Chapter Text
“Iskall? When was the last time we celebrated your birthday?”
Zedaph looked up at him from the ground, those big purple eyes full of curiosity.
Iskall blinked a few times. He was balanced atop a ladder on the floor of the Bamboo Lounge, holding one half of the HAPPY HATCHING DAY ETHO banner in one hand, and a thumbtack in the other. Zedaph was at the very least holding the ladder steady, but questions like that weren’t appropriate.
“Uh,” Iskall said as he tacked the banner in, “I…don’t know. I don’t think we have.”
Glass smashed, and Iskall whipped his head around to see where Stress had dropped an empty punchbowl on the dancefloor. Mumbo was staring at him with wide eyes, his jaw hanging open, from over where he was fiddling with the sound system.
“That’s…wow.” Zed scratched the back of his head, “D’you not have a birthday? Etho’s got his hatching day, so it’s not out of the question.”
Iskall swallowed nervously as he climbed down the ladder. This whole conversation was making his guts churn- it felt like his stomach was full of seeds, scraping against the walls. There was a reason he’d never brought it up, and it wasn’t a reason he was comfortable discussing with a roomful of hermits.
When his feet touched planks again, he found himself with a dozen eyes staring at him. Even Doc, who was holding Etho’s cake.
“Oh my god,” Doc rumbled, “We’ve never- I mean, I don’t remember us ever throwing you a party.”
Iskall smiled weakly. That was…partly by design, if he was being honest. Nobody had ever asked up to now, and he’d never thought to bring it up.
“Oh my word,” Mumbo facepalmed, “I can’t believe we forgot! Iskall, quick, when’s your birthday? Oh, god, I’m such an awful friend- I’m so sorry, dude-“
Iskall swallowed and shifted uncomfortably.
“I- I don’t know.” he said, putting on a cheery grin, “That’s not a problem, right? I just, I never told you guys, ‘cause I don’t know.”
Silence.
“You could make one up. I don’t have a birthday either!” Keralis said brightly, from where he was disentangling a ball of Christmas lights, “So I made one up, right?”
Iskall scratched the back of his head, careful not to dig his fingers into the weird fleshy…hole, he had in the back of his neck. It had been there as long as he could remember, and it kinda hurt when he touched it.
“Uh. Well, it…never…seemed like something I should do.” He admitted, “I sort of- like, I’m human, right? Etho hatched, Keralis…you sort of…are. Doc willed himself into existence, right? But humans are born. I know that. So I just- I never made up a birthday, ‘cause it never…”
It never really felt right, Iskall didn’t say.
He grinned. “Anyway! What else needs doing?”
Stress folded her arms.
“You could go to the Hub.” She suggested, “They’ll have records in the census house. They usually keep that written down.”
“And player backups!” Mumbo added brightly, “Seriously, dude, you’ve been going hard since this morning. We’re almost done with the setup for Etho’s surprise party. Why don’t you go to the Hub and get your records? And then we can throw you a huge party for all the birthdays we’ve missed!”
That last statement had every hermit in the room beaming, and Iskall realized just how much his friends cared. They were genuinely upset that they hadn’t ever thrown him a party, and- well, he was touched. But there was one more thing to think about…
“And what happens if I miss Etho’s birthday bash? Then who’s the terrible friend?” he asked reasonably.
“You won’t!” Mumbo assured him, “It’s not till tomorrow, right? I went to the Census House once, they’re very efficient. You should go! It’ll only take a few hours!”
“And honestly, now I really wanna know. I’m sure you just forgot, luv.” Stress winked at him, “Come on!”
“You’re just gonna booby-trap my omega cave while I’m out,” Iskall grumbled, and Stress giggled.
Nevertheless, he pulled up his communicator and tabbed over to the server list. Normally he’d use his bionic eye for the task, but it had been a little unreliable lately, and his old communicator never gave him any trouble. When the chips were down, the wrist-mounted comm was better than any fancy tech.
“Okay, fine. You guys win. I’ll be back in a little bit!” Iskall chuckled, and he clicked DISCONNECT.
<Iskall85 has left the game.>
Normally, Iskall would stop by the Hub to pick up new materials for maintaining his eye and robotic arm. Steel, plastic, those thousand minor necessities that every person needed, but servers couldn’t provide. Shaving cream and toothpaste, shoelaces and forks, the list of little things was endless.
But today, Iskall wasn’t shopping at the many bazaars. Today, he was climbing the marble steps towards the Greco-Roman inspired Census House.
It was strange, Iskall noted. He’d never been to the Census House before- normally, when census time came, he just filled out a form on his communicator, and it whizzed off to whatever data machines crunched the numbers and provided the stats. And from the scant few people climbing the steps around him, he wasn’t alone. Most people didn’t need a refresher on when their own birthday was, he guessed.
The building itself was the kind of thing Scar and Keralis would slaver over- it was deceptively small on the outside, but inside, it sprawled over a few dozen city blocks. Most of that housed a massive mainframe, while the remainder was for paper records.
And as he stepped across the polished granite floors and strolled up to a clockwork robot in a crisp suit, Iskall put his own robotic arm on the counter and smiled. Mojang had created fleets of these automata- colloquially known as “bots”- that were usually just reprogrammed Baritone bots shoved into a mechanical shell. This was to prevent any players from having to subject themselves to the drudgery of wage work- though volunteers weren’t uncommon. Some people just enjoyed doing paperwork.
“Hallo!” Iskall said brightly, “I’m just here to access my player records?”
The robot- Sherry, per the nametag- nodded, tilting her blank steel face.
“Sure thing! Can I start with your username, please?” she rasped with a clicking metal tone.
“Iskall85.”
She smiled and typed that into her computer.
“Excellent. Please look into the scanner.”
Iskall did so, staring at the middle of the glossy metal face, his stretched-out reflection smiling back at him.
A blue beam scanned up and down across his face, and the robot dinged.
“Excellent! Identity confirmed.” She said cheerfully.
Iskall opened his mouth to say something-
“I think you were attempting to access the wrong profile! Would you like me to switch to the correct one?” the droid chirped, and Iskall froze.
“…The wrong profile?” he asked nervously.
“Certainly! Your provided username and biometric data do not match completely. I’ll switch you over to the other account. What information would you like to know?” She typed something into her keyboard, and Iskall froze.
“Uh. Okay, hold on. Are you- I’m- my account is Iskall85, dude.”
“Certainly! That is not your account.” The robot chirped, “What information would you like to know?”
“…Are you listening to me? Are you looking at the Iskall85 account right now?” Iskall shuddered. If the robot had somehow pulled up someone else’s account by mistake, and he started asking questions about their personal information, he could get into a world of trouble.
“No. That account is not a match. Congratulations on returning, by the way!”
“Returning?” Iskall asked nervously. Oh great, she’d signed him into someone’s dead account. Some players did that- made bogus accounts for use as baritone bots, and then discarded them when they outlived their usefulness. No soul, just an empty shell, that nevertheless got a spot in the database.
“You have been inactive for nine…nine…nine…nine…nine…[error]cycles!” the robot said, “Welcome back.”
Iskall swallowed.
“Okay. Can you. switch me back to the Iskall85 account,” he said slowly, “and tell me what birthday is listed on that account?”
Gears clicked and whirred, as the robot hammered some keys.
“Oh! I apologize. I appear to have made an error. My mistake. I will immediately fix this! Thank you for not prying into data that wasn’t yours. I am switching over now.”
Iskall breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god. Now he wasn’t at risk of accidentally breaching someone’s privacy. And maybe he’d figure out when his birthday actually was.
“Iskall85’s date of birth is unknown! Is there anything more I can do for you today?”
Iskall’s knees wobbled a little. The Census House didn’t have it? They didn’t have it. They didn’t know, and they didn’t have it.
“No,” he said weakly.
“Okay! Have a wonderful day!” she chirped, and Iskall staggered away.
He needed a drink. What the hell was happening?
<INTERSERVERCOMM ACTIVE>
<Iskall85> so yeah that’s what happened
<Stressmonster101> weird
<Stressmonster101> someone modeled a baritone bot after you????
<Iskall85> yeah it. it’s weird. I don’t like it
<MumboJumbo> that doesn’t make sense. People don’t do that when they make those
<MumboJumbo> the bot shouldn’t ever log you into someone else’s account dude
<MumboJumbo> Id talk to x when you get back
<Iskall85> yeah I will
<Stressmonster101> enjoy your coffee, luv!
Iskall groaned and rubbed his temples, taking another sip of his espresso. The open-air café he’d found was two doors down from the census hall, and with the sun shining and crisp blue skies overhead, he felt content with himself for the first time that day.
Iskall swallowed and stared into his reflection, swirling in the depths of his coffee. Because this whole thing was verging uncomfortably close to his earliest memories.
He remembered waking up in a cave at the outskirts of Kingdomcraft, with nothing but the clothes on his back and knowledge of how to maintain his robotic eye and arm. Before that…nothing. A big grey blob. No… ‘before’. Iskall sipped his coffee.
All the hermits had a ‘before’. Wels talked about parents. Mumbo talked about Parents. Stress talked about Parents.
Doc mentioned littermates, Etho had his nestmates, even Xisuma had Evil X. Keralis told fond stories of his life before, dreaming in the abyss. But they all had a… ‘before’. They had parents, or loved ones, or memories.
He had no ‘before.’
Iskall swallowed.
Which was why he’d never picked a birthday. Because birthdays were all about… well, ‘before’. When you were born, or hatched, you marked the day to track and celebrate your growth and aging. But he had no ‘before’ to compare it to.
Iskall sighed and swigged the last of his coffee. He needed to head home.
This whole adventure was fruitless.
He stood up from the table, tapping his comm against the table’s inbuilt payment stick. He transferred over a handful of Minits to pay for his drink, and shook his head. Iskall wandered into the café, and stepped into the gender-neutral washroom (located between the Gents, the Ladies, and the Villains, of course.) He attended to his business, and then went to wash his hands in the sink.
Iskall pressed the soap dispenser and scrubbed his nails. He always got dirt and rock dust caught under them when he was in the mines, and it was a ton of work to get them clean again. Once he’d gotten his thumb clean, he glanced back up.
And his single organic eye went wide.
Three men in black masks were standing behind him, and before he could even spin around-
One of them lunged forward and stabbed something into the weird hole in his neck. It felt like a- like a- like a-
Iskall’s body went limp instantly. His eyes slammed closed.
The last thing he remembered was the bright light over the sink, the sound of running water-
And a male voice, snickering.
“That’s the one.”
Everything went black.