Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The office was too quiet.

The hum of the servers echoed through the walls, a constant, mechanical reminder of what had been lost. Reese sat at her desk, her hands trembling against the keyboard. Her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed raw from sleepless nights, and the once-pristine order of her workstation was buried under piles of discarded papers, empty coffee cups, and post-it notes with words that barely made sense anymore.

Everyone else was gone.

BrightEyes, missing without a trace.

Stickmasterluke vanished like he had never been real.

Doombringer. No logs, no records.

Dusekkar. Silence.

Clockwork gone, and not even his sarcastic quips lingered in chat.

Builderman. No word, no presence.

Just Reese.

Her chest heaved as she typed and retyped reports, desperate to do something, to finish something, but her vision kept swimming. Her reflection in the darkened monitor looked like a stranger—hair unkempt, makeup smeared, face thin and hollow. She laughed. Sharp, ugly, cracked, because what else was left?

“I can’t—I can’t be the last one,” she whispered, clawing at her face. “Why me? Why me? Why not them?!”

Her voice broke into sobs that shook her entire body. She curled over her desk, nails digging into her palms until blood welled beneath her fingertips. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering faintly as though mocking her.

The office smelled like dust and burnt plastic. A server pinged. Another email arrived in her inbox. Reese couldn’t bring herself to open it.

“I’m not— I’m not supposed to—” she choked out, staring at the empty desks around her. She could still picture them. Clockwork leaning back in his chair, tossing out jokes. BrightEyes humming softly while she worked. Builderman scribbling notes with that unshakable calm of his. All gone.

Her hands slammed the desk. “You bastards left me here! You—you knew—”

Her words dissolved into a scream.

The walls seemed to close in tighter, the server hum thickening into a suffocating roar. Reese collapsed onto the floor, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth as her tears soaked into her sleeves. The last admin. The last one tethered to this graveyard.

Alone.

Reese gripped the edge of her desk so hard her nails left shallow dents in the cheap wood. Her chest heaved, ragged breaths tearing themselves free like they wanted to claw her throat open. She could still hear the silence of the empty office halls. Every chair, every desk, every login terminal… deserted.

Her reflection in the dark monitor looked pale, almost warped.

“No. No no no, no.” She smacked her cheeks with both hands. “Everything’s fine. Everything’s—” Her voice broke into a strangled laugh. “It’s fine. This is normal.”

Her laugh carried through the office, echoing off the glass walls like a glitching loop.

“People go missing all the time. It’s fine. It’s—it’s part of the job. They’ll come back, they always come back. The protests, the screaming players, the mobs outside—it’s just noise, just background. Totally normal.” She pushed her chair back and stood, pacing.

The overhead lights flickered.

Reese rubbed her temples, forcing her voice into something steady, something professional, something like the other admins would’ve done.

“Everything is stable. The system is stable. Roblox is stable. It has to be.”

She sucked in a deep breath and smiled to herself, brittle and wide.

“Totally normal. Totally fine.”

Her hands still shook, but she clasped them tight against her chest, as if she could squeeze her heartbeat into submission.

“Protests will stop soon. They always do. People forget. They’ll move on. They’ll stop asking where… where everyone went. I’ll just keep logging in, keep… answering tickets. Keep pretending.”

The smile trembled, but she held onto it with teeth.

“Everything’s fine.”

Reese sat slumped in the chair, the cheap office lamp buzzing overhead. Her nails drummed against the desk. Fast, then slow, then not at all. The silence pressed in too heavily. She hated silence now. It left too much space for memory.

Her throat tightened. What did Builderman’s laugh sound like again? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to conjure it. Warm, booming, always cracking halfway through. No, wait—that was Erik’s laugh. Or was it?

The thought wriggled away from her like a fish.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Doesn’t matter. Voices don’t matter. They’re fine. They’re fine. They’re probably just busy.” She spoke it aloud, letting the words anchor her. “Totally normal. People vanish for two years all the time. Right? Nothing suspicious. Nothing’s wrong.”

Her lip trembled as she stared at the rows of protest notes piled against her office door. Handwritten threats, scrawled demands, desperate pleas. She had stopped reading them weeks ago, but the paper smell lingered, sharp, acidic.

“They’ll stop soon,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “The protests always stop. Robloxians get bored. They forget. They move on.”

She laughed, short and cracked, then covered her mouth with her hand. The sound was wrong. Her laugh wasn’t supposed to sound like that. Thin and brittle.

The screen flickered, and she jolted, heart leaping to her throat. Just a system update notification. Nothing strange. Nothing dangerous. She told herself that three times.

But when she leaned back, she realized she couldn’t quite remember what Matt Dusek’s voice sounded like when he said “Do not frett.” She used to hear it every other day. Now, no matter how hard she tried, the cadence slipped away.

Her breathing quickened. What if I forget all of them?

Her mind clawed at itself, frantic. If I forget their voices, then it’s like they never existed. Like I’m the only one left who even remembers they were here. And if I forget…

She shoved the thought away, shaking her head violently. “No. No. Everything’s fine. Everyone’s fine. I’m fine.”

The silence pressed tighter.

And Reese started whispering names under her breath like a rosary, trying to pin them to her memory. “Erik, Matt, John, David, Cliff, Christina, Alex, Luke… Erik, Matt, John, David, Cliff, Christina, Alex, Luke…” Faster, faster, as if saying them fast enough would trap their existence before it slipped.

Her knuckles were white against the desk.

Her leg bounced under the desk, restless, the only motion in the suffocating quiet of her office. Reese’s fingers hovered above the keyboard, not typing, not clicking, just trembling. She hated how her hands shook lately. She hadn’t seen the others in… months. No—years. She tried to keep track once, tried to count, to mark calendars, but the days all bled together. It had been two years since the disappearances began, and she was the last one. The last one who hadn’t vanished into thin air.

She used to replay their old voice calls, but now even those felt distorted. Their laughs, their specific inflections, slipping away. Sometimes she tried to mimic them aloud, whispering in the empty office. But the sounds she made were wrong, hollow imitations. Their voices were gone from her.

Her chest constricted. Her throat felt raw. She wanted to scream but couldn’t.

And then—

knock.

Her entire body froze.

knock… knock…

Slow, deliberate. Like someone was there.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. She stared ahead at the glow of her monitor, refusing to turn.

It wasn’t real. She knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

She heard knocking sometimes. She had for months now. Sometimes at the door. Sometimes at the walls. Sometimes it was in her head.

She clenched her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut. If she didn’t acknowledge it, it would stop.

Her breath hitched.

knock.

It came again.

A broken laugh slipped out of her throat—sharp, humorless, almost manic. “Nope. Not happening. Nobody’s there. Nobody’s fucking there.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, curling in the chair, rocking ever so slightly. She pressed her palms against her ears, but her own pulse was louder than the silence that followed.

Because the knocking had stopped.

Her spine went rigid.

That voice—low, steady but shaking, like it was trying too hard to sound normal.

“...hello? Is anyone… in there?”

Reese’s lungs clamped shut. She sat frozen at her desk, nails digging crescents into her palms. Her eyes darted to the door, then away again. No. No, no, no. She wasn’t falling for this. She’d heard voices before, phantom murmurs in the quiet that melted into her thoughts until she couldn’t tell if it was her own brain talking back. This was just another trick. Another hallucination.

Her throat ached with the urge to answer—Builderman? Of all the ones she could imagine, why him? Why now?

The knocking hadn’t stopped echoing through her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t respond. Don’t breathe too loud. It isn’t real.

The voice came again, softer, cracking faintly like it was weighted with hesitation.

“Reese…? Are ya there?”

Her heart lurched so violently she nearly choked on it.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t believe.

Because if she believed, if she answered, and the door was empty… then that would mean she truly was gone. Too far gone.

So Reese sat there, dead silent, staring at nothing, while her ears rang with the sound of a voice she shouldn’t be hearing.

Her hand shook as it gripped the knob. She didn’t even remember deciding to open it—her body just moved, desperate, reckless, terrified. The hinges wailed, the door creaked, and then—

Builderman.

Her lungs emptied all at once. Her knees nearly buckled. And before she could think—before she could stop herself—she slammed into him, arms locking so tightly around his little frame that he staggered backward.

Builderman flinched immediately, violently, like a man struck by lightning. His shoulders locked, his breath hitching sharp. For a second, too long a second, it felt like he was going to push her away.

But she couldn’t stop. Her words came out broken, panicked, spilling over themselves:

“Where were you?! Where did you go—what happened—where are the others—are they here—what’s going on—you can’t just disappear like that—you can’t just—”

Her breath kept stuttering, choking on the flood of questions. Her face pressed into his shoulder, her grip crushing, frantic.

Builderman tried—he tried—to answer, stammering something, but her words overlapped, drowning him out, her panic too loud, too desperate. His hands hovered awkwardly at her sides, unsure, twitching.

And then he stopped trying. Just… gave up. Slowly, hesitantly, his arms wrapped around her.

It was clumsy, awkward—he was short, much shorter than she remembered, her chin practically resting on the crown of his head—but it was a hug. A real one.

Builderman’s laugh came out wrong—too sharp, too brittle, splintering in the air like cracked glass. His eyes flicked to hers for half a second, wide and wild, before darting away.

“Y-ya mind—hah—lettin' go of me?” His voice broke halfway through, forced into something almost cheerful, but his throat was raw.

The second her grip loosened, he wrenched free with a twitching smile that didn’t reach his eyes, then bolted down the corridor like a man possessed. His footsteps pounded—half stumble, half sprint—until he crashed into his office.

The door slammed shut behind him. His hands trembled as he yanked open the drawer, shoving papers and useless relics aside. And there it was.

The banhammer.

He froze. His chest heaved like he’d been underwater for too long. His fingers curled around the handle, and the weight hit him like an old memory. Oh gods. The grip fit perfectly. Too perfectly. His jaw clenched, a strangled noise escaping his throat. He’d missed the stupid thing. Missed it more than he’d admit, more than he’d ever confess.

The door creaked when Reese pushed it open, the sound cutting through the heavy silence of Builderman’s office. He hadn’t noticed her right away—he was hunched over his desk, one massive hand scrubbing down his face, the other clutching the hammer.

“David?” Reese’s voice was careful, tentative. Too soft for her usual energy.

He flinched. Sat up straighter in a heartbeat, forcing his posture back into something collected. “Reese—ya shouldn’t be barging in like that, darlin’,” he said, that country drawl stretched thin, his tone trying for firm but wobbling just enough to betray the cracks.

Reese ignored the scolding. She stepped inside fully, shutting the door behind her. Her chest tightened at the sight of him—his eyes were bloodshot, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful, papers scattered across the desk in a storm of desperate searching.

“Where were you?” she asked, her voice sharper this time, though laced with worry. She moved closer, scanning his face for answers he wasn’t giving.

Builderman laughed once, hollow. “Ain’t no time fer explainin', not with everythin’ goin’ to hell. I keep tellin’ myself—if I just keep it all movin’, keep it together—then maybe… maybe this whole place don’t fall apart.” His accent dragged the words heavy, weighted.

Reese froze halfway to his desk, her stomach dropping. “David…”

He looked up at her then, and the mask almost broke completely. His eyes weren’t just tired. They were terrified.

Reese’s concern snapped into urgency. She rushed the last few steps, slamming her palms against the desk, leaning forward. “You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on. Don’t—don’t sit here pretending you’ve got it under control when you clearly don’t!”

Builderman’s mouth went dry. He tried to steady himself, but his words came out broken, rushed, stumbling over one another like a man sprinting on loose stones.

“Reese—Reese, w-we—we need to—w-we gotta find the others, we have to—” His hand jerked at his own shirt collar, tugging as though the fabric was choking him. His chest heaved, the frantic thrum of his pulse visible in his throat.

His eyes darted to the shadows, like if he stared hard enough he’d see them standing there. “I-It’s not just me—i-it can’t just be me, y-you don’t get it—if I’m out, then th-they—they must be out too! Shedletsky, he—he always said—he always said there wasn’t a door unless you built one, and h-he—”

He cut himself off with a stuttering breath, eyes flickering wide, almost boyish in their fear. His hands were already shaking, fumbling toward Reese’s arm, desperate for something steady.

Builderman’s words were tripping over themselves, spiraling into frantic half-sentences and muttered code fragments, when it happened—

knock. knock.

The sound rattled against the silence of the hallway. Reese stiffened, her breath catching.

Builderman froze mid-syllable, head snapping toward the door like a hunting dog catching a scent. His pupils blew wide, his whole body going taut. For a second, he didn’t breathe. Then—

“…John..?”

The name cracked out of him, raw and unsteady. He didn’t wait for Reese’s reply, didn’t stop to think. He lunged for the door, wrenching it open with shaking hands.

And there he was. Shedletsky.

Builderman didn’t even give him a chance to speak. He slammed into him with a force that nearly knocked them both backward, arms locking tight around Shedletsky’s shoulders. His grip was iron, desperate, clinging—like a man who had been drowning and finally, finally found a hand to hold onto.

“John—JOHN—oh God, oh God, you’re here, you’re here—” His words tumbled out muffled against Shedletsky’s shirt. He buried his face in the man’s shoulder, breath shaking, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “I-I thought—I thought I was gonna go outta my damn mind, I thought—”

His voice cracked into a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, but something far more brittle.

He didn’t let go. If anything, his arms tightened, his fingers fisting the fabric at Shedletsky’s back like if he loosened even an inch, Shedletsky would disappear

Builderman’s breath shuddered against Shedletsky’s shoulder, uneven and frantic. His voice cracked, tumbling out in panicked stammers between sob-dry gulps of air—

“Sh–Shedletsky—oh God, Shedletsky—I thought I was the only one, I-I cain’t—cain’t do this alone, don’t—don’t leave me, please don’t leave me again—”

His arms tightened until his knuckles blanched, clutching Shedletsky like if he dared let go, the man would dissolve back into the void that had swallowed them before. Builderman shook so hard his teeth clicked together, his voice dropping into incoherent mumbles about Dusekkar, about the others, his words tripping all over Shedletsky’s name like it was a lifeline.

Shedletsky inhaled, steadying himself, his palm coming up to rub slow circles across Builderman’s back. The movement was familiar, almost practiced, from those long months in Forsaken when this clinginess had been the only thing keeping Builderman from shattering apart completely.

“Easy, easy…” Shedletsky said softly, a nervous laugh curling at the edge of his words. “Hey. I’m here. Ain’t goin’ anywhere. You hear me? I’m right here.”

Builderman whimpered something muffled into his chest, clinging harder, like he wanted to merge into him. Shedletsky just kept patting and rubbing his back, his own posture half-awkward but tolerant, the way someone might hold a wild animal that only trusted them.

Over Builderman’s shaking shoulder, Shedletsky caught Reese in the hall. Her face was pale, caught between shock and hesitation. He lifted one hand—the only one not pinned—into a small wave, his smile sheepish and a little nervous.

“You must be confused, eh, Reese?” he said, like this was just another day. “Don’t… uh. Don’t mind him. He gets like this sometimes.”

Builderman’s grip only tightened, burying his face deeper against him, muttering his name over and over.

Builderman wouldn’t let go. His fingers dug into Shedletsky’s shirt like claws, his breath dampening the fabric. Shedletsky’s smile stayed, practiced and easy, but his eyes flicked toward Reese with a flicker of paranoia. He knew her—of course he did—but Forsaken had a way of twisting memory, of making you doubt the familiar. He hadn’t seen her in years. Was she real? Was this real?

Still, his hand never stopped its slow rhythm across Builderman’s back. He forced the corner of his mouth upward into a warmer smile.

“Reese… yeah, I remember,” he said, voice light, casual—maybe too casual. “I’ll… I’ll explain later. All of it. Promise.” His tone dipped on that last word, like a promise was something he’d been scared to make for a long time.

Before Reese could respond, the air in the room bent. The lights above flickered, warped, and a jagged tearing sound cracked through the air like someone had split reality with bare hands.

And then—

Thud.

Dusekkar slammed into the ground, knees buckling, palms splayed on the floor as if he’d been spit out of a storm. His whole body swayed, dizzy, his head jerking as he tried to orient himself.

“Stumble and fall, yet here I stand, dragged back again to mortal land. The world it spins, my stomach churns—but through the dark, the fire still burns.”

His gaze darted up, catching sight of the two clinging men. His eyes softened instantly, and without hesitation—without asking—he staggered forward, arms shooting out. He wrapped both Builderman and Shedletsky into a crushing group hug.

Builderman gasped, muffled between the two, his cling turning desperate again, clutching both men like he would vanish if he loosened his grip.

Shedletsky let out a startled laugh, half-nervous, half-relieved, though his eyes were still sharp, darting past Dusekkar’s shoulder toward Reese, paranoia flickering behind the smile he kept plastered on.

Dusekkar squeezed tighter, his voice vibrating low, wrapping around them like a chant:

“Lost, forsaken, yet not apart, bound by threads that stitch the heart. cling, my brothers, fear no night—together we will find the light.”

Builderman’s breath hitched, his face pressed between both of them, shaking as if he couldn’t believe this was happening—that they were here.

Shedletsky’s smile stayed plastered on, but his jaw ached from holding it so tight. Dusekkar’s arms were iron, Builderman’s grip a vise, and Reese—poor Reese—looked like she was about to fold in half from sheer exhaustion.

“Alright,” Shedletsky muttered, voice calm but with that slight edge of panic buried beneath it. “Alright, alright, let’s… let’s sit down before somebody actually keels over.”

It took effort, but he pried Builderman’s fingers off his jacket just enough to guide him toward one of the battered chairs scattered around the room. He planted him in one with a firm push on the shoulders. Builderman stayed hunched, knees pulled in, trembling like a kicked dog.

“Breathe,” Shedletsky said quietly, crouching in front of him. His smile softened just a fraction. “Just breathe, okay? You’re here. You’re fine. No one’s taking you anywhere.”

Then he turned and caught Dusekkar before the man could start pacing. Dusekkar’s eyes were wild, dizzy from the teleport, and his lips already shaping some fevered rhyme. Shedletsky clamped a hand on his shoulder.

“Sit.” His tone sharpened, not unkind but commanding. “No riddles, not right now. You’ll fall on your ass if you keep spinning like that.”

Dusekkar blinked, swaying, then allowed himself to be pushed into another chair. His head lolled back, muttering:

“Spirals twist, my mind does quake, I fear the ground itself may break…”

Shedletsky let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, that’s great. Just… do it sitting down.”

He glanced toward Reese. She was leaned against the wall, dark circles deep under her eyes, her whole posture slumped. He gave her a small, tired smile—less paranoid, more genuine this time.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got them,” he said, like he was promising her too. “You just… breathe for once. I’ll keep them from losing it.”

Builderman’s breathing came in uneven pulls. His hands fidgeted, tapping his knees, desperate for something to hold onto. Dusekkar kept rocking faintly in his chair, humming under his breath like he was trying to stitch his thoughts into rhythm.

Shedletsky finally dropped into a chair between them both, leaning forward, his arms spread over their backs so neither could tip out of their seats. He forced another easy grin.

“See? We’re sitting. We’re not exploding. Nobody’s losing their minds tonight—not on my watch.”

His eyes flicked again toward Reese, the paranoia creeping back in despite the warmth in his voice. “And… later, I’ll explain. All of it.”

The slam of the door nearly knocked Shedletsky out of his chair. Builderman jerked like a gunshot had gone off, curling into himself tighter, and Dusekkar snapped upright, words already bubbling like a kettle about to spill.

Clockwork stumbled in first. His hands clutched the doorway as though the frame were the only solid thing left in the world. His clothes were crooked, his breathing sharp and too quick, each inhale a gasp that almost didn’t make it to the bottom of his lungs.

Behind him, StickMasterLuke crashed in like he’d run the whole way—face pale, shirt damp with sweat, his eyes darting over every corner of the room like a trapped animal. He nearly slammed into his back before catching himself, chest heaving, fingers twitching as if he couldn’t decide whether to claw at his hair or the air itself.

“WHAT—” Luke wheezed, almost choking on the word. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!”

Clockwork’s breath hitched, high and ragged. “I was—I was—” He clutched at his chest like he could squeeze the memory away. “Fuckass C00lkid, and then—then my vision just—just cut and I—”

He broke off with a strangled sob, dragging himself fully into the room, shaking so hard he knees knocked together.

Luke staggered forward, grabbing Shedletsky by the arm, nearly yanking him from his chair. His grip was frantic, knuckles white. “Did you do this? Did you—did you drag us here too?!” His voice cracked in the middle, breaking into something more desperate than angry.

Shedletsky’s smile froze—then faltered. His arm instinctively went around Builderman to keep him from tipping over, while his free hand patted Luke’s trembling wrist.

“Hey, hey, hey—breathe, both of you,” Shedletsky said, voice straining against the panic bleeding into the air. “You’re safe. You’re not losing your minds. It’s—yeah, it’s real. You’re here, but you’re safe.”

Clockwork sank into the nearest chair like his legs had given out, rocking forward with her arms wrapped around his stomach, breaths shallow and quick. Luke stayed standing, clinging to Shedletsky’s sleeve like it was a lifeline, chest rising and falling like a trapped animal seconds from bolting.

Reese, still against the wall, squeezed her eyes shut and muttered hoarsely, “I can’t— I can’t babysit six of you at once.”

Dusekkar started laughing softly, words slurring into a jagged rhyme:

“Clock that ticks, and stick that breaks, the world is bending, all’s at stake—”

“DUSEKKAR.” Shedletsky snapped, sharper than before. “Not now.”

The room was a mess of ragged breaths, twitching hands, and unspooled nerves. Shedletsky tried to keep them anchored, one arm stretched toward Luke, the other still steadying Builderman, his voice caught between reassurance and pleading.

“Just sit down. Please. All of you. Before this turns into a goddamn psych ward.”

Shedletsky clapped his hands together once. Too loud, he realized immediately, wincing at the look Reese shot him from the couch. The poor girl looked like she hadn’t slept in three days.

“Alright,” Shedletsky said, softer this time, corralling everyone toward the chairs around the table. “Let’s just… sit. Okay? We’re all grown adults. Nobody’s twelve.”

Builderman muttered something under his breath about how it feels like twelve sometimes, but he pulled out a chair anyway. Dusekkar dragged one back with a screech that made Reese physically flinch.

“Good. Great. Progress.” Shedletsky slid into his seat like a referee ready to blow a whistle. “Now—before anyone starts foaming at the mouth—let’s breathe.”

Dusekkar crossed his arms, glaring. “I’m breathing fine.”

Builderman gave him a side-eye. “Barely.”

“See, this,” Shedletsky said quickly, holding up a hand like a stop sign. “This is what I mean. We don’t need jabs. No one’s here to prove who’s the bigger man.”

There was a short silence. The adults still had plenty to say but chose to keep their mouths shut for now.

Reese rubbed at her eyes with both hands, muffled under her palms: “Thank god.”

Shedletsky leaned back in his chair, watching both Builderman and Dusekkar like they were two dogs on opposite sides of a fence. “Look, we can disagree without trying to kill each other. That’s what adults do. Right?”

Neither answered, but at least nobody was yelling. For now, Shedletsky counted that as a win.