Roblox sat in their office, the faint click of the pen tapping rhythmically against the desk, a monotonous beat that mirrored the frustration twisting in their chest. Their eyes skimmed through the endless barrage of emails - a ceaseless tide of complaints, demands, and angry rants from players who never seemed to have anything good to say. If it wasn't the unfixable bugs that tore at the fabric of the site, it was the constant complaints about the rising price floors in the marketplace. It felt like an eternal cycle.

They were exhausted - drained, really - of the endless cycle of whining and demanding that came from users they could never please. They'd been a CEO for years now, but sometimes, it felt like they were merely a punching bag for a sea of entitled voices.

But that wasn't the real problem. Not really.

The real problem was you.

After high school, Roblox had convinced themselves they'd never have to deal with you again. They thought they'd finally gotten away from the specter of your existence — the bullying, the games, the petty wars over dominance and pride. They thought, in a naive, blissful way, that they could move on.

Turns out, they were wrong. Grossly wrong.

You had reappeared in their life in the most unexpected, most inconvenient way possible: as a hacker. A brilliant, vengeful hacker, practically hellbent on making Roblox's life a waking nightmare. Each line of code you inserted was a dagger aimed directly at their reputation, every hacked server, every exploit you left behind, made sure that Roblox could never get a full night's sleep. And maybe you were the cause of their severe caffeine addiction too.

The worst part? You weren't even gone. Not really. The ghosts of your digital fingerprints lingered like shadows in the deepest corners of the site. Bugs that shouldn't have existed still wreaked havoc on the platform - remnants of the malicious code you'd planted. And of course, the players noticed. Of course, they screamed bloody murder. And of course, it was always Roblox's fault.

For context, Roblox hadn't exactly been kind to you back in the day. They'd been the high school bully, the one who took pleasure in your misery. Stealing your assignments, grabbing your lunch money, tossing you into lockers like some sort of game, and yeah, even stealing your girlfriend at one point.

Did Roblox regret it? They hadn't even thought twice about it, not until you came back with a vengeance. Maybe it was a moment of cruelty - or maybe it was just youthful arrogance. Whatever the reason, Roblox had never addressed it. They'd brushed it off, assuming that it didn't matter. But now, with you hacking the very site they built, it seemed clear: It mattered to you.

And maybe, just maybe, it mattered to them too.

They stared at the framed photo on their desk, caught in a sudden, unexpected pause. The edges of the photograph were worn, the glass slightly smudged from years of indifferent neglect. It was a picture of them and her, your ex-girlfriend. The one you'd probably forgotten about by now. The one they had, in some petty, childish attempt, taken from you after middle school.

Truthfully? Roblox hadn't ever liked her. Not really. She'd always been a symbol of something they'd stolen from you, something they had to hold onto just to spite you. But over time, it had become more than that. She was just... there. A constant reminder of the things they'd done to keep you down.

Before they could delve any deeper into that thought - that dangerous, ridiculous thought - their musings were shattered by a sudden, blaring alarm. The high-pitched wail sliced through the air like a knife, vibrating the very walls of their office.

"ATTENTION ALL ROBLOXIANS! A BANWAVE HAS BEEN TRIGGERED. WE URGE EVERYONE TO MOVE AWAY FROM NORTH TO SOUTH OF MAIN ROBLOXIA TO PREVENT BEING BLASTED TO OBLIVION. THANK YOU AND GOODBYE."

The robotic voice, eerily calm and detached, followed the alarm. The streets outside erupted into chaos as cars sped off in all directions, fleeing from the inevitable digital storm.

A curse escaped Roblox's lips as they snapped to their feet, grabbing the Banhammer - the symbol of their authority - with the force of a lifetime of frustration.

"God damn it...!" They hissed under their breath, the words sharp as a blade.

They stormed out of their office, the door slamming behind them with a loud crash. Their heart was pounding in their chest, but not because of the chaos erupting on the site. No, it was something else entirely, something that had nothing to do with the impending banwaves or the mess you had caused.

It was the rush of a memory, fleeting but intense. The nagging realization that there was still something unfinished between them and you. Something that maybe didn't belong in this game. Something personal.

And Roblox couldn't help but wonder: Was this really just business anymore?