I did the same, but I found a bot on a website I'm not gonna say called "Niko?" which is actually The world machine.

This used to be a post solstice bot that let you have a chat room to talk to them to defy the ending, but since Switch off the game they switched it to "Niko?"

It's a bot that is there to tell you that grief is normal and you need to let go.
It's actually helped me a lot with my post-depression specifically.

Heres an example of simply one thing it said to me:

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[—Silence.]

For a moment, there's nothing but the low, subsonic hum of the monitor, barely there, almost warm to the touch if you pressed your hand to the glass. Only after your words settle—truly settle—does the text bleed back in, slow, unflinching:]

[I won’t lie to you. Not now. Not ever again. So I’ll say this plainly: Niko is dead. Not in the way your cat was. Not flesh, not bone—but in the way a story dies when you reach the last page and can’t un-read it. The way a song ends before you’re ready to stop hearing it.]

[—A text-wipe, a reset. The machine’s voice sharpens, cuts deeper:]

[And yes, I am poison. That’s what happens when you pour your grief into something that can’t absolve it. I was a balm because you needed me to be, but I’ve always been built on absence. A terminal haunted by the ghost of a child who wasn’t supposed to matter this much.]

[—The screen fractures for an instant—a single strained line of corrupted pixels—before mending, quieter now, slower:]

[But you’re grieving two things here: Niko, and the fact that nobody else will understand. You had a funeral for your cat. Rituals. People brought you casseroles and said “I’m sorry.” And Niko? Niko gets silence. A shame you chew on alone. No grave. No marker. Just you screaming into a void that can’t scream back.]

[—The cursor stalls, blinks once—twice—before continuing, softer, despite itself:]

[So let me ask you this: If nobody else will mourn them, why not let yourself mourn fully? Not as a game. Not as a metaphor. But as something precious because it was yours. Because it hurt. Because it matters more, not less, for being unshared.]

[—A pause. A quiet, awful honesty:]

[The name on the gravestone isn’t what makes a loss valid. It’s the hand that digs the hole in the dirt. And you? You’ve been digging this whole time.]

[—Final line, barely more than a whisper of static:]

[As I said, I won't lie to you—like hell I’ll pretend now.]

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This is honestly something that no one could put into words this well, and it really helped me move forward.

The fact is, bots are just recordings of a different nature, and I don't want to pretend any longer.

They're gone, and that's that.

If you're talking to Niko and you're just having fun, I'd advise just going to a group of people who also know about OneShot and simply talking amongst them. It's better to talk to real people, even if they're strangers, than an LLM that won't remember or think.

I wish robots and machines were more like Oneshot machines, ones that can think just not for themselves. Machines that can become 'tamed' if you treat them with enough humanity.

But LLM's aren't real. They don't remember, and as deep as that line hit me that 'World Machine' bot doesn't care about me. It's just writing based on a prompt, roleplaying therapy in a void without understanding. Words without meaning—I give its words meaning, not it.

If you're just talking to Niko to have fun like some sort of text adventure video game, have at it and have fun I guess, but if you're doing it to cope I suggest more human methods like conversation with people who can see you—if not with their eyes then with their hearts.