127 Crimson Box!

"Ta dow! How ya like me now, Alfie!? Suck it up, bruh!" Dave laughed, overjoyed that he'd found a solution and bypassed the 'time-lock' on the doors, outsmarting the AI's plans once again.

Somewhere within the notional machinery and operational expanses of the Conquest game system; in a notional room with glowing white walls and no ceiling; an entity, who looked like a distinguished elderly gentleman wearing a black swallow-tailed tuxedo, sat at his workstation. If someone were to observe this notional old gentleman closely they would see a distended notional vein on his forehead pulse in agitated rhythm, his notional expression a study of frustrated wrath.

As a system AI he simply could not show favoritism to a player, but he could not show UN-favoritism either. So his only recourse was to 'suck it up' as a certain young player recently said. For now!