A day in the life of an NPC

[Coin]

The change began when I encountered a pilot with my own name. MY Name! He was no AI construct, but flesh-and-blood! And how dare you start shooting at me without saying a word!
I had been called into existence as part of the Responsive Strategic Patrolling mandate; in other words, poor sods like myself were spawned to give the impression that the borders were covered at all times. Sometimes even been brought to life to battle other constructs. I don't know, perhaps we're entertainment?

He/I called to his wingman "hold on, rep-fixing", and opened fire on me, totally ignoring the conventions laid out by our A.D.M.I.N overlords. My luck changed when he began to drift-strafe in a densely-packed asteroid field, whilst popping out a pair of nuclear mines.
His lateral course meant that he clipped the first rock, nudged the second and slammed hard into the third, forcing him to come to a complete course to halt the pin-balling effect; he halted right in front of me, and I obliged him by removing the last of his shield, just as the two nuclear mines 'Returned to Sender' and savaged his hull.

Bleeding oxygen, the fireball pushed its way out of the asteroid field as fast as it could go; it crashed into more asteroids, and eventually suffered 'explosive decompression'.
Quivering with anticipation, I fully expected the bright lances of the Taranis guns the wingman was sporting to skewer me and send me back to insensate limbo, but the guns were silent, and he moved off. I followed him, not because he represented an able pilot who wasn't hostile to me and could protect me, but because me, and others like me, are spawned for his delectation and amusement; it stood to reason that the Mission Commission wouldn't de-spawn me if I remained close to him.
Yes, my first innovative act in three years was to follow someone. You may scoff and deride this, but I'm an AI construct, and I can only behave as I have in previous scenarios; no escape-and-evade, no adapt-and-overcome, just slog it out, toe-to-toe, doomed to repeat the same mistakes again and again.

But this act of 'entering formation' that I had done countless times before I died masked my presence to the Mission Commission. Perhaps the demise of the player with the same name as me confused them; perhaps it was my following of the wingman that meant I slipped off the radar; but now I have life. I think I exist, and I stay alive. I am as autonomous as I was before I died. With a few alterations.
I do not sleep. I do not eat. I do not drink. I take no bio-breaks, nor vacations. But I do hunger. I do thirst. I hunger for revenge, I thirst for blood. You, gentle reader, and others like you, you killed me for sport. you killed me for money, you killed me for reputation.




And now it's my turn.

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A Day in the Life of an NPC | Coin | The Journal of Caius Oakley | Build Your Dream Boat