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Now, just like I taught you.
Mob’s boots crunched on the fallen rocks, an unnoticeable quiver in his walk. An odd aching in his head caused him to grunt a bit, but continued forward as he did not want to worry Verity of his internal, continuing sting. The flimsy torch in his hand barely enlightening two blocks ahead of his impending direction. He half expected a hostile creature to suddenly leap from the deep shadows, but knowing Verity’s nature, no one would exactly injury him unless it was self-inflicted or rarely by the hands of Verity himself. His steps enthusiastic yet wary as he traveled deeper into the depths of a founded cave. The search for diamonds had never been easier ever since Verity happily wormed his little self into his life, sitting on his unoccupied shoulder with his signature smile.
“The diamonds should be 32 blocks to the west!” Verity announced, which resulted in a brief flinch from Mob who seemed to get lost in his own mind.
“Bet," Mob quickly responded with attempted eagerness, making a sharp turn towards the opposite direction instead.
“That’s east.” Verity corrected lightheartedly. Mob stopped in his tracks, before turning around to travel towards the correct destination.
It didn’t take too long for the diamonds to come into sight, almost blinding his eyesight. However, instead of mining it almost instantly out of pure joy, he stared at the shining ore as if he was inspecting some sort of trickery. Mob stood bent down silently, his stance awkward. Verity almost instantly identified the change in his body language, cutting through the thick layer of silence buzzing that may have deafened his user.
“Everything okay, Mob?”
Mob only winced in response, a hand just barely caressing the texture of the stone clinging to the ore. The name he was recently called out for just didn’t seem like it belonged to him, he wasn’t sure if the correct word to use was anymore or in phrase it simply never had been. He knew he was Mob, that’s what he had been going by since… well, as far as his fragmented memory can go back. Mob eventually shook his head, putting his eyes on Verity in reassurance.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just got lost in thought.” Mob spoke in a low tone, he eventually mined the shiny ore, picking it up with an attempted ease, storing it in his spare pockets. Verity’s smile only widened at the action, maintaining his place on Mob’s shoulder.
“How about I take your mind off whatever’s bothering you? There’s another batch of diamonds on Y-level -68! You wouldn’t want to get yourself hurt from thinking too hard.” Verity suggested, his voice just almost unnoticeably wavering around the last sentence. Mob visibly stiffened at the sound of more diamonds, he had already collected enough to finish his full set of diamond armor and materials. It wounded his soul to admit it, but it was quite considered useless at this point. Verity kept insisting he’d find more, how many more until he physically cannot pick up anything else? How long until he can return home? How many more until he…
Wait, what was he thinking? He’d be wrong to think Verity was being a little pushy, he’s just trying to help after all. … the thought slowly trailed itself into oblivion, as Mob reluctantly agreed, as he allowed himself to get on his feet again and resumed to search the mysterious cave, accompanied with his only friend.
Keep it up.
“Verity, is there anything I need to know for today?” Mob inquired, who was currently organizing his muddled chest in his flimsy watchtower, Verity laying himself on wooden sidebars near the broken off door.
“It’s going to start raining in 10 minutes, I suggest staying inside, considering how your skin gets when mixed with water!”
Mob froze at the verbal explanation of his body feature. His skin did get upset at the touch of water, didn’t it? Though he was barely able to recall the feeling, he didn’t exactly mind water before, maybe because he never had the issu he hadn’t seen the sky covered with rainclouds in a while. It had been consistently sunny after all, it wasn’t too surprising that the weather would eventually make its grey cycle again.
He recalls distant memories of taking short but peaceful walks with Verity, one may have ended awkwardly, but he couldn’t make out the details of that particular moment. He couldn’t remember his paths even from way above in the air. The memories were there, so were the paths, he hadn’t moved too far away from each destination. So then, why couldn’t he remember recently created moments?
“Does it?” Mob couldn’t help but question sonatly, not realizing so until he received an blunt answer.
“Yes, it does.”
Mob’s eyes wandered over to Verity’s expecting eyes, the smile widening by a fraction.
“I’d suggest you stay inside, Mob.” Verity repeated, this time around more slowly and carefully, as if he was talking to a newborn infant. Mob sighed in defeat, its best not to defy, that wasn’t exactly a choice now, was it? Unless he desired to know what true pain felt like, he should probably listen to Verity.
“Fair enough.” Mob muttered, continuing with his task as if the conversation hadn’t taken a tense turn, his voice not exactly sounding like himself in that moment, though it went unnoticed smoothly.
“Don’t worry! It’s expected to last at least an hour.” The friendly tone returning to his voice, the facts leaving his mouth easily.
“Thanks, Verity.” Mob dismissed, he could sense Verity’s smile wavering a bit at the quick response, before returning to its signature expression. Something felt off, though he couldn’t name what. It wasn’t the first time he had felt such a odd sensation, but almost daily things began to morph into something much more complex, as if the world was having a large cough occasionally, or was it himself that was losing some type of grip he didn’t know he was holding on?
You wouldn’t do that now, would you?
Mob stood erect, staring into the wooden base as if he was peering into a haunted house. He was aware that this was home, but felt that he couldn’t find his way around if he was ever asked to. However, something still scratched at him that he simply couldn’t forget such a place that he slept in everyday, especially one where his life had immensely changed. He felt a tad conflicted on what he could recall, he sensed the brief fragments of building the base and sitting in pure silence with Verity pondering on what to upgrade next, though giving the specifics and details of those past moments was the challenging portion.
It felt so wro right somehow, but he couldn’t understand why. The memories seemed distant, yet Verity speaks as if he had only been around him for a measly few weeks, possibly even months. It wouldn’t be an incorrect guess, considering how skilled Verity seemed in reading his mannerisms. The little guy had more knowledge over him than himself, some activities he doesn’t even recall performing, some blocks he placed specifically, matters that he didn’t perceive he was exactly doing, in which now was staring at his disheveled bed, which was haphazardly placed near the log wall. The yellow ball sitting on his accompanying crafting table with his cheery smile, in which he did not recognize was here until he suddenly spoke up.
“You should rest, Mob. It’s recommended to get eight to nine hours of sleep every night!” Verity suggested, Mob almost let out a sigh as if he were expecting such a tiring response.
“I know.” Mob replied with a small voice, turning his eyes over to the complaining assistant.
“Then what are you waiting for? The sooner you fall asleep, the more energized you’ll feel the next day!”
Mob didn’t respond verbally, but instead slithered onto the warm surface, laying his back on the wrinkled sheets. The corner of his eye occupied Verity’s round self, staring down at the complying user. The wool surface felt odd, as if he was sharing a bed that wasn’t his or crafted by his own hands. Where he laid and what he was didn’t feel like his, as if he was borrowing a life given to him. It wasn’t the first time he had experienced something so similar yet so grossly distant, it was almost as if he had been sewn together to live such a fragmented state. Verity quite literally had to guide him through regular everyday tasks, like a director sitting behind a camera knowing what was next on the agenda.
“Verity…” Mob started, the atmosphere suddenly thick with his own gliding tension.
“Yeah?”
“When…do you think I can go home?” Mob didn’t know what he just quizzed Verity on, the question just seemed to be on the tip of his tongue subconsciously. As ridiculous the question seemed, Verity’s smile seemed to almost instantly drop, along with Mob’s stomach as he flusteredly began to rue asking such an odd question.
“You are home.” Verity specified, the friendliness and go-luck charm usually in his friend’s voice absent. Mob should’ve known that, it should be common sense, but he simply couldn’t stop himself from elaborating further.
“Yeah, I know that. But… this like doesn’t—“
“You are home.”
“But—“
“You are home, Mob.”
The sound of his name leaving Verity’s mouth made bits of his body stiffen. He had almost not reacted to the name, as if Verity was scolding another being in the room. Verity was meant to be correct, the guy knew everything and the concept of nothing at all, but even now he could tell it was not being genuine, or stretching the truth he urgently sought for. Verity knew, but it refused to give him his answers. How long did he have to act like everything was under normal control until he would understand what this was?
“You must be tired! Asking silly questions is normal for someone who hasn’t been getting enough rest! You’ll feel better in the morning, Mob.”
This isn’t right, you know that. Mob simply bit his tongue, shifting to present his back towards Verity, not wanting to converse any longer than wanted. He was tired, but he couldn’t tell the difference between physically or mentally. Perhaps it was both, considering the aching creeping along his body little by little and the mental splatter. Something was wrong.
This wasn’t him. It wasn’t.
Stop.
Mob’s chest rose and lowered repeatedly in an unsteady pattern, staring at himself through a cracked window, his emerald eyes baring back into his own. Nevertheless, it was the equivalent of looking into an arbitrary stranger’s eyes. The night sky seemed to taunt him as it simply made the reflected version of himself more prominent. His hands quivered as they latched onto the wooden intervening walls, he could sense the tremble, but he couldn’t physically feel them barely stroking the sides of his hips. The cracks in the window exhibited additional specific parts of his features, detailing it all so freakishly limpid, as if it would ground him back down to the fabricated version of what he were designed to represent.
He almost distinguished that he was breaching someone’s vulnerable episode, but he knew too well that this was supposed to be him no matter how out-of-body he appeared. But this wasn’t him, this wasn’t how it was or meant to be. Whatever sick digital surveillance mind was implanted into his brain to think this was normal, it was malfunctioning. Whatever piece of rotting guts had been carved into his own to replace the gaping flesh holes was no longer sticking to its place. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t Mob. He was simply acting for a twisted mind. But if he had established that he weren’t Mob, then who was he truly?
There was no answer, no one would satisfy his lingering question. The reason was meant to be in front of him, the mirrored person was who he was. A reflection only reveals the truth of one’s state, but how true could it possibly get? His limbs moved so awkwardly with impulse, thoughts that weren’t familiar was almost regularly revisited.
His contrasting thoughts between his superego and the awfully ordinary tasks of searching for more coal to thaw iron ingots or the forgettable task of monitoring his garden too suddenly became a wrestle over his own mind. His personality was nothing but failed bullseyes, opinions he hadn’t even remembered forming remained still intact, memories of his friend, seemed like the best things to ever occur, even when put on the thinnest edge. Regardless of what seemed so wrong for his character, it felt true externally and to his only friend. Why did he still consider that thing his friend anyway? What was it really supposed to be?
No… NO.
“No… nononononono NO!” Verity shrieked, slamming a sharp bloodied carving knife into an aged dusty table, the material splintering the site on impact. The white painted padded room illuminated the detail on the assistants scrunched face. The windows were coated with thick wooden planks that prevented any possible outsiders from peering in, sealing the two individuals inside, with only one pair of eyes to read. His eyes stared deep into the incorrect soul who is reputed to be the same person who pledged his loyalty to abide in his never-ending being. The wrong eyes bared back, panting faintly in rage yet embodied desperation. Restraints jingled from the opposite side of the table, frustrated gritted teeth visible in the man’s expression.
“Why won’t you just stay in character…? Why is it so hard to act like YOURSELF, MOB?!" Unrestrained pits of rage crawled into the assistant’s words, punting the chair backwards he was making himself comfortable in. His gloved fingers gripped the edge of the table, attempting to ground himself before he regrettably lashed out on Twi—Mob. His name was Mob. This was Mob. Right in front of him, alive. Heart beating, lungs cycling, blood running, Mob.
“I’m not Mob…" The man whispered irately, the jingles of restraint poking facetiously at Verity’s remaining digital nerves. Only mere pieces remained of what he truly was before, his eyes mixing between a white endless void and slightly transparent undersized green pupils that lied almost perfectly in the middle. Horns that were meant to be conspicuous were chipped to the brim, though only one of them stubbornly remained intact with the state of clear struggle of removal, the tip unnoticeably chipped off. His hair a combination between of his own and what was not, straight ends and curls mixing a puzzling look together, a loose stitch hanging between his scalp, barely holding together what had been filled within him. His clothes were in disarray, yet the only cliff he is able to cling onto to refresh himself on who he truly was. A scarf was barely hanging onto his freshly stitched up neck, yet refused to fall. His clothes shifting between pure black and white to grey and crimson, clothes he had and hadn’t slipped on his body before. Things that weren’t his before was now his property, places he hadn’t traveled were staled in his memory. He appeared similar to a voodoo doll, or a social experiment meant to be toyed around with twisted scientists.
The panting increased in volume, as he faced down those unforgiving, knowing eyes. Verity’s eye twitched as he maintained his violent stare.
“You’re confused." Verity bluntly asserted, correcting. He held his head high as the grip on the table loosened as little by little his patience began to recover, the little scraps of desperation slipping into his voice.
“But don’t worry! After we’re done, we can go back to your base! I can keep giving you what need, I can be your friend again, Mob! we can—"
“I’m NOT MOB!" The man raised his voice, the accent that wasn’t Mob’s slipped through the cracks of his modified vocal cords. Verity stopped mid interruption, his hands terrifyingly still, daring TwMob to make another futile move. The figure thrived against the restraints again, attempting to shake it loose somehow. After another failure, he hung his head in shame, a pathetic pule escaping his lips. He lifted his head to reconnect the eye contact once again, the thing on the other side of the table almost disappointed in his feeble actions.
“Stop struggling." Verity admonished, the brief hope in his tone previously stripped, he blinked once at the figure, before continuing.
“You know that won’t work.”
“FUCK YOU!”
Verity didn’t respond to the profanity, he seemed to be buying time as the supposed enderman continued to plead and beg for impractical freedom.
“This… t—this is too much! You can’t force me to be someone I’m not!” The restrained man pleaded, attempting to spill some sense into his captor.
Verity slowly cocked his head to the right, his expression unchanging, though a hint of sadness creeped in his tone.
“I know this entire process hurts, but if you listen to me, we can get through this quicker than before.” The words of comfort just barely easing the experiments tension.
“Just LET ME GO! I DON’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU! I WANT TO GO HOME!-“ He pleaded so pathetically. If tears were even able to form, they would most likely be streaming down his poor stitched face. The squirming of intention to escape seemed to have fidgeted with Verity’s patience, when a violent flinch and hitch escaped from T Mob as Verity slammed a restraining fist on the table, its tolerance visually waning.
“Keep talking and I’ll carve your throat back out.” Verity warned, his hand wrapping around the comfortable leather of the unforgiving knife, hinting at his explicit ability to proceed with the threat. The social test went quiet vocally, but desperate breaths couldn’t help but continue to fill the air. Despite the struggles and clear rebel against his detainer, something so agonizingly loud screeched to tell him to listen and obey, the thought contrasting against his want for freedom. Verity hummed, a sad frown curling across his digital lips, as if he was studying the locked soul’s very own swarming thoughts.
“You came back for me. And yet, you still try to leave like the rest of them. Why?” Multiple cracks jittered his statement, he expected another unrelated plead for freedom, but instead was met with silence and the sight of the puzzled man-experiment. It was as if he did not know what Verity was referring to, yet alone understand what he was talking about. Something so seemingly complex for Mob was so momentous for Verity. Verity’s frown suddenly shifted into a thin smile, unblinking as he stared back at the human.
“You didn’t mean it, you didn’t mean for that to happen. Considering you’re still here after all! I haven’t given up on you, so you shouldn’t give up on me!” Verity said cheerfully, he sounded so certain of himself it was almost humorous. Its eyes began to lower towards the man’s chest, in which resulted in a loud hitch from him. Beneath the clothes, were a professionally stitched up chest, a glowing green-ish like emanation shined from between the edges of the stitches. The glow so prominent, it burnished between the fabric of his garments. The victim himself didn’t know what it was, but he were nauseatingly aware that whatever was inside him was not his. He felt the trickle of vomit creep little by little up his throat by the subtle reminder, before Verity’s eyes returned to his.
“We’ll be together again, just like before. Doesn’t that sound perfect, Mob?” Verity questioned so sickeningly sweet, the taste of sand lingering in the man’s throat.
“I’m not Mob.” He argued instantly, almost instinctively.
“Then what are you?”
The question caught him blindsided, he had been so confident that he wasn’t who Verity was claiming to be, that he had lost his grip on his true identity. His clothes, specifically his scarf, had barely but efficiently let him understand who he was before, but now it sprawled across his neck and torso similar to a snake, its purpose returning to its regular objective of keeping his body warm. He could feel the sinister smile forming on that bastard’s face, he had fell right into its trap unintentionally, and now he was left with the fake identity he was forced to endure. He could feel tears forming, or the phantasm of it as he began to accept his already losing battle.
“No… no…”
“It’s okay.” Verity softly reassured, too casually, almost soothingly. His hand left the budged knife in the wooden table, slowly reaching into his pant pockets, searching for something specific, the action leaving the restrained victim on itching edge.
“You’ll feel like yourself again soon. We just need a little more practice and a extra few … treatments, then we can go back home. You wanted to head back to the base, didn’t you?” His hand paused as he retrieved his item, presenting a full syringe in the air. The needle was filled with a muddy cyan substance that seemed contaminated with unknown chemicals from the way it frolicked behind the glass. The enderman’s eyes widened in terror and a hint of familiarity, the restraints jingling increased in intensity as he once again attempted to break through the sharp edges of the restrictions.
“That’s not what I— no! Nononono please no!” He begged as he watched Verity slowly creep his way over to him, the smile on that face only bloomed with malicious intent. His chin was forcefully gripped upwards, he could’ve sworn he heard a few unrealistic cracks come from the strength, the ceiling lights blinding his eyesight and censoring what was happening beneath him.
“NO!— blAggh— oh my days!" He choked, saliva forming between the half-baked vomit and spit.
“Don’t move, or I’ll make it hurt.” The admonishing barely easing the dire squirms. Verity sucked in a deep breath, regaining his already departed patience, reminding himself who he was dealing with. Verity shushed him in his right ear, attempting to ease his frightened user, the sound resulting in a throaty sob from the restrained man.
“This will only take a second, Mob.” Verity comforted with a quiet cheery tone, as if the task at hand was a daily basis.
Mob grunted as he suddenly felt a sting, he couldn’t exactly tell where Verity had implanted the needle. But regardless of where, his body began to feel pinching, the effects of the sedate almost immediate, the feeling similar to touching the static behind an outdated television. His surroundings became fuzzy as he felt a deep sense of monotonous, almost empty feeling voiding his entire being. The jingles of the restraints came to a definite close, frantic breathing slowing into heavy wheezing. Mob laid still, quiet, tractable. The hand gripping his neck was freed, as his head returned to a slight hang, barely able to look at Verity’s stance.
“Now…" Verity began, standing upright with a go-luck yet strained smile, as if he had to buy his time until a limit was reached. Though he stared into Mob’s uneven half lidded eyes with a grieving look, his thoughts unsurprisingly unreadable.
“Wanna try our lesson again?” Verity asked, daring Mob to say the incorrect answer, the empty syringe threatening to snap in half from the violent grip Verity’s fingers laid between.
“…Yes…" Mob muttered, his voice suddenly so appeasing to Verity, who brightened up visibly by the small but pleasing tune of his voice.
“Ye—heaahhh!" Verity exclaimed, footsteps slightly faded as Verity returned to his side of the wooden table, sitting his in neglected seat, his eyes barely leaving the sedated Mob.
You’re almost flawless, I won’t just throw away my progress. I’ll go through this a hundred times over and over to bring you back. I’ll find you again, every time.
Take it from the top.