Most fathers probably receive thoughtful Father’s Day gifts tailored to their interests and hobbies.
Clothes, electronics, tools, pounds of steak, that sort of thing. Instead, my 11-year-old son, Jamie, threw brightly colored tights at me and dragged me off into the streets where armed miscreants could shoot me in the head.
He bought me a copy of “City of Heroes,” a massive multiplayer online role-playing computer game (also referred to as “MMO,” “MMOG,” “MMORPG,” or “incredible time-waster”) wherein you become a super-powered champion and fight the forces of evil in beautiful, thug-filled Paragon City right alongside any other superheroes that might be logged on at the moment.
Jamie, already a member, wanted nothing more than to fight for justice by my side, which is bonding, in a weird way. And so I became a defender of the helpless.
First you design your hero. “City of Heroes” has an amazing hero-generation system that allows you to select your heroic archetype, build, height, and costume, something that can easily take several days. Want robotic arms and harem pants? T-shirt, jeans, and a coolie hat? A business suit to match your broadsword? No problem!
Countless innocents suffered while I anguished over what pants to wear. Baggy? Flared? None? Those are the kinds of life-or-death decisions a hardened warrior has to be ready to face.
I chose the “Tanker” category (strong, durable, not terribly maneuverable, like a human Humvee), but elected to become a slender, 3-foot-tall female Tanker named Arathustra, just to mess with my son’s mind.
Next you run through a tutorial that teaches you about the game and your abilities. What it taught me was that Arathustra had all the grace of a roller skating water buffalo, which was bound to impact on my crime-fighting abilities.
Paragon City is a detailed and entirely believable place with more abandoned warehouses, embattled rooftops, and casual street crime per capita than Miami, at least during the off-season. Jamie and I teamed up to arrest a marauding gang, which meant that he sliced them up like lunchmeat while I followed behind, watching my step. Turns out that “arresting” looks an awful lot like “personal assault” and there doesn’t seem to be a lot of paperwork involved.
After he went to bed I spent some time righting the scales of Justice by myself, full of ambition and dreams of Justice League membership, and I discovered something almost immediately.
I am forever doomed to be a sidekick, and not the useful kind. It’s actually possible that the level of crime in the game went up after I joined.
My fingers fumble over the keys. I can spend hours running around the city, lost, despite the helpful map and glowing “over here, stupid” arrows. I tend to fall off buildings. Victims hesitate before calling for my help, realizing instinctively that it would be quicker and less painful to just get mugged. In the heat of battle I have difficulties with the essential martial arts concepts of “left” and “right.”
I’m the superhero the other superheroes have to rescue, over and over. In a superteam, I’d be the one hanging around the dog.
None of this is the fault of the game itself, which is disturbingly fun and quite capable of sucking up weeks of your life without warning. Combat is a blast, sometimes literally, and the graphics and levels of detail are amazing.
So I’m going to keep at it, because even pathetic champions have their place. I can serve to make those around me look good in comparison, just as I do at work. By rescuing me the other heroes will gain valuable experience points and interesting scars. And a laughing criminal is a vulnerable criminal. I just need to play to my strengths.
So look out, people of Paragon City! You are now protected by the might of … let’s see … “The Loose Cannon?” “The Weak Link?” “The Boy Hostage?” “Captain Liability?”
This heroing stuff ain’t easy, let me tell you. Now, which pants should I wear…