The best superhero show of the year is a video game. Dispatch is the debut from AdHoc Studio — a team of ex-Telltale developers — and it revives the interactive-TV format Telltale invented, then drags it forward with animation and writing that leave the old Walking Dead template in the dust. Eight episodes, one dysfunctional team of reformed villains, and one of the most purely enjoyable stories the herd has watched-slash-played all year.
Robert Robertson III — voiced by Aaron Paul — was Mecha Man, a superhero with no powers and a very expensive suit. After that suit gets destroyed and his heroing career stalls, he takes a desk job at the Superhero Dispatch Network, coordinating a squad of ex-criminals trying to go straight. It's a superhero workplace comedy, and that premise is the whole masterstroke: it swaps world-ending stakes for office politics, probation drama, and the small daily question of whether people can actually change.
The cast carries it. Behind Aaron Paul sits a stacked bench — Laura Bailey, Jeffrey Wright, and a rotating crew of guests — and the writing gives every misfit a real arc rather than a punchline to repeat. It's funny far more often than it isn't, and when it turns sincere in the back half, it earns the shift. This is a found-family story that actually understands why those work.
Two modes braided together. Most of the runtime is choice-driven interactive TV — dialogue decisions, relationship management, the occasional optional quick-time beat you can switch off entirely for a pure-watch experience. The other half is the dispatch desk itself: you assign your roster of heroes to emergencies across the city, weighing each one's powers, temperament, and probation status against the crisis on screen. It's light strategy, but it gives your choices texture the pure-dialogue stretches sometimes lack.
The honest caveat is the one every game in this genre earns: as a game, Dispatch is thin, and it's occasionally pushy about it. A few of the supposedly major decisions are clearly railroaded toward one outcome, and unlike the old Telltale games it rarely lets you stay silent — let a timer run out and it picks a line for you, none too subtly. If you need mechanical depth between story beats, this isn't the pig for you.
This is the flex. AdHoc went all-in on fully animated, seamless cutscenes that genuinely look like a high-end animated series — expressive, beautifully directed, with cinematography and editing well beyond what this format usually attempts. More than once we forgot a game was involved at all. Runs flawlessly; it's not taxing hardware, it's taxing your expectations of what a "Telltale-like" can look like.
As interactive television it's close to best-in-class — the writing, voice work, and animation are all top shelf. Held back only by the railroading and the inherent thinness of the interactive layer, which the dispatch minigame improves but doesn't erase.
Twelve hours for a first run, and the branching plus two competing relationship paths make a replay genuinely tempting — a rarity in this genre, where most people watch once and shelve it. That it makes you want to see the roads not taken is the highest compliment the format allows.
Herd approved, both nostrils misty by the finale. If you ever loved a Telltale season, this is the best one nobody at Telltale made. Watch it. Play it. Whatever you call it — don't miss it.
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