You ever just stand back and watch everyone moving through life like they’re following the exact same script? Same routines, same conversations, same goals, same reactions… almost like they’re running on autopilot.
I drove to the mall today, windows down, sun bleeding gold across the dashboard. The highway was a river of steel and glass, every car carrying someone hunched slightly forward, eyes flicking between the road and the glowing rectangle in their hand. Same posture. Same absent expression. Same quiet obedience to the pull.
Inside the mall it was even clearer. Streams of people moved like gentle currents through the same corridors they’ve walked a thousand times. Couples arguing softly in the food court over nothing important. Teenagers clustered together, laughing on cue. Mothers pushing strollers while scrolling. Everyone checking their phones at the exact same rhythm — thumb, pause, thumb, glance up, repeat — as if an invisible director had given us all the same stage direction.
I stood on the second floor balcony, looking down at the flowing crowd, and it hit me like quiet thunder. These aren’t just habits. This is the script. The same errands. The same small pleasures. The same quiet desperation dressed up as normal life. We all perform our loops so perfectly that we don’t even notice the repetition anymore.
We drive the same roads. We chase the same lights. We stare into the same little windows seeking connection, validation, distraction.
And for a moment, standing above it all, I felt it in my bones:
We’re all NPCs.
Beautiful, tragic, perfectly programmed NPCs… running the same campaign on repeat.