No guests populated the emporium this time of night. Not that it mattered- it could be 1 post-meridiem down to the second; the difference between her bettered life and confinement to Temmie Village lay right behind that greasy, glitter-dusted counter.
But no one wants to admit it. That it takes this much- that the Underground's sadistic, capitalistic impulses drive a girl to physically take the education she needs to survive in the cruel, contemporary reality we call a "world".
This isn't a "world". It's Hell.
Ten seconds pass. Sweat cloaks her hands, and she pats her back pockets just to make sure everything's there.
All right. No going back now.
With a smile plastered to her face, Temmie approaches the grim, stout cat standing in front of an array of glamorous edibles. There's a solemness to his eyes, laced with a touch of absence. Marijuana may be at play. Her heart skips, but she reminds herself: This is for you, Temmie. Your future. Your family. You must.
She clears her throat.
"hOI! put the MUNS in the fOIKING BAG,, bitch."
Without skipping a beat, the handgun takes center stage between Burgerpants' face and Temmie's grasp. Sweat melts her ebony hair to her cheeks, and the air thickens like butter.
"...What?"
Her voice rises. "PUT THE muns in thE FOICKING, BAG, BITCH. or i turn u into dUST BUNNIY."
He doesn't seem to comprehend. But it's too late.
It's too fucking late.
The boom of the shot ricochets off the wall, echoing endlessly throughout the room as Burgerpants' dead weight slams against the tiles. Temmie hops over the counter, snatching as much GOLD as she can from the register. Time becomes meaningless. Milliseconds feel like months, and Temmie lines her pockets handsomely before grabbing dozens of Glamburgers™ to sell on the black market.
The deed is done.