There’s something profoundly uncomfortable about seeing your deepest struggles reflected back at you through a fictional character, especially when that character is supposed to be the villain. After completing Dispatch three times—each playthrough revealing new layers to its complex narrative—I’ve come to a startling realization: I see far too much of myself in Shroud, the game’s calculating, anxiety-driven antagonist. This isn’t just a matter of enjoying a well-written villain; it’s the uncomfortable recognition that Shroud’s compulsive need to calculate, control, and predict every outcome mirrors my own daily battles with anxiety.
Dispatch, developed by AdHoc Studio, is a masterclass in character-driven storytelling, blending superhero workplace comedy with surprisingly deep psychological exploration. The game follows Robert Robertson (Mecha Man), voiced by Aaron Paul, as he navigates life after losing his powers and becomes a dispatcher for a team of reformed villains. But it’s Shroud, played by Matthew Mercer, who has lingered in my thoughts long after the credits roll. His character isn’t just a villain to be defeated; he’s a mirror held up to anyone who’s ever grappled with anxiety, control issues, and the overwhelming desire to predict and manage every aspect of life.
Shroud’s Calculations: More Than Just a Superpower
At first glance, Shroud’s abilities seem like a straightforward superpower. As revealed in the Dispatch Wiki, Elliot “Eli” Connors (Shroud) has a prediction algorithm—a microcomputer implanted in his head that allows him to calculate and predict the most likely course of action of people around him with frightening accuracy. The more data he collects about individuals, the more precise his predictions become. This ability has made him incredibly effective as both a hero and villain, but it’s also the source of his greatest torment.
What makes Shroud’s character so compelling—and so personally resonant—is how his calculations are portrayed not as a gift, but as a manifestation of anxiety. During my multiple playthroughs, I’ve noticed how Shroud can’t help but correct inaccuracies, even when it’s socially inappropriate or strategically unwise. There’s that pivotal moment where Blond Blazer bluffs, “I’m taking half of you with me,” and Shroud immediately counters, “By my calculations, it would be closer to 30%.” He hesitates, then adds, “but half sounds better.”
That hesitation speaks volumes. It’s the moment when Shroud knows his correction is unnecessary, that it undermines the intimidation, but he cannot stop himself from making it. This isn’t about being right—it’s about being compelled to state what his calculations tell him, even when it serves no purpose other than to satisfy his anxiety-driven need for accuracy.
The Anxiety Behind the Algorithm: Understanding Shroud’s Psychology
Shroud’s calculations are essentially his anxiety made manifest, and this is where I see the most uncomfortable parallels with my own experience. Like many people who struggle with anxiety, I find myself constantly running calculations in my head—predicting outcomes, considering every possible variable, trying to prepare for every eventuality. It’s exhausting, and worse, it’s ultimately futile, just like Shroud’s attempts to control every situation.
The game brilliantly portrays how Shroud’s need for control stems from a deep-seated belief that humanity is inherently evil and that chaos is the natural state of the world. This worldview leads him to conclude that the only way to combat evil is through control. As he tells Robert, “You think you can beat the bad by being good, but there’s no solving human nature. You can’t stop evil. All you can do is control it.”
This philosophy resonates with me on a level I’m not entirely comfortable admitting. While I don’t believe humanity is inherently evil, I certainly understand the impulse to want to control situations to prevent negative outcomes. How many times have I stayed up late running through every possible scenario of an upcoming event, trying to prepare for every contingency? How many social interactions have I overanalyzed afterward, wondering if I said the right thing or if someone misinterpreted my words? These are the same patterns that drive Shroud, the same anxiety-fueled need to calculate and control.
The Breaking Point: When Control Becomes Self-Destruction?
One of the most powerful moments in Dispatch comes during the final confrontation between Robert and Shroud. Depending on player choices, you can give Shroud the Astral Pulse, the Proto-Pulse, or both. Choosing to give him both creates a fascinating psychological moment: Shroud becomes completely unhinged because he can’t distinguish between the two items, and his inability to calculate the correct choice sends him into a panic.
This scene perfectly illustrates the ultimate irony of Shroud’s character: his greatest strength—his ability to calculate and predict—is also his greatest weakness. When faced with a situation where his calculations fail him, he completely breaks down. This is where I see the most uncomfortable reflection of my own struggles with anxiety.
Anxiety thrives on the illusion of control. We tell ourselves that if we just think through every possibility, prepare for every outcome, and consider every angle, we can prevent bad things from happening. But life is inherently chaotic and unpredictable, no matter how much we try to control it. Shroud understands this intellectually—he knows life is chaos—but he can’t stop himself from trying to control it anyway. I know the same thing, yet I still find myself lying awake at night, running through scenarios and trying to predict outcomes that are fundamentally unpredictable.
The Human Cost of Constant Calculation
What makes Shroud such a tragic character isn’t just his villainy—it’s the human cost of his constant need to calculate and control. His relationships are transactional, his emotions are suppressed, and his ability to connect with others is severely limited. He’s so focused on predicting and controlling outcomes that he can’t simply experience life as it happens.
During my third playthrough, I paid special attention to how Shroud interacts with others, and I noticed something heartbreaking: he’s lonely. His leadership of the Red Ring isn’t just about power—it’s about creating a controlled environment where he can predict and manage the behavior of others. He enhances his underlings with augmentations he can shut off at will, effectively forcing them into his service. This isn’t just evil for evil’s sake; it’s a desperate attempt to create order in a world he perceives as chaotic.
This mirrors a pattern I’ve noticed in my own life and in the lives of others who struggle with anxiety. We often try to control our environments and the people around us, not out of malice, but out of a desperate need to reduce uncertainty. We micromanage, we plan obsessively, we try to anticipate every possible outcome—all in an effort to feel safe. But like Shroud, we often end up isolating ourselves and damaging our relationships in the process.
The Redemption We Never See: Shroud’s Untapped Potential
One of the most interesting aspects of Dispatch is how it handles redemption arcs. The Z-Team—Robert’s group of reformed villains—all have opportunities for redemption and growth throughout the game. But Shroud, as the main antagonist, doesn’t get that same opportunity. He’s portrayed as beyond redemption, his worldview too entrenched, his methods too extreme.
Yet I can’t help but wonder what a redeemed Shroud might look like. What if he could learn to accept uncertainty? What if he could use his incredible intelligence not to control others, but to help them? What if he could find peace in the knowledge that some things simply can’t be calculated or predicted?
These questions hit close to home because they’re the same ones I ask myself about my own anxiety. What would it look like to accept uncertainty? To find peace in not knowing? To use my tendency to overthink not as a source of anxiety, but as a tool for problem-solving when it’s actually needed?
The Game Mechanics That Mirror Mental Health
What’s brilliant about Dispatch is how its gameplay mechanics reinforce its themes. The dispatch sequences—where you assign heroes to various emergencies based on their stats and the requirements of each situation—are surprisingly stressful. Timers tick down, multiple emergencies demand attention simultaneously, and you have to make quick decisions with limited information.
These gameplay sections create genuine anxiety in the player, mirroring the anxiety that Shroud experiences and that many of us feel in our daily lives. The pressure to make the right call, to optimize every decision, to prevent negative outcomes—it’s all there in the gameplay, making the player experience a fraction of what Shroud feels constantly.
Even the hacking minigames, with their ticking clocks and multiple obstacles to avoid, contribute to this sense of pressure and anxiety. It’s a masterful example of gameplay reinforcing theme, making the player’s experience align with the character’s internal state.
Why Three Playthroughs? The Need to Understand
I’ve beaten Dispatch three times now, and I’m already planning a fourth. Part of this is because the game is genuinely excellent, with multiple branching paths and endings that reward replay. But part of it is more personal. Each playthrough feels like another attempt to understand Shroud, and by extension, to understand myself.
With each completion, I notice new details about Shroud’s behavior, new nuances in his dialogue, new layers to his psychology. I find myself paying closer attention to the moments where his control slips, where his calculations fail, where his anxiety shows through the confident facade. It’s like I’m trying to decode him, to understand what makes him tick, in the hope that it might help me understand my own anxiety better.
There’s a certain irony in this, of course. I’m essentially doing the same thing Shroud does—running calculations, trying to predict outcomes, seeking to understand and control. But unlike Shroud, I’m aware of the irony, and that awareness might be the first step toward breaking the cycle.
The Comfort of Seeing Yourself in Fiction
There’s a strange comfort in seeing your struggles reflected in fiction, even when that reflection is uncomfortable. Shroud may be a villain, but his anxiety, his need for control, his fear of chaos—these are all deeply human experiences. Seeing them portrayed so thoughtfully in a character, even an antagonistic one, makes me feel less alone in my own struggles.
Dispatch doesn’t just present Shroud as a one-dimensional villain to be defeated. It presents him as a complex, flawed, deeply human character whose motivations, however misguided, are understandable. This complexity makes him relatable, even when we’re supposed to be rooting against him.
What Shroud Taught Me About My Own Anxiety?
After three playthroughs, I’ve come away with some uncomfortable but valuable insights about my own anxiety, thanks to Shroud:
- The illusion of control is just that—an illusion. No matter how much we calculate, plan, or prepare, we can never fully control outcomes. Shroud learns this the hard way, and it’s a lesson I’m still learning.
- Anxiety isolates. Shroud’s need for control pushes people away, and I’ve noticed the same pattern in my own life. The more I try to control situations, the more I distance myself from genuine connection.
- There’s strength in vulnerability. Shroud sees vulnerability as weakness, but Dispatch’s other characters show that true strength comes from being able to accept help, admit uncertainty, and connect with others.
- Sometimes, “good enough” is better than “perfect.” Shroud can’t accept anything less than perfect calculation and control, but life rarely offers perfection. Learning to accept “good enough” is a crucial skill for managing anxiety.
Conclusion: The Ongoing Journey with Shroud and Anxiety
I Have Beaten Dispatch 3 Times, and I See a Little Too Much of Myself in Shroud, but I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. Seeing my anxiety reflected in such a well-written character has helped me understand it better, has made me feel less alone in my struggles, and has given me a new perspective on my own patterns of thinking and behavior.
Dispatch is more than just a game—it’s a thoughtful exploration of the human condition, using the superhero genre to examine deeper themes of control, anxiety, redemption, and what it means to be human. Shroud, for all his villainy, is perhaps the most human character in the game precisely because of his flaws and struggles.
As I prepare for my fourth playthrough, I do so with a new appreciation for Shroud as a character and for what he represents. He may be the villain, but in his struggle with anxiety and need for control, he’s also one of the most relatable characters I’ve encountered in gaming. And in that relatability, there’s hope—not just for fictional characters, but for those of us in the real world who see a little too much of ourselves in Shroud.