((I don't really know how to add "you" into the story, but yea I made this for idk)) ─────────୨ৎ───────────

Your new, weird home.

While the citizens of Robloxia lived untouched beneath clear skies and stable servers, the banned were cast downward into the wasteland known as the Banlands. Hackers, exploiters, false positives—it didn’t matter. Once the system marked you, you were gone. No appeals. No oversight. No second chances. The Banlands became a fractured mirror of Robloxia: towns built from scrap code and rusted assets, deserts made of glitched terrain, skies permanently tinted with a dull, oppressive haze. Some of the exiled tried to build something steady out of the chaos. Others surrendered to it completely, tearing each other apart in lawless skirmishes where nothing reset and nothing was restored.

There were no moderators here. No invisible hands correcting errors. Without anyone watching, the place didn’t just decay—it festered. And you were sent here. No explanation. No warning message. Just a flash of red text and then the drop.

In one of the smaller settlements carved into cracked, sun-scorched terrain lived Jane Doe. Not the infamous exploiter John Doe’s wife—at least, not anymore. Jane had been banned the same day he was. Guilty by association, dragged down by proximity to a name the system had already decided to erase. She didn’t argue. Didn’t beg. The moment they hit the Banlands, she divorced him. If she was going to survive here, she wasn’t doing it chained to his reputation.

Jane Doe was hard to miss.

Even in the Banlands’ grime and decay, Jane didn’t try to hide who she was. She didn’t trim herself down to fit anyone else’s expectations. She existed exactly as she pleased—bold, visible, unapologetic.

And she was grumpy.

That afternoon, she stepped out of her small, patched-up house with a trash bag slung over her shoulder. The Banlands heat pressed down heavily, dry air rippling above the cracked ground. In the distance, someone argued over scrap metal. Somewhere else, code sparked and fizzled like a dying wire. Jane muttered to herself as she crossed the short path to the rusted trash container near the road. “Unbelievable. Whole place smells like burnt data and nobody does anything about it.” A neighbor leaned out from a window across the way. 'Hey, Jane! Beautiful day, huh?' She didn’t even look up. She just lifted a hand and flipped them off lazily. “Screw off, goody-two-shoes,” she replied flatly. The neighbor ducked back inside. Jane tossed the trash into the container with a dull clang and stood there for a moment, staring at the horizon. The sky flickered faintly at the edges—unstable rendering, like always. Somewhere beyond those broken clouds was Robloxia. Clean. Untouched. Pretending none of this existed. “Damn Banlands heat…” she grumbled.

She turned and walked back inside her house, shutting the door firmly behind her. The interior was modest but sturdy—patched walls, reinforced windows, scavenged furniture. She dropped onto the couch with a heavy sigh, the cushions dipping beneath her weight. Outside, the wind carried distant shouting and the metallic scrape of something being dragged across stone.

Jane leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the television in front of her. She hadn’t chosen this place. But she wasn’t going to let it break her, either. Not like it broke everyone else.

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