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It’s about two days after Etho leaves home when it occurs to him he should maybe have had a plan.
In his defence, it had not been much of a planned exit. He had barely packed anything, he hadn’t thought about where he was going or what he was going to do. It had been a matter of picking up his ender chest, taking some few necessities and leaving through the first Nether portal he saw. He hadn’t bothered to say goodbye or wait to see if the scriptwriters noticed he’d escaped their trap. There was no need.
The last person he’d seen- he didn’t even have a name to put to their face, other than his own, and the thought of that made him shiver. They had seemed shocked when he stumbled out of the maze, face bloodied and ashen and hand clutching the remnants of an animatronic creeper, one he was sure had been the death of many before him. They had stared with wide, milky eyes and a mouth wide open, lower lip trembling slightly as Etho had raised his free hand and pulled his mask down, choking and spluttering. They had stood alone in the echoing quartz hall while Etho caught his breath, mind still reeling from everything he’d learnt. And then the clone- no, his other self- had shivered, and smiled, and let out this awful, piercing cry that was halfway between a sob and a rasped laugh, and Etho had stood properly and strode out of the room behind the diamond door, wondering why he had ever bothered to enter it again. He hadn’t lingered under the giant sign of his face, and he didn’t return to the staff room in the faint hope that one of the writers was there, that there would be a producer, a camera crew member, anyone. He had packed and left and he had not looked back.
That had been two days ago, and he doesn’t regret it, not one bit- but he does begin to think if a map would have been a good idea. It’s as he leaves the Nether, far enough away that he’s certain he won’t resurface in some familiar area, that Etho realises he’s never been off set; even the memories he has from times before, from Chocolate Island, or further back fuzzy memories of growing up seem too long gone, false, uncertain. If what he’s learned over the last few days ring true- if he truly is not himself- then he has nowhere to go, nobody to shelter with. He has to start from scratch without the guiding hands of the scriptwriters who dictated his every move.
He intends to make this journey alone, Etho decides. Inevitably, he will find other people- he will pass through towns and cities, find groups of people who may eventually ask him to join them. He knows that’s popular, now; groups of friends who set up camps and build, until they grow tired and leave their monuments for someone else to find, moving onto a new world, travelling to a distant land. Etho, however, cannot see himself relying on anyone too strongly. For now, he’s content to find a place where he feels safe and start again. Then, he can decide what to do.
Meeting people is inevitable, definitely- but he does not expect his first encounter to come so soon, or so violently.
He comes to a pause in a swampland, legs exhausted after being dragged through marshy waters and thick mud for so long. Come to think of it, he’s barely paused outside of a nap just after he left the Nether, and he’s hungry as hell. Etho quickly finds a tree to settle under, pulling some of the little food he packed from his backpack and sitting cross-legged on the driest patch of grass he can find. The sun is high in the sky, but it’s surprisingly cold, and a cool breeze tugs at his hoodie while he carefully unwraps a slice of pumpkin pie and tugs down his mask.
Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t think this area is occupied- there are no signs of the swamp being remotely lived in, or even travelled through- or perhaps he’s just out of practice, but either way, Etho doesn’t notice the quiet swishing and splashing of water, nor does he notice the tall figure he might have been able to see out of the corner of his eye. By the time he does put his slice down and turn, making eye contact with them, it’s because he knew they were there- rather, he was turning away to shield himself from the sun. When he does see them, however, it’s already too late to react.
For how tall the figure is, they are by no means slow. As soon as Etho turns and sees them, eyes widening slightly in surprise, they draw their sword- diamond and glinting dangerously in the sunlight- and start towards him, footsteps- no- hoofsteps? causing water to splash around them as they charge. Even if Etho had time to react, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to get away. They move with speed that seems almost inhuman, easily catching up to him even after he drops his food and desperately tries to scramble away.
A hoof connects with Etho’s shoulder, and his body gives way as he crumples to the ground. Not sleeping properly was a mistake, though he seriously doubted he’d have the ability to fight back even if he were fully rested. All he can do is try to desperately shuffle backwards while he turns to face his attacker, protests caught in his throat as he meets their gaze. And… he wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this . It’s quickly apparent that they aren’t human, but rather a creeper, if their dark, piercing eye and blotchy green fur is anything to go off. Having said that, nothing else about them resembles any creeper he’s ever met; for a start, the left side of their face and chest is entirely metal, accompanied with varying panels and circuitry that feels like it shouldn’t be exposed. Rather than a left eye, they have a square panel with a dim, cracked red LED light in the centre, and atop their head is two tall, sharpened horns- one natural, one metal. The wind whips around them, making their tattered and slightly burnt lab coat flare around them almost like a cape.
The cyborg pins Etho to the ground, single hoof pressing down so sharply against his ribs he’s frightened they might crack. The sword is raised and pressed against his neck, diamond sharp and cool against skin, and Etho trains his eyes against the other’s, not daring to move. This is it, he thinks. This is the end.
There are birds overhead. The breeze is cool, but not unwelcome. Almost peaceful.
“Who are you?” The question takes Etho by surprise. He knew creepers were capable of speech- the General, the original one anyway, had been a real actor- but he was under the impression it was fairly rare. And regardless, he hadn’t thought this one was exactly looking for a conversation.
Maybe he’s still not, Etho thinks, studying the way his brow furrows when Etho doesn’t answer immediately. There’s annoyance, and yet also confusion. The red light on the side of his head stutters weakly.
Further pressure on Etho’s chest reminds him what’s at stake, and he stutters out an answer. “N-nobody. I didn’t know I was trespassing, I-”
“Your name,” the creeper interrupts him, mouth curling into a fanged snarl.
“Etho.” It feels almost foreign, and he winces at the memory of clones and grabbing hands- Etho! I’m Etho! I’m the real Etho! - before swallowing sharply and fixing the creeper with a serious gaze. “I’m not a threat, I’m just-”
The other laughs, an odd, hissing laugh that makes Etho wonder if he’s capable of exploding. He isn’t inclined to find out. Again, the light flashes brightly- too brightly, it seems, because the loose wiring around it hisses and sparks, causing the creeper to huff quietly before continuing. “I never said you were.”
Etho doesn’t respond, aware of how the sword is still pressing painfully against the side of his throat. It’s not quite breaking skin, but the edge of the blade is sharp and cleanly cut. It wouldn’t take much to draw blood.
“You’re not trespassing,” the creeper says, drawing the Ss out in long hisses. “So what are you doing here?”
“I’m..” Etho trails off, mouth left open slightly. He doesn’t know. “...Just passing through, I guess.”
“You guess ?”
“I’m just passing through,” he repeats, hoping he sounds more confident this time. “I won’t- I won’t be in your way, I’ll move on as soon as you let me-”
“You’re with them, aren’t you?”
Etho blinks, and hesitates. Not from the absurdity of the question, but from the way the creeper’s snarl twists. For a second, in those dark eyes and tiny bright pupils, he thinks he can see fear.
“Them?” he asks, quietly. The creeper looks back at him, the brief flash of panic gone as his hardened gaze returns. Etho can’t help but notice the LED light is flickering again, wires sparking in a way that must be painful. The way the creeper’s mouth quirks up and almost flinches tells him it probably is.
“I knew I recognised your face,” the creeper growls, low and deep and full of malice. “You are with them, aren’t you? You’ve came and found me.” The paw’s grip around the hilt of the sword tightens, and Etho blenches as he feels the coolness of the sword trace its way up to his chin. The tip of it digs against the soft skin between neck and head, partially protected by his mask, and his chin is forced up so he has no choice but to face the creeper properly. “Are you going to try and take me back? Is that what this is?”
Etho doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about, but he’s not prepared to try and talk him down.“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Sure.” The creeper laughs again, but it’s humourless, mocking. “ You won’t. But what happens when I go back there, huh? You see this?” He raises his free hand to motion to his robotics, his horns. “You think I want more of this, huh? More faulty machinery?” The light flickers and buzzes loudly as though to prove his point.
Etho swallows, unable to shake his head without getting his throat cut. “No.”
The creeper looks back at him, and opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by another spark and a hiss of pain. Etho wonders how long this ‘faulty machinery’ has been bothering him. How much pain it might have caused.
“I..” Etho hesitates, before continuing. “I could fix that, if you want.”
The cyborg had turned away slightly when he flinched, but now his attention returns to Etho, eye wide and disbelieving. “Are you kidding me?”
Etho doesn’t quite believe himself, either. The circuitry looks like it’s redstone, and despite the amount of redstone he’d done for the show, he knew surprisingly little. It was so easy to sit back and not actually learn anything when every step was laid out in a script. But- and he thanked himself now for paying attention- there had been one project that stuck out to him… using redstone to create an AI pet. Wilson, they had named it. The script writers had been so excited about it, talking about how it was going to be good for ratings and merch, how it had never been done before and the redstone circuits he’d use would be brand new, and all sorts of other technical stuff that bored him; but the nature of the project had pushed Etho to actually learn what he was meant to be doing, studying the wiring and finer details. It was all too complex to remember now, but there were a few bits that stuck in his mind. The circuitry for the lights- those blinking eyes that would shift and adjust depending on Wilson’s mood- was one of them.
“You think I trust you to do something like that?” the creeper scoffed, but his glower had shifted slightly, a slight glint of curiosity in his eye. Etho paused, before tilting his head to the left slightly, freeing himself of the sword’s pressure. To his relief, the creeper didn’t move yet.
“Listen,” he said, slowly but clearly. He didn’t break gaze with his attacker. “I don’t know what you think I’m here for, or who I am, but I promise you. I’m not going to hurt you, or try and take you anywhere. I just want to pass through here and be on my way.”
The other scowls, but waits for him to finish. “...You can fix my eye?”
Etho nods ever so slightly, not wanting to move too suddenly in case he frightens him. “If you’ll let me.”
There’s another long moment of quiet, while the creeper mulls Etho’s offer over. Etho himself is breathing slightly easier without the sword against his neck, but he’s still aware of the hoof pressing weight against his ribcage. He’s especially aware of how complicated the exposed cables and machinery look now that he’s examining them properly, and for a moment, he wonders if he should just run, should the creeper decide to spare him. He doesn’t know how difficult or potentially dangerous this would be. He could easily mess it up, make this already damaged half-robot worse off and angrier than he already is.
But then the creeper sighs again, and his arm drops to his side, pulling the sword away from Etho. He raises his hoof and sets it down on the ground, looking down at Etho with an emotion that he can only describe as dissatisfaction.
“...Fine,” is all he says, and he steps away, allowing the builder to scramble to his feet. Etho quickly pulls his mask back over his mouth and nose, instinctively feeling his neck to ensure there’s no injury. Sure enough, the sword hasn’t left a mark. He glances up at the cyborg, wondering if it would be right to thank him for not hurting him. It would feel too odd, he decides, and settles for a vaguely appreciative look.
“Etho, you said?” the creeper asks as Etho pulls himself to his feet, cautiously reaching over to pick up his ender chest and sling it over his shoulder. Etho nods, waiting for the creeper to move- he assumes there’s somewhere safer than here to do any sort of repairs, a place where they aren’t going to risk water damage or some other external factor. The creeper is already turning and beginning to walk away, tail swishing and motioning for Etho to follow.
“Can I…?” Etho begins, and then falters. “Uh.. can I ask for your name?”
The creeper’s shoulders tense up, and he turns his head slightly so he can fix Etho with a look that screams No, you can’t . But when he faces away again and he responds, there’s a slight quiver in his voice that almost sounds like chagrin.
“Don’t need one.”
The sun is high in the sky, and the breeze from before has died down, letting warmth settle over the two as they make their way through the swamp. And despite his life being at threat moments ago, Etho cannot help but feel content as he follows, even if he’s not sure exactly where he’s going or who he’s going with.
He’s not home. And that’s a start.