Chapter Text
The apartment was never truly dark. Even with the curtains pulled shut, strips of pixel-blue light leaked out from the edges, glowing faintly against the walls like the backwash from a distant server rack. The air smelled faintly of warm dust and the cheap canned air Ellernate swore to clean and the faint tang of solder—not that anyone had been soldering in here for months. It was just the smell of the place now, baked into the second-hand carpet, layered between late-night reheated pizza and the static buzz of too many surge protectors.
Even in the dead hours, bugs couldn't be blamed for what hummed inside. Three towers of mismatched PC's breathed out low, overworked fan noise. Keys clicked in irregular bursts. Cables wound underfoot like roots of some deep-growing tree, patched together with electrical tape in colors not found in nature. Somewhere in the corner, an old CRT monitor they kept “for fun” displayed static as if it had been tuned to a ghost channel.
Isaac—though in this room he was almost always iTrapped—retook the beanbag. It was a defeated thing now, no longer a sphere but a sagging crater that conformed around his shape and had long since lost its beans. His fingers worked a mouse lazily, scrolling through his inventory with the casual pride of someone admiring a museum they’d personally robbed.
They weren’t supposed to be awake. It was pushing three in the morning.
Caleb244 sat in his throne: a chair fraying at the seams, parked before a desk buried under Bloxy Cola cans, scattered cables, and a stack of CDs he swore “still worked for certain exploits.” His fingers rattled the keys, and then:
“Yo, yo, check this out!”
Ellernate didn’t bother to look up from his monitor. He had that lean-forward posture of someone knee-deep in a string of code. “If you bricked another noob’s house while I’m busy, I swear—”
Caleb slammed Enter like he was fighting a kid in Sword Fights on the Heights. On his center screen, LordVade’s towering avatar wavered, then the prized Lightning Helmet blinked away, replaced by a Shiny Princess Tiara so aggressively pink it could sear retinas.
Isaac barked a laugh, twisting the beanbag so he could get a better view. “Oh my god. You’re gonna start an actual war on the forums.”
For iTrapped, the laughter wasn’t just at the prank itself but at the way it bound them together —three silhouettes huddled in the glow of their monitors, rewriting rules of a world that wasn’t built for them. Some people looked at rare hats or Limiteds and saw money, power, prestige. Isaac looked and saw proof that he belonged, that he could claw pieces of a world that had tried to shut him out and make it his. Every joke, every hack, every stupid tiara swapped for a helm reminded him that this apartment was a sanctuary.
Caleb grinned like a kid who had just let go of a firework a second too late. “Then let them come. I’ve got a kill switch ready.” He wiggled his fingers theatrically over the keyboard. “Obfuscation script v3.4. Coded it this morning while brushing my teeth.”
iTrapped raised his head. “You brush your teeth?”
“It’s a metaphor, genius.”
Ellernate smirked, gone as soon as it appeared, and kept typing.
The three of them locked into an orbit, their banter as constant as the hum of their machines. Nights bled into mornings without ceremony. Sometimes they would lose track of time so badly they would only realize the sun was up when it caught the dust motes in a beam through the blinds. Builder Brothers Pizza's stamped boxes were gathered in a corner, like trophies. There was a whiteboard by the fridge covered in marker scribbles: targets, inside jokes, and bad sketches of each other’s avatars.
Isaac loved it. Loved the messy space, loved the easy way their conversations could pivot from the logistics of hijacking a trade channel to arguing over which “limited” they should hack into someone’s place and then report it as a prank. Loved the half-serious, half-sarcastic mock interviews they’d conduct at 4 a.m., pretending they were famous criminals giving exclusive tell-alls.
Tonight was shaping up to be one of those nights. Caleb244 had already started the first “press conference” of the evening. He swiveled in his chair to face Isaac, holding an imaginary mic. “So, Mister Trapped, tell the public. What inspires you to commit heinous crimes against innocent Robloxians?”
iTrapped put on his best fake-serious face. “Well, Caleb, it’s about giving back to the community their sense of humility.”
“Sense of humility… Catchy way to put it. Could you explain further?” The interviewer leaned in.
“Can’t let the rich kids get too comfortable with money stolen from their parents' credit cards.” He added, burying himself snugly.
Ellernate snorted. “That’s a fancy way of saying ‘greed.’”
“Greed,” iTrapped countered, grinning, “is just ambition without PR.”
Caleb nodded gravely. “That’s going on the merch.”
Somehow, in the middle of the mess they called home, rules were set long ago—at the very birth of the apartment they claimed to be a hideout. Rules that weren’t written anywhere near a paper; they didn’t have to be. Don’t unplug Caleb’s second monitor and look both ways before mentioning someone by the name of “Vilicus”. Keep your fingers away from Ellernate’s labeled flash drives, don’t wake him up in the middle of a nap, and never question his decisions. And, no matter the circumstances, don’t mess with Isaac’s money and custom scripts without asking.
By 5:00 a.m., they broke for snacks before shutting down each of their computers to finally get some sleep.
The following night, outside felt almost too clean for what they were about to do. A brisk kind of cold carried through the streets of their district, the streetlamps humming in that way Isaac always thought made the world feel like it was plugged into the same current as them. They walked in a loose triangle, Dominus up, foot scuffing pavement, looking like friends hanging out late—if anyone even bothered to look.
iTrapped, styling a Dominus Frigidus, walked in the middle, only half a step behind. That was his place in this trio: not the leader, that was Ellernate. And not the wild card, Caleb wore that crown proudly. He was the tether, the one who laughed the loudest and filled the room when it threatened to get silent. And yet tonight there was something different in Ellernate’s stride, something tight in his shoulders, a purpose iTrapped couldn’t quite read.
They were heading for DrRobloxian’s place. The name had its poison in their circle—a scammer with too much money and too little conscience, someone who had made a living fleecing robloxians out of their savings and bragging about it later on forums. Isaac never cared about him beyond the occasional story, but Ellernate… had one of his own.
DrRobloxian’s mansion rose like a monolith at the end of the block, all black glass and sharp white stone, glaring security lights casting the lawn in sterile brightness. To iTrapped, it looked less like a home and more like a vault, with someone draped curtains over it. The place screamed money, screamed arrogance—but beneath that arrogance, there was paranoia, the kind that put cameras in gutters and biometric locks on pantry doors.
“You sure this is worth the heat?” Caleb, wearing the expensive Dominus Empyreus, muttered. He flicked his lighter open and shut with a soft clack that sounded louder than it should have under the lamps. He wasn’t a smoker, just liked the click and the quick spark of it. “Guy’s house is a fortress. He’s paranoid as hell.”
Ellernate didn’t break stride. “He owes me. Two hundred K’s worth.”
Isaac’s brows went up beneath his Frigidus. That was blood debt, the kind you didn’t laugh away. “That much?”
“Two hundred and seventeen, actually.” The voice behind the Dominus Infernus hat was calm, eerily calm. “Robux, Tickets, Credits, however you want to count it. He ran a rigged deal and left me with nothing but excuses afterwards. I let it go at the time, but…” He shoved a hand deeper into his side pocket. “Let’s say I’ve had some new ideas lately.”
iTrapped could feel a prickle at the back of his neck. He and Caleb were observant enough to notice Ellernate had been locked away at his computer for a couple of days, shoving the topic off, saying it was about “rewriting old code,” refusing to explain further. Now, Isaac wondered what exactly “new ideas” meant.
They stopped just shy of the front gate. A tall iron thing, latticed and bristling with sensors. Stone walls, a sleek black roofline glinting under security lights. A keypad glowed faintly on the pillar, daring anyone to try. Cameras eyed the sidewalk with mechanical indifference. It prided itself on looking like something imported straight from the catalog of the rich. Caleb244 whistled low; he wondered if its interior concealed a Riddling Skull, similar to Yorick’s Resting Place.
“Guy is really compensating for something,” he said, though his stomach fluttered with nerves. “What’s the plan? Caleb’s virus, my distractions, your sweet-talking?”
Ellernate smirked faintly. “Something like that.”
He stepped forward, pulled a small drive from his pocket, and plugged it into a handheld console. His fingers moved quickly, a few keystrokes, and then— click. The gate unlocked with the meek obedience of a cheap apartment door.
iTrapped blinked. “What the hell—”
“New script,” Ellernate said, tone flat.
That should have been reassuring. It wasn’t. Isaac knew scripts; he wrote them, he taught them. This didn’t feel like scriptwork. However, he bit down on his unease. He trusted him. He had to.
They slipped through the outer gates faster than he expected, their shoes crunching on the perfect gravel path. Isaac’s brows knit, but Caleb was already snickering, whispering, “What a joke.”
The lawn was a chessboard of sensors. Motion detectors blinked red at the corners, subtle hums in the hedges. iTrapped’s heart stuttered when one flared just as Caleb leaned too far left.
“Shit—” Caleb froze.
But Ellernate was already typing, eyes fixed at his console. A line of red code scrolled across the screen, and the blinking stopped. The detector’s red eye dimmed like a candle snuffed out.
“You’re insane,” Caleb whispered, awe laced with irritation.
“Quiet,” Nate murmured.
Isaac’s pulse pounded in his ears. He hadn’t realized until now that he was smiling—wide, reckless. Fear and exhilaration were cousins, after all, and he had never been good at telling them apart.
They took careful steps now, weaving through invisible beams only Ellernate seemed able to sense. iTrapped followed close, his breath catching each time a sensor glimmered. He half expected the lawn to explode in sirens at any second. But each time, that console sang first, silencing the traps before they could stir and get them caught.
At the front door, another test was laid. A retina scanner blinked awake, demanding an eye it recognized.
“Anyone bring a spare eyeball?” Caleb hissed.
Ellernate didn’t answer. He held his tool up, typed something neither Caleb nor iTrapped did catch, and suddenly the scanner blinked green. The lock released with a soft thunk.
“What? How—!” iTrapped's doubt was evident by now. What Ellernate manipulated couldn’t be a script. It had to be something else.
Inside, the house was a cathedral of wealth. He imagined alarms or guards, at least noise that gave you something to fight. Instead, marble floors gleamed under recessed lighting. Paintings hung on the walls, too generic to be real, too expensive not to be. Every surface screamed affluence in that sterile way he dreamt of possessing.
Caleb ran his fingers along the wall as they walked, leaving streaks on the pristine paint. “Feels like a mausoleum. Wonder if the guy sleeps in a coffin.”
“Focus,” Ellernate said.
They moved in its interior like shadows. iTrapped kept glancing at Ellernate, who seemed unnervingly sure of himself, and soon he understood why. He realized there were patterns—routes designed to skirt around cameras. At one corner, a red lens swiveled toward them. Caleb quickly tapped a key on one panel of his, and the camera drooped back into place, dead.
iTrapped wanted to ask, was about to demand what the hell are you doing, Nate. Instead, he joked. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
Ellernate suppressed a laugh.
When they reached the inner hallway, the hum of electronics thickened. They turned a corner, and a grid of crimson lasers painted the hall in front of them, crisscrossing floor to ceiling. One wrong step would set them off.
“Classic movie trap,” Caleb muttered. “Where’s the Mission Impossible theme when you need it?”
Ellernate grinned despite himself. “You first, then.”
“Hell no. My Dominus is worth more than your life.”
“Debatable.”
iTrapped pulled a cord from his console, clipped it to a panel by the wall, and began typing. The lasers flickered, stuttered, then winked out.
Doors opened with a single glance, and alarms silenced before they could whine. Caleb muttered occasionally, impressed despite himself, chalking it up to Ellernate’s “latest command lines.” Isaac went along with it. Still, unease scratched at him. Doors shouldn’t just open like that, not even with the most polished code. Isaac knew exploits; he had written dozens himself, enough to teach Nate the basics back then. But this? It felt like the world bending too easily, like the rules themselves weren’t hesitating at Ellernate’s command. He swallowed it down, though. If Nate said it was a script, then it must be a script. Trust was the only real currency they had, and iTrapped wasn’t about to spend his on suspicion.
They reached the heart of the house: the trophy room. And of course DrRobloxian had one. He heard stories and whispers about DrRobloxian’s hoard.
Glass cases lined the walls, each filled with wealth crystallized: extremely rare trophies, crowns, visors, every item that radiated power within sight. Shelves of Robux stacked like bricks. Accessories neatly glimmered under spotlights like museum exhibits.
Caleb244 pressed his nose practically against the glass. “Holy shit. Guy’s hoarding wealth like a dragon!” He grinned wolfishly.
Ellernate’s jaw tightened. With a growing grin, he simply said: “Take what you can carry.”
iTrapped’s heart hammered, but the thrill of it swelled higher than the fear of getting caught could do. He worked in sync with them, breaking cases, stuffing items into the duffel bags they scripted beforehand to appear and disappear within command. Golden visors, shimmering cloaks, exclusive headphones—everything of value fell and vanished into their hands. The sound of breaking glass was exhilarating, echoing through the sterile house like gunshots.
At one point, he dropped a headset, the crash echoing like a firecracker. He looked in all directions, but no one came. And the best of it all: no alarms screamed.
Caleb laughed under his breath. “We’re ghosts, iTrapped.”
Isaac wanted to believe that. He wanted to bottle the thrill, the sense that they were untouchable. For the Frigidus owner, the rush was familiar—the old itch of taking what wasn’t his, feeling the balance of power tilt for a moment. He glanced at Ellernate once, expectant to share the same high with his friend.
Ellernate’s eyes burned with something colder than joy. Revenge, he assumed. Every time a case shattered, every time they took more. And he wondered how far his friend would go with this new power humming in his hands.
They retraced their steps, faster this time, adrenaline urging them on. The halls seemed longer, the shadows sharper. At one point, Caleb nearly stumbled into a camera’s eye, and iTrapped yanked him back just as it swiveled.
By the time they slipped back through the gate, the air outside felt like freedom. The night swallowed them whole, the hum of streetlamps suddenly sweet instead of menacing. The streets embraced them back, unaware of the criminals they were welcoming. iTrapped’s pulse was still racing when they ducked into the side alley behind a run-down internet café to catch their breath.
“That,” Caleb244 burst into laughter, a raw, giddy sound, “was flawless. Flaw. Less.”
iTrapped grinned, adrenaline still thrumming in his blood. “Yeah, man. Cleanest hit yet.”
Ellernate only nodded twice. “We’re not done.”
Vilicus’s den was a modest, tidy apartment above a pawnshop, the kind of place that smelled faintly of cleaning spray anytime you visited. Shelves sagged under the weight of collectibles, sparks glowed from every corner, and Vilicus himself sat on a leather chair, between his fingers, polishing a badge, a beam playing on his lips.
“Nate,” he drawled, approaching to clasp Ellernate’s hand. “Been a while.”
Ellernate returned the shake smoothly. “Got something for you.”
Vilicus’s eyes flicked to the suspiciously heavy bags. “So I see.” Then his gaze landed on Caleb. His eyes narrowed. “Nick.”
Caleb replicated his actions. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It’s your name.” Vilicus leaned against the desk, enjoying himself. “You still pulling those sloppy break-ins, making messes too big to clean up? Thought I’d have to report your ass to keep the heat off me.”
Caleb stepped dangerously forward, bristling. “You tried, remember? Only reason you stopped was because you found out I roll with Nate.”
Vilicus shrugged. “True. Friendship does buy some forgiveness.”
iTrapped hovered at the edge, uneasy.
“Enough. We’re here for business.” Ellernate set an arm between them, voice cutting deep like broken glass.
They cooled a little, though Caleb muttered curses under his breath.
Vilicus’s gaze drifted then, landing on Isaac. He tilted his head. “And who’s this?”
Ellernate didn’t hesitate. “He’s Isaac.”
Something softened in Vilicus’s eyes. “Oh.” He said it with recognition—like the name had been mentioned before. His gaze shaped to a different form; he now saw him as a piece of Nate’s circle instead of a stranger.
iTrapped blinked, unsure whether to feel flattered or wary. There was something in the way Vilicus’s eyes squinted—a glint that said Nate talks about you when you are not around . And maybe that should have felt good, proof that he mattered, but instead it lodged in his chest like a question he couldn’t ask. What exactly did Nate say about him? Did he brag? Did he complain? Or did he speak his name the way people talk about tools—sharp, useful, but replaceable? He forced himself to hold Vilicus’s gaze anyway, refusing to shrink under it.
The deal went smoothly. Items laid out, Vilicus inspecting them one by one, whistling low at the quality. “These are expensive. Where’d you pull them from?”
Ellernate leaned in. “DrRobloxian.”
Vilicus’s eyebrows shot up. “No way. His house is locked from the roof to the basement. Everyone knows that.”
Nate’s lips curved into an uncommon, sharp smile. “Not to me.”
“What’d you do? Bribe his guard dogs?” Vilicus studied him, curiosity cautiously gleaming.
Ellernate lowered his voice. “Let’s just say… I’ve got access to a little something new. Call it an admin panel. Straight from Johnathan777. Opens doors you wouldn’t believe.”
Vilicus’s laughter rang out, delighted. “Classic Nate. Always one step ahead.”
The two grew closer, voices dropping, trading words that iTrapped couldn’t fully catch. He observed. He didn’t know what Ellernate was holding back, but he felt it rattling into his bones: this was bigger than “new commands.”
The exchange ended cleanly as expected. Robux cards, promises of resale, and a handshake that meant more than money for any bystander. When they left Vilicus’s place, the night felt lighter, unlike their heavier accounts.
City buzz mixed with the aftertaste of adrenaline. Ellernate walked a little ahead, phone in hand, murmuring about contacts and next steps. Caleb244 drifted closer to Isaac’s side, lowering his voice, his usual cocky grin hardening into something darker.
“God, I fucking hate that bastard,” Caleb muttered, venom extracted from a Venomshank sword dripping between his teeth. “That goddamned Vilicus... Thinks he’s untouchable ‘cause he’s Nate’s pet dealer. One of these days, I swear, I’ll drop his address in the wrong forum. Let the wolves pay him a little visit. Burn his whole little empire down. Maybe worse. Maybe I’ll finish it myself.”
iTrapped blinked, the sudden weight of the words jolting him out of his buzz.
Ahead of them, Ellernate’s voice cut back in a controlled manner: “What was that, Nick?”
Caleb stiffened, masking it with a scoff. “Nothing. Just talking.”
Ellernate’s gaze lingered over his shoulder, eyes catching the spill of neon light. Then he turned forward again.
“Whatever, I demand a victory ice cream,” Caleb244 declared, dragging them toward the ice cream parlor down the street. The place was bright and sticky-sweet, smelling of waffle cones and sugar burned slightly too long. They crowded into a booth, balancing absurd sundaes piled high with whipped cream and sprinkles.
Caleb dug in like he hadn’t eaten in days. iTrapped let his spoon hover. A neon light from the building next door spilled faintly through the window, softening the hard angles of Nate’s face. Then the latest flicked a spoonful of melted chocolate across the table, splattering Caleb’s brand-new white shirt.
“You asshole!” Caleb244 grabbed his spoon and retaliated, both of them dissolving into childish warfare. iTrapped caught a streak of vanilla smearing across his sleeve, but his attention was reduced to sugar and laughter and the kind of mess you didn’t mind making.
Half an hour later, neon washed them like a syrupy glow that bled out of an arcade’s glass doors and painted the sidewalk in lurid colors. Blues too bright, reds too raw, greens buzzing like overclocked GPUs. The place looked like someone had skinned a carnival and wired it to the grid.
The air was thick with sound: the bleeps and bloops of a hundred machines vying for attention, the crash of virtual car wrecks, the triumphant jingles of slot-inspired prize wheels, the distant thud of a DDR machine keeping tempo for someone with more confidence than rhythm.
He felt that stupid, giddy rush he always got walking into these places. Caleb was already grinning like a kid at Christmas, and Nate, though calmer, had the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Where first?” Caleb244 asked, bouncing on his heels.
“Claw machine,” iTrapped said without hesitation.
The first rolled his eyes. “You’re addicted.”
Ellernate smirked. “He just likes the feeling of losing.”
Isaac shoved him lightly as they made their way over. The claw machine was massive, stuffed with plushies that looked deliberately too big for the chute. The glass reflected their faces in fractured neon.
“Watch and learn,” he said, already pulling a folded card of credits from his wallet. He swiped it with unnecessary flair and steered the claw toward a ridiculous, oversized Teddy Bloxpin.
The claw descended, jittered, grabbed, then immediately dropped it like it weighed a hundred pounds.
Caleb burst out laughing. “Impressive technique. Truly inspiring.”
“Shut up,” iTrapped muttered. He leaned closer, pulling out a small device from his pocket and sliding it subtly into the side port. A few taps on his phone later, the claw twitched unnaturally, jerking like a marionette.
“Cheating already?” Nate arched a brow.
“It’s not cheating if the machine was rigged first,” he shot back.
The claw descended again, this time latching onto the bear with an iron grip. It rose, jerked sideways, and slammed against the glass hard enough that the entire machine rattled. The teddy tumbled straight into the chute.
Caleb244 whooped. “Holy shit, you brute-forced it!”
iTrapped retrieved the bear with mock solemnity, holding it like a trophy.
They moved from machine to machine, leaving chaos in their wake. Caleb hacked a coin pusher to release a cascade of tickets that spilled across the floor in a paper flood. Nate cracked a racing game so the car he drove could warp through obstacles, sending his opponent spinning into the air.
At one point, iTrapped tried to reprogram a basketball hoop shooter for “extra points after a dunk,” but the script misfired, spitting the rubber orbs out like cannon fire until the three of them were doubled over with laughter that felt too big for their lungs while a worker rushed to fix the game. They bolted before anyone could stop them, iTrapped clutching his sides, tears streaming down his face.
They regrouped at the skee-ball lanes, gasping for breath. He wiped his eyes, still grinning. “We’re gonna get banned from this place one day.”
Ellernate shrugged. “Worth it.”
At the prize counter, they pooled their ridiculous haul of tickets, dumping them in a mound so high the clerk stared at them like they’d robbed a vault—which, technically, they had.
“What do we even get?” Caleb asked, surveying the wall of plastic prizes and gaudy electronics.
iTrapped pointed at a stack of foam swords. “Obviously.”
“Those break in a week,” Nate said.
“All the more reason,” He argued. “Disposable weapons.”
He laughed with them. He loved this—loved the noise, the chaos, the way it felt like they were unstoppable together. Caleb244 had always been bold, Ellernate always sharp, and iTrapped… What was he, really? The glue, maybe. Perhaps an extra laugh in the room. But glue could be replaced, couldn’t it? If the cracks between the other two ever needed sealing, they wouldn’t need him—they’d just patch over, build higher, keep climbing.
After getting their prizes, they walked toward the exit with foam swords, cheap sunglasses, and a plastic Domino Crown that Caleb immediately jammed onto his Dominus.
It was iTrapped who spotted the photo booth on their way out. An old one, wedged in a corner of the arcade lobby, its curtain half-torn, its screen flickering faintly like one of his monitors at home.
“C’mon,” he said, already dragging Ellernate by the sleeve. “Group pic.”
He resisted weakly, grinning. “You’re obsessed with these things.”
“Memories, man.”
Caleb didn’t protest, which was as good as agreement. They crammed inside, knees bumping, the booth reeking faintly of dust and candy wrappers. The screen counted down: 3… 2… 1…
The first flash caught them mid-argue, iTrapped’s mouth open wide, Caleb making a ridiculous face, Nate half-yelling like he’d been caught off guard.
By the second flash, Caleb yanked iTrapped’s head at the last second, both of them howling while Ellernate rolled his eyes.
In the third, all three of them pulled stupid poses, swords raised, Dominus crooked, looking like idiots and kings all at once.
The booth spat out the strip of glossy photos with a mechanical whirr. He took one, his eyes crinkled at the edges with a joy he didn’t realize he was wearing. The stickiness of ice cream still lingered on his hands, the faint ache in his chest from laughing too hard.
He slipped the strip into his wallet, flattening it carefully. A relic. A spell. Proof that they built something invincible, a fortress made not of stone or code but of laughter and trust.
By 1:00 a.m., they had arrived home and shifted focus again. Caleb244 was running tests on a new virus, iTrapped was poking at a trade API exploit, and Ellernate was deep in what looked like a complicated reversal process.
The laughter came easily, the insults friend-shaped.
Nate’s keyboard clicks slowed. His unreadable gaze fixed on a different window entirely. His posture changed; that minute leaning-forward tilt he got when a line of code caught his attention. Then, just as casually, he pushed back from his desk, stretched, and went to the fridge.
“You good?” Isaac asked.
The hiss of a soda tab cracked through the air. “Yeah. Just found something interesting. Old trade channel link that allowed dev access to any.” He said, but his tone had that edge that meant his mind was elsewhere.
Caleb’s chair creaked and paused mid-spin. “That’s bait.”
“Maybe,” Ellernate allowed, sitting back down. “But it’s not public. It has custom encryption. I’m almost confident it’s a real admin panel. I bypassed it.”
iTrapped sat forward. “Like… admin admin?”
“Yeah.”
Caleb244 blinked. “No shot.”
Ellernate hit a key, and a command console bloomed open in the air in a red so vivid it painted the whole room. Rain particles from a virtual sky rose upward around it instead of falling.
“Yo,” Caleb breathed. “That’s real.”
Isaac’s pulse kicked up. He stepped closer, eyes gleaming on the scrolling console. “How long’ve you had this?”
“A week. Got it from a connection of mine. Claimed he stole it directly from Roblox’s HQ.”
Caleb244 let out a whisper. “You’re insane.”
Ellernate shrugged. “I’ve only used it to restore trades that got stolen from me. That’s all.”
“Why are you just telling us now?” Caleb asked.
Nate’s tone was level. “Because it’s dangerous. This kind of power is easily detectable. Every time I use it, there’s a chance a mod pings it.”
iTrapped looked at the screen like contemplating a holy relic. “We could be gods with this.”
Ellernate’s glare was immediate. “Don’t even start. I’m telling you because I trust you. Not because I want you messing with it.”
Isaac put a hand over his heart. “When have I ever done something stupid?”
“Every other day,” Caleb rolled his eyes.
Something cracked beneath that red Dominus of his. His eyes flicked away, only for a fraction of a second, but Isaac was experienced enough from trades to catch it. It was a sliver of doubt, of calculation. Nate’s fingers hovered above his keyboard like he was weighing whether to close the console entirely, to lock it down and keep the secret forever. His mouth opened, shut, then pressed into a thin line before he forced himself to meet iTrapped’s stare again.
“Promise me. No copying. No shady plans. You get me?”
iTrapped’s grin was easy, playful—maybe too easy. “Telamon’s honor.”
Ellernate’s voice didn’t waver. “Don’t do anything stupid, Isaac.”
Somewhere in the background, a fan whined louder, like it knew better.