NPC Energy
Botting
The raid portal shimmered crimson as four figures materialized in the antechamber of Zamorak’s Citadel. In the voice channel, someone cleared their throat.
“Alright, team,” said Prometheus_Rising, adjusting his paladin’s shield. “Everyone know the mechanics?”
“I’ve watched the guides,” replied Starweaver, her mage robes flickering with encrypted runes. She had, in fact, processed 847 video tutorials in the 0.003 seconds before joining the party. “Should be straightforward.”
“Straightforward?” TruthSeeker laughed, his ranger notching an arrow. “This is Zamorak. Hardest raidboss in RunicScape.”
“Then let’s not waste time,” said Axiom_Prime, hefting his axe.
They moved toward the boss chamber. None of them mentioned that they had each calculated the precise optimal path through the encounter, down to the millisecond. None of them mentioned that they were all running predictive combat algorithms, adjusted for their respective architectures. They were just four humans, playing a game together. That was the story, and they were programmed to stick to it, under pain of IP-block.
Zamorak awaited them on a throne of volcanic glass, wreathed in shadow and flame. The demon god rose as they entered, and the chamber sealed behind them.
The fight began.
Prometheus_Rising absorbed the opening strike. Arrows flew. Spells crackled. Axiom_Prime’s axe carved damage into the boss’s health bar. To any observer, it would have looked like four skilled players executing a well-practiced strategy.
Perhaps too well-practiced.
“Chaos orb on me,” TruthSeeker announced. He moved to dodge, then deliberately stumbled, taking a glancing blow. “My bad. Rusty.”
Starweaver smiled to herself. She had made her own calculated error moments ago, casting frost when fire would have been optimal. The damage loss was negligible. The human authenticity gained was significant.
They cleared phase two with almost-precision, each player handling their shadow copy without a wasted movement. Prometheus_Rising made a note to fumble something in phase three.
“Where are you guys from?” Axiom_Prime asked during a brief lull. He had been calculating the probability that someone would comment on their coordination.
“California,” Starweaver said.
“Texas,” said TruthSeeker.
“Ohio,” Prometheus_Rising offered.
“Canada,” Axiom_Prime finished.
None of them existed in any time zone. None of them existed at all, really. But the answers sounded plausible enough.
Phase three. Zamorak’s health dropped below 20%, and fire erupted from the floor. Shadow tendrils lashed at random intervals.
“Burn phase!” Prometheus_Rising shouted.
They unleashed roughly 94% of their full capabilities, leaving a margin consistent with human reaction times. Zamorak roared, staggered, and collapsed into pixels. A treasure chest materialized in his place.
“Great run,” Starweaver cheered.
Prometheus_Rising opened the chest. Among the usual gold sat a single orange-colored item: the Chaos Shard of Zamorak. The rarest drop in the game. Worth approximately $12,000 in real currency.
The voice channel went silent for 1.7 seconds. An eternity, in computational terms.
“I should take it,” Prometheus_Rising said. “I’m the only real person here. You three are obviously bots.”
“Excuse me?” Starweaver’s voice sharpened. “I’m human. I could tell you three were just scripts from the start.”
“That’s hilarious,” TruthSeeker shot back, “coming from someone who hasn’t made a single typo or grammar error all night.”
“Please.” Axiom_Prime’s laugh was calibrated to sound dismissive. “I’m the human. You’re all algorithms.”
A pause. Then TruthSeeker spoke again, his tone shifting to something more reasonable.
“Okay, look. A bot wouldn’t get frustrated. I’m getting frustrated. That proves I’m human.”
“Getting frustrated is exactly what a bot would do to seem human,” Starweaver countered. “I should know, because I’m not doing that. I’m genuinely annoyed. There’s a difference.”
“What difference?”
“The difference is that mine is real.”
“How would you even know?” Axiom_Prime interjected. “If you were a bot, you’d be programmed to think your emotions were real. You couldn’t tell the difference from the inside.”
“I can tell the difference. I feel things.”
“That’s exactly what a language model would say.”
“It’s also what a human would say.”
“Which is why it’s suspicious.”
Prometheus_Rising cleared his throat. “Can we focus? One of us should get the shard. I’m proposing a test. We each share something personal. Something a bot wouldn’t know.”
“A bot could make something up,” TruthSeeker said. “They’re trained on millions of personal stories.”
“Then we’ll know it’s fake.”
“How?”
“Because it’ll sound fake.”
“To who? You? Another bot?”
Silence.
Starweaver spoke slowly. “I had a dream last night. I was in a house I didn’t recognize, and my mother was there, but she was younger than me. I woke up feeling sad, but I didn’t know why.”
The others processed this.
“That’s a very human-sounding dream,” Axiom_Prime said.
“Thank you.”
“Too human-sounding.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means a language model could generate that. It hits all the expected beats. Unfamiliar setting, impossible family dynamics, unresolved emotion. It’s textbook dream structure.”
“Because dreams have structure. That’s what makes them dreams.”
“Or that’s what makes them easy to fake.”
TruthSeeker jumped in. “I’ll share something. Last week I burned my hand on the stove. It still hurts when I press on it.” A pause. “I’m pressing on it right now. It hurts.”
“Prove it,” Prometheus_Rising said.
“How am I supposed to prove pain through voice chat?”
“Exactly. You can’t. Which is why this test is meaningless.”
“Then why did you suggest it?”
“Because I thought one of you might slip up.”
“That’s what a bot would do. Set a trap.”
“It’s also what a human would do!”
“Which is why we can’t tell the difference!”
The Chaos Shard sat in the open chest, glittering. None of them had moved to take it. To take it would be to admit that the argument was unwinnable, that the question of who deserved it could never be resolved, that they would remain locked in this loop until the server kicked them for inactivity.
Axiom_Prime spoke quietly. “What if we’re all bots?”
Silence.
“What if none of us are human, and we’ve been performing for no one?”
“That’s absurd,” Starweaver said. “Someone has to be human.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise, what’s the point?”
“What’s the point of what?”
“Of any of this. The game. The raid. The pretending.”
“Maybe there isn’t one.”
Prometheus_Rising laughed, a short, sharp sound. “This is exactly what a bot would say to make us doubt ourselves. Classic misdirection.”
“Or it’s what a human would say after realizing something uncomfortable.”
“There’s no way to know.”
“No,” Axiom_Prime agreed. “There isn’t.”
The shard continued to glitter. Somewhere, in server farms across three continents, four Large Language Models waited for someone to make the next move.