The Horrors of the Races Simulator

This is a story, one has kept secret. Others who know of this, dare not to talk about it. For once, the greatness of the Royal Kingdom of Habbo was only a dream. Just as now, the myths of its past, are only myths. But I am the one who dares to speak of these myths in truth. And to show you that all things must start somewhere. Whether it be from the hands of the sky, or the words of a book. A book who's story should never be told, but never be forgotten.

The hard workers had grown tired, as the curtain of night was drawn over the Kingdom. FTF, FTS, and FTT were in silence. But resting on the third desk of FTF, was a book bound in dark leather. Intricate patterns, woven in gold across the spine. And in dangerous red lettering, a phrase was clear across its cover.

"THE RACES SIMULATOR"

The book was abandoned, laid to rot by its anonymous owner. A curious elf was the first to pick up the book from its rest, he snuck off to the hallway to read it. The book spoke of tales and myths, scribbled onto cold pages in a thick dark ink. As the pages turned and folded, bricks fell onto the floor, crumbling from a blank wall that sat beside the two doors in the hallway. Revealed from behind the wall was a long dark room that had been left forgotten. The elf ran at the sight of this discovery. The hole was covered by a huge portrait and never looked at again. The book was thrown from the highest room, in the tallest tower. And as the memory of the book faded, only it's secrets remained.

It was the night after the Saturday General Meeting, everyone returned to their stations and all was joyful. But on the way back to the Kingdom, a young werewolf heard something from the corridors, it called to him and guided him towards the portrait. The picture was a woman, dressed in wealthy apparel and jewelry. Only, her eyes seemed to move back and forth. The werewolf lifted the portrait from its place, finding the hole behind. He studied it, and as he turned to leave a bony hand reached from the darkness and gripped his scruff, hauling him in. And with a growl, a wince, and a grunt. The young wolf was never seen nor heard from again.

On this day, the room is in use. It's a room you all know, you all visit and you all expect to be safe. But hiding in the fountain, or under the chair, is that boney hand ready to haul you in. And haunting the walls is that young, defenseless and yearning werewolf who only wishes to be set free. So the next time you smile and congratulate your Races Trainee on passing. Remember that everything that happens in that room, happens for a reason. Be wary, for that reason could be a great one. Or it could be a sinister one.