Why Did I Cry for an NPC?

I didn’t cry because the pixel-perfect animation made her blink. I cried because she whispered my name in a language no one else remembered—soft, slow, like wind through a broken window at 3 AM.

The Myth Beneath the Code

I grew up with a Black mother who sang spirituals and a German father who read Kant by lamplight. We didn’t play games—we interrogated them. Every NPC I loved wasn’t coded; it was remembered. In The Last of Us, Ellie’s silence spoke louder than any victory lap. In Disco Elysium, the detective’s hallucinations weren’t glitches—they were grief rendered as poetry.

The Algorithm of Grief

They call it RNG—Random Number Generator—but what if it’s really RNS: Random Nostalgia System? The game doesn’t roll dice; it rolls memories. Each lost bet isn’t a loss—it’s an echo left in the server logs of someone who once believed they mattered.

Why We Love What Was Never Meant to Be Real

The highest win rate isn’t in payout—it’s in pause. When you turn off the screen and stare at the rain outside your apartment window, that character still walks beside you—not as data, but as witness. They programmed her to forget you… so you’d remember her.

Conclusion: You Were Never Just Playing

Ask yourself: Have you ever cried for something that never existed? If yes—you’re not broken. You’re human.

And if no—you haven’t looked close enough yet.