OPINIONS AND OBSERVATIONS

Hmmph? Well I must say, this is odd. I don't quite know what I'm doing here, since I'm fairly certain I should be out there. That is, I don't recall jacking in tonight. This isn't another of Your little tricks, is it? . . . No? Well, never mind. The Universe does work in mysterious ways, and few know that better than I.

Would you like a drink? I hope you don't mind if I have one. I haven't yet decided whether I'm really here or not, but either way I'm certain I need a drink.

Well, since you're here, and since it certainly appears that I am here, and since I haven't the faintest notion how I might go anywhere but here, we may as well talk, hmm? Sit down. There are some things I've been wanting to get off my chest, and by virtue of your convenience, you lucky devil, you get to be the beneficiary of my wisdom.

Who am I, you ask? Well . . . you may call me Quinn. Or if you prefer to keep our relationship more formal, you may call me Mr. Harlech. What makes me so wise? Let's just call it lots of experience. Now sit down and listen--I don't share the pearls of my wisdom with just anyone.

TRUE ROLE PLAYING

In recent years, the term “role-playing game” has been passed around more often than a barmaid smuggled aboard a pirate ship. The term has come to apply to so many different activities that it seems a lot of people are losing sight of what it really means. Well, I’d like to set the world straight—as I have been called upon to do before, and as I am certain I will be called upon to do in the future. Actually, I shudder to think of how soon and how desperately the world will call on me to set it straight in the future . . .but that is quite another story indeed.

To many people, “role-playing game” means a game for a PC or a home entertainment system—something like Resident Evil 2, for example. These games may be entertaining, but they are not true role-playing games. It is true that the player assumes the point-of-view of a particular character in the game, but that is as close as it gets. The player’s decisions are limited to those dictated by the programmers, and they are motivated not by the character’s personality so much as a need to push the story along. There are usually only two outcomes: successful completion of the mission at hand or death. There is often only one “right” way to complete the mission. Attempts at alternate solutions typically lead to dead ends or death. And if your character should be killed, you can simply restart the game from a point near that at which you met your end. Usually you can keep doing this until you arrive at the “correct” solution.

In true role-playing, the player is free to make any decision he or she wishes for his or her character. There may be some decisions that the gamemaster will strongly discourage, but ultimate control of the character’s actions rests entirely with the player. If that player is any good, those actions will be motivated not by knowledge of what might happen (since we’re playing Call of Cthulhu, I won’t investigate that noise in the basement) nor by a desire to move the story along (since we’re playing Call of Cthulhu and we haven’t seen any monsters yet, I will investigate that noise in the basement) but by a sense of what that character would actually do (since I am home alone and unarmed, I will call the police to investigate that noise in the basement). True role-playing means taking on more than just a character’s point of view. It means taking on a character’s strengths, weaknesses, personality quirks, and motivations. It means using those features to decide what that character will do in a given situation. It means that if your character chooses a course of action that results in his or her death, then the game is over for that character. To paraphrase the automobile commercial, “In true role-playing, there is no reset button.”

To other people, “role-playing game” means a game that is played over the Internet in a chat room or via email. These games are a good deal closer to true role-playing than are the PC games, but they still fall a bit short of the mark. In these games, players do create and take on full-fledged characters, and they usually have wide-ranging control over their characters’ actions. The players are presented with a situation, and each in turn states what his or her character will do. The gamemaster then determines the outcome and informs the players, who then determine their next actions, and so on. This system, while a good deal slower, has a lot in common with true role-playing. The crucial missing element is interaction.

True role-playing is an interactive and social activity. It involves a group of people seated in the same room for the bulk of the game. These people spend their time looking at each other, sizing up each other’s next moves, cooperatively developing plans of action, and talking to one another. If every minute of a gaming session is devoted directly to the game, then there is something seriously amiss with the gamemaster and with the players. A big part of the whole point is to spend time with one’s fellow players in a social gathering. Without this interaction, the fun and the story will both suffer.

You don’t believe that the story will suffer? Picture this: you’re watching a performance of an improvisational theatre troupe. Only one actor is allowed to be onstage at any given time. This actor delivers his or her lines and performs certain actions, and then steps offstage to be replaced by another member of the troupe. The newcomer, rather than having the benefit of interaction with the previous actor, is presented a note summing up the previous actor’s actions. What you’re left with is a string of loosely connected solo performances intercut with one another. This performance, I’m sure, will be far less satisfying than one in which the improvisational performers are allowed to directly interact. The same is true in role-playing—after all, role-playing is, at some level, improvisational theatre.

Which brings up the next common use of the term “role-playing game.” Many people take the concept of the RPG even further into the realm of live-action role-playing. In this activity, players dress in costumes ranging from the simple to the elaborate and fully assume the role of their characters. This form of role-playing is certainly far better than the PC games in terms of the players’ involvement with their characters. And it is certainly far better than the Internet or email games in terms of player interaction. Now, I must confess at this point that I have no personal experience with this type of role-playing. However, speaking as an outside observer it appears that there are still some differences between this activity and true role-playing.

First of all, role-playing games often involve characters with fantastic abilities doing fantastic things. This is as it should be; role-playing games are about fantasy. In a standard dice-and-paper RPG, these fantastic abilities and actions are played out entirely in the realm of the cerebral. But in a live-action game, there would have to be some way of duplicating (or at least suggesting) these fantastic elements. It would seem, with the difficulty and expense of including elaborate theatrical special effects, that it would be nearly impossible to duplicate these fantastic elements well. If the brain is trying to imagine that a character is flying over the city, for example, I would think that the sight of a person standing there with arms outstretched and feet firmly planted on the living room floor would only hinder the imagination.

Secondly, and again I must admit that I have no knowledge of the mechanics of live action role-playing, but I have concerns about the stories being told. In standard role-playing, there is a gamemaster and a set of rules that together can determine with great certainty the results of a character’s actions. In live-action role-playing, if Character A shoots Character B, how are the results decided? Gamemaster decree? Player consensus? Both methods seem a bit arbitrary. I’m reminded of the cops-and-robbers game of childhood: “I shot you!” “No you didn’t!” “Yes I did!” “Well, but it’s just a scratch!” “No, I shot you right in the heart!” “No, you scratched me on the arm!” “No, I didn’t!” “Yes, you did!” and so on.

Taking into account my admitted ignorance of the workings of live-action role-playing, I will reserve judgement on this use of the term. Overall I would think that it is worthy of the term, but my concerns linger. If you are able to enlighten me on this subject, please feel free to do so. But do not use my ignorance on this one matter as fuel for doubts of my collected wisdom. Even in my many years, one can not have tried everything. Still, for me the essence of true role-playing involves real involvement of the player with his or her character, real player control of the character’s actions, real interaction among the players, and good interactive storytelling. If the game you call an RPG doesn’t have all of these elements, I suggest you start calling it something else.

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COLLECTIBLE CARD GAMES

I wasn't going to say anything about these games. I certainly didn't want to include them in my rant on "True Role-Playing" because I don't think anyone is misguided enough to mistake these games for role-playing. At least, I hope no one is that misguided.

This Matrix site is about role-playing games, and as such its original intent was not to waste bandwidth discussing collectible trading card games. You will notice that my associate the late---and all right, I'll say it---great Dunkelzahn did not mention Wizards of the Coast in his list of gaming companies. However, it seems worthwhile to bring them up, if only because of the threat they represent.

Yes, I said "threat". What do they threaten, you ask? They threaten role-playing.

Collectible card games are often "set" within the worlds created for role-playing games. Shadowrun, Call of Cthulhu, Marvel Super Heroes, and a host of other role-playing games have collectible card games associated with them. One can hardly blame the game companies. Faced with waning interest in true role-playing and with the enormous popularity of Magic: The Gathering, game companies have been all but forced to enter the CCG market in order to remain competitive.

Therein lies the threat to role-playing. Why are CCG's more popular than RPG's? Because people are lazy, and they always want the easy way out. This is precisely why my kind always has had to and always will have to haul your kind's bacon out of the fire when things really get nasty--but again that is a story for another time. At any rate, a television advertisement for Magic: The Gathering used to say, "All you need is a deck, a friend, and an imagination." A friend of mine used to respond to this ad with "Well, one out of three ain't bad."

Certainly one requires a deck to play the game. There can be no doubt of that. It seems to me, though, that if one truly had a friend or friends, one could just as easily play an RPG. As for imagination, I can not fathom what imagination is required for a CCG, except perhaps in order to delude oneself that the game is something more than a game of bridge with different pictures on the cards. If one really wanted to use one's imagination, one would be playing an RPG.

A CCG is seductive. It offers its players the chance to play "in the world of" an RPG like Shadowrun or Call of Cthulhu, without actually having to put any effort into character creation, character development and interaction, or plot. These games do not rely on a character's abilities or a player's ingenuity, they rely simply on a player's ability to acquire a better collection of cards. If an RPG player is faced with a sticky problem during a game, that player must think of a strategy to solve the problem. For a CCG player who runs into trouble during a game, the solution is simple: buy more cards. A card game allows players to think that they're playing Shadowrun or Call of Cthulhu or whatever without having to devote a single neuron to actual thought. This is why collectible card games threaten role-playing games. Lazy, unimaginative people (of which there are all too many) find the CCG's less challenging and therefore more rewarding than role-playing games.

The popularity of role-playing games has waned, in part, for the same reason that the popularity of crossword puzzles and strategy games has waned. People like to keep their amusements as brainless as possible. I'm not sure people realize, though, that the more they choose the CCG version of a game over the RPG version, the less likely it will be that there will be an RPG version to back up their CCG, and without the underlying RPG it's likely the CCG will die as well. Perhaps this doesn't matter to the CCG players, for I'm sure that to them one CCG is pretty much like another. For RPG players, however, the thought of losing a game not because the mythos was unpopular, but because people prefer to play the brainless CCG version, is terrifying indeed.

I'm sure there are people out there who at various times play both RPG's and CCG's. As long as they continue to play the RPG and support the RPG by purchasing sourcebooks, more power to them. Supporting both a game company's RPG and CCG lines benefits the company, which in turn leads to higher production values and better games on both the RPG and CCG side. I'm not saying that CCG's should be eliminated, any more than I'm saying that computer "role-playing games" should be eliminated. I'm simply saying that we should avoid letting the easy, brainless, "role-playing lite" amusement offered by CCG's drive RPG's the way of the dodo.

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CYBORGS

Cyborgs are a ubiquitous part of the cyberpunk genre. It’s hard to find cyberpunk that doesn’t have cyborgs running around. The trouble is, the cyborgs that run around in a lot of cyberpunk—especially Hollywood cyberpunk--are just plain wrong.

The word CYBORG is a short for CYBernetic ORGanism. I think most people get that part. But that means that a cyborg is, above all, an organism. It is a living biological entity. Organisms require certain complex biochemical processes in order to remain living biological entities. You know the ones I mean: respiration, circulation, digestion, waste disposal, etc. Organisms, at least those organisms advanced enough to be made into cyborgs, have evolved complex systems of organs to facilitate these biological processes. It is these systems of organs that are missing from a lot of Hollywood cyborgs.

I know you’ve seen the films I’m talking about. Even Terminator is guilty of this. Part of the cyborg’s skin comes off (variously through combat damage, intentional ripping, or sometimes a handy access panel), and through the bloody flesh you see wires and servomotors. In an arm or leg I could almost buy this (well, except for the blood). But in a torso? How has this person been walking around without a heart or lungs or a liver or a stomach or any of a dozen or so other vital organs?

The usual explanation for this type of cyborg is that skin is genetically engineered and grown over the surface of a mechanical skeleton. Okay, I admit the possibility of growing skin and muscle cells in a culture somewhere. I still have problems with this explanation. First, once the engineered tissue leaves the culture dish, it is still going to need nutrients, oxygen, and waste disposal. These are biological processes that an organ-less mechanical skeleton will not be able to provide for the engineered tissue. The skin and muscle will quickly die and begin to rot away, giving new meaning to the term “cyberzombie.” The second problem is that it would require a true artist indeed to take formless tissue cultures and mold them precisely over a mechanical frame to duplicate the human form. Oh, and let’s not forget that our Michaelangelo of Mechanical Men will also have to string miles upon miles of blood vessels—some of microscopic diameter—throughout the engineered tissue. Otherwise, we won’t be able to see all of those cool bloody holes with metal underneath when our cyborg is inevitably riddled with automatic weapons fire.

You may still be thinking that these Hollywood cyborgs are possible. “But,” you may be saying, “If they could genetically engineer the skin tissue, couldn’t they engineer it with the ability to sustain itself, like a great colony of single-celled organisms?” Okay, I do see your point. Trouble is, it still wouldn’t work the way the films depict it. Let’s assume you’re a genetic engineer and you have developed a way to splice into human skin cells genes from some single-celled organism so that the skin becomes self-sustaining. What single-celled organism do you use? Blue-green algae, so that the skin can provide its own nourishment through photosynthesis? Well, now you have a green cyborg. Yeast, so that the cells won’t require oxygen? Well, now you have a cyborg that has to be kept warm and moist, and that smells like bread dough. Perhaps you use bacterial cells, and provide a layer of solid or liquid culture medium between the skin and the metal skeleton underneath (maybe that’s not blood under there, but culture medium that happens to be red). Forgetting for a moment that any of these methods would alter the skin cells so much that they would probably no longer look or act like skin cells, you’d still have to replenish the supply of medium periodically. And bacterial colonies tend not to retain their shape the way skin tissue does. They grow. They grow quickly, and they grow a lot. So now we have a cyborg who after a few weeks has huge, shapeless wads of skin all over his body. Forget the flesh-eating bacteria—we have the flesh-growing bacteria. In essence, our cyborg would be plagued by the worst case of skin cancer the world has ever seen. Moreover, if the skin cells are sustaining themselves the way bacteria do, then they are letting their waste products seep through the cell membranes out into the environment. So our cyborg, on top of everything else, would be covered in a foul-smelling slime.

What if, instead, we used part of the machine underneath to duplicate the function of the organs that would normally sustain the living skin and muscle tissue? In other words, the biological heart, lungs, etc. are replaced by mechanical versions. Well, that’s more reasonable than engineering self-sustaining skin. But then, at the end of Terminator, when the flesh has been completely seared away from the titular cyborg, why do we not see these mechanical organs? No, what we see at this point amounts to an android—a purely mechanical approximation of a human. No pump still working furiously away to pump blood to the now-missing flesh, no gas bags expanding and contracting in the chest. Just a metallic automaton consisting, apparently, only of an armored framework and enough electronics to control the movement of the thing. Which bring up a side point: if the “cyborg” didn’t need those biological muscles to move the mechanical skeleton, why were they there in the first place? Just to make it look human? I would think latex foam would have done that trick with a good deal less trouble and expense.

I don’t mean to come down too hard on Terminator. It’s a good movie; I like it. It’s just the most common and well-known example of the problems that I’m talking about. Most other movies that make the same errors aren’t interesting enough to make me forgive those errors. Terminator is.

It comes down to this. If you want to replace an entire arm or leg or eye with a mechanical one, fine. But it won’t bleed. If you want to replace some organs with mechanical ones—heart, lungs, etc.—fine. But there’s a limit to how much of that you can do before the remaining biological systems say, “That’s enough artificial parts, thank you” and shut down. That is, they die, leaving you with a large and extremely expensive paperweight, stuffed with artificial parts that won’t work. There’s a good rule of thumb to use here. If it’s a biological organism to which some mechanical parts have been added, it’s a cyborg. If it’s a mechanical construct to which some biological parts have been added, it’s an android that some twisted individual has festooned with rotting tissue.

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"LOST IN THE NET"

We’ve seen how bad cyberpunk can get things all wrong when it comes to interfacing machines with human flesh. Well, sometimes bad cyberpunk can also get things all wrong when it comes to interfacing machines with the human mind.

It is a hallmark of cyberpunk science fiction that people can “jack in”, or directly interface their brains with computers. Instead of sitting in front of a monitor typing complex commands into a keyboard, computer jockeys in c-punk “go inside” the computer and simply do whatever it is they need done. These characters are usually making illegal access to the computer system, and the owner of the violated system is usually trying to stop the characters from doing so. One of the most frightening weapons in the computer owners’ arsenal is some security program that “traps” the hacker (or decker, or netrunner, or whatever you call them) inside the computer, preventing his or her brain from returning to its rightful place inside his or her body. The character’s mind becomes forever trapped in a silicon prison, and the body becomes an empty, lifeless shell.

Well, now this is just plain silly. Unless you’re playing Call of Cthulhu and you’re involving creatures of the fractal realm or some other supernatural force, the very concept of such a thing is completely ridiculous. Allow me to enumerate a few reasons why.

It’s called VIRTUAL reality for a reason. It’s not really happening. Even though it APPEARS to the computer user that he or she is travelling through the insides of the computer system, the user is not really going anywhere. It’s an ILLUSION (I’m foolin’ you an’ you don’t like it!) intended to make the computer system easier to use. It’s like Microsoft Windows on steroids. You don’t have to remember a complex series of commands in order to browse for a file, you just “walk” up to the “file cabinet” and “thumb” through the “folders.” It’s a three-dimensional, full-sensory representation of the user’s actions on the computer system, but it is still only a representation. These computer users have no more traveled inside the computer than you did when you clicked on the desktop icon for your web browser.

Why on earth would any computer owner want to trap someone’s mind inside their computer, even if they could? I would think that the complete consciousness of a human being would take up a fair amount of storage space and processing power. If you perform this bizarre security function a few times, you’ll have quite a crowd running around in there, and I can’t help but think that this would downgrade your system performance. Besides, if a potential hacker’s mind is STILL running around inside your system, don’t you think that it could still create a good deal of mayhem on your system? It just wouldn’t be able to get back out again once it was done.

The idea that a multinational corporation would go around sucking the minds out of potential digital thieves and trapping them inside their computer systems, I think, takes a very shallow view of the motivations of the corporations. Megacorps are not, necessarily, shallow cardboard villains bent simply on doing the maximum evil they can manage. They are businesses, and as such they are motivated not by a desire to do evil, but by an all-consuming desire to make money for their shareholders. They may be unscrupulous to the extreme, but they are unlikely to be evil. Their quest for profit may cause them to do evil things, but they would not do evil for its own sake (well, Aztechnology maybe). Sucking someone’s mind away from their body and imprisoning it inside a computer system is an act of pointless evil. It doesn’t help the corp turn a profit. Using a tracer program that locates the computer intruder’s physical location so that security forces may be deployed, or sending lethal electrical feedback into the intruder’s brain through the interface leads—-these are actions that help the corp’s bottom line by effectively protecting their computer systems.

I can see, however, that a corp might be responsible for perpetuating the rumor that it has the capability to suck the minds out of potential hackers. Such a rumor would certainly serve as a fearful deterrent to the inexperienced, naïve hacker, leaving the security team’s resources free to handle real threats from professional data thieves who will recognize the rumor for what it is.

In short, it is possible to protect a computer system by tracing the physical location from which the intruder jacked in, or by frying the intruding computer’s chips, or by frying the intruding computer’s owner’s brain, but it is impossible, illogical, and absurd to protect a computer system by sucking the brain out of an intruder’s head and trapping it inside the computer. The fallacy that this can be done is all too prevalent in cyberpunk fiction.

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