50 years after Blade Runner 2049. It stars Michelle Yeoh as a replicant nearing the end of her life and Hunter Schafer as a survivalist chameleon. Production has wrapped, and it’s expected to release sometime in 2025 or 2026 (most recent reports suggest 2026 is more likely). The show promises a return to the darker, grittier vibe of the original 1982 film. Those who know me know that I reckon Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner to be not only the finest science fiction movie but the greatest movie ever made. I watch it like I listen to my favorite albums. In fact, I have the soundtrack playing in the background when I write, joined by rain sounds to emphasize the dreariness of Vangelis’ ethereal score.
Alien is expanding with two main new projects. First, Alien: Earth, a TV prequel series created by Noah Hawley, with Scott as executive producer, is set two years before the original Alien movie, exploring early experiments with synthetic-human hybrids and new terrifying creatures. It premiered this August and has received strong critical praise. I watched the premiere on Hulu last night and found it intriguing (I will not be discussing the series in detail today, since there are more episodes to watch and I want to consider how it all fits into canon, but, as readers will, the series will not go unmentioned). Second, Alien: Romulus (2024), a standalone film set between Alien and Aliens, did well and already has a sequel in development. I found Alien: Romulus intriguing, as well.
I am also moved to publish this now because I am preparing to teach my First-Year Seminar for the fall semester titled Becoming Human: People, Machines, and Monsters. I developed the course (which I have twice taught previously) because I find questions about identity, technology, and simulation increasingly urgent. In the seminar, students engage with science fiction films like Alien and Blade Runner, as well as episodes from Black Mirror, a British anthology television series created by Charlie Brooker, alongside Baudrillard’s Simulation and Simulacra, and the film The Matrix, which draws heavily on Baudrillard’s insights. (Other films include John Carpenter’s The Thing and Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. The prescience of HAL9000 is a must-see for students.)
The present essay reflects a continuation of that exploration—how synthetic beings and hyperreal worlds challenge and redefine what it means to be human in a late capitalist society dominated by corporate power and technological mastery.

The worlds of Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) and Blade Runner (1982), while never officially merged on screen, share strikingly similar DNA. Both depict futures dominated by extreme class stratification, mega-corporations (there are five identified in Alien: Earth), and the technological mastery of artificial humanoid life—the entirely synthetic androids in Alien and the genetically engineered replicants in Blade Runner. Indeed, Alien: Earth draws considerably on Blade Runner mythology, even if this mythology is not explicitly referenced (at least not in the first episode).
Scott has hinted that the events of these films could exist in the same universe, with Weyland-Yutani producing the synthetics and the Tyrell Corporation producing replicants occupying different corners of human cosmological and technological expansion. By aligning their timelines and social structures, I endeavor to show how the interstellar corporate empire of Alien aligns with the grim, rain-soaked streets of Blade Runner’s Los Angeles, depicted as having suffered significant ecological collapse. Yet, in Blade Runner, there still stands over the multicultural chaos beneath golden cities that pierce the haze.
I weave these worlds together in the chronological order established in these fictions. I will leave aside the details of the various movies and focus instead on Scott’s worldbuilding and how they fit together. I will also set aside criticisms of facts that weaken the synthesis I am presenting. I am trying to make a case here, not tear it apart. I will leave the critique of my synthesis to others. As always, I invite critique.
That said, I admit that the lack of explicit intersection between these worlds makes my argument speculative. For example, why are there no replicants involved in the interstellar space depicted in the Alien franchise? (There is something like replicants in Alien: Earth, called “hybrids,” but with creepier differences, which I will discuss in a note at the end of this essay, since it involves the mind-body problem.) I can (and will) make the case that, in my synthesis, replicants are mostly relegated to the Earth, with blade runners (some of which are replicants themselves—indeed many as we learn in Blade Runner 2049) policing renegade replicants. Perhaps less rationalizable is why no synthetics appear in the Blade Runner franchise. The Blade Runner world is Earth-focused, but one might expect that synthetics would appear there, especially given that Peter Weyland (portrayed by Guy Pierce) and Eldon Tyrell (portrayed by Joe Turkel) are competitors, and finctional Weyland’s TED Talk in 2023, discussed in more detail below, is marked by his defiance of rules constraining the development of such beings.
However, one can reconcile the ethics of replicants and synthetics in the following manner: Many on Earth find synthetic humanoids, whether entirely synthetic or genetically engineered, to be generally problematic, thus mirroring concerns that many living in the real world have about the extremes of biotech, AI, and robotics. It’s possible that Weyland lost his bid—especially considering the replicant problem—to populate Earth with synthetics. Moreover, the known replicant problem of free will arguably makes them largely unsuitable for interstellar work (the crux of the Blade Runner story). They, therefore, would have likely been banned from off-world colonies some time after Deckard, the main protagonist of the original Blade Runner (portrayed by Harrison Ford), confronts Roy Batty (portrayed by Rutger Hauer) and his gang of replicants. They were already largely banned on Earth for this reason (albeit we do see later creation of hybrids according to Alien: Earth, and of course there are replicant blade runners as we see in Blade Runner 2049).
Another possibility, practically speaking, is that, given the time between Blade Runner (2019-2049) and Prometheus (2093), the introduction of synthetics like David, portrayed by Michael Fassbender, may have been a later development, suggesting the biotech route to creating androids was, at least in Scott’s universe, an easier path than entirely synthetic humanoids early on (albeit current technological development indicate the opposite to be the case).
At any rate (and I haven’t work all this out in my mind), I spent time with this matter upfront because the synthesis I now present assumes the premises sussed out above to more fully integrate the Blade Runner and Alien worlds. I wanted to make these assumptions explicit.
The original Blade Runner, based on Philip K. Dick’s 1968 novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, takes place in a world of ecological decline and sprawling urban decay. The wealthy having already begun migrating to off-world colonies, leaving behind an underclass in deteriorating megacities. The Tyrell Corporation, at its peak, produces Nexus-6 replicants (Batty being one of these types)—bioengineered humans designed for combat and labor—that are at first indispensable to off-world industries (suggesting that Weyland-type synthetics were not yet available). Beneath the hazy neon skyline lies a chasm between the privileged and the forgotten. For the upper tiers, life is contained within corporate towers and private transit systems. For the proletariat and lumpenproletariat, life is a daily grind through overcrowding, smog and acid rain, and surveillance. Surveillance is an ever-present fact in both the Blade Runner and Alien worlds.
This fragile balance is shattered in 2022. In Blade Runner: Black Out 2022, a 2017 tech-noir cyberpunk anime short film directed by Shinichirō Watanabea, presented as canon, a high-altitude nuclear detonation triggers an electromagnetic pulse over the western United States, wiping out vast swaths of the global digital infrastructure. Banking systems, corporate archives, and government databases vanish in an instant. The loss of identity records leaves millions untraceable—and, for many replicants, free from ownership. This sets up the events of Blade Runner 2049, brilliantly directed by Denis Villeneuve.
The chaos of the period between Blade Runner and Blade Runner 2049 unfolds in stages. In the immediate disruption, communications collapse, power grids fail, and transit halts. Law enforcement is paralyzed; without functioning databases, policing becomes guesswork, and criminal syndicates flourish. Corporate secession follows, as wealthy elites retreat into fortified enclaves, relying on private security to protect their assets. Urban breakdown, marked by looting, riots, and black (informal) economies dominating the proletarian zones. Crucially, for the privileged, the disruption is temporary; hardened data vaults and analog backups allow them to recover within months. Presumably, this catastrophe is what allows the corporate elite to become the governing body of the Earth and beyond—an instance of Barrington Moore’s “revolution” from above.” For the underclass, the Blackout ushers in years of instability, cementing a permanent division between the corporate-controlled “clean world” and the lawless, decaying urban sprawl beneath. In this way, Blade Runner is an instantiation of the endpoint of Saskia Sassen’s “global cities”—class stratification in vertical form under technocratic control.
Only a year after the Blackout in the fictional timeline, in a scene from Prometheus viral campaign (which should have been embedded in the film, with some other scenes cut to accomodate, cut as well as because of their excesses—e.g., an exploding engineer’s head), a young Weyland delivers a TED Talk in 2023 (which uncannily anticipates the rise of Elon Musk). In it, Weyland promises to reshape human destiny, claiming, “We are the gods now.” While the underclass still reels from the Blackout, Weyland’s words resonate in elite circles, heralding a new era of corporate ambition. To be explicit, I am inserting Weyland into the Blade Runner timeline. At this stage, Tyrell and Weyland’s domains overlap but remain distinct: Tyrell focuses on replicants—biological constructs nearly indistinguishable from humans, which require the Voight-Kampff test to differentiate them from humans—while Weyland pursues synthetic AI, robotics, and terraforming.
Tyrell’s most notable replicants are the aforementioned Batty and Rachel (portrayed by Sean Young)—and possibly Deckard himself (although I have always resisted this suggestion, as has Harrison). Weyland’s most notable synthetics are Ash (from the original Alien movie, played by Ian Holm), Bishop (from James Cameron’s 1996 Aliens, portrayed by Lance Henriksen), and David (from Scott’s 2012 Prometheus and 2017 Covenant, where Fassbender also portrays David’s identical Walter, albeit with a distinct temperament). In my synthesis, both replicants and synthetics exist in a world where governments and institutions have lost the public’s trust and corporations are viewed as the only reliable sources of stability. Alongside the question of “what is human?”, Scott’s dark portrayal of corporate power is the most compelling angle of both franchises.
The death of Tyrell in the original Blade Runner weakens his company, and by the 2040s, the Tyrell Corporation collapses. Niander Wallace (portrayed by Jared Leto) acquires its assets, reviving replicant production and expanding into off-world colonization. So, at least at this time, replicants could still be found off-world, with the events in Prometheus and Alien still decades away (with the introduction of hybrids in the new series representing something of the replicant 2.0). Wallace’s work in planetary resource extraction dovetails neatly with Weyland’s own ambitions, and one can imagine this setting the stage for the eventual absorption of Wallace technology into the Weyland-Yutani portfolio later in the twenty-first century (although, again, this is not explicit in the films).
In Blade Runner 2049, Earth’s environment has degraded further. Agriculture relies almost entirely on genetically engineered crops and protein farms; natural ecosystems are largely gone, at least in those places where events of the movie unfold. Off-world migration is no longer just an opportunity—it is a necessity for anyone seeking a better life. The clean world of corporate elites thrives in secure districts and orbital habitats, while below remain neon-lit labyrinths of crime, industrial smog, and grinding poverty.
By the time of Prometheus, set in 2093, Weyland stands as an elder statesman of industry and innovation, commanding resources that rival entire nations. His focus is no longer on the decaying Earth cities but on deep space exploration, synthetic human development, and terraforming alien worlds. In my synthesis, the underclass—and the blade runners who police it—still exist, but they are irrelevant to the priorities of interstellar corporate leadership. However, finding it impossible to not work into the synthesis the new television series, the events of Alien: Earth occur in a vast city called New Siam, located in a futuristic Thailand, controlled by the corporation Prodigy, which gives it the feel of the Blade Runner series, especially in the incorporation of Far Eastern culture in the multicultural mix.
(I must note here that the globalist, multicultural vibe is anticipated by Gene Roddenberry in his conception of the Star Trek franchise, set in the mid-twenty-third century, as well as the Khan Project, where genetically enhanced humans culminate in the late twentieth-century Eugenics Wars, resolved by sending the “augments” into deep space aboard the sleeper ship SS Botany Bay in suspended animation. Humanity missed the opportunity to destroy the existential threat augments pose when it had the chance. So did James Kirk, captain of the USS Enterprise in the original 1960s series, which prepared the movie franchise for its best installment, the 1982 film The Wrath of Khan.)
In Alien (set in 2122), Aliens (set in 2179), and Alien: Romulus (set between Alien and Aliens), it is the Age of Weyland-Yutani. Yutani is a Japanese manufacturing powerhouse that appears mainly in the expanded universe with subtle film references—thus Scott conceives a global and interplanetary megacorporation. As in Star Trek, humanity is at this point a spacefaring civilization. Earth remains inhabited and plays a central role in the culture and economy; however, the corporate gaze is cast spaceward, where vast riches await mining. Weyland-Yutani dominates colonization, military contracting, and resource exploitation.
In this synthesis, the hazy neon streets of Blade Runner’s Los Angeles are a historical footnote, remembered—if at all—as the chaotic early days of the megacorporate era. Yet the exploitation, hierarchy, stratification, and disregard for human life that defined 2019 Los Angeles will not have disappeared, just expanded to the stars. However, this dynamic appears in the Alien series, as well. One sees it in life aboard the Nostromo, the commercial towing spaceship featured in the original Alien film (its interior almost identically recreated in Alien: Earth), where the crew are depicted as the expendable peons of corporate power. Moreover, warrant officer Ripley, the protagonist of Alien and Aliens, portrayed by Sigourney Weaver, never returns to Earth; instead, she is drawn immediately into the military mission to LV-426 in Cameron’s Aliens. Crucially, then, throughout the Alien series, Earth (except for the latest offering) exists mainly as a distant backdrop—an implied homeworld largely overshadowed by spaceward corporate ventures. All this makes it easier to integrate Alien and Blade Runner universes.
A worthy question to ask—which may strike some readers as a convenient rationalization—is how humans in the Alien context know whether replicants walk amongst them? After all, the crew of the Nostromo was surprised to learn that Ash is a synthetic. For that matter, how would anybody in the Blade Runner universe know for certain that they are not interacting with one of Weyland’s synthetics? This speaks to the problem with humanoid synthetics designed to look and act like human beings, so much so that tests had to be developed to detect them—indeed, with some perhaps not even knowing themselves whether they are artificial. This raises the philosophical question that obsesses Scott about the nature of humanness, a question central to Alien: Earth with Prodigy’s hybrids.
In reflecting on the worlds of Blade Runner and Alien, Baudrillard’s concept of the “precession of simulacra” resonates deeply. The replicants and synthetics are not merely artificial beings; they embody simulations that precede and ultimately threaten to replace humans. In these narratives, the boundaries between the artificial and the authentic blur, revealing a universe where simulation no longer copies reality but becomes its own hyperreality. In Alien: Covenant, the synthetic David even becomes the creator of life.
I have moved from world-building to the problem of simulation, so I will finish where I started: the problem of synthetic beings. The replicants’ struggle for identity and freedom is a poignant allegory for our own moment, where distinctions between the organic and the synthetic dissolve, and authenticity becomes a contested concept. Batty says to Tyrell before killing his creator, “I want more life, father.” As these synthetic beings simulate humanity so flawlessly, society is left questioning what it truly means to be human, a question that dominates the first episode of Alien: Earth. The corporate empires controlling these technologies mirror Baudrillard’s hyperreal world, where simulations are commodified and wielded as tools of control and power.
Baudrillard’s precession of simulacra compels us to confront a critical paradox: as technology advances, the simulated becomes more “real” than reality itself (this was Tyrell’s corporate slogan—“More Human Than Human”?). With this development, humanity loses touch with an authentic human experience and enters the era of hyperreality. The worlds of Blade Runner and Alien are thus cautionary visions of a future where human freedom and reason are entangled with and undermined by the omnipresence of simulations. Both movies make androids, some sympathetic, others not so much, that murder humans. Thus humanity’s Promethean drive—and transhumanist desire—boomarangs. It is not enough to be human. One desires at least modification. And he desires it at the cost of losing his essential being.
(For two of my earlier essays on problems from the Alien universe (from 2012, recovered from my old blog, hosted by Google’s Blogger), see Ridley Scott’s Prometheus and the Problem of Time Dilation and The Xenomorph Life Cycle Canon.)
* * *
The promised note. Don’t read if you hate spoilers. This note stems from arguments I made over the years with a good friend, my eldest son, my recently deceased mother, and students in my first-year seminar.

In Aliens: Earth, while the hybrid Wendy may subjectively feel like the terminally ill child she once was—and to her own consciousness, continuity seems intact—it doesn’t follow that the original child lives on. This problem makes the new series a very dark exploration of corporate power—and the power of corporate illusion. If we consider that our identities arise not from an immaterial mind implanted in a neutral vehicle, but from the emergent, integrated, embodied unity of brain, body, and experience, then the synthetic body stands as a mere vessel, not with a tranferred consciousness, but a replication of that consciousness. The original child—Marcy—dies when her biological body perishes, and what emerges is, at best, a copy of her mind rather than a continuation (n this way, like Rachel’s memory implants, which are those of Tyrell’s niece Lilith. Hence, despite outward familiarity, the true child is lost, and every consciousness transferred to a synthetic host constitutes a new, artificial life rather than a preserved one. This is the most compelling aspect of the new series.
This tehcnology is developed by Boy Kavalier, the brilliant but psychopathic CEO of Prodigy, who built the company as a child and, by age 20 or so, became the world’s youngest trillionaire (a reworking of Musk’s biography, something a wunderkind who would no doubt attempt the same thing if technology were at this point?). Kavalier develops Prodigy’s hybrid consciousness-transfer program in hopes of ultimately transferring his mind into a synthetic body, perceiving the children he “saves” not as altruistic beneficiaries but as prototypes for his inevitable immortality, a goal sought by Weyland in Prometheus. The theme is wrapped in the Peter Pan thematic, where the superrich desire also to live in Neverland.
This is not the first treatment of this dilemma, which I noted even at a young age. In Star Trek—and in a more grotesque form in Cronenberg’s The Fly—the transporter poses a profound identity problem: every time a person steps into the device, the original is disintegrated, ceasing to exist. What emerges on the other side is not a preserved self but a newly assembled being, a perfect imitation built from a genetic and informational blueprint. This reconstructed person may carry all the memories and personality traits of the original, and thus sincerely believe he is the same individual, but he is in fact a duplicate.
The unsettling corollary is that the system could easily create two (or more) Captain Kirks, the new Kirk the same as food or anything else is replicated aboard the Enterprise, meaning the illusion of a single, continuous Kirk is maintained only by ensuring the destruction of each prior iteration. Dr. McCoy’s oft-voiced complaint about having his atoms scattered across the galaxy misses the deeper horror: it isn’t that his atoms are scattered—it’s that his death is required every time he uses the transporter, a blind spot surprisingly unacknowledged by a twenty-second-century physician.
























