What could he say? The place cleaned up nicely- for a money printing firm. The concept had always confused him, why let people pay real money for a larger amount of counterfeit dollars? Wouldn’t you always be making less money than you lost? It made more sense to just keep the faked bucks to yourself, and buy things from other people.

But what did he know?

He shook his head at the thoughts, which filled his idle brain, as he thumbed through the boxes of files. He felt uncomfortable about the room, looking up frequently past the windows in front of him. It was open, anyone who walked by would see him. Even though half the windows were blocked by some construction tarp, the ones right there, right in front of him, remained open to the prying eyes of minges and admins.

He slowly tipped his hardhat further over his brow. The builder outfit had got him this far, hopefully it would at least keep his identity safe if they did find him.

For once, another server’s pointshop had been useful to him.

He lifted a manilla folder out of its resting place in the file case. He sniffed the paper, it smelled just old enough to be what he was looking for. Carefully, he separated the covers and opened the file. Money poured out and spilled to the floor; but so did a tiny portable tape deck. It’s clumsy fall was softened by the bright green carpet. Sighing, he kneeled down and picked up the deck.

Turning it about in his hands, he examined it.

It was the average CTR-119, just a simple silver and black plastic player, for recording and playback. A black piece of electrical tape covered the clear plastic viewing port. In light blue sharpie marker, it read ‘Donators’. He nodded to himself, it was the one thing he was looking for. Checking behind him, he opened the deck and pulled out the tape. He deftly pocketed it, slipping the now empty deck back into the folder and tossing it on a desk.

Once he was finished, he turned around and made for the door. His heart pounded in his chest, he’d done it. Now, just to leave the server before they found him. He gripped the handle and pulled open the door, light from the outside pouring into the darkened room.

His eyes adjusted to the bright light, and he cursed under his breath as he saw the metro-cop standing in the hall, blocking his escape. Worse, the other player had already seen him.
“Hey! what the hell are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be in the West Wing, y’know, where you’re being paid to work?!” The cop immediately shouted as he saw the construction worker.

He said nothing in response, swiftly reaching into his bright orange vest and pulling out a silenced pistol. Without hesitation, he aimed and fired. The officer stumbled back and collapsed, blood spilling from the gaping wound in his forehead.

“YOU ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥! RDM! ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ RDM! THE ADMINS ARE GOING TO HEAR ABOUT THIS!” the cop screamed from beyond the grave, afterwards his body vanished. It left behind only the glistening blood stains.

The worker sighed, shaking his head in dismay, before stowing the gun and breaking into a sprint. Of course they’d find him. He guessed it was probably inevitable. After all, everything that could possibly go wrong, would. Bolting past the wine racks, he soon arrived in the unpainted, unfinished West Wing. He skid to a halt, catching his breath and beginning to walk. Hopefully, he’d blend in with the other mappers, who he felt were a rather slow and lazy bunch.

He sniffed the air, filled with the smell of oil, sawdust, and paint. It made it harder to breath, but he wasn’t far from the exit. Just a few more turns and he’d be on the roof. Taking things slower now, he lifted the tape from his pocket. He silently examined it as he pulled a walkman from his vest, donning earbuds and jamming the tape into the player. He pushed the play button with a satisfying chunking sound.

A feminine voice began to recite names. He hoped they were in numeric-alphabetic order, it would make the process easier.

“0123AdMiNjOe3210” she started, letting the name sink in for a moment, before continuing. On and on.

After each name, his deeper voice repeated softly, just barely a whisper, as he put the names to memory. It would only take one simple search to find them now. He grinned as thoughts of revenge filled his mind, reciting the names with a smile.

“... B34NC0UN73R …”

He pushed open the dark red metal doors to the outside, stepping over unused entities and undecided props. He giggled madly as he made it onto the roof. The warm sun beat down on the bright roof.

But, it didn't dampen his mood.

"... C00LDUD36969 ..."

His vengeance was finally at hand. What did he have to be angry about? Sure, there may be a few thousand names, but he'd find them all, in time.