Massively multiplayer online games are human entropy -- huge quantities of wasted energy, but it wouldn't have been used for anything useful anyway. If we programmed cancer into an online game, it would be cured within a week, but humanity would be wiped out by some dickhead creating super-leprosy-AIDS-cancer of the scrotum.
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Let's see you teabag me now, n00b!
#7. Father Hires Virtual Assassins to Kill Son -- World of Warcraft
One man was sick of watching his son playing World of Warcraft instead of getting a job, so he took action: He paid other people to play the game against him. Mr. Feng hired an elite team of players to repeatedly murder his son back to reality. You might recognize this as the same plan used by the Agents from The Matrix, but with less human compassion. The last person to receive such terribly painful support from his father was Jesus.
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"Move out of heaven," he said. "You're just hanging around up here," he said.
Feng thought that the relentless repetition of pointless death would force his son to stop playing World of Warcraft, proving that Feng really didn't understand what it's like to play World of Warcraft.
Even Orkin staff don't kill pests one at a time, and they're getting paid for it.
You couldn't be more passive-aggressive unless you meditated until the other person transcended existence. Pretending to hire a hit man is bad, but hiring a pretend hit man is even worse: You've spent the money but still have to deal with the asshole. Even worse, you've just taught your unemployed son that playing World of Warcraft can be a career.
#6. Carpet Bombing a Funeral -- Planetside
In real life, they say you shouldn't speak ill of the dead. In MMOs, they don't care why you're AFK, ur a fag.
"Screw your heart attack, you can still click 'Raise Ally' with your right hand, asshole!"
Longtime Planetside player Raider05 died, probably not of originality, and his guild, HMX-1, decided to hold an in-game funeral in a player-versus-player zone where it's possible to kill each other. What happened next was so predictable, the only explanation is that they were trying to turn funerals into a group sport. They raised an energy shield that would instantly kill any enemy players, but they didn't spot the fatal flaw: It still allowed anyone on their own side to enter. Specifically, to enter with over a dozen heavy bombers and carpet bomb the entire funeral.
The Enclave guild arrived and blew the hell out of their own side for sheer hilarity. This wasn't like the World of Warcraft funeral massacre, where the targets were simply unprepared for fantasy combat. These funeral-goers were standing respectfully in large concentrations while their attackers rained explosive death from the skies. You'd swear that both sides were doing everything they could to create the perfect bombing run. Which was actually the case.
The only people who were even armed to fire back were the snipers present to fire a 21-gun salute, and even in video games, sniper loses against saturation bombing. The Enclave scored over 200 mourner kills in under two minutes. Somewhere in hell, a high score table had a new No. 1. This was a lifetime record, both because it was a ridiculously high score and because they were disbanded and permanently banned from the game shortly after. Although in fairness, they were probably still laughing.
#5. The Pink Party Hat Crisis --- RuneScape
In 2003, the RuneScape economy crashed because of too many imaginary pink party hats, which is still better than the reasons for some real financial disasters.
"We loan money to people who can't pay it back, sell the debt to each other for a profit, then escape on our unicorns before anyone notices!"
Player SixFeetUnder was trying to trade in a scythe, because even computer glitches love symbolism, when he accidentally worked out how to spawn any item in the game. Everyone immediately demonstrated their intelligence by relentlessly duplicating an item whose only useful property was rarity. The pink party hat went from being the most valuable item in the game to the least valuable hat. (This is why the blue hat is now the one worth $1,680, the maximum amount of money the game can hold.) It's now colored purple, but a full decade later, its value still hasn't recovered. But it never stopped being a symbol of how ludicrous video game finances are.
Behold, the ultimate symbol of online wealth and class.
In fact, the entire game still hasn't recovered. The developers couldn't work out how to even perform the glitch for several days, during which time the players replicated like Australian rabbits, with similar effects on the local economy. Eventually Jagex offered a free lifetime membership to anyone who'd tell them how they were managing to piss in their own pool this time, and they were finally able to fix it.
#4. Final Fantasy, Absolute Asshole -- Final Fantasy XI
A raid is when players team up to have fun and achieve certain challenges. 2005 is when Square Enix said, "We hate those players." They released a new end boss called "Absolute Virtue," which was like calling Donald Trump "Attractive Humility."
Yeah, I'd rather sleep with this.
Final Fantasy XI featured special super abilities players could only use every two hours. Absolute Virtue could use all of them, repeatedly, was immune to everything, had 100,000 hit points, and auto-healed faster than Wolverine. That's not a boss; that's the Pokemon your little brother designs on the back of his schoolbooks. It was about as fun and possible as trying to headbutt your way through the side of an elephant: Even if it doesn't attack and kill you, which it will, it heals faster anyway. Even attempting it both requires and bestows brain damage.
It regenerated at 500 HP per tick. By design it was telling most of the players hitting it that they were wasting even their virtual lives, then it repeatedly cast Benediction spells (which healed it completely) to tell all of them. Then the developers wrote the fact into the game code by weakening spells that worked against it, giving Absolute Virtue extra resistances to weapons players beat it with, and threatening to ban players who found ways to outwit it. Players spent three years trying to kill the thing. Guilds spent over 30 hours continuously attacking, with no success. We don't know whether the designers were practicing to program limbo or if the Rancor trainer from Return of the Jedi quit in grief to become a game designer and take his revenge on all whining nerds.
"Sleep well, sweet Rancor. I will make it so that they create their own filthy pits to die against monsters in!"
Videos of these attacks don't look like fun -- they look like Square Enix executives are sitting in a hive somewhere, hissing, "Let the flesh harvest begin!" Because they've found prey who don't move no matter how brutally they're being tormented and will never be missed. When players accused the developers of creating an impossible boss, they released a video with vague hints on how to defeat it, three years later.
It's hard to know who to root for in that battle: the assholes who made it, or the whiners who were still playing. Later that year, they reduced its abilities, although this was less "nerfing" than "tactical nuclear warheading." They also imposed a two-hour time limit on the fight, because they clearly didn't want the bad press of anyone dying during it (which is quite different from caring about whether anyone died during it). If they'd actually cared about lives, they wouldn't have programmed the gaming equivalent of a brick wall with "Bash your head off this 4,332,321 times" written on it.