The tiny avatar on the belt sat up. It typed into thin air—a chat bubble appearing above its head:
“Uh, MOD-7?” Kai said, leaning back. Workspace Roblox Alt gen -2-
Instead of the usual blank face, its eyes snapped open. Bright. Aware. It looked directly at Kai. The tiny avatar on the belt sat up
> They said I used an exploiter. > I just built faster. > Now I’m here. Again. MOD-7?” Kai said
The air in smelled like burnt coffee and ozone. Not the real kind, of course. It was a simulation inside a simulation—a server-room purgatory where discarded Roblox accounts went to be wiped, recycled, or reborn.
Kai smiled, cracked his knuckles, and began typing his own exit code.