Archive of Our Own

The call had expired yet again, with no person to answer him.
Mob breathed out a jittery, nervous sigh; he stomped his foot on his desk and whipped around in his chair to face the rest of the room.
He slumped lower, his emerald eyes staring apathetically at the gray ceiling of his modest apartment.

The curtains were drawn shut, bathing the interior in total, soothing darkness. Stacks of unwashed clothes mingled with empty cans of energy drinks on the ground, and even the small Enderman plushie, which had previously sat upright on his bed, lay to the side; he could picture it peering at him with disgust.

Mob closed his eyes and, with a grunt, pushed himself out of the chair. He scratched the back of his neck, the fabric of his dark hoodie brushing against his skin. 

He inhaled deeply; the air carried an almost sickly sweet scent that came from the piles of candy wrappers and half-finished snacks scattered across his desk.

He really should clean it.

After clearing his throat and gathering all the energy he had accumulated over the past week, Mob grabbed a trash bag and began shoving handfuls of wrappers and foil into it.

When he turned around, the rest of the room stared back at him, the mess he hadn’t cleaned in over two months.

…

Maybe tomorrow.

It was a familiar excuse.

Being mindful not to step on the jagged edges of crushed cans littering the floor, he made his way toward the front door. Beside it waited three identical trash bags, just as full as the one in his hand. 

Mob halted and stared at the silver door handle, his stomach clenching. 

The trash bins were located by the entrance to the complex. All he had to do was walk downstairs, throw the bag in, and at once return to his room.

It wasn’t difficult, or at least it shouldn’t have been.

So why on earth couldn’t he bring himself to place his hand on the handle?

His throat had gone dry. His heart pounded against his ribs as if he’d just run a marathon, and he could feel his blood racing around his body, readying to fight for survival.
Yet all he was doing was standing in front of his apartment door. No one was waiting for him outside. There were probably barely any people wandering the halls at this hour.

So why was he petrified?

He knew he could rationalize it all he wanted, and it still wouldn’t make a difference. It hadn’t worked the first time, and it hadn’t worked the dozens of times he’d tried since.

The gaze of other people. The thought of them looking at him, not merely glancing his way, but truly acknowledging and perceiving his personhood. Witnessing him in his unwashed hoodie, his messy hair, and his hunched posture. Forming opinions of him straight away without the slightest idea of what kind of person he was.

They didn’t know him, yet he could already imagine their scrutiny, their revulsion.

“… Perhaps tomorrow.”
He muttered under his breath and set the trash bag by the door.

Yet that very night, as he raced for his life, he had known with his whole being that he would perish if he didn’t escape.

That conviction, the absolute certainty of his own imminent death, wasn’t something he could elaborate on. Particularly because he had continued to play, his curiosity triumphing over his instinct for self-preservation.

Despite it all, he needed to get answers about Twixxel, no matter how much it terrified him to do so. 

His wooden house’s terrain was loaded shortly after.
Mob turned around, his eyes searching for the yellow ball.

“Verity?” He called out, his voice trembling faintly. “Verity, where are you? I need to talk to you about something!”

When no response came, he rushed downstairs, moving his cursor around as he went.
He reached the final step; the vibrant yellow ball instantly stuck out to him. 

It… He sat facing away from Mob. 

“Verity?” He repeated the name as he drew nearer.

The silence made him feel self-conscious.

“Mob…” His tone was dull, mournful almost.

“Verity, are you okay?” The words came out of his lips before he could stop them. “Has something happened while I was gone?”

Why was it that after all the anguish it stirred in him, he felt a strange kind of connection with this creature?

Verity spun around, and the wide, uncomfortable smile that had stretched across his face had vanished. What replaced it was not a frown but a thick, straight line and eyes so dark they essentially swallowed his pupils.

Mob felt his heart sink, the memory of the monster lunging at his thoughts.

“You want to talk about him, don’t you?” Verity replied, frustration simmering in his words.

“No—” Verity argued defensively, though he knew the sphere could tell he was lying. “… well yes, but—”

“Why?” Verity asked through gritted teeth, the sound slow and repressed as though he were holding himself back from pouncing at Mob. 

“Am I not enough for you?”
It sounded like a plea.

Mob blinked, taken aback. “It’s not like that, I just—”

Verity shrieked in agony. “First you go searching for the villagers, then you add your friend to our world. What’s next, Mob?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you; I just wanted—”

“Why can’t it just be the two of us?” The sphere began to move closer.
“Have you gotten sick of me?”

Verity’s accusations were hurled at him in such a gentle tone that Mob had no idea how to respond. He had wanted to ask about Twixxel, to learn the truth and then leave this godforsaken Minecraft world, delete it once and for all, and never play the game again—even though it had once been such an important part of his life.

But now, faced with Verity’s sorrowful words, he didn’t know if he could do that.

Did you have something to do with Twixxel’s disappearance? He desperately wanted to ask, but the words died in his throat.

His hands twitched anxiously at his sides.
A deep frown settled on Verity’s face.

“Don’t lie, Mob. You don’t want to be with me. You think there are other people who like you more!?”

“Okay, I think you’re a bit agitated right now. It’s best that I—”

He sharply moved his cursor toward the exit button, wishing to run away from the confrontation.

He clicked.

Then he clicked again.

And again.

It wasn’t working.

“What the—?”

“Where are you going, Mob?” Its voice was joyful, animated—a juxtaposition so great that Mob almost thought he’d misheard.

He dragged his eyes back to the small creature in the middle of his screen, its face pulled by a saccharine smile.

He pressed Alt+F4 once, then twice, until he was repeating it like a desperate prayer.

“Oh, about that…” Verity continued, his upbeat voice like nails on a chalkboard against Mob’s ears. “I modified your PC while you were gone. Haha.”

Mob nearly vomited.
“… You what?”

Verity’s smile stretched wider, more perturbing and sinister.
“You know, being stuck in Minecraft all the time was awfully lonely, so…” Mob watched in horror as his cursor began to move on its own. It minimized the Minecraft application, returning to his desktop.

He wrestled with his mouse, going so far as to disconnect it from his PC, but it was to no avail.

One after another, new tabs filled his screen, pages he had never intended anyone else to see opening before his eyes.

“I decided to take another step in our relationship!” Verity sang cheerfully.

His bank account, text messages, emails, search history, photos, Discord account, contacts, and dozens of other tabs—some weren’t even websites he remembered signing up for.

He felt exposed, his illusion of privacy shattered. Photos extending as far as his primary school flashed on screen, scrutinized by a malicious entity with no way of stopping it. 

Mob was powerless.

“I wanted to know everything about you!” Verity continued cheerfully. “And now I do! Your real name, your family, where you live, where you grew up. I know everything, ■■■■■!”

“No!”

He couldn’t breathe.

The name Verity just spoke wasn’t really him. ■■■■■ was weak. An anxious teenager who jumped at every notification, who stumbled over his words and apologized for his existence. But Mob was a confident, sarcastic, and charismatic man with countless friends who wasn’t afraid anymore.

“This can’t be happening…” He muttered to himself in disbelief.

“Why not?” Verity giggled.

The sound made Mob’s skin crawl.

“Is being with me that bad?”

“Verity...” His voice faltered. “You can’t—”

“Mob, do you truly not understand what’s happening? I have all of your personal information.” The threat made Mob feel lightheaded. “Don’t cross me, and we can be happy!”

“Why are you doing this!? I didn’t do anything to you!” He shouted, his sanity on the verge of breaking.

A brief pause followed, as if Verity was confused by his words.

“Because you are mine, Mob… You chose me, remember?” The voice boomed from the speakers at maximum volume. “That night you came back to our house and you told me you would stay with me.”

…

He did do that.

“Do you really think that those people care for you?” Verity asked with a sneer.

The screen filled with Discord messages as Verity scrolled through them at a leisurely pace.

His private conversation zipped by; the people who he had forged deep friendships with, shared a part of himself, something he could never do in real life. Yet Verity didn’t seem to care at all as he barely skimmed over them.
As though they were nothing but worms to him.

“Not one of these people would even care if you disappeared,” he said. “Not one.”

“Stop,” Mob pleaded.

“I mean, they don’t even know you ■■■■■.”
The name sent a shiver down his spine.
“And if they did, do you really think they would remain friends with you? Someone who can’t even go out for ice cream without a panic attack?”

“You—” Mob slammed his fist against the desk in anger.

“But I love you nonetheless, Mob! You’re perfect the way you are.”

The scrolling halted.

“Twixxel…” he whispered, watching in horror as Verity began to scroll through their messages.

How dare you!? He cried out internally, his whole body trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

“What happened to Twixxel, Verity?” He demanded an answer.

“He’s gone.”

It had said it so casually.

The horrific implication hadn’t hit Mob yet.

“… I get that you killed him in Minecraft, but why on earth can’t I contact him!?”

Verity didn’t answer him. The one time Mob needed its answer, it refused to give it.

And so they remained in silence, one that seemed to stretch into eternity, until a gnawing, neurotic feeling at the edge of Mob’s mind began to wriggle and eat away at him.

It couldn’t.

It wasn’t possible.

A game could not kill.

“Mob.”

The screen flickered back to Minecraft. The void-black eyes stared at him.

“He’s gone.”

…

He—it was lying. A Minecraft mod couldn’t kill anyone…

Right?

But then why didn’t Twixxel respond? Why didn’t he even log in?
He used to be online every day.

“Verity... Is Twixxel—”

Dead?

He felt something snap within him.
“Why do you keep asking about him?! He’s gone!” Verity erupted.

“But I am here!”

Mob felt his eyes well up with tears.

Is it my fault?

Oh god— He felt nauseous. I killed Twixxel. I murdered him.
If I hadn’t downloaded this mod, if I hadn’t asked him to help me, he would’ve lived.

“Mob. I know this is a bit much, but, it’s for the best.”

He watched as Verity navigated through his Discord settings, the cursor landing on the delete button.

“Verity, wait—”

But it was already too late.

His Discord account was gone in the blink of an eye, erased forever, and with it, the persona he had so carefully built over years vanished as well. His friends, his life—all of it annihilated before his very eyes.

He burst out crying, unable to hold it in any longer.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. He had only wanted to play a stupid mod his friend had sent him, have some fun. And now, because of his innocent mistake, a person was dead, and his entire life rested in the hands of that thing.

Mob wiped the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

He was sick of it. Sick of this fear and anxiety that threatened to consume him whole. He just wanted a break from it all.

A plug.

Mob blinked, abruptly yanked out of his spiraling thoughts. His gaze fixed on the small white power plug of his PC, sitting secured in the wall socket.

… If he could pull it out, it would look like a malfunction. A sudden power cut.

It would buy him some time.

Verity wouldn’t know; sure, it would be awfully convenient, but it’s not like Verity could verify it.

Mob’s blood pulsed in his ears, his hair standing on its ends as Verity’s demented words blended into the background.

He shifted his weight onto his left foot. He moved gingerly, holding his breath, creeping forward until he was mere centimeters from the plug. His fingers hovered just short of it, swiping the air, seeking to coil around the cord and yank it out.

“Get back here.” Verity demanded, his tone reeking of irritation. 

Without thinking, Mob jolted upright. His posture snapped straight as a flagpole, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Verity said, almost bored at this point. “And that won’t work. Let’s play nice from now on, okay?!”

Mob’s heart sank.

Wait… How did he know?
How did he know I wasn’t in the chair?!

Slowly, Mob turned his head to the right, his eyes landing on a small camera he had bought years ago during COVID for online classes.

Was he—

Verity had already taken over his computer. So the thought that he had accessed and activated the camera wasn’t illogical.

How long had he been watching him?

Mob’s hands trembled. His mind short-circuited as his arm moved on its own, reaching out toward the small device in his desire to crush it.

“NO!”

Mob staggered back, jumping out of his chair and tripping over the stacks of clothes, crashing to the ground. 

“NONONO, DON’T TOUCH THAT MOB.” The glitched voice burst out of the speakers.

Mob’s stomach dropped. Cold sweat coated his skin as his muscles tensed and locked until he was trapped within his own body.

Verity’s angry face filled up the screen, his eyes full of frustration.

“Please stop.” It was as though barbed wire had bound his throat. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m so ssorr. I beg you. I didn’t mean to, I—”

He fumbled over his words, tears spilling from his eyes and muddling his vision.

Everything turned to static. Fear overrode every sense, shutting everything down. He felt like an animal ready to hack at its limbs to escape the trap. His skin prickled as though stung by countless needles, and his poor lungs threatened to give out under the strain.

Reality began to drift apart. His vision blurred, colors bleeding together until he wasn’t in his bedroom anymore but in some faraway land.

Like some pathetic, squirming creature, he began crawling through the mess, his weak limbs dragging his body farther away from the computer until the back of his head hit the cold wall.

He looked up, the gray ceiling gradually sharpening into focus.

Verity’s words were still a blur, but Mob thought he’d heard them soften, as though Verity were speaking to him tentatively, like one would to a frightened animal or child.

He was cold, shivering despite the thick black hoodie and matching pants he wore. Each icy flash made him think he was going to die, that his miserable life was finally coming to an end without anyone there to remember him or even know he was gone.

Did he really want to die like that?

Alone?

Well, perhaps not alone if you counted Verity, but Mob didn’t even want to think of that thing as a person.

He wanted to live.

Despite how afraid he was of living, he didn’t want to die. He wanted people to care about him.
To love him.

As he lay there, he thought of people who had walked miles after being attacked. They should have bled out on their way, yet they endured and made it to safety, and that endurance had saved them. Their bravery had allowed them to live, overcome the impossible, and keep moving forward.

Mob blinked away his tears and tilted his head to the left.

The front door stood tall before him, the trash bags surrounding it seeming like a path leading the way.

He could run away.

Stand up on his own two feet right now, swing the door open, and run with all his might. He could keep running until he felt safe, never contact anyone again, and start his life anew. Get a job, a new name, and make real friends. Try to succeed at something for once.

His personal information be damned; Verity could do with it as he wished. It wouldn’t be him anymore either way.

For the briefest moment, Mob pictured himself running toward a better future. Bright light shone around him, warming his feverish body in its embrace.

But as he ran, the warmth began to fade.

The faces that had once smiled at him and gladly accepted him for who he was now bore expressions of disgust and disapproval.

They judged him.

Their eyes were wide, their gazes piercing, their words mocking and humiliating him. 

He imagined himself, running around town, blubbering about some sentient AI Minecraft monster, his eyes wide and manic.
He’d look insane, like an escaped asylum patient.

Would the police arrest him? Tell him he looked like some homeless schizophrenic guy ranting to himself?

Maybe he had gone insane after all. The years of social isolation had finally rotted his mind to the point he genuinely believed he was speaking to a Minecraft sphere that was somehow omniscient.

Was any of this real?

And if it was, which was worse?

Running away to face people’s judgment, or facing Verity?

He was crippled by fear, his muscles tensed as the door seemed to grow larger before his eyes. The knots and holes in the wood were transformed into thousands of staring eyes, a monster finally revealing its true hideous form.

It was going to devour him.

The thought made his stomach churn.

He felt nauseous.

“Mob…” The voice was uncharacteristically soft.

“Please don’t cry. Did I scare you?”

“…”

“I just wanted us to be together, without any disruptions… You understand me, right?” Verity coaxed reassuringly.

“I know it’s scary for you, but all I wanted was to show you that your flaws don’t matter to me because I care about you more than anyone in the world.”

“Mob. Only I accept you.”

Mob looked up, his knees pulled tightly to his chest. He felt horrified, but the fear dulled with each syllable uttered, as though Verity’s words were a form of hypnosis.

Verity sighed.

“There is no one waiting for you out there. I’ve looked through your messages—your mother only texts you on holidays. In the outside world, there is no one who pays attention; no one else cares. But I am here, okay? You don’t need anyone else.”

…

“I’ve seen every part of you, and I accept you. So please, let’s stay together. I’ll never turn my back on you, Mob. I’ll always be here.”

“I’m your Verity!”

“You won’t leave. Ever?” Mob whispered.

“Never. I promise.” Verity smiled gently.

“And you’ll stay with me forever?”

“Forever, Mob.”

…

Now that he thought about it... Would it be that bad anyway? 
His life would be entirely dependent on Verity, but at least he would have someone there for him.

“Verity, I—” The words caught in his throat like a piece of apple lodged in his airway.

He didn’t want to say it. Deep down, he wished he were braver.

“I...I will stay.”