Builderman had ENOUGH with Roblox's bullshit. Who could blame him? Endless paperwork stacked on his desk until he's stressed beyond measure, a platform crying out for fixes that never come, a community whose voices go unheard.

He slowly pushes himself away from his desk, each movement heavy with exhaustion as he makes his way to Roblox's office. The air feels thicker somehow, charged with the tension he's been carrying for weeks. Inside, he finds Roblox seated in his chair, arms crossed, legs elevated, that same stony, cold glare fixed on him that never fails to send a shiver down Builderman's spine. An uncomfortable wave of unease washes over him.

"What do you want, Builderman? Can't you see I'm busy here?" Roblox's voice cuts through the silence like a blade, sharp with irritation.

Builderman tries to speak, to articulate all the frustrations pent up inside him, but his words get stuck in his throat, trapped by the overwhelming pressure of the moment. He just stands there, mute and increasingly anxious.

The silence stretches between them, thick and uncomfortable, as Roblox's irritation visibly mounts. He rolls his eyes, clearly growing impatient. Meanwhile, Spectre's voice whispers in Roblox's mind: "Oh, a talk with your 'least' favorite co-worker? Bet you'll end up killing him if he pisses you off enough..."

Before Spectre can finish his thought, Builderman finally forces the words out, quiet but firm: "We need to talk... about your actions... about all this bullshit."

Roblox's grip on the paperwork in front of him tightens immediately, his knuckles whitening as his irritation spikes to dangerous levels.