Liam didn’t yell. He opened the admin script, highlighted a block of code, and deleted it. Then he typed: /admin remove AxeKick CodeBit: /admin remove PixelPrincess CodeBit: /admin remove Vex He added one new line to the script before saving:
For the first hour, they were responsible—spawning vehicles, healing each other, toggling weather. Then AxeKick got bored. /kill PixelPrincess She respawned, laughing. Then Vex joined in: Vex: /fire AxeKick Chaos, but funny chaos. Liam watched the logs, smirking.
The hidden log panel showed Vex’s command, timestamped. No bug. Just a fat-fingered shortcut.
He replied: “Sorry. The admin panel is read-only now. But you’re welcome to play the game like everyone else.” admin require script roblox
if not game:GetService("Players").LocalPlayer.UserId == 123456789 then script:Destroy() end (Only his own user ID could ever run admin commands again.)
Liam unbanned AxeKick, but the damage was done. Accusations flew. AxeKick accused PixelPrincess of being power-hungry. She accused him of ruining the test. Vex tried to mediate, but then accidentally typed: /resetall The entire server—buildings, loot, progress—wiped. Twenty hours of Liam’s test data, gone.
And for the first time, Echo Ridge felt fair. If you'd like, I can also turn this into a short comic script or a fake Discord log format for a creepypasta-style read. Liam didn’t yell
Liam, known in-game as , spent six months building his survival game, Echo Ridge . It was polished, fair, and largely ignored. To stress-test a new admin system he’d scripted from scratch, he invited his three best online friends— AxeKick , PixelPrincess , and Vex —into a private VIP server.
The Silent Ban
A week later, AxeKick sent Liam a DM: “Hey, can you re-add me as admin? I promise I’ll behave.” Then AxeKick got bored
“That was a joke,” she said quickly. “I’ll unban him.”
Liam looked at his new script—which now required a physical in-game keycard, biometric check, and a 10-second delay on every command.
Liam didn’t yell. He opened the admin script, highlighted a block of code, and deleted it. Then he typed: /admin remove AxeKick CodeBit: /admin remove PixelPrincess CodeBit: /admin remove Vex He added one new line to the script before saving:
For the first hour, they were responsible—spawning vehicles, healing each other, toggling weather. Then AxeKick got bored. /kill PixelPrincess She respawned, laughing. Then Vex joined in: Vex: /fire AxeKick Chaos, but funny chaos. Liam watched the logs, smirking.
The hidden log panel showed Vex’s command, timestamped. No bug. Just a fat-fingered shortcut.
He replied: “Sorry. The admin panel is read-only now. But you’re welcome to play the game like everyone else.”
if not game:GetService("Players").LocalPlayer.UserId == 123456789 then script:Destroy() end (Only his own user ID could ever run admin commands again.)
Liam unbanned AxeKick, but the damage was done. Accusations flew. AxeKick accused PixelPrincess of being power-hungry. She accused him of ruining the test. Vex tried to mediate, but then accidentally typed: /resetall The entire server—buildings, loot, progress—wiped. Twenty hours of Liam’s test data, gone.
And for the first time, Echo Ridge felt fair. If you'd like, I can also turn this into a short comic script or a fake Discord log format for a creepypasta-style read.
Liam, known in-game as , spent six months building his survival game, Echo Ridge . It was polished, fair, and largely ignored. To stress-test a new admin system he’d scripted from scratch, he invited his three best online friends— AxeKick , PixelPrincess , and Vex —into a private VIP server.
The Silent Ban
A week later, AxeKick sent Liam a DM: “Hey, can you re-add me as admin? I promise I’ll behave.”
“That was a joke,” she said quickly. “I’ll unban him.”
Liam looked at his new script—which now required a physical in-game keycard, biometric check, and a 10-second delay on every command.