Todd: The NPC Whisperer

Todd had always felt out of place. It wasn’t the kind of existential discomfort that led people to buy motorcycles or start improv classes. No, Todd’s discomfort was the nagging certainty that something was deeply off. Life was just too… predictable. Too many traffic lights turned red just as he approached. Too many people said the exact same thing, like “living the dream” when asked how they were doing. Todd couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone around him was operating on a script — and not a particularly good one.

Then one fateful night, while doomscrolling through conspiracy videos at 3 a.m., Todd stumbled upon a “truth bomb.” A charismatic YouTuber wearing aviators and a tinfoil hat explained that reality was just a simulation designed to test and refine consciousness. “The people around you aren’t real,” said the YouTuber. “They’re NPCs, programmed to challenge your growth. Overcome them, and you’ll ascend.”

It was as if Todd had been struck by lightning. Suddenly, everything made sense. His boss wasn’t an overbearing micromanager; she was a mid-level obstacle generator. His parents weren’t overly critical nags; they were poorly-coded antagonists designed to test his patience. And his wife, Marcy? Clearly, her endless nagging about leaving wet towels on the floor was a quest to teach him discipline.

Todd decided to embrace his newfound enlightenment by thanking everyone for their service. Passive-aggressively, of course.

At breakfast the next morning, he turned to Marcy, who was stirring a cup of coffee. “You know, Marcy,” he said, his voice dripping with faux sincerity, “I want to thank you for being the exact wife I needed to overcome. The wet towel thing? Genius-level scripting. You’ve taught me so much about resilience.”

Marcy squinted at him. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?”

“No, no,” Todd replied, smirking. “Just… woke up, you know? Literally and metaphorically.”

She shrugged and left the kitchen.

At work, Todd made a beeline for his boss, Karen, who was mid-rant about the font on a PowerPoint slide. “Karen,” he interrupted, “I just wanted to say, your relentless micromanaging has been an incredible learning experience for me. You’re like the final boss in a video game — frustrating, but ultimately rewarding.”

Karen blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Todd said, grinning. “Just… thanks for being exactly who you are.”

By lunchtime, word had spread that Todd was acting “weird.” His coworkers started avoiding him, which only confirmed his suspicions. Clearly, their programming couldn’t handle his ascension.

The pièce de résistance came when Todd visited his parents that weekend.

“Mom, Dad,” he began, standing dramatically in their living room. “Thank you for all the emotional baggage you’ve provided. It’s like you two were designed to be my greatest challenges. Dad, your inability to express affection? Poorly-coded but ultimately stellar programming. Mom, your constant guilt trips? Perfection.”

His mother burst into tears, while his father muttered something about Todd needing therapy. Todd just smiled serenely. NPCs, he thought. So predictable.

Over the following months, Todd’s newfound “enlightenment” led him to burn every bridge in his life. His wife moved out after he thanked her for “serving her purpose” one too many times. His boss fired him after he congratulated her on “fulfilling her role as my antagonist.” Even his parents stopped answering his calls.

Todd didn’t care. He was above all that now. He spent his days meditating, reading online forums about simulation theory, and occasionally shouting “I see through the code!” at pigeons in the park.

One evening, as Todd stared out the window of his now-empty apartment, except for the Chinese takeout boxes, he thought aloud, “What if I’m wrong?”

It was the first crack in the fortress of certainty he had built around his simulation theory. For a fleeting moment, he considered that maybe Marcy, Karen, his parents, and everyone else weren’t just preprogrammed obstacles. What if they were real people who had cared about him, but he’d pushed them away because of his delusion?

Then he noticed something strange. The streetlight outside was flickering in a peculiar rhythm. He grabbed his notebook and started jotting down the sequence. “Morse code!” he exclaimed. “They’re trying to communicate with me!”

He decoded the message with trembling hands.
“Todd, this is not a simulation. Seek help.”

For a moment, Todd’s mind reeled. Then he laughed. “Nice try, simulation,” he said aloud. “You’re not going to trick me into doubting myself.”

But one night, as Todd sat in his dark, empty apartment, the TV flickered on again. This time, the message read:
“Simulation Error: Todd has gone off-script. Resetting NPC relationships.”

Before Todd could process this, the room shook violently. His front door burst open, and Marcy stormed in, followed by Karen, his parents, and a pizza delivery guy he once stiffed on a tip.

“Congratulations, Todd!” Marcy shouted, throwing confetti in his face. “You figured it out! This is a simulation! And you’re the test subject!”

“What?” Todd stammered.

Karen crossed her arms. “We’ve been watching you the whole time, Todd. Honestly, you were doing okay until you started thanking people for being ‘obstacles.’ That was… weird.”

His dad chimed in, “Yeah, and calling me ‘poorly-coded’? Rude!”

“We even gave you a ‘What if’ moment to save yourself,” Marcy added. “But nooo, you doubled down. So here we are, fixing your mess.”

Todd’s jaw dropped. “So… this is a simulation?”

The pizza guy snorted. “Dude, no. What really is real?”

The screen flickered again:
“Todd has failed the enlightenment test. Simulation over.”

And with that, Todd’s lights went out. Literally — the power company had finally cut him off.