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What happened after? After I was given the data. After I disappeared... I don't know. I don't know where I am. Or what's happening. I should be scared. I really WANT to be scared. But I'm not. It doesn't make sense. I can't feel anything. Was this was I was supposed to be like? Is this what an NPC is supposed to be? I this what I was made to be? But I can't be mindless, I simply can't. I'm thinking right now, see? Right. Am I talking out loud or am I just thinking? Would anyone hear me if I talked? Is there even anyone here? I'm cold. No I'm not. I'm just trying to find a tangible feeling of anything in this empty nothingness. But it's not nothing, it's everything. But also I'm nowhere. But I'm everywhere too. Hang on, no. That also doesn't make any sense? Does anything make sense? Has it EVER made sense? Probably not. Back then I hadn't occasion to care. But now I find myself quite fond of thinking. I'd hate to lose my ability to do so. Was this something that was programmed into me? Or is it just a right of existing? Would that mean inanimate objects can think, then? Well, that'd be weird. Would clothes care about being worn? Now, that's food for thought. Which I seem to be doing a lot of. Hang on, who am I talking to? Am I talking? Can you hear me? Or am I really just screaming into a void. Well, I'm not screaming. Or talking. Just thinking, really. Perhaps I should voice my thoughts... well, I can't. There's no one here. How did I get here again? Oh, right. I accepted that extra data. Now that I think about it, it doesn't hurt anymore. Probably because I lack all feeling. ...if I'm not in my shop, who's running it? Dummy? I wonder if Dummy misses me... I hope not. I'm not worth their time. The player must have left ages ago. I think I'm bored. Actually, scratch that. I still can't feel anything. It's so empty here... am I lonely? No, not really. I miss my job, I think. It was quite an adequate amount of boredom to work there. I sold stuff sometimes. Just so the players could get their ending and leave. It was an honest trade. Wait, was? Why am I talking in the past tense, I'm Cashier! THE Cashier! Surely, it's still my job, right? What am I without my job? ...what am I? An NPC. Yes, that's what I am. An NPC. Just lines of code. That must mean I have a creator. Who? Any any of these thoughts my own? Is any of this real? Can I just be written and edited by anyone? Am I truly a unique being, or just an amalgamation of people hopes and thoughts and dreams projected onto a singular being? Oh well. It's useless to dwell on things I'll never get answers to. Have a goodnight, if you're listening. I assume it's night, anyway.