The ‘Mass Effect’ Effect

I love ‘Mass Effect 2’.  Right down to its little toeses.  If it had toeses – and it does, it has the toeses of the Shepard that I played through the whole of the first ‘Mass Effect’ with.  But that’s not all I love.  I love the fact that it’s in space, and that it has cool powers, and that it’s ‘Bioware RPG-y’ but not too ‘Bioware RPG-y’ (it’s a phrase that will soon sweep the nation- honest).  What I like most is the dialogue options.  There’s always a good option and a bad option, or a renegade and paragon option if you follow the in game wording.  Sometimes those options flash up on the screen – I would love it if there was an icon that flashed up in my life that would let me know it was OK to punch someone in the face, and that my life would continue on… somewhere more interesting than a prison cell (paragon options might flash up as well, but who wants to do one of those?).  I want to live a life where the good thing to do is clearly highlighted in blue, the neutral option is ‘grey’ and the evil option is red.  I want to order a drink from the bar of life and have the clear choice between the ‘blue’ diet cola, the ‘grey’ glass of wine and the ‘red option’ would be a B52… and a slippery nipple… dumped into a pint of cider… with a measure of Baileys.  And in ‘Mass Effect 2’, it would be called a ‘Mystery Drink!’ (the exclamation point is the source of its power).  So, having played ‘Mass Effect 2’ solidly all weekend, going into work on Monday morning was a slightly different experience than usual.

Firstly, I had to choose my wardrobe.  In ‘Mass Effect 2’ this is easy, I walk past my fish tanks and my space hamster (although it hasn’t done much ‘space-y’ stuff yet, which is a swizz), and then I choose my wardrobe.  I have my choice of inside clothes, and then my choice of outside – or battle –  clothes.  Now inside, I choose between looking like a female version of Mal from ‘Firefly’, or lately, a female version of the costume that Sean Patrick Harris wore as a neo-Gestapo bug torturer in ‘Starship Troopers’.  Outside clothing tends to be based on whatever added bonus the armour gives me – I don’t care so much what it looks like – as long as I can colour it black or orange.  In real life, my Cyberdog top does not enhance my incendiary damage by 10%.  The only 10% boost I get is when I wear my chunky New Rock boots with the stacked heels, which do give me a 10% height advantage.  And wherever I look, I can’t find them in Orange.  Mass Effect scores one, real life: none.

Then of course, there’s my face.  If I get any skin blemishes, my morning is ruined and I have to hide behind a mask of foundation and cover up.  When my Shepard gets skin blemishes, they glow from within with a cool looking demonic redness.  If teenagers looked like that rather than getting acne, then sales of Clearasil would plummet overnight. You can, of course get cosmetic surgery to alter your appearance – but all you have to do is pay some credits by popping some caps in evil alien ass or shooting probes into uninhabited planets to mine ore.  I have to go to work, and even then after food, rent and my video game habit – I don’t have enough left over for plastic surgery – so no red glowing face scars for me!  Mass Effect two, real life… nil points.

The bus pulls up.  Having seen various people milling around, I have fought the urge to engage in conversation.  Usually that would be how I find out about my mission – just wandering around and standing close to people.  When you stand close to people for no good reason at a bus stop – they don’t like it.  And the prompt saying that you can talk to them by holding down the ‘A’ button never comes up.  Then when you walk on the bus, you have to give money to the bus driver.  You don’t even have the option to punch him in the face, steal his money and then take the bus yourself.  Well, I suppose you do – if you’re Shepard, but I don’t have the option to take my shuttle back up to the Normandy when the police come.  The bus itself, which would be a bustling location where you could interact with local citizens, slave traders, matriarch bartenders and a whole host of hacking missions and interesting characters is reduced to a single mini game where you try and get a double seat all to yourself and avoid making eye contact with all the annoying kids on the bus.  In Mass Effect, a ‘RT’ prompt would come up, and I would be able to shoot one in the foot, gaining his respect and the respect of the rest of his rat-like group.  In real life, I have to stare intently at my knees when they shout ‘Hey Blondie’!  Real life, absolutely nothing – Mass Effect’s ability to shut up the local college kids… priceless.

Then, when the bus reaches its destination, it’s not an exciting alien beach, a stark ice planet or a citadel representing the central power at the Universe.  It’s just town, and the slow trudge to work.  It’s a good thing I can tell the difference between real life and Mass Effect because otherwise Stagecoach in Oxford would be having to find replacement bus drivers. Every morning.  And the number of pupils in local schools would fall dramatically.  Still, at least when I get home I can relax in stylish orange and black armour – and take out my frustrations so they don’t spill over into real life.  Yet.  But if you’re on a bus, and see a girl with blonde hair, New Rock boots and a Cyberdog top – think again before you shout ‘Hey Blondie’, because you may get a Collector Rifle clip capped in your ass!