The day I went viral was the day the internet stripped me bare. Before I could even deactivate my burner account, I was trending globally. The reason? My “uncanny NPC energy.” It started when the industry’s biggest A-lister, Nate Cross, posted a teaser for his new thriller. Underneath, I’d commented: “Wow! The narrative architecture is sublime, the plot is a masterclass in tension, and your performance is simply transcendent. This is destined for peak viewership!” Then, the “America’s Sweetheart” actress, Hailey Quinn, posted a photo with her Golden Retriever. I was there, too: “Your canine companion is adorable! Those eyes are like polished obsidian. You two look like kindred spirits, offering one another warmth and silent solidarity.” It got worse. A fan posted a steamy piece of fanfiction about me and Nate Cross. I didn’t even read the tags before commenting: “What a stunning pair! The chemistry is palpable and the visual symmetry is breathtaking. They truly look like they were designed for each other. I’m so envious of this dynamic!” A fan replied: “Girl… did you even look at the thumbnail??!” The top comment on the trending hashtag read: “Jade Rivers: The Ultimate NPC Sister.” 1 My agent, Brenda, has a mantra: “Opportunity favors the prepared.” I’ve been prepared. For three years, I’ve worked like a dog, filming ten projects back-to-back. Most were supporting roles, but I poured my soul into every line of dialogue, every subtle glance. Luck just never looked my way. After three years, I was still the girl whose face people recognized but whose name they couldn’t quite recall. Brenda was reaching her breaking point. She even suggested the “Villain Edit” route—becoming the person everyone loves to hate just to get my numbers up. “At this point, we just need people to know you exist,” she’d snapped. I was terrified. The “clout-chaser” path was a one-way street to career suicide. Desperate, I went on an anonymous forum and asked: How do I effectively build a digital presence? The top-voted answer: “Do what I do. Comment on every single thing you see. High-traffic posts, niche threads, everything. You’ll farm engagement, and eventually, people will click on your profile just to see what kind of weirdo you are.” It was a lightbulb moment. From that day on, I became a ghost in the machine. I stayed active across every social platform, hunting for engagement. I used a burner account, of course—my official one was strictly monitored by Brenda. She always said our destiny was in our own hands. I decided to take hers literally. I found a post of a new mom showing off her newborn. I commented: “Your infant is truly exceptional! Those large eyes radiate a profound intelligence, and the lashes flutter like the delicate wings of a butterfly!” The mom replied: “Uh… thanks? Is this a bot?” I found a thread where someone was complaining about a “fake” best friend. I commented: “Interpersonal connections are a rare gift. This temporary friction is merely a crucible for your bond. May your friendship grow more robust through the corridors of time!” The poster replied: “…Okay, we made up. Thanks, NPC Sister.” I even commented on targeted ads. “This marketing campaign is incredibly innovative! It highlights the product’s utility with surgical precision. The copy is concise yet evocative. Bravo!” The brand replied: “Is this an automated response from our software?” When I saw people “shipping” celebrity couples, I jumped in the fray. “Haha! Their body language suggests a deep-seated intimacy. They are practically wearing their hearts on their sleeves!” User reply: “Switch to human mode, please.” Me: “…” User: “Oh my god, the bot knows how to use ellipses!” Finally, after weeks of relentless, day-and-night commenting, I gained a strange kind of cult following. I started seeing my “name” mentioned in threads I hadn’t even reached yet. “Has the NPC Sister weighed in on this yet?” “Saving a spot for the NPC Queen.” I felt a weird sense of accomplishment, even if I’d effectively lost my real identity. People genuinely believed I was an AI. My inbox was a graveyard of bizarre messages. One read: “Hey, it’s November 23rd. My stomach hurts and I’m sad. I’m never eating ice cream again. Just leaving this here.” Me: …Am I a diary now? Another: “Recipe for Sweet and Sour Pork: Wash the tenderloin, slice into strips, add salt, white pepper, and a splash of cooking wine…” Me: Great, I’m a cookbook. One more: “Top tier insults for gamers: ‘You’re like a gray sprinkle on a cupcake,’ ‘I’d agree with you but then we’d both be wrong’…” Me: And a burn book. Fantastic. But hey, they knew I existed. 2 I got bolder. I started commenting on everyone from A-list legends to viral pets. I even leaned into the bit and changed my handle to @TheAuthenticBot. A travel influencer posted a family vacation photo. I commented: “Such a wholesome tableau! The mutual support and care within this unit are evident. From the mundane details of daily life to these grand vistas, happiness permeates every frame. You are fortunate to possess such a foundation.” The replies were a synchronized wave: “The Bot has spoken.” “She’s everywhere.” “The NPC Queen’s reach is terrifying.” When Hailey Quinn posted that photo with her dog, I hit her with the “Kindred Spirits” line. When Nate Cross promoted our upcoming show, I went for it: “Wow! The narrative architecture is sublime, the plot is a masterclass in tension, and your performance is simply transcendent. This is destined for peak viewership!” Then I froze. Shit. That’s my show too. I went to delete it, but it was too late. The thread was already hundreds of comments deep. “First row! Everyone line up for a selfie with the Bot!” Someone even posted a meme of a girl with pigtails holding a vintage camera. My heart plummeted. My burner account was a perfect disguise, but the risk of exposure was rising. I was hovering over the delete button when Brenda called. “Have you seen @TheAuthenticBot’s latest comment?” she asked, her voice buzzing with excitement. “She’s the biggest thing on the internet right now. Quick, go interact with her from your official account. We need to piggback on that heat.” The irony was so thick I could choke on it. I was being told to clout-chase myself. “I don’t know, Brenda,” I stammered. “I’m an actress. She’s… she’s a meme. It feels a bit desperate.” Brenda didn’t hold back. “Jade, this is your third lead role, and nobody knows who you are. To be blunt, that bot has ten times the cultural relevance you do. Move.” My ego took a direct hit. Under Brenda’s metaphorical gun, I logged into my official account and replied to my own bot comment. “Sincere praise is like a breath of fresh air. Thank you, @TheAuthenticBot, for the thoughtful recommendation! I hope everyone tunes in!” The top replies to my “sincere” comment were: “Who is this?” “Oh, it’s that actress they keep trying to make happen. I can never remember her name.” “Look at her trying to trend off our NPC Queen. Cringe.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 3 During the promotional cycle, “visibility” was the only currency that mattered. The night before the premiere, the three leads—Nate, Hailey, and myself—were scheduled for a live stream. The chat was 90% Nate and Hailey stans. The names “NATE” and “HAILEY” scrolled past so fast they became a blur. Occasionally, a stray comment would pop up: “Who’s the girl in the middle?” “I think it’s June Rivers?” My name is Jade. Thank you so much. I sat there like I was on a bed of nails. The host was a seasoned industry shark who knew exactly where the power lay. He laughed with Nate and flirted with Hailey, treating me like a prop that happened to be in the frame. I just sat there, forced into a permanent, vacant smile. The chat: “June’s smile makes her look like she’s internally screaming.” I was internally screaming. I was wondering why I was even there. Finally, the host turned to Nate. “Nate, any fun stories from the set?” Nate smiled—that devastating, million-dollar smile—and then, to my shock, he turned to me. “Actually, my favorite memory is the first time I met Jade.” Wait. Did he just call me “Jade”? I perked up, my curiosity matching the sudden spike in the chat’s speed. “It was late,” Nate said, leaning back. “We were doing a table read, everyone was exhausted, and the energy was just… heavy. I tried to lighten the mood with a joke. It wasn’t a good joke. It was terrible, actually. Everyone gave me that polite, awkward pity-laugh. I was dying inside. Then, Jade spoke up.” He looked at me, his eyes crinkling. “She said, ‘Haha! That jest was remarkably clever. The construction was innovative, the delivery was vivid, and the unexpected subversion of expectations created a profound comedic effect. Truly stellar.’” The chat exploded: “Wait, that phrasing…” “Why does she sound like the NPC Queen??” The host was leaning in now. “And then? What happened?” Nate laughed. “And then, for the first time that night, everyone actually laughed. For real.” The host shifted the mic to Hailey. “Hailey, what about you? Any ‘Jade stories’?” Hailey tilted her head, then burst out laughing. “Oh god, yes. It was during the big stunt sequence in the third act. I twisted my ankle on the wires. Jade took me to the ER, got me my meds, and then went back to finish her scenes. She kept texting me to check in.” She mimicked a robotic voice: “Jade asked, ‘Are you feeling better?’ I said yes. She said, ‘That is good.’ Then she asked, ‘Have you taken your medication?’ I said yes. She said, ‘That is good.’ Then she asked, ‘Do you require assistance with your leave of absence?’ I said no, I’ll be back in a day. She said, ‘That is good.’ Finally, I told her, ‘Thanks so much, I really appreciate you.’ And she replied, ‘Your wellness is my happiness.’” The host nearly fell off his chair laughing. I was genuinely confused. “Is that… is that not how normal people talk?” The chat: “LMAO Jade is actually a bot.” “Is her phone set to auto-reply??” “Did she work in tech support before this?” “Is this a bit? Please tell me this is a bit.” The live stream ended in a roar of laughter. For the first time, people weren’t asking who I was. 4 I ran home and immediately logged into the burner account. The notifications were insane. Nate Cross had replied to my bot comment. “Thank you.” Two words. That was it. And it had catapulted me to the top of the trending page. The “Nate Effect” was real. I decided to strike while the iron was hot and went through Nate’s recent posts. Nate posted about having insomnia. I commented: “Sleeplessness is a catalyst for anxiety, which in turn fuels sleeplessness. Please maintain a calm disposition. This state is merely transitory; balance will return.” Nate replied: “Thank you. I actually feel better already.” Fans: “Wait, why is this kind of cute?” Nate posted a gallery of professional headshots. I commented: “Wow! You are a masterpiece sculpted by the divine. From a distance, you are breathtaking; up close, you are aesthetically perfect. You have truly captivated the masses!” Nate replied: “Haha, did I captivate you too?” Fans lost their minds: “The Clueless Bot vs. The Flirty Movie Star. I am OBSESSED.” Nate posted: “I think I’m falling for someone.” I commented: “Infatuation is not a coincidence; it is the culmination of accumulated affinity. Affection cannot wait; you must declare your intentions immediately!” Nate replied: “Haha. Can I declare them to you?” The internet went into a meltdown. “The NPC Queen and Nate Cross? I didn’t have this on my 2024 bingo card.” “Why do they have more chemistry than most rom-coms?” “I am literally screaming. Please date. Do it for me.” A “Nate x NPC” ship tag started trending. I stared at the screen, baffled. This was just polite social media interaction, right? One person being sincere, the other being polite. Where was the romance? 5 Of course, Brenda called. She was audibly vibrating with frustration. “You’re being outplayed by a bot, Jade! A bot!” “Maybe she’s just… really good at what she does?” I said weakly. “The show is airing!” Brenda screamed. “Nobody cares about the lead couple! They’re all shipping Nate with a ghost account! Do you know how bad this looks for your ‘star power’?” I shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. “Maybe tell Nate to stop replying to her?” Brenda couldn’t touch Nate. He was too big. So she took it out on me. “From now on, you interact with Nate on every post. If the Bot comments, you comment. You fight for that spotlight, Jade. Happiness is earned!” I felt a headache forming. I didn’t care about being a “star” anymore. If I was a supporting actress for the rest of my life, fine. But Nate’s engagement was too juicy to ignore. I started tracking every mention of his name. I stumbled across a high-engagement fanfiction about Nate. Without looking too closely at the content, I dropped a standard “Bot” compliment. “What a stunning pair! The chemistry is palpable and the visual symmetry is breathtaking. They truly look like they were designed for each other. I’m so envious of this dynamic!” Seconds later: “Girl… did you even look at the thumbnail??!” I looked. It was a Nate Cross x NPC Sister fanfic. The replies poured in: “Is the NPC Queen officially shipping herself with Nate?” “She’s a bot, guys. She probably just auto-liked it without reading.” “The Queen has spoken! I don’t care if she’s an AI, I ship it!” I put my head in my hands. How do I explain to these people that I’m a human woman? The “NPC Queen likes Nate fanfic” story hit the tabloids. Our show was ten episodes in, and while it was doing okay because of Nate, the real “show” was happening on Twitter. The producers, sensing a sinking ship, called for an emergency live stream to “save the ratings.” Another night of playing pretend. I posted a selfie to my official account to promote it. “See you all at 8:30 PM for the live stream!” Click. Send. Done.
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