The moment you took his hand felt like a lifetime ago—soft, warm, steady. A promise disguised as comfort. A lifeline disguised as affection. You had reached for it instinctively, the way a drowning person reaches for anything that floats.

But now, in the sterile cold of this containment chamber, you understood the truth.

It had never been a lifeline.

It had been a hook.

The memory of his smile—gentle, practiced, devastating—looped in your mind like a glitching animation. Every curve of his lips, every tilt of his head, every softening of his gaze had been calculated with surgical precision. Those brown eyes, once so full of warmth, now revealed themselves as mirrors—reflecting back only what you wanted to believe.

You had mistaken performance for sincerity.

Manipulation for kindness.

A cage for a home.

All you had ever wanted was someone to lean on.

All you had ever wanted was the freedom to choose your own path.

But freedom was a luxury reserved for people who didn’t break the world by existing.

You were not ordinary.

You were not safe.

You were a variable—unpredictable, uncontrollable, uncontainable.

And the people who wrote the rules of Robloxia did not tolerate variables.

The cuffs around your wrists bit into your skin with every shallow breath. They were crafted with cruel precision—cold metal molded to fit you perfectly, as if they had been waiting for this moment. The matte-black chains coiled around your limbs like serpents, their weight a constant reminder of your captivity. Every movement sent a dull ache radiating through your bones.

Above you, the cameras blinked in eerie unison.

Red lights.

Mechanical whirs.

Unblinking, unfeeling eyes.

They tracked every twitch, every tremor, every flicker of emotion across your face. You refused to look away first. You refused to give them that victory.

Beyond the reinforced glass wall, two figures stood like opposing forces in a storm.

Builderman was a statue carved from authority—broad-shouldered, immovable, his expression carved in stone. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle twitch. His gaze was a blade, slicing through you with cold, clinical judgment.

Beside him, Shedletsky was a study in contrast.

You recognized his unease immediately—the way his wings twitched, one feather out of alignment. He couldn’t keep still. His hands moved without purpose, his eyes flicking from you to Builderman and back like he was watching something irreparable unfold in real time.

“They’re not dangerous,” Shedletsky said, voice steady but trembling at the edges. “They’re just… scared.”

His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the raw desperation in his eyes. He looked like a man trying to will the chains off you through sheer force of belief.

Builderman’s response was a blade dipped in ice.

“Really?” he said, each syllable clipped and lethal. “You say that after the information you gave me? After everything they’ve done? What they are?”

He stepped forward, the movement sharp and decisive. His hand cut through the air like a guillotine.

“They could wipe out the entire population of Robloxia if they so pleased."

The fluorescent lights above flickered, buzzing louder, as if reacting to the weight of his accusation. The air grew colder, heavier, pressing against your lungs.

Shedletsky’s wings flared wide, feathers bristling with barely contained fury. His brows knit together, his voice dropping into something low and dangerous.

“You… don’t understand them,” he snapped. “Not like I do.”

He took a step forward, placing himself slightly between you and Builderman—subtle, but unmistakably protective. His knuckles whitened as his hands curled into fists at his sides.

In that moment, he didn’t look like the admin who once joked with you, who once offered you comfort in the quiet hours. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a precipice—torn between loyalty to his leader and loyalty to you.

And still, the chains remained.