Written by Tridecalogism.

This file was found on a laptop belonging to a retired government official.

Anyone familiar with Creepypastas throughout history will recognize the cabinet- Polybius was an addictive game thought to have been developed by the government to test mind-control technology.


So excited. I found the cabinet. It's in good condition, just dusty. Polybius. Such a majestic cabinet. So simplistic. This will be my masterpiece.

CREEPYPASTA- Polybius Reloaded

CREEPYPASTA- Polybius Reloaded


Disaster. I've been toying with the cabinet, getting it prepared. The wires! The wires are corroded. The cabinet and its contents are still intact, but I've not been able to get it to play coin-operated. Now I know why. The wires leading from the mechanism to the motherboard are corroded beyond repair. Luckily it was just on one side- I can replace the wire, but the materials I need are expensive and scarce. Referring back to the blueprints, I find that I need silver wires. Silver! But it will be worth it.


I've done it. The game is fully functional. Every side repainted and restored, every wire re-soldered, every part perfect. I got my nephew to play it, and I verified that it is an original. He can't sleep... He doesn't think I know, but I do. He sneaks into my workshop at night for a fix, another round of this wonderful game. Ahhh, I can't wait. I just can't wait until my own additions have been added.


It's been completed. I've added in the wiring and locked the coin slot shut to prevent further tampering until my plan is underway. I've already contacted the local arcade, [CENSORED] about renting out the cabinet. My nephew threw a huge fit when I told him he couldn't play anymore. I can't let this be traced back to me.


He finally got over it, I think. He's much calmer now, even though I didn't let him play. He asks about it still, like asking about a girl at school. It's cute. Like he's got a crush on my cabinet.


The little bastard. He played it. He broke into my workshop and cut the lock with bolt cutters to get into the game itself. He must've been watching me install my hardware. He played it, and when I walked in on him, he ran. I removed the power supply, and it's currently in a box under my bed. I just hope it doesn't affect him...


He killed himself. Didn't leave a note, just offed himself with his shoelaces in the closet. I don't think they suspect a thing- he was a troubled kid, didn't really have any friends. I feel horrible. The funeral is next week. Was it because of the game? Dear god, I hope it isn't that strong. I hope this was just the final straw for him.


I never should have played it myself. I was so curious, so curious as to what could have caused him to kill himself. Was it that fantastic? Was it such an ecstatic feeling that one would kill themselves rather than do without? I found out. I played it. The game itself wasn't too interesting. But I lost myself in the colors, the spinning shapes, the beauty. I came away from the five-minute session with a buzz not unlike that of sex but so much stronger... So much stronger that even now I'm itching to play again. I must. I don't want to, but I must. Is this how addicts feel?


I'm so near to my goal. But I don't want to give it up. It's mine. I don't care if my wife feels I'm spending too much time in my workshop. I didn't even come to bed last night. I haven't actually slept in days. I can feel my mind fraying at the edges. I never should have played it. It's mine.


My wife sold the game. She sold it to the arcade that I was going to sell it to. I got so angry, I... I hit her with a wrench. She's bleeding and she's on the ground and she won't wake up. I'm so scared. Why did I do that? Why did she have to sell it? Why? I wish I hadn't played it. I can feel the want, the need filling me like ants crawling into my skin. It's starting to hurt. Physically hurt. I can't even go outside in the day- It's too bright. The stars are bright through my sunglasses. I have to go bury my wife, now. I'll go to the arcade and post more soon.


It hurts. But I can handle it. I have an old friend who sold me two bags of an amazing drug called Oxycontin. The pain is less... but I can't make it stop unless I stop at the arcade. I noticed there was a long line at the arcade, six or seven people waiting in front of me to play. At least I know I'm not suffering alone.


Mother in law showed up today. She hasn't heard from Molly in a few days. I told her we had a fight and she left. Not exactly a lie, but she bought it. She never much liked me, my Molly. She assumed she'd be back in a few months. She's done it before, and it gives me time to decide what my plan is. I just realised that the cut I'm getting from the arcade owner for the cabinet is just going right back into the cabinet. He says I should get a cut because I brought him his most popular game. The crowd around the machine is like a crowd of addicts. Tired, haggard, all with the same knowing expression and greedy hands when I bring them a bag of quarters. I wish I had destroyed the damned thing when my nephew had died.


The drugs have stopped working. Originally I was just using the Oxycontin to stop the pain from getting too much to bear so fast, with maybe one arcade visit every few days, but the drugs have started wearing off. I can't help but go almost every day now, and I can't take any more of these pills without hurting myself. I'm going to try buying back the cabinet tomorrow.


I talked to the owner about buying the game back, and he told me in no uncertain terms to fuck off. I told him I needed it, that he had no idea what it was like to play this game. I spilled my guts. How I was going to use the old programming, the programming I had researched in my time at the pentagon that drew people in for that experiment, of the research results in Maine. I was just wanting to make a quick buck renting out an addictive game at his store and pulling it in 50-50. He wasn't mad- he was just more adamant that he wanted to keep it. He didn't give me any quarters, either. Greedy fuck.


I've done it again. I was at the machine, playing it when he tapped me on the shoulder and told me he was closing for the night. I wasn't finished. He tapped me harder, then pushed me when I ignored him. And... I don't know what came over me. One second I was looking at this fat Italian, and the next I was sitting on top of him with my hands around his throat and he wasn't moving. I killed him.

I turned around and smashed the screen of the machine in with my fist, and ripped the motherboard out and snapped it in half. I'm at the end of my rope. The pain is returning, and I can't bear it for much longer. If anyone finds this diary, make sure it goes public. I'm leaving this text file open on my computer while I play a few rounds of roulette with my revolver. I'm sorry. I never should have done it. I'm coming, Molly. I hope you'll forgive me.

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