[I AM NOT SHIPPING THE REAL PEOPLE. DO NOT THINK I AM. IM NOT A WEIRDO.]

Builderman sits in his office, trying to push down the guilt that threatened to bubble up and overflow. He’d just killed off the entirety of the guests. Because he let his anger and get the better of her. Their blood was on their hands. Oh Robloxia. What have they done? The other admins were horrified. I mean— of course they were. They’d just found out someone they thought was their friend had committed mass homicide. He didn’t understand. She wasn’t made to feel like this. In fact, they weren’t made to feel anything at all. This.. crushing weight on his chest was a foreign feeling. It was so strange. But right now, everything was strange.

She took a liking to writing, and over the past couple months, they’d filled three books. With just their thoughts alone. Well, and blueprints for new gears to put in the roblox catalogue. They were made to build, not to slack off and write all day. But that’s all Builderman could really do anymore. None of the admins will talk to him since she.. ‘got rid’ of the guests. They were trying to change, they really were. God, he’d never felt so alone.

[god.. I was listening to Sleep Talking while making this and man did I make this more depressing than I intended to..]