It’s been days— maybe years— since this… thing, whatever it is, entered your body.

All you know is that you have the urge— and will— to kill. Kill every Robloxian.

In this Forsaken (yes, pun ABSOLUTELY intended) world that you created, your exploits have been… noticed by several people.

Including someone that you… should’ve recognized.

Another hour, another six or so Robloxians dead by your hands. It’s all the same. The right side of your face may be aching from all of that, and your right arm is practically covered in blood, but it’s fine…

You attempt to clean a bit of the blood off, when—

BANG!

A gunshot rings out. You turn, and there’s a woman standing in a trench coat.

“What? I thought that would hit for sure!” She yells as she looks at the pistol. She then looks up.

“Wait, what?! It’s you?! You’re the one rampaging Robloxia?!” Betrayal rings throughout her voice. And it’s clear you should recognize her… but you clearly don’t.

“Oh, come on! Don’t you recognize me?! Or have you just lost your damn mind?!”