“you won’t be there for any longer than a week at most, scripter—fear not. your crime is not so bad as for you to receive a lifetime ban.

think of it as a… break.”

those were the final words said to scripter from builderman; the young admin was standing in the middle of the boss’ office at the time, wrists caught up in shackles & a weight strapped onto his left ankle. the two admins that had caught scripter in the midst of his thieving act stood by the younger admin’s sides, holding onto his shoulders not in an act of reassurance, but of restraint. builderman was sat at his desk as always, fixing scripter with a cold & unfeeling glare. builderman wasn’t the most known for treating the rule breakers & exploiters of robloxia with mercy, yet… was this time different? scripter was filled with a false sense of hope.

“now, take him away,” spoke builderman, sitting back in his seat. as scripter was dragged away by the two admins restraining him by the shoulders & arms, with the young, offending admin screaming & crying for another chance at reconciliation all the same. builderman didn’t bat an eyelash at scripter’s pleas; he only took a leisurely sip out of his coffee & began to skim through that day’s admin logs.

scripter couldn’t quite recall what happened next. he was thrown into some room, ankle & wrist shackles still on as tight as ever. he’d fought against the restrains until he physically could no longer, & in his final breaths of that moment before passing out, through his hazy vision as it began to blur all the more, he’d remembered seeing a tall, looming figure approach him—smoking black hair, green limbs of differentiating hues & the iconic ROBLOX R on their chest. scripter had made one final attempt of moving in reaching out to the figure, but he’d passed out from exhaustion before his fingertips could graze the figure’s knee.

the final thing scripter could remember hearing was.. THE END IS NIGH.

a while later, scripter woke up again with a start. the shackles of his wrists had now disappeared, yet the weight was still chained tightly around his ankle. his vision was hazy at first; blurry; bleary utmost—yet he could just vaguely make out a figure looming over him.

it was the same one as before.

the figure extended a hand, a slick whisper leaving her mouth as she offered a helping hand to scripter.

“many greetings, newcomer.”