Master Vex and the Art of Never Losing at Cellblock

     In pursuit of service to our dear readers, your intrepid and only mildly intimidated reporters journeyed deep into the bowels of the Darigan Citadel to seek an audience with the one Neopian who has turned captivity into a competitive sport, transformed tedium into triumph, and, most impressively, has never lost a single game of Cellblock (or anything really, to hear him tell it) to anyone ever. Trust us, he brought it up approximately every six and a half minutes. Of course, we are speaking of the elusive and possibly mildly unstable Master Vex, the Citadel’s cunning prison warden, Cellblock champion, and possibly the most bored individual in all of Neopia.

     Here’s how our strange, slightly terrifying, but oddly enlightening interview unfolded.

     “You’re late,” said Master Vex curtly before we even entered his chambers. Not because your highly professional and timely reporters were actually late – in fact, we were at least five minutes early! – but it appears that Master Vex always says that for dramatic effect. He went on to add, “In Cellblock, lateness is defeat. And defeat is... well, something I do not personally experience and know very little about.”

     The dungeon master was seated at a table so scratched and worn from decades of intense, soul-draining strategy games that it looked like it had weathered every single Neopian war. On it sat the iconic Cellblock board, already half-set with tokens. Yet again, Vex had begun a game with himself.

     “Would you like to play a quick round before we talk?” he asked with a sharp grin. We quickly declined, citing sudden and mysterious wrist injuries from transcribing too many interviews and started our own by asking what a typical day was like in the dungeons.

     Master Vex replied, “Unchanging. Gloriously, mathematically, perfectly unchanging. I awaken at precisely 7:03am, brush my teeth for 62.4 seconds, then perform a 37-step routine to ensure that none of the prisoners have escaped. None ever do. Not because the security is particularly great – to be quite honest, the walls are mostly ornamental – but because they are all too busy losing at Cellblock.”

     “After that, I make my rounds, listen to Number Five scream nonsense about plot holes in history books and Jelly World, feed Clop three hay cubes, and then start my morning Cellblock warm-up. I play twelve matches against myself. Naturally, I win them all. Then it is time for my breakfast, which is always a slightly stale scone, cold coffee, and a good old-fashioned psychological breakdown... from my opponent. By 9 AM, I have already beaten Clop three times, and he still thinks two Clops means yes. It’s quite sad, really.”

     After your hard-working reporters shared a brief but terrified glance between themselves, we gathered the strength to ask Master Vex what inspired him to create the game of Cellblock.

     “Yes,” he replied solemnly. “Desperation. Absolute, soul-curdling boredom. Cellblock was born out of necessity. The guards were bored. The prisoners were bored. Even the rats were forming knitting circles. I had to do something. So I invented the greatest game known to dungeon-kind – an intellectual battlefield of cunning, foresight, and absolutely no mercy. There are only so many times you can tolerate listening to Number Five insist that Jelly World is real, you know? I started scribbling patterns on the dungeon walls. Patterns became boards. Boards became rules. Then the tokens appeared and the game you see now began to take shape. Well, they were actually just two different buttons from my uniform, but innovation often starts with buttons. Before long, I had built a game so devilishly brilliant that none could defeat me. Except me. And I refuse to lose to myself out of professional courtesy.”

     Concerned that we were starting to lose control of this interview, your indefatigable interviewers decided to switch tactics and ask Master Vex if he had any tips for beginners hoping to avoid a humiliating defeat.

     He leaned in, eyes gleaming darkly. “Yes. Do not even consider playing. If you must play, remember this: Always control the middle. Always plan five moves ahead. And always pretend you do not see your opponent’s strategy right until the moment you crush it underfoot. Psychological warfare is 70% of the game. The other 25% is raw, tactical, cold-blooded, board domination.”

     “Actually, wait,” he corrected, frowning slightly, “it’s more like 30% tactical dominance, 30% psychological warfare, 30% raw instinct, and 30% excellent posture. You may notice that adds up to 100%. That’s why you will always lose. Also, do not get distracted by the rats whispering moves into your ears. They simply don’t know anything. Except Greg. Greg is a tactical genius.”

     We noticed that neither of those numbers add up to 100%, but avoid mentioning it and instead choose to ask how the prisoners feel about playing Cellblock constantly.

     “Well, the first few are usually optimistic. They think it’s ‘just a game’ and they might ‘win their freedom.’ Ha! Adorable,” Master Vex answers with a broad grin. “But by round three, even the Yellow Knight is sobbing into his helmet. And Haskol pretends he is above the game, but I have seen him sneak down here at night to try to beat the version I made from a talking mop. Spoiler: Even the mop always wins against him. Galgarrath, bless him, still insists on using brute force Cellblock strategies. He once knocked over the board mid-game and then tried to declare victory. I declared him wrong.”

     We asked the Master if anyone has ever come close to beating him or winning their freedom. Immediately, we regretted the choice as Vex’s eyes darkened and the candles seemingly flickered.

     “There was a time,” he muttered, “long ago, when someone reached four in a row. One move away. Prisoner Number Five. He had a strategy, a vision he said. He said the secret to victory was ‘channelling the vibrations from Jelly World.’ Naturally, I assumed he was insane. Turns out he was just really, really good at pretending to make a move while actually hiding an extra piece up his sleeve. Still lost, of course. But I admired the effort.”

     Next, we asked Master Vex if he had any dreams that didn’t involve Cellblock. Naturally, his answer was primarily about Cellblock.

     “I dream of one day playing a perfect Cellblock game. No errors. No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered strategy. A game so flawless it makes every other game look like a Petpet puzzle. Also, I would like a window. Just one. Really, it doesn’t even need to open. Just some indication that the sun still exists out there.”

     Since we seemed to be making one bad choice after another in this interview, we went ahead and asked Master Vex what his relationship with Lord Darigan is like these days.

     “Professional,” Vex replied curtly and with a tight-lipped smile. “He trusts me to keep the prisoners contained, and I trust him not to reorganise the dungeon again like he did during the Kass incident. Nothing ruins a good Cellblock league like your game room becoming an oubliette overnight. I did help him recover his sanity once, you know. Nobody ever talks about that. Just a little thing called saving the Citadel from self-destruction. You would think that would earn you a few bonus tokens. But no, I got a new mop and a pat on the head.”

     We decide to pose one final question: Does he ever plan to let someone win? Just once? For the sake of morale?

     Vex rose from the table, affronted. “I will let someone win the day a Slorg beats a Shoyru in aerial combat while juggling flaming omelettes. Until then, I remain undefeated. Unyielding. Unquestionably brilliant. And I have just won this game. Against myself. Again!”

     As we wrapped up the interview and backed cautiously toward the exit (he kept asking if we were sure we didn’t want to play “just one match”), we glanced back to see Master Vex staring at the Cellblock board, utterly content in the glow of his own genius.

     Say what you will about the Darigan Citadel’s questionable architecture or tendency to float ominously over peaceful territories; at its heart lies a dungeon master who, for better or worse, has found his true calling. And Neopia? Neopia will never win a game of Cellblock again - at least not while Master Vex draws breath.

     The End.