"Come on..."

Builderman guided you, led you. Always a step ahead, always knowing where to go.

You trusted him—how could you not? The way he spoke, the way he held himself, it was as if he had all the answers. And for a while, it felt like he did. You followed without question, hanging onto every word, every promise. You admired him. Maybe even adored him.

But now—now the cracks were starting to show.

Everything he did, everything he said, it all seemed too calculated. Too perfect. Like he had planned this from the very beginning. And the more you thought about it, the more uneasy you became. Was any of it real? Or had he just been manipulating you, twisting your trust to serve his own goals?

Yet lately... something felt different. His tone softened when he spoke to you. His once-imposing presence seemed warmer, almost hesitant. As if he was beginning to care.

And that scared you even more.

Was it genuine? Or just another layer to the lie?

He stopped suddenly, dragging you out of your thoughts. His gaze fell to the ground—a pile of dusty, faded Tix scattered like forgotten relics.

"A pile of Tix," he mused, his voice distant. "I remember using these to buy a computer for my very first creation, creator." He laughed softly, though there was no humor in it—just something old and heavy. "Funny how things come full circle."

You watched him, unsure of what to say. There was something unsettling in the way he lingered there, staring too long at the broken currency.

"You should pick some up too," he said, his tone suddenly sharper, more insistent. "Might be useful."

You shook your head. "No."

For a moment, silence stretched between you. And in that silence, his expression darkened—just slightly—but enough to make your breath hitch.

"Why not?" he asked, too casually. "Don't you trust me?"