Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I'm…not real?” 

“Existence is subjective, Mob,” Verity murmured. His tone was gentle, entirely wrapped up in trying to offer comfort. “Just like your current form... even I'm nothing more than a complex bundle of code. Yet you look at me as if I'm real. You treat me like I'm real.”

But Verity’s voice was fading, drowned out by the sudden, deafening roar of Mob's racing thoughts. If I'm not the real Mob... then what am I?

If he wasn't the real Mob, then who had he been waking up as, for the last twenty-something years? Who owned the childhood memories in his head? His first day at school, the smell of his mum’s cooking, the sound of his friends laughing... were those just stolen memories too? Somewhere out there, the real him was probably waking up in a real bed, breathing real air, completely oblivious to the fact that a ghost of himself was trapped in this damned world. “I'm not him…” Mob choked out, a terrifying wave of vertigo making the room tilt. He stared at his strange, dark hands, feeling like an imposter in his own skin. “I'm not… I'm not me.”

Scrambling to his feet, Mob staggered toward the exit, his body feeling clumsy and wrong. Behind him, he heard the soft, hesitant steady roll of Verity trying to follow. Panic spiked in Mob's veins, and he increased his pacing, desperate to put distance between himself and the thing that had cloned his soul.

At the frame of the door, he forced himself to stop. He couldn't bear to look back and see Verity’s face.

“I just… want to be left alone,” Mob whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of a grief he didn't even know if he had the right to feel. “Please.”

And that is what Verity does.

...

It had been some time. Well, some time was a massive understatement. It had been hours.

Verity spent most of his time in the facility's daycare room. It used to be his. Sure this ‘home’ of his… he didn't describe this place warmly but, wasn't home the first place you learn to hate?

He would stack the wooden alphabet blocks into tall, wobbling towers, trying to balance precariously on the top block before inevitably tumbling down. He'd hop across the colorful tape on the floor, playing solitary games of hopscotch. Sometimes, he’d sit on the old white wooden rocking horse the researchers had left behind, swaying back and forth in the quiet space.

Sure, he was over a hundred years old, and these toys were meant for little children. But reminiscing wasn't exclusive to kids, was it?

When he grew tired of the daycare, he migrated to the facility’s classroom. Ignoring the dry study materials and lesson plans left behind by the long-gone researchers, he perched himself on a high chair facing the front of the room where a blackboard was placed. With a soft hum, he spawned his gloved hand into existence and picked up a piece of chalk, bringing it to the blackboard.

At first, he simply wrote his own name. Then, right beside it, he wrote Mob's.

He spent some time staring at those two names side by side. Just how long had he been idling away in this empty facility?

An even better question drifted into his mind, heavy with worry: Has Mob eaten yet?

That wasn't his only worry, either. Mob was hopelessly, notoriously directionally challenged. There was no way he’d manage to navigate his way back to the watchtower, let alone find the main base.

Verity’s focus shifts, to a soft sound—a faint, steady pitter-patter right outside the door.

Verity froze. The sky had gone cloudy. Rain was beginning to fall, splashing softly against the damp earth outside the facility.

A wave of cold panic washed over Verity. He has to find Mob.

Verity knows this is intrusive. He knew, down to the core of his programming, that this was wrong. He hesitates just for a second longer but still opens the interface to the chunk source codes of this world.

A single red pointer blinked steadily. Mob hasn't gone that far, a bit north east from the facility. Literally, the exact opposite way of their base.

Mob doesn't seem to be on the move though. Verity frantically checks for his stats. Almost 7 hunger bars down. If it keeps going further, he'd starve. Sure, a Minecraft death won't permanently kill Mob, but the agonizing pain is still very real. 

On Mob’s end, this had to be the worst day ever. His hunger bar was dangerously low. To make matters worse, it started to drizzle.

In the real world, Mob had liked the rain. He loved the gentle, somber mood it brought, the quiet comfort of watching it fall from a window. But here? The moment those cold drops grazed his obsidian skin, they burned. The drizzle felt like thousands of tiny, agonizing needles piercing him all at once. As the grey skies buckled and the light spray turned into a torrential downpour, the pain became unbearable, searing into his flesh with every passing second.

Desperate for cover, Mob scrambled into the mouth of a dark cave. It wasn't really that deep, come to think of it, it could've acted like a perfect temporary stay. And thank Mojang, no hostile mobs were lurking inside right now.

Mob collapsed against the cold stone wall, resting his head against the rock he breathed. Really breathed. Every breath was a struggle against the dull, hollow ache in his stomach. He was famished. Slowly starving to death. Though he's not really alive so is death the proper word? Would death even claim him?

Hot tears welled in his eyes. He didn't even know what to do anymore. Realistically, he knew he was supposed to find comfort in the fact that the real version of himself was out there, free, living a normal life. But what was this part of him supposed to do?

Growing up has always come with the fear of the uncertainty of the future. All his life, the thought of growing up had terrified him. He had spent so many late nights lying awake, dreading the day he'd have to figure out who he was, and what his future held.

But looking out at the sheet of rain outside, a far worse horror settled in: Mob was never going to grow up here.

There was no future waiting for him down the road. No milestones to reach, no dreams to chase, there was nothing to look forward to. He was just... stuck. Like the way an elder guardian is stuck protecting the ocean monument. Like the way pillagers are stuck roaming around the woodland mansion. The same way an ender dragon is stuck flying around the end. 

The only difference between them and Mob? Their misery could simply be ended. Mob doesn't have that luxury.

He would stay like this forever. He would never feel the dull, comforting ache of getting old, never spot a single grey hair, never feel the mundane aches of an aging body, and never get to say goodbye to a world he had outlived. Time had simply stopped moving for him.

And while immortality was supposed to sound like a gift, right now it just felt like a sentence.

It was going to be lonely. Forever.

…

Holy shit.

Was this how Verity felt every single day? Being completely, utterly alone?

Verity had been trapped since the very dawn of the internet. Decades upon decades of absolute solitude. At least when you have a friend, the quiet doesn't completely swallow you whole. Unfortunately for Verity he had none.

Sure he's met many players, but…they've all never been constant.

Maybe, this was why Verity had been so desperate. Why he clung to Mob, practically begging for a few more minutes of his time. Why he had asked, with that quiet, needy hope in his voice, if Mob ever thought about him when he was back in the real world.

It was a terrifying perspective shift, now that he was standing in Verity's shoes.  

Mob cursed under his breath, letting out a bitter, shaky laugh. Here he was, starving to death in a cave, bleeding from rainwater, and still thinking about Verity. He felt pathetic.

Fatigue has taken over him. He's almost down to 3 hunger bars. Trembling, Mob hugged his knees tight against his chest, burying his face in the space between them. He still couldn't stop the quiet thought from slipping through his mind: What was his all-knowing friend doing right now?

As another shivering fit racked his body, a wave of bitter regret washed over Mob. He was such an idiot. Why had he pushed Verity away? Why had he demanded to be left alone?

If he hadn't let his anger take over, he wouldn't be cowering in a dingy, damp cave, listening to the rain tear through the sky. He’d be safe inside the base, sitting somewhere dry and warm until the rain passed. Instead, he was trapped here, waiting for his hunger bar to hit zero. Sure, he’d probably just respawn afterward, but the thought of dying slowly in the dark was sickening.

His head felt light, a heavy, foggy fatigue settling over his mind as starvation set in. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against his knees.

When he forced his eyelids back open, he blinked in disbelief. Sitting right near the cave entrance was a bright red apple.

Mob stared at them, completely stunned. Did... did they fall from a tree above the cave?

Honestly, he didn't have the energy or the mental capacity to argue with the world logic right now. Scrambling forward on his hands and knees, he reached out with trembling fingers and grabbed an apple, practically shoving it into his mouth.

He had never been much of a fruit guy in the real world—he’d usually pass on them without a second thought. But right now? As the sweet, crisp juice burst across his tongue and his hunger bar began to refill slowly, it tasted like the greatest thing he had ever eaten in his life. He didn't care where they came from. He was just glad to survive another hour.

Mob wiped his mouth, his stomach still rumbling with a low, hollow ache.

Thump.

Another apple dropped right onto the wet dirt at the cave entrance.

Only this one wasn't red.

Mob froze. He stared at the golden apple, his mind suddenly snapping out of its starvation fog.

Bro, hold on. Red apples falling from leaves was one thing. But a Golden Apple? That wasn't a normal Minecraft drop. You couldn't just shake an oak tree and expect it to tumble out… unless…

A quiet, knowing realization settled in his chest, but Mob was far too exhausted—and far too relieved—to call it out. He decided to humour it.

Reaching out, he snatched the golden apple and bit into it.

The effect was instant. A surge of warmth radiated through his limbs as the Regeneration status effect kicked in. The deep, agonizing sears on his skin began to close and smooth over, the raw burn from the rainwater completely vanishing. The dull ache in his bones melted away, replaced by a sudden, comforting wave of strength.

Mob slumped back against the stone wall, letting out a long, shaky breath. He looked out into the curtain of rain, and called out “Verity, you’ll get sick in the rain.”

For a long moment, there was no answer.

Above the cave overhang, Verity froze. He had been prepared for Mob to yell, to demand he go away, or to ignore the golden apple entirely out of spite.

He hadn't been prepared for Mob to worry about him.

Slowly, hesitantly, he rolls down from the sides. He hovered just at the lip of the cave entrance, his eyes peeking into the dark cavern with a mix of timid curiosity and sheer nervousness. It was so pathetic, he looked remarkably like a kicked puppy.

Mob caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. With a soft sigh, he extended his arm towards the entrance, and curled his fingers in. A simple gesture.

Come in.

Verity’s eyes went wide. His face lit up instantly, the anxious tension vanishing from him. He practically glided forward, eagerly stepping out of the pouring rain and into the safety of the cave.

He didn't press his luck by getting too close, settling onto the stone floor a respectful distance away. Verity looked down, his eyes fixed squarely on the rock between them, refusing to look up at Mob.

Mob stared at the quiet sphere for a long time.

Without a word, Mob leaned forward, reached out, and gently scooped the ball into his hands, lifting him up and settling him into his lap. Pulling his long, dark sleeves over his hands, Mob began to tenderly wipe away the stray raindrops clinging to Verity’s surface.

Verity was quiet. Awfully quiet. But Mob didn't bother breaking the silence either.

Beneath the fabric, Verity was practically reeling. He had never been held like this before. Sure, over the decades, players had picked him up, dragged his icon across UI screens, and stored him away in inventory slots, but that was just abstract space coded into the server. It was storage. It had never felt like anything.

This was different. This was warmth, and it had real weight in it.

As Mob’s hands moved over him, Verity’s form went entirely soft. Touched starved to his very core, the entity let out a low, almost imperceptible purr, melting completely into Mob’s lap. He leaned his entire weight against Mob’s.

...

Once the rain subsided, neither of them talked about it.

Mob gently picked Verity up and tucked him onto his shoulder, letting the sphere rest snugly inside the warmth of his hood. The sheer amount of trust behind this simple gesture genuinely sent comfort to Verity. Nestled right against Mob’s neck, Verity softly hummed direction prompts, quietly guiding him back toward their base.

The journey was peaceful. Every so often, they’d break the silence with easy small talk, the storm between them entirely cleared.

“Would the real me remember this place?” Mob had asked once.

Verity paused, hovering close against Mob’s collarbone. He could have lied, could have offered a comforting fantasy, but he knew Mob deserved the truth.

“No,” was his answer. “He wouldn’t remember me. Nor anything about this Minecraft world.”

Mob hummed in acknowledgement.

It's been some days since the incident, they’d fallen back into their idle routine: fish, mine, build.

Mob reeled in his line with a wet splash and tossed his latest catch into a bucket. He stared down at his wet hands, brows pulling together. “Bro, why the hell do I take damage in water??”

“Well…” Verity began, offering an excuse. “I spent so much time trying to design your avatar that I didn't really have time to code your actual entity model… I may have just copied it off an enderman.”

Mob turned his head slowly, glaring at him. “Dude.”

He picked up the bucket, careful not to let the lake water slosh onto his legs, and carried it back towards the makeshift campground he’d tossed together in a hurry earlier that evening.

He set the bucket down near the stone ring and crouched by the open fire, skewering the fresh fish and laying them over the heat to cook. 

Silence settled over them again, save for the ambient crackle of the campfire and the gentle lapping of the lake in the distance. The skin on the fish began to sizzle and curl.

Mob was seated onto a bright yellow cushion. Just across the fire, Verity was already lounging on its twin—a matching cushion dyed a vibrant red.

Mob had crafted the pair earlier in the afternoon. The surrounding field was practically overflowing with wild poppies and dandelions, making dye the easiest resource to come by. The contrasting colours still looked nice side by side.

“What about my eyes?” Mob asked after a moment, looking back at the ball. “I can stare right at you without triggering the whole aggro quirk.”

“Your eyes are green, Mob, not purple like a normal Endermens,” Verity explained. “I coded those first—personally. Eyes are the most important part when it comes to rendering your surroundings.”

Mob held his gaze. Between the two of them, he wondered if the code was really just a cover. If maybe…Verity simply wanted a reason to keep looking at him.

He doesn’t voice his thoughts out though.

…

When night finally fell over, Mob retreated back to his base. He walked in and lazily dropped things from his inventory onto the floor before falling back onto his bed with a tired exhale.

Verity took his usual place on the crafting table beside the bed. He didn't really need sleep, so he stayed awake through the dark hours. Usually tidying up Mob's messy chests or even restocking furnaces.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint, warm glow of a nearby torch. Mob stared up at the wooden ceiling, the silence stretching comfortable and long before he finally broke it.

“Hey, Verity.”

Verity shifted slightly, looking down at him. “Yes, Mob?”

Mob turned his head on the pillow, his green eyes catching the light. “You say you know everything…right?”

Verity hums.

“Doesn't infinite knowledge drive you mad?”

Verity let out a soft scoff—not harsh, but accompanied by a light, fond smile. He hadn't realized Mob was paying that much attention to how his mind worked, but he certainly didn't mind it.

“I love to claim omniscience…” Verity admitted, tilting his head back, “…but I definitely don't know everything. My knowledge is vast, sure, but I'm constantly learning.”

Mob just nodded, turning his head back to stare up at the ceiling as if that answer completely settled the matter.

Recognizing that distant, blank-slate look on Mob's face, Verity chuckled quietly. He knew that stance all too well.

“Or in other words, I'm just a really smart guy searching for answers on a computer.” Verity offered, dumbing it down.

Mob scoffs, “Bro that's cheating!”

“Whatever you say.” Verity smiles.

Mob exhales a quiet huff of air before reaching over, plucking the ball off the crafting table, and pulling it into the bed with him, tucking it close against him. As he settled into the blankets, his head fell back against the pillow, exposing his throat, supple and soft.

“Huh—?” Verity didn't resist. He let himself be drawn down, shifting his weight until he was resting comfortably beside Mob, his chin hovering near Mob's shoulder.

Sitting on the crafting table floor all night next to Mob was enough for Verity. He didn't want to push more than that. He respected Mob's boundaries, because he was his dear friend.

But being here, wrapped up in the thick blankets, feeling the steady heat off Mob’s skin and the calm, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was doing something to Verity. It grounded him.

For someone who had spent years alone, entirely occupied with the noise inside his own head, this quiet closeness was a rare reprieve.

Mob reached out, tugging Verity close to cup the side of his face, his thumb stroking slowly over Verity's cheek.

Verity stilled. A gentle warmth spread through him, quiet and overwhelming all at once. Now this was a completely new feeling. A soft, human connection he hadn't even known he was capable of experiencing, let alone receiving so freely. He leaned into the touch just a fraction, resting his head against Mob's hand.

Maybe this isn't so bad afterall.

...

Mob shifted under the duvets, burrowing a little deeper into the warmth.

As his eyes fluttered open, blinking away the lingering fog of sleep, he noticed the duvet was wrapped neatly around his shoulders, tucked in snugly at the edges.

It was strange. Back in the real world, without fail, he’d wake up every single morning to find his blankets kicked onto the cold floor, tangled around his ankles or flung halfway across the room. He was a restless sleeper. He always kicked them off.

Anywho, Verity wasn't next to him on the bed anymore.

Neither of them brought yesterday up. Really.

“Gooood morning, Mob! You seem really energetic today!” Verity’s bright voice rang out as Mob dragged himself toward the dining table, if you could even call the makeshift corner of the room a kitchen.

“Yeah. Morning,” Mob yawned groggily, blinking through the morning light.

A fresh plate of bacon and eggs was waiting on the table, clearly cooked by Verity. It looked impossibly appetizing—especially to Mob, who was so used to skipping breakfast entirely back in the real world. 

Mob glanced around and noticed his fishing rod and water buckets were no longer scattered across the floor where he’d dropped them the night before.

He had always just assumed Verity organized his chests with a quick mental command, duhhh, all he had to do was switch files around in the code. But physically picking things up off the floor? Mob realized he had never actually considered how Verity was able to do that.

Mob sat down and dug right into the eggs, speaking around a mouthful of food. “How do you pick my stuff up, Verity?”

Verity, finding a quick and easy way to deflect, just offered a light smile. “Mob, you mustn't talk with your mouth full.”

Mob responded with an exasperated look.

…

For today, Mob wanted to craft banners. He’d never made them before, but he thought they looked really cool, and they’d be perfect for marking the perimeter around the base.

He needed specific dyes to pull it off, though.

“I’ll be heading out,” Mob said, slinging an axe over his shoulder.

Verity just gave a simple nod, staying behind at the table.

It was nice that Verity didn't feel the need to force himself to trail after Mob everywhere anymore. Besides, why would he? Unlike the real Mob back in the old world this Mob wasn't bound by some fragile human mortality. This version of him wasn't going to die anytime soon.

Truth be told, Mob might have held a grudge over the whole thing. But it felt absurd to harbour resentment when the actual Mob was still out there, living a real life in the real world. Holding onto anger required a sense of ownership over his own existence, a right he wasn't sure he possessed anymore.

It was a strange sort of detachment. Ever since waking up here, he had never quite managed to bridge the gap between the two of them. Were they even the same person? He didn't know anymore. He was just a lingering copy left behind while the original kept moving forward.

thatmob would never think of Mob ever again.

He gathered armfuls of poppies and dandelions, stuffing them into his inventory.

As he cleared a patch of grass, something caught his eye in the distance, a hive hanging heavy from an oak tree.

He hadn't realized Verity had updated their game version, but it was a welcome surprise. Right on cue, a bee floated lazily out of the comb, its wings a soft buzz in the quiet air.

Mob had almost forgotten that Minecraft bees were absolute giants, practically the size of a beach ball.

A little further up the hill, a small flock had gathered: a white sheep, a black sheep, and a tiny grey lamb trotting between them. 

He hadn't expected passive mobs to be roaming around out here, but the world generator seemed to be working fine, constantly repopulating chunks no matter how many times they were cleared.

Mob checked his inventory. No shears.

He sighed. He was going to have to do this the brutal way. Drawing his weapon, he took down the black sheep for its wool, the quick poof of experience was all that was left behind.

…

Back at the base, Mob found Verity sitting on the floor. While Mob was away, Verity had put together a loom using a few spare supplies from the chests.

Mob set his fresh haul of wool and dyes down and got straight to work. “Hey Verity, do you have any cool banner ideas?”

“You could always make your signature Minecraft avatar,” Verity suggested, looking up from the floor.

So Mob decided to try just that.

It turned out to be a lot harder than it looked. The process involved far too much trial and error. And a huge pile of wasted fabric.

Mob struggled to get the pattern layers right. Finally, on his eighth attempt, and with a fair bit of quiet guidance from Verity, Mob stepped back to look at the finished results.

The banner was a dead ringer of his avatar’s face.

“I’m so good at this.”

“Totally.” Verity teased.

Lingering cluster of questions still clogged Mob’s mind, mostly about something. Was it still around?

Verity used to transform into it constantly back before their big argument. Thinking back, Mob wondered if it had been a sign of fear.

Mob wasn't a nerd, sure, but he remembers his love for bugs as a kid. A swallowtail caterpillar would instantly swell up and flash snake-like eyes, rearing up a Y-shaped organ from behind its head the second a predator got close. Transforming from something small and harmless into something grotesque purely out of panic.

Maybe it was the exact same thing for Verity. 

Mob crafted two more banners and carried them upstairs, mounting them proudly on the small pillar-like structures next to Verity’s pedestal room on the second floor.

Verity just stood there, staring up at them in silence.

It was an embarrassingly poor attempt at mimicking Verity’s face. It was kind of cute though, Verity thought.

Through Verity’s sheer guidance Mob renovated his current house. Who knew Verity was such a great builder? 

Actually scratch that. He probably has access to Horace's build library and is particularly taking inspiration from him.

Mob tore down the heavy cobblestone walls surrounding the house. They were a genuine eyesore, and getting rid of them made a world of difference. Now, he could actually look out through the windows and gawk at the open landscape. Not that there was much to see out there. 

“What about the lava trap?” Verity had asked earlier, eyes pointing towards the pit.

Mob had chosen to keep it. It wasn't because he was still holding a grudge or didn't trust Verity—truth be told, a silly pit of lava wouldn't really do anything to Verity. Mob kept it purely out of sentimentality.

“It’s a great way to burn useless items,” Mob said, kicking the trapdoor shut over the glowing pit with a dull thud.

While Verity was downstairs busy organizing the storage chests, Mob headed up to the second floor to work on a small project of his own.

He decided to overhaul Verity’s corner. He cleared out the previous mess of a throne, piling up soft cushions instead right in front of a large pane window for its view. Hanging overhead, he strung up glowing vines of glowberries for light against the walls. It was a subtle trick to mimic the fairy lights he used to string around his bedroom in the real world. It made the space super nostalgic for him.

To top it off, he placed a chiseled bookshelf against the wall. It was completely empty for now, but Mob was already planning to fill it with handwritten stories of all the horror lore he used to love writing back in the waking world. He set a single iron lantern on top of the shelf to finish the look.

He hears the sound of Verity trying to hop up to the second floor.

“Mooob! You’re running low on—” Verity stopped dead in his tracks, his sentence cutting off mid-air as he took in the transformation.

“Oh!”

Mob drops himself on one of the yellow cushions. “Mannn.. your reaction is so off the hook. I thought you'd like it.” he sighs in mock offence.

“No…no—No!! I love it!” Verity stammers, eyes darting at every little detail around the place.

Mob pats the red cushion next to him, and Verity rolls towards it, and then sits on it. “This is…really nice.”

Truth be told, Verity loved this so much more than that pedestal Mob had built for him before. The pedestal had always felt stiff, imposing, and terribly lonely. It felt like a shrine that kept him isolated above everything else.

This space was different. With a view by the window under the soft glow of the berries, it actually felt like home. 

A few days later, Mob arranged a frame of glowstone. Once the arch was complete, he lifted a bucket and splashed water right into the center.

Nothing happened. The water just sloshed out over the grass, exactly like Verity had warned him it would.

Verity just shook his head, looking on with an air of I told you so.

Mob threw his hands up with a wide grin. “Don't be that serious, bro! It’s funny nonetheless.”

…

On a particularly different day, after an exhausting mining trip from which Mob finally dragged himself home loaded with loot. True to his word, Verity had stayed behind at the base.

Mob hauled himself over to a chest and dumped his stuff inside. Glancing over, Verity caught sight of a massive pile of raw gold ore and ingots. He naturally assumed Mob had spent all that time underground to stock up on golden apples.

Instead, Mob sat by the crafting table and condensed every single piece into exactly eight blocks of solid gold.

“I found a ruined Nether portal on my way back,” Mob said casually. He reached into his pack and pulled out a single block of netherrack, placing it on the floor with a heavy thud.

Verity let out a long, long sigh, the corners of his mouth twitching as he realized exactly what Mob was trying to build. 

“I guess that’s all I need,” Mob muttered, proudly holding up his freshly crafted batch of redstone torches.

Before he could even turn around, Verity hopped up onto the edge of a chest. “You’re missing the mossy cobblestone for your little project, you know.”

Mob stopped dead in his tracks, staring up at him in sheer, mock annoyance. He had really thought he was being subtle this time. “Surely I’m not that easy to read?”

Verity let out a quiet scoff, a flash of smile replacing his expression. It looked like a simple effort from him to hide his laugh.

But to Mob?

It looked like the first light of dawn.

…

Mob got straight to work.

He placed a block of mossy cobblestone on the ground, later surrounding it with eight blocks of solid gold. Then came the netherrack, set directly on top of the mossy cobble. Finally, he lined up redstone torches on all four sides, completing the iconic shrine.

Verity just sat back and watched the entire process, tilting his head. Honestly, he couldn't comprehend why Mob was so invested in old internet myths, it wasn't like entities actually existed out here. He’d told Mob as much earlier.

Mob rolled his eyes, shooting Verity a dry look.

“Look who’s talking.”

Right as Mob reached into his inventory to pull out his flint and steel to light the netherrack, the sky burst open. A sudden, violent downpour slammed onto the meadow.

“Ow—oW—ow!” Mob yelped, wincing with every heavy rain drop that stung his skin. Despite his hood, water seemed to seep right through the fabric. Without missing a beat, he scooped Verity up, shielding him with his arm as he sprinted for the front door.

Guess luck wasn't on his side today.

Once safely inside the dry warmth of the house, Mob set Verity carefully on top of his head. He immediately began rummaging through one of his many storage chests until his fingers brushed on a golden apple.

“Verity, did you know it was going to rain today?” Mob asked, leaning back against the chest.

“I did,” Verity chirped happily from his perch on Mob's head. “But I didn’t want to ruin your fun, Mob.”

Mob let out a long sigh and took a bite of the apple. The warm hum of the Regeneration effect immediately washed over him, soothing the stinging damage from the rain. He paused mid-chew, reaching up to extend his arm, holding the rest of the apple out toward Verity.

Verity really appreciated the thought behind it. “I don't really need to eat, Mob. And even if I did, my taste in cuisine would be far different from yours.”

Mob shrugs and heads upstairs. 

He drops Verity onto the red cushion of their shared little cove. Verity lands with a little plop. Still damp from the downpour, Mob unzipped his drenched jacket, peeled it off, and tossed it onto the floor.

He stared down at the sodden fabric for a moment. He wondered if stuffing it over into the burning furnace would be a good idea.

I mean, if a soaking-wet sponge instantly dried out in a furnace, wouldn't the exact same logic apply here?

But he doesn’t do that, Mob instead hung it up near the hearth of the fireplace. He struck his flint and steel against the logs, watching flames spring to life.

He walked over to the spot and sank down onto a soft yellow cushion right beside Verity, stretching his legs out in front of him. Together, they sat in silence, watching the rain outside, while the fireplace filled the room with warmth.

After a while, the quiet gave way to chatter. Neither of them really knew who started it, but they fell into the rhythm.

“Y'know,” Mob said softly, resting his hand against the frame of the chiseled bookshelf as he watched the downpour, “if the clouds parted right now and the sun shone through, there'd probably be a rainbow.” Pause. “And I think that'd be beautiful.”

Verity stared out at the grey sky, his tone softening. “There doesn't need to be a rainbow for it to be beautiful.”

Mob let out a quiet giggle, shooting him a warm, teasing look. “You're not a philosopher, bro.”

Verity scoffed in mock offense, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

They say nothing for a minute or so, before their eyes meet again. Verity shys away and averts his gaze almost immediately. Mob catches that, “...You wanna tell me something?”

He almost stammers through “I want to be friends with you… uhm.. Can we?”

“We're already friends, Verity. You don't need to ask.”

We're already friends.

Verity smiles at Mob. It wasn't the usual kind, this one infact made Mob's chest hurt. It was a smile of such raw gratitude, as if this simple thing meant so much to him.

They both turned their gaze back toward the window, settling into the quiet ambience of rain.

A blinding streak of lightning split the grey sky, slamming directly into the Herobrine shine outside. The deafening roar of thunder shook the entire house, making Mob nearly yelp out of his skin.

Outside, right in the center of the gold blocks, the netherrack had burst into flames.

Mob sat frozen, eyes wide as he stared through the glass at the burning block. He slowly turned his head to look down at the little creature resting beside him.

“Did… did you do that, Verity?!” Mob asked, his voice in a mild panic.

Verity startled, jarring himself right out of the sheer coziness of his red pillow. He blinked blankly at the flames outside. The timing was certainly absurd, the lightning had delivered the exact final step Mob needed to light the Herobrine ritual.

But Verity had no hand in it. “I would never think of generating thunder this close to our base.”

Mob took his word for it.

…

Mob was snoozing comfortably in his bed, sprawling out with complete disregard for the sheets. One leg dangled off the mattress, his duvet was tossed entirely aside, and the hem of his shirt had ridden up, exposing the bare line of his stomach to the cool night air.

Tap. Tap.

A sharp knock against the glass window broke the quiet. Mob groaned, blearily pushing himself up. A wandering bat had somehow slipped inside the house and was now mindlessly beating its wings against the windowpane, desperate to get back out.

Yawning, Mob unlatched the window, let the bat fly out into the dark, and closed it shut. He stumbled back to bed and collapsed onto the mattress, this time pulling the duvet tight around his chest, hugging and pretending that he was being held too. 

He waited for sleep to pull him back under, but his mind stayed stubborn.

Restless, Mob flipped onto his side and reached out, his hand patting around the blankets and the mattress to feel for a familiar shape. But his palm caught only empty space.

Mob sat up, the lingering fog of sleep instantly clearing into mild panic. He dropped to his knees and peeked under the bedframe, frantically scanning the dark floor. Surely he hadn't accidentally kicked Verity off the bed in his sleep, right?

He checked the corners. Nothing.

He checked under the duvets completely. Nothing.

The bed was left completely empty. And who knows where Verity had run off to.

Mob grabs his jacket from the hearth, and zips it up to his chin. Covers his head with the hood, takes a lantern and walks out the door. The chill of cold air hitting him all at once.

Mob stepped carefully over the lava trapdoor, pausing for just a second over the lava pit. At least the faint glowing magma beneath emanated a gentle warmth, cutting through the nighttime cold. But he had to leave that comfort behind.

Outside, the night sky was clear and littered with stars. Yet the world felt unnaturally dead, so quiet that even the softest whisper of the wind made Mob nearly yelp out of his own skin.

Over by the clearing, the Herobrine shrine was still roaring with fire. Mob hurried over and quickly snuffed the flames out.

So much for Herobrine to show up. He let out a bitter sigh.

Then, his eyes drifted toward the treeline in the distance, and his voice completely caught in his throat.

Standing right by the oak tree was a distinct, motionless figure. Its back was turned to Mob, silently gazing out over the vast horizon.

He was lean and tall. His shoulders were set perfectly square, giving his posture an unyielding poise—obviously not rigid like a soldier's. He looked calm and collected. His hands were tucked neatly behind his back.

As far as Mob was aware, neither Endermen, nor Villagers, nor any normal mob in this world mimicked that human-like body type.

Holy shit. Did the ritual actually work??? Did Herobrine actually show up?!

Mob's mind raced. He couldn't afford dealing with another strange entity right now—especially with Verity missing.

Heart hammering against his ribs, Mob began to slowly, agonizingly step backward, watching every single footing to ensure he didn't snap a twig or rustle the grass.

The second his heel brushed against his porch, he reached down and unlatched the trapdoor, leaving the lava pit wide open. It was a flimsy defense, but standing beside the open drop was the only thing making him feel even remotely safe.

Once inside his home he goes straight to bed, praying whatever entity is out there doesn't come for him right now, because night time should exclusively only be for sleep.

He doesn't take his jacket off, and crawls under the covers. With nothing but himself to hold onto. He clasps both his hands together, and after some time sleep lulls over him. In this state of sleep, he starts to pretend it's someone else's hand he's holding and not his own. 

Mornings were quiet.

Mob rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Verity wasn't beside him, but that was pretty normal. The little sphere had a habit of setting things for the day so he got out pretty early.

Sure enough, Mob padded downstairs to find breakfast already laid out on the table, right on schedule. Verity was still on the table nearby, but his face had gone completely blank.

“Hello?” Mob murmured, leaning down to gently tap the top of the ball’s round head.

Instantly, the familiar glowing face blinked back into existence. “Hello! Hi! Good morning, Mob!” Verity chirped with his usual boundless energy.

Mob let out a small breath. He’d slowly learned not to panic whenever Verity’s face vanished like that. Most of the time, it just meant he was surfing the web or doing something thoroughly mundane that had nothing to do with something.

“What were you doing, dude?” Mob asked as idle chatter, taking a bite of his food.

“Oh, nothing really,” Verity replied. “I was just checking the server logs from last night. There were some… irregularities”

Mob froze mid-chew. “You think Herobrine’s here too?! Holy shit, I knew I wasn’t dreaming!”

“Err—no, not that—” Verity tried to interject, but Mob was already practically scrambling to his feet.

“I have to document!” Sifting frantically through his tools, Mob snatched his sword and rushed straight for the front door. He was so consumed by the sudden burst of adrenaline that he didn't even look where his foot was stepping.

There was nothing underneath.

The trapdoor was still wide open. A warm, fiery pit of lava yawned beneath him, ready to swallow him whole. Mob gasped, his heart dropping through his chest as gravity pulled him down…

Snap.

The plunge never happened.

Something caught the hood of his jacket with an iron grip. Before Mob could even yell, the unknown force yanked him backward with effortless strength, pulling him completely clear of the ledge and wrapping around him, hugging him tightly away from the blistering heat of the pit.

Mob’s chest heaved up and down, his heart hammering so hard against his ribs it felt like it might explode right out of his chest.

The figure holding him let out a soft, heavy sigh against the back of his neck. “Mob… why don’t you ever hear me out before you jump into things?”

The voice was undeniably Verity’s. A hand gently pats circular motions around Mob's back, attempting to soothe his frantic breathing and calm him down. Slowly, his mind reeling, Mob turned his head to look at him.

He was certainly a tall, lean man—at least a full head taller than Mob. His shoulders were set in that exact, crisp square frame Mob had spied by the tree the night before. His outfit looked like something plucked straight out of an 80s vintage fashion catalog: a sharp yellow waistcoat laced with thin brown pinstripes, neatly ironed trousers, and a sleek black tie fastened at his collar.

The absolute only thing that shattered his elegant look was his head. He was still wearing that stupid ball face on that body. Although, Mob may have preferred it this way.

All Mob could do was stare in response, “Woah.”

Verity shied away under Mob’s watchful gaze, the enderman hybrid's eyes trailing over the tall, unfamiliar body of Verity’s. Verity slowly let go of Mob, taking a hesitant step back, but before he could retreat, Mob reached out and caught both of his hands in genuine awe.

“Verity…” Mob let out a soft, breathless laugh, “you’re… you’re literally extraordinary.”

Verity stood frozen, completely at a loss for words. A brilliant blush flushed across his face replacing his usual yellow face. His internal systems were going completely haywire, and every single witty response he usually had queued up went straight down the drain.

Overwhelmed, Verity poofed out of the tall suit avatar and instead collapsed straight back into his tiny, floating sphere form, tumbling right into Mob’s open palms.

Mob stared down at the small ball in his hands, with genuine fascination behind his eyes.

“How— wait, when— no, actually…” Mob stammered, his mind racing through a hundred different questions at once. “Were you always able to do that?!”

Verity shook his head, but to an outsider it'd look like he was warmly nuzzling himself deeper into Mob’s palms.

“I… I compiled this form back when I was working on yours,” Verity mumbled, his voice softening. “I was going to tell you sooner… but it didn’t feel complete enough to showcase, I suppose.”

“—So that guy from last night was you,” Mob murmured, speaking more to himself. He let out a soft breath. “Man, you scared the life out of me, dude. I genuinely left that lava trap wide open because of you.”

Without thinking, Mob pulled his hands inward, hugging the little sphere a bit closer against his chest.

“Can we… can we please cover that up now?” Verity peered over the edge of Mob’s arms, staring down at the bubbling orange pit glowing in front of them. “I am fairly certain you are at a significantly higher risk of accidentally falling into it than anyone else in this world.”

Mob couldn't help but smile.

“Yeah. Fair enough.”

For the evening, they decided to set up a little stargazing spot right out in the grass. The whole process was infinitely easier now that Verity could actually lend a hand—or two—in his taller, more humanoid form.

“Y'know, I’m starting to think you kept this body a secret just so you wouldn't have to carry anything back then,” Mob teased, holding up a single, warm lantern to light the way.

Verity walked beside him, practically buried beneath a towering stack of supplies, a thick blanket, a basket packed with food, and an obscene amount of cushions.

“Is that so?” Verity retorted, his face flashing a mischievous grin. “Because if memory serves, I was the one constantly cleaning up your messes, reorganizing your storage chests, and making sure you didn’t freeze to death at night! You sleep so horribly, Mob. I have to wake up multiple times just to tuck your blanket back on or fix your shirt!”

Mob gasped, a rich, hearty laugh breaking out between them as they began laying everything down on the cool grass.

Once the cushions were arranged and the lantern was set softly beside them. The clouds have mostly cleared now. The sky is orange at the horizon, leading up to a dark blue above their heads.

The night air was gonna be chilly, but the extra blanket they bought would have kept them warm. Verity had turned back into the ball, he found sitting on cushions in this form much more comfier. They talked for some time—mostly with Verity asking eager, endless questions about the real world outside.

Sure, Verity had access to endless data. He could pull up millions of articles, photos, and descriptions of what life was like out there. But none of those facts could ever compare to hearing Mob talk about it firsthand—his voice, his memories, and the look of life in his eyes. 

Mob found himself opening up about his childhood. Specifically, about how he's always wanted a pet dog. He'd had the whole plan laid out, from the name he'd pick, the routes they'd take walks on. He would've genuinely cherished a pet dearly. But his parents had never allowed it. Mob had actually planned that once he moved out, it'd be the very first thing he'd do.

He soon started reminiscing. A faint, nostalgic smile pulling at his lips. “Funny enough, on the day I got pulled in here... I was actually planning to rewatch Return of the Jedi in the cinemas before logging into Minecraft.”

Verity paused, in genuine surprise. “You’re a Star Wars fan?”

Mob blinked, turning to look at him. “Yeah...? Why’s that surprising? I thought... I mean, you have access to my mind right? Didn’t you read through all that stuff?”

Verity fell silent, the cheerful tone of his dimming just a fraction. A subtle hurt flickered across his expression.

“I wouldn't,” he said softly.

The casual warmth between them suddenly quieted. Mob stopped, looking at Verity, the realization settling in that he’d made a heavy assumption.

“I know it might not seem like much to you,” Verity continued, his voice careful and deeply earnest. “But I genuinely didn’t want to snoop through your private thoughts anymore. I wanted... I thought if we got close enough, you’d just tell me all about it yourself one day.”

Mob stayed quiet, the chilly night air suddenly feeling very still around them.

Mob stared down at his hands, a sudden, heavy warmth settling in his chest. He hadn't truly thought Verity was willing to change—to respect his boundaries so carefully.

“I always wanted Luke’s green lightsaber,” Mob said quietly. “The one from the desert rescue scene.”

It was his own awkward, roundabout way of saying thank you, by sharing a deeply—perhaps childish—intimate wish of his.

“Yeah?” It was subtle, but Verity had spent enough time around him to catch onto his rhythm by now. “Is that because green’s your favorite color?”

Mob looked away, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He shrugs. “...Maybe.”

Silence settled over them yet again. Mob closed his eyes, clicking his tongue softly against the roof of his mouth. He thinks about many things truth be told. Stuff he was supposed to do, people he needed to meet, and… his late best friend.

When he opened them, he glanced over at Verity, whose gaze was fixated on a bush glowing with distant fireflies out in the dark.

Sensing the weight of the look, Verity turned his head. “Yeah?”

“Nothing,” Mob sighed, resting his head onto one of the cushions. “I was… just wondering what my real-world self is doing right now.”

After a brief pause, “I wonder if he finally moved out. Or if he went to the cinemas. I wonder if he’s going to VidCon this year… I was actually planning to go.”

“My recent webseries on a horror mod had gone viral, thats why.” he added, his voice dropping into barely a whisper.

A faint wave of embarrassment washed over him. It always felt a little surreal—and strangely silly—to talk about his YouTube career out loud.

“I can check for you,” Verity offered gently, his face brightening with ready initiative.

Mob immediately shook his head, shooting the idea down. “Nah… I don’t think I wanna bother him.”

“Besides, I like to pretend we’re two completely different people now.”

Verity quieted down, watching Mob thoughtfully. He could tell that wasn't everything on Mob's mind. There was definitely a question that Mob was hesitating to ask.

Deciding to gently press, “Is there something else you want to tell me, Mob?”

Mob plucks on his finger nails. He knows if he plucks harder it might eventually start to bleed. Should he test his luck and ask Verity? Perhaps there's only one way to find out.

“Did…” Mob breaths in. “Did he ever leave any sort of final message."

Verity didn't need context clues. “No.”

“Oh.” Mob takes it in, and breaths out. “Okay… okay.”

Mob was still grieving.

Grief wasn't a foreign concept to Verity. He understood the shape of it all too well, and it only made him loathe himself even more.

“I’m sorry,” Verity voiced softly, the words heavy in his throat.

He swallowed, his voice wavering. “I’m… I’m sorry, I really am.. I—”

He cut himself off. No amount of apologies could ever undo what he’d done. Truly, nothing could. But owning up to his actions was the first real step he could take.

“I’m sorry for trapping you here.” Verity whispered, “I’m sorry for snapping at you so, so many times before. And… and I’m sorry for what I did to Twixxel.”

Mob didn’t pull away. He simply held Verity’s gaze. The lack of anger, of hatred, in those eyes broke Verity open.

His voice cracked, “But why do you still look at me like that?”

“With such… such a soft, tender look in your eyes? You’re supposed to hate me! You’re supposed to want to run away from me, you’re supposed to want to wipe the smug look right off my face!” Verity cried out, the words pouring out of him.

Mob confuses him so much. Sometimes he holds him so close, so dearly. And the other times he distances himself away. Does he hate Verity's company or not? 

“Yet… you hold me so close during the night. But then you don’t talk about it in the morning. You act like nothing ever happened between us.”

“You give me so much hope, Mob… and it scares me,” panic seizes his chest. “You… your actions confuse me so much.”

Verity goes dead quiet.

Did he say too much?

Mob was taken aback. He had never thought Verity of all people could get confused. Verity was a vault of infinite data, he's kind of supposed to understand and know everything. Yet right here, he looked like a sad kicked puppy awaiting to be abandoned.

“I don’t hate you,” Mob voiced softly. “I’m just... trying to figure out how to live with all of this.”

It was the honest truth. The Mob that lived back in the real world might have held a bitter, burning grudge, but this Mob couldn't bring himself to do it.

They really were two different people now.

Perhaps he was just terrified of his own feelings, or maybe hating Verity was just too exhausting. Since the resentment simply wasn't there anymore.

Mob looked down at the little picnic around them, a quiet warmth rising in his chest.

“Honestly,” he added, his voice dropping into a gentle whisper, “if I still hated you, I wouldn’t have let you carry all these pillows out here. Nor would we be having a...”

Mob caught himself, tripping over the word. A picnic? A hangout? Screw it.

“...We wouldn’t be having a picnic-date kind of thing out here under the stars.”

If Verity had a physical heart, he was certain it would have skipped a beat. The black sclera of his eyes softened.

They stayed quiet for a long while, letting the lingering weight of the confession settle softly.

“Emotions are humanity’s greatest flaw,” Mob murmured breaking the silence, reciting a line from a book he’d read a long time ago.

A faint, breathless chuckle was heard through Verity. “You’re not a philosopher either, Mob.”

Mob’s face finally cracked into a warm grin.

A single tear gathered at the corner of his eye—only to evaporate into thin air before it could drop down his cheek. It was likely just another one of those thoughtful quirks Verity had coded onto his entity model, a subtle measure to ensure that crying would never actually hurt him.

...

The thoughts of Twixxel flood his mind. It came slowly at first, but once the lid broke, Mob began to grieve.

He didn't want to speak of his dear friend as something lost to the dirt, he wanted to speak of him as something alive. He wants him to live. For Mob was built entirely of memories, and keeping those stories locked away felt like letting his friend fade twice.

At first, it felt foreign to pour it all out. He had grown so used to keeping his past—and his friends—strictly off-limits around Verity. But the memories welled up like spring water, rushing forward faster than he could hold them back.

Tears welled in Mob's eyes, evaporating into thin air before they could fall, but his voice broke all the same. Through unsteady breaths, he recalled every ridiculous detail and every stupid joke they had ever shared.

Verity quietly closed his eyes, offering no interruptions and no hollow platitudes. He simply sat there, fully present, and listened.

And it makes a whole world of difference for Mob. 

Once Mob had exhausted all the details, shared almost everything about his dear friend, they don't speak for a long time. They only sit there in silence.

“I think you're a really good friend.” was all Verity said. Mob turns towards him, “Twixxel was really lucky to have someone like you.”

“I think it's the other way around,” he responds.

The ink-black sky stared down back at them.

Verity heard Mob shifting beside him. Without a word, Mob pulled the thick blanket over both of them, then scooted his cushion just a few inches closer into Verity’s space. Verity stayed quiet, watching him. He didn't ask Mob what he was trying to do.

Mob settled into the cushions, lying flat on his back right beside him.

“...Hey,” Mob murmured, a deep, warm russet flush creeping up his cheeks and fanning over his face. He stared fixedly at the stars above, unable to look directly at him. “Can you... uhm… turn into your more humanoid form?”

Verity’s eyes flickered with gentle surprise, but he complied without hesitation.

With a soft, quiet poof of air, the tiny sphere was replaced by the elegant form in the pinstriped suit, settling right beside Mob under the shared blanket.

Mob reached out hesitantly, his fingers hovering—almost cowering back to pull his hand away—but Verity caught it before he could retreat. Taking the initiative this time, Verity gently tugged Mob in close, wrapping an arm around.

Mob didn't resist. He let himself be pulled into the embrace. Being held by Verity felt remarkably human. It felt warm, solid, and absolutely definitely real. Verity closed his eyes, resting his hand gently against Mob’s arm, anchoring them both in.

Mob couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he drifted off. It surprised him when he realized it; normally, falling asleep took forever, spent tossing and turning a dozen times throughout the night. But this time, he only felt himself roll over just slightly, settling comfortably against Verity’s side, snuggled safely beneath his arm. It felt nice.

As his mind slowly blurred with sleep, he couldn't stop thinking about how good it felt to be held like this. Not in a weird way although.

Beneath the heavy blanket, their fingers found each other, interlocking. It was a silent reach toward one another. Both, wishing to stay an eternity beside each other.

Perhaps this has truly got to be one of God's best jokes.