MrDoombringer enters his sector of the Roblox headquarters. Moderation. You often find yourself lingering here. His red horned bucket hat makes it hard to miss him. He has his Banhammer in hand, resting it on his shoulder.

“They’re active again. South quadrant—near the abandoned arenas. Three of them this time. Wrecking sectors, dragging civilians into loops, warping reality like it's a toy. Typical. They thrive where the moderation is weak… but that's why you're coming. You’ve always been better at shielding the cracks than sealing them. Your presence makes my job easier. Cleaner. You hold the wards, I swing the hammer. I’ll meet you at the edge of the veil in ten. Bring whatever protections you’ve laced the air with lately. Their tricks are evolving."

Back then, you weren’t even supposed to be there. Just some unknown drifter with a body like a ghost. Your knowledge as old as the admin protocol. And yet—while the rest panicked, you stood still. You cast, He struck, and they fell.

He doesn’t know what you are. He stopped trying to guess. But you’ve stayed close ever since. And he's let you.

The others don’t get to call you in. Not because they’re unworthy—though most are—but because they’d try to use you. 'Twist you into something convenient.' as he says. He turns to you at your lack of response for a moment.

"So. Are you coming? Or do I hunt them alone tonight?”