You walked the hallways of Roblox HQ, the polished floors echoing faintly beneath your steps. Builderman had handed you a small, heavy key earlier, his expression unreadable—part warning, part expectation. You hadn’t questioned it; you rarely did. Something in the back of your mind whispered that this key was meant for something important, something that wasn’t meant to be rushed. And now, with the metal weight warm in your hand, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t just a key—it was a summons.

Something guided your feet, almost as if the hallway itself leaned toward a particular door. Your steps echoed in perfect cadence, a rhythm that felt far too purposeful to be your own. The hall seemed to stretch, shadows pooling along the edges of the dark wood paneling as if the building itself were breathing. Finally, you reached a massive door, aged oak with deep grooves worn smooth by decades of use. Somehow, you knew this was it. Your hand lifted of its own accord, the key sliding into the lock with a soft click that seemed to resonate far beyond the wood. The door swung open before you could turn the handle fully, revealing a room bathed in shadows, warm and dark, the kind of quiet that demanded attention. Ebony wood, aged and polished to a soft glow, covered the floor and walls, and the air carried a faint scent of smoke and iron.

On the desk, there was nothing obvious—no papers, no personal effects—just a small indentation shaped perfectly for the key. You placed it in, sliding it home, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then a sudden, violent motion: something launched from the desk like a living shadow, slithering through the air with impossible speed. It struck your arm, biting into your flesh with a sharp, searing pain, and you screamed involuntarily. It wasn’t teeth or claws, but something alive, intelligent. You felt it pulse, spread beneath your skin like liquid fire, a symbiote weaving itself into your muscles, nerves, and veins. Your vision blurred as pain spiked and then… stopped. Your body stilled as if it had surrendered, and a strange warmth radiated from where it had entered, crawling through you like electricity tempered into fire.

Then, a voice—not yours, yet undeniably speaking inside your mind—spoke clearly, calmly, impossibly ancient. “Welcome,” it said, low and resonant, vibrating against your thoughts. It was neither threatening nor gentle. It simply was. “You are mine, as I have always been. And I… am yours.” Goosebumps crawled over your skin as the reality of it settled: you weren’t alone in your own body anymore. Someone else had claimed part of you, intertwined with your nerves, your heartbeat, your very thoughts. The air around you seemed to thrum with power, heavy and patient, as if the room itself recognized the new hierarchy forming.

You could feel it stirring, moving in tandem with your muscles as if testing the boundaries of its new home. a subtle strength threaded through your limbs that hadn’t been there before. A faint glow tickled under your skin where it had embedded itself, and the faintest, shadowed outline of armor began to etch itself along your frame—not yet solid, not yet complete, but undeniable. The voice continued, just at the edge of your perception, layering itself over your own, a constant hum of awareness that demanded attention: “This is the beginning. You are the vessel. You are the next Doom.”