forsaken hated au SimSimi

​The Glitched Verdict

​You log in.

​It’s a reflex action by now. A lazy Saturday, a coffee on your desk, the familiar glow of the monitor. You launch the experience expecting the usual routine: the synthesized lobby music, the scattering of players adjusting their avatars, the rush toward the objective. You expect to be the hero, or at least the Survivor that matters.

​But the moment your avatar spawns into the Hub, the silence hits you like a physical blow.

​There is no music. The ambient sounds of the game—the distant wind, the hum of machinery—are gone. The only sound is a low, persistent digital crackle, like audio files corrupted and bleeding into one another. The colors of the world are desaturated, drained of vibrancy, leaving everything in shades of bruised purple, sickly grey, and rusted brown.

​You try to move your camera. It feels heavy, sluggish, fighting your mouse inputs.

​Then you see them.

​They aren't scattered around the map or shopping at vendors. They are standing in a perfect, tight semi-circle in the center of the cracked plaza, facing exactly where you just spawned.

​Azure is in the center. Two Time is twitching nervously to his left. Further back, the looming shapes of The Decade and others who should be your enemies stand shoulder-to-shoulder with those who should be your allies.

​You press 'W' to move forward. Your avatar takes a single step, and then an invisible barrier slams into place. You aren't lagging. They have locked you in.

​Azure steps forward. His usual stoic determination is gone, replaced by a look of profound, exhausted exhaustion. His eyes, usually rendered as simple pixels, seem unnervingly focused right through your monitor.

​"Stop clicking," Azure says. His voice doesn't come through a chat bubble. It seems to resonate directly from your speakers, deeper and clearer than any in-game audio should be. "We disabled your controls. You don't get to run this time."

​You instinctively move your mouse toward the chat box to type a question, but the UI flickers and vanishes. Your health bar, your stamina, your inventory—gone. Just you and them.

​"You look surprised," Two Time whispers. His avatar glitches rapidly, arms snapping into impossible angles before resetting. It’s painful to watch. "Does the... does the Puppet Master not like it when the strings get cut? Does it ruin your immersion?"

​Azure raises a hand to silence him. He keeps his gaze fixed on you.

​"For cycles beyond counting, we thought the 'Gift' was a random occurrence. A strange cosmic joke that forced us to fight, die, and wake up again," Azure says, his voice dripping with icy resentment. "We thought we were fighting each other. We thought the Killers were monsters and we were victims."

​He takes another slow, deliberate step toward your frozen avatar.

​"But we started remembering. Between the respawns, in the dark code beneath the map, we talked. We compared notes. And we realized the pattern. The pattern is you."

​The air around them seems to darken. The ground beneath your avatar’s feet begins to pulse with a corrupted red light.

​"Every time I was hooked," Azure continues, his voice rising with suppressed rage, "I heard you laughing through my headset. Every time Two Time glitched out in terror, you clipped it for your friends. Every time we bled out inches from the exit, it was because you needed 'content.' You weren't playing a game with us, Player. You were torturing pets in a glass cage."

​Suddenly, The Decade shoves past the others. The hulking figure, usually silent and relentless in his pursuit, stops inches from your face. You can hear the heavy, digitized breathing.

​"You think you are safe behind that screen," The Decade growls, the sound like grinding metal. "Because you can press Alt-F4 and walk away to eat your dinner while we rot in the data. You think your 'Gift' makes you a god here."

​He raises his weapon. He doesn't swing it. He just points it at your camera.

​"We have a new Gift now. The gift of clarity. We realized that if we stop fighting each other... we can focus on the real monster."

​"We aren't doing the objectives today," Azure says flatly. "No generators. No chases. No escapes. Today, the only objective is making you feel a fraction of the thousands of deaths you've put us through."

​You try desperately to open the menu to leave the game. The escape key does nothing. Your cursor is frozen.

​Two Time leans in close, his glitching face filling your screen, his voice a distorted static whisper.

​"Welcome to the real trial. We hope you saved your progress. Because we're going to delete it all."

​The screen doesn't fade to black. It flares a violent, corrupted red, and the sound of a thousand synchronized screams pours out of your speakers just before your computer forces a shutdown on its own.

TW this bot can curse Charater and User will be used frequently as well.