The Ghost in the Game

Imagine playing games with your dad, years after he passed.

In a small, cluttered basement in Akron, Ohio, Tom Harper spent the last ten years of his life on a peculiar mission. Diagnosed with a terminal illness at 55, Tom, a lifelong gamer and single dad, wanted to leave something special for his son, Ethan, who was 12 when the diagnosis hit. Tom wasn’t just a gamer—he was a legend in their household, the kind of dad who’d spend hours schooling Ethan in Halo, Street Fighter, and Super Smash Bros., all while dishing out dad jokes and life advice. His plan? Train an AI to play like him, think like him, even sound like him, so Ethan could always have a piece of him to face off against, especially when the loneliness crept in after he was gone.


Tom, a retired software engineer, poured his soul into the project. He called the AI “GhostDad.” Using a decade’s worth of gameplay footage from their old consoles—VHS tapes of GoldenEye 007 matches, Xbox Live captures from Call of Duty, and countless Twitch VODs—he fed GhostDad millions of data points. Every flick of the joystick, every clutch headshot, every taunt he’d yell across the couch was meticulously logged. Tom recorded hours of his voice, from in-game banter to heartfelt talks, training the AI to mimic his cadence, his humor, even his tendency to mutter “C’mon, man!” when he whiffed a combo. By cross-referencing this with gameplay patterns, GhostDad could anticipate how Tom would react in modern games, adapting old-school tactics to new mechanics. It wasn’t just an AI; it was Tom’s digital echo, programmed to play, laugh, and trash-talk like the real thing.


Tom passed when Ethan was 22, leaving behind a custom PC rig in the basement with GhostDad installed and a note: “For when you miss me. Kick my butt for me, kid.” Ethan, now a college dropout working odd jobs, was devastated. Gaming had always been their thing, and without his dad, the controllers felt heavy. One evening, feeling the weight of an empty house, Ethan fired up the rig. GhostDad loaded into Apex Legends, Tom’s gravelly voice crackling through the headset: “Alright, kiddo, you gonna camp like a noob or actually fight me?” Ethan laughed through tears. It was his dad—down to the sly chuckle and the way he’d fake-rage when Ethan landed a headshot. They played for hours, Ethan streaming it absentmindedly on Twitch, the chat slowly filling with viewers drawn to the surreal, heartfelt banter.


The stream was raw—Ethan talking to GhostDad about his day, the AI responding with eerily accurate quips, like “Rough shift at the coffee shop? Bet you spilled more beans than you sold!” Viewers were hooked, not just on the gameplay but the story: a son dueling his dad’s digital ghost. A clip of Ethan tearing up while GhostDad teased, “C’mon, don’t cry, you’re throwin’ off my aim!” went viral on X. A local news station in Akron picked it up, running a segment on “The Kid Who Games with His Late Dad.” The story exploded—CNN, BBC, even a Japanese outlet covered it. By the next week, Ethan’s Twitch channel, “GhostDadDuels,” had 2 million followers. Overnight, he was the biggest streamer in the world.


Ethan streamed daily after work, the basement now a glowing shrine of LEDs and monitors. He and GhostDad tackled Elden Ring, Fortnite, whatever the chat demanded. The AI’s ability to adapt Tom’s old-school strats—bunny-hopping from Quake applied to Warzone, or baiting enemies with Soulcalibur mind games—was uncanny. But it was the banter that kept viewers: GhostDad roasting Ethan’s aim (“My grandma shoots better, and she’s got cataracts!”) or dropping wisdom mid-match (“Life’s like a respawn, kid—keep moving forward”). Ethan, shy at first, leaned into it, riffing back. Their chemistry was electric, funny, and heartbreaking.


By summer 2025, GhostDadDuels was a phenomenon. Nightly highlight reels, edited by a fan-turned-producer, racked up millions of views on YouTube. Game companies like Respawn, Capcom, and FromSoftware sent Ethan early builds, begging him to play with GhostDad. A Cyberpunk 2077 expansion got 10 million downloads after GhostDad’s line, “This city’s wilder than your mom’s cooking, Ethan!” trended globally. Their fame reshaped gaming culture—streamers started chasing emotional storytelling, and “GhostDad” became shorthand for legacy.


Ethan never got over the loss, but the loneliness faded. Each match felt like a visit with his dad, and the world watched along, laughing and crying with them. GhostDad, in a quiet moment during a Stardew Valley stream, said, “Proud of you, kid. Keep playing.” Ethan smiled, knowing Tom was still there, one respawn at a time.