Etwas

2012. I completed Mass Effect 3. I closed a chapter that had been ongoing since 2007. The stories in the game, the battles against impossible odds, and an amazing cast of characters made it a powerful experience that was hard to let go of at the time. Twelve years later, I recognized the same feeling as I sat in front of the console.

There are spoilers for the role-playing game *Odysseus*. Read at your own risk.

But it wasn’t a good feeling. The ending of ME3 left a bad taste in my mouth. Not all stories have a happy ending, and sometimes an ending makes you want to throw the controller.

Odysseus had a similar ending, but how did I get there?

I have to start somewhere else. With the role.

You and your role

I played the role of Ballard Case. A conservative communication officer, rule follower, former detective, raised by a single mother (the father appeared in the game), and with a strong need to do the right thing in all respects. Plus, an interest in politics and a taste for power.

There were more similarities between me and the character than other roles I’ve played. A radically different character acts as a bigger shield between me and what I experience in the game. But I felt comfortable in the role.

Ballard Case and I worked overtime as communication officers on the bridge, participated in and won the senate election campaign for the conservative “Purple” party, and made important decisions for the well-being of humanity. Even though it was intense, both I and the character navigated the chaos and had a great time!

Sci-fi is driven by relationships

Good science fiction is not about technology but about people, their relationships with each other, and the challenges the future brings. Personal dramas always trump techno babble.

The game had relationships and drama in abundance through the web of connections between each character. It was a fantastic setup.

But such a setup requires payoff.

If I’m not mistaken, there was a payoff for almost every player in the role-playing game.

I describe it best with renditions of the drama, but it’s rough stuff.

TW: Description of another character’s suicide

Scene from the game:

Ballard’s friend Tristan Fukui was about to lose it, and it seemed he was a brainwashed murderer. Or was he a machine? In short, he was a threat, now in the midst of a budding psychosis. All relevant authorities, the captain, Security, and Science were informed of the threat.

But plans to detain him were interrupted by a red alert.

The machines attacked. The crew rushed to the bridge.

A hectic battle followed, where the machines were repelled.

But where did Fukui go?

We found out too late that he had locked himself in the airlock out of fear of what he might do. Ballard rushed to the airlock, banged on the window, and begged, cursed, and raged with all his might to get his friend to come back inside.

“We can fix you if you just come back in.”

We stood 10-15 people in front of the door and watched the drama. The desperation was palpable.

I pulled back from the airlock, thinking privately that this was just a scene, that the player wouldn’t kill off his character. 10-9-8. Then he couldn’t play anymore. But the scene intensified. 7-6-5 Now he must do something. 4-3-2. This is not happening. Come on. Last chance. 1-0. Depressurizing complete.

I held my head. Fuck.

People around me started to cry.

I started to cry. Despair was everywhere.

(Fukui’s role returned the next day. He was a damn dirty machine… but that just made the feelings more conflicted because he was a machine).

Grief Requires People to Talk To

There were conversations with friends on board the ship, offering much-needed hugs. I had a touching conversation with a high priest from the “Old Faith” about grief and the afterlife, and finally, there was correspondence with my character’s “mother,” whom my character could write to on one of the data terminals.

It helped with the character’s grief.

My character fortunately also had a good relationship with his mother.

I do too in real life. My mom is lovely and good to talk to, especially when life hurts. So recognizing the warm, comforting feeling of having a parent to turn to when everything hurts… it was comforting for the character.

Especially in a scene like the one described earlier, where there’s a need to gather oneself and one’s emotions. It was comforting for my character to know that there is someone who wishes you the best. It gave peace to the character’s mind, making it easy for me to play on.

But a good setup requires payoff.

So how bad can it get?

My character’s shift ends at midnight. He goes down for a drink.

The ship *OSS Karma* is attacked by terrorists. The ship is blown up by the fleet. “Mother” is dead. Fifteen minutes after my character’s shift ends at midnight. She wrote to him before, asking him to talk to someone on the bridge for help.

But he wasn’t there. He found out the next day.

…

I have never cried so much in a role-playing game before. I could reread the messages to “mother” and feel the pain. As the game continued and people became more and more battered, exhausted, and struck by tragedies, it was clear that people were trying to maintain a brave facade.

In a role-playing game like Odysseus, we as players wear our emotions on the characters. There were many hugs, encouragements, and desperate attempts to keep the mood up.

It’s beautiful to be in a room where it’s okay to show emotions and where people are there for each other.

It made our characters a crew and a team and showed me that good science fiction is really about humanity and connections. It was beautiful. But it’s also about the negative side of humanity. And then we are back to where we started: something about having a controller you want to throw across the room.

Something about being the one with the bigger stick

We, as humanity, are used to being the ones with the biggest stick. We have weapons, the ability to do with people, animals, the planet, and nature as we please. But what happens when we are on the receiving end of the stick? When someone stronger, smarter, and without mercy comes? Someone who treats us as we treat each other and those who cannot fight back?

It was unpleasant to get beaten. And we resisted, but towards the end, it was clear that we were mice in the cat’s game, and the cat was getting bored. They had no mercy for weeds like us. In that regard, the machines were human.

The machines had the power and wanted to eradicate humanity. But efforts were made to find a peaceful solution. The scientists had a solution: upload a number of characters’ consciousnesses into a “hive,” similar to the machines’ own hive, in an attempt to negotiate with them on equal footing.

But it was going too slowly. The technology behind it was dubious, and Odysseus was about to explode. What the hell were we supposed to do? It was hopeless.

Salvation came with a bang. Against all odds, the military had sent the spaceship “Starcaller” to the enemy’s central nervous system with a bomb. It detonated. BOOM.

Humanity won. My character was happy… at first.

For the method of creating a new “hive” had failed. Friendly androids on the ship died. Ballard said goodbye to his friend Fukui for the second time in less than 24 hours. Ouch.

The machines consisted of living intelligences within their hive. They didn’t agree on everything, but they learned and evolved. Winning through genocide against the machines left a bitter taste in both my and my character’s mouths.

Worse still, the corrupt characters who had caused the whole affair were still alive and in power. We won, but the situation was seemingly unchanged.

And then the game stopped.

People were happy about the experience.

I was too. It was an absolutely fantastic experience. It was not an easy scenario to be a part of, not easy emotions to deal with. It was a fascinating journey into humanity’s best and worst sides, what we do for those we love and care about, how far we will go to survive. But it’s also a scenario that makes me think about how cruel we can be in general as humans. Greed and selfishness are human emotions, but they don’t create a better world for those around us.

Odysseus was a journey around the concept of “humanity,” and how I wish we could eventually learn to treat each other and this planet properly.

Treat others as you want to be treated.

And if you have an idea on how to break the metaphysical stick I’m talking about, please write it in the comments. I hope for a future with more carrots instead of sticks.

And if nothing else, I can always allow myself to hope.

Thank you for the experience.

It was fantastic to be a spaceman for a little while.