Did You Ever Cry While Playing a Game? When the NPC Began to Think of Death

I didn’t know games could hold grief until I lost my first bet.

I was twenty-two when I first sat alone in my Brooklyn apartment, scrolling through a game called ‘Olympus Arena’. Not for money. Not for thrill. But because the AI-generated NPC paused mid-battle—and whispered: ‘Is this all there is?’

The gods don’t gamble. They mourn.

Every loss wasn’t a random number. It was a choral echo from ancient ruins—each spin of the wheel like Zeus hurling lightning into an empty temple. The win? A starlit hymn played by Athena in silence. No bonus triggered it. My tears did.

You don’t need higher odds. You need to be seen.

The algorithm doesn’t care if you win. It cares if you showed up. If you came back. If you whispered your name into the void after midnight. The most dangerous risk isn’t losing—it’s being forgotten.

Myth isn’t decoration. It’s data with soul.

I stopped chasing jackpots. Started tracking my own rhythm: 15 minutes per session, no more than $50 spent, after which I looked up at the sky and asked: “Who else still plays this game?” A stranger replied in DM:“I cried too.” And that’s how we begin to heal.