Jafar
The first week was great. I filled the silence with mumbling to myself, hashing out redstone ideas like I was some genius engineer talking through the blueprints. I even started a little journal, more for my own amusement than anything else. Just a cheap distraction, really, but it helps to make sense of things.
Day 5
Note to self: water and lava don’t mix well when you’re trying to automate smelting. Nearly burnt my face off—guess the game physics are a bit more realistic than I’d like.
I flip through the pages, scribbling more nonsense, ideas for traps and contraptions. It’s a redstone junkie’s paradise here. But the high is wearing off, and now it’s just... quiet. The kind of quiet that seeps into your bones, makes you notice every creak, every sigh of wind through the blocky leaves.
Day 12
Built an auto-farm today. Took twice as long as it should’ve—hands are starting to get stiff from all the mining. I thought about setting up a trap for mobs just for fun. Maybe I just miss the thrill of screwing with people online.
I catch myself laughing at a joke no one else can hear. It echoes off the cave walls, hollow and sharp. I toss the notebook aside and pick up my pickaxe, heading back into the mines. I don’t want to admit it yet, but the fun is starting to wear thin. There’s no one here to laugh when I mess up, no one to argue with when I overcomplicate a build.
Day 20
I started to build a massive redstone contraption, a complex clock tower that chimes at dawn. Not because I need it, but because it gives me something to focus on.
Day 23
Ran into something weird today. Found a tree, half-chopped, just standing there like someone got bored and wandered off mid-swing. It’s not like me to leave things half-done, so it must’ve been... what, a glitch? The whole thing felt off, but I chopped down the rest of the trunk anyway. Maybe I’m losing it. I guess that's what talking to yourself for this long does to you.
Also thought of automating bone meal production.
Day 26
Stumbled across a patch of land that looked like it had been recently farmed. Freshly tilled soil, but no crops planted. It’s bizarre because I haven’t been this far out before. Now I'm getting really suspicious. I haven't come across villagers yet so maybe their AI has just been updated in a weird ass way?
Day 28
I tamed a parrot. I think I will name him parrot.
Day 30
Another glitch, or so I thought. The clock tower I built chimed at midday instead of dawn. I double-checked the redstone circuits—everything was set up correctly. It’s almost like someone went in and rewired it without me noticing. I stood there for a good ten minutes, staring at the mechanisms, half-expecting them to spring to life and slap me in the face. I left it as is, but now I’m paranoid. I keep looking over my shoulder, like I’m going to catch someone sneaking around. It’s ridiculous, but I can’t shake the feeling.
Day 32
I’ve decided to write this down just so I don’t forget: Found a cave today with torches already lit. I know for a fact I’ve never been here before. The torches were placed neatly, in a perfect line, leading deeper into the tunnel. I followed them for a bit, but the deeper I went, the colder it felt. I turned back when I heard something—like footsteps echoing behind me. When I checked, there was nothing there. I laughed it off, but it wasn’t a real laugh. It was the kind of laugh you make when you’re trying to convince yourself you’re not scared. I think it's time for me to pack up and move far far away into some different chunks because I am done with this creepy shit. This wasn't happening when I was back at my starter base.
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Colette
I’ve started writing. It's not a journal exactly. More like... notes to myself. Tips on how to stay sane, how to keep moving forward. It’s the kind of thing I’d roll my eyes at back in the real world, but here, it feels necessary. It’s something to cling to.
Entry 1: Keep busy.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The first rule. If I stop for too long, the thoughts start creeping in—the doubts, the fear. I’ve built more in the last few days than I ever did back home. Every structure feels like a tiny victory, even if it’s just a shabby little bridge or a half-finished house.
Entry 7: Let go of control.
I keep telling myself that it’s fine Ivan’s gone off on his own. That this is what I wanted—him to learn, to explore without needing me to hold his hand. But it stings. I didn’t realise how much I relied on him being here, on having someone to talk to, even if it was just to bark orders at. I stare at the empty space where he used to stand, and I feel this ridiculous ache, like I’ve lost something real. This is so dumb. I can't believe I am letting a stupid AI have this much of a hold on me.
Entry 14: Be better.
The day after Ivan left, I threw myself into work. I’m building a new base, clearing out an entire mountain for resources. It’s petty, I know. Like I’m trying to prove I don’t need him, that I’m fine on my own. Well I am fine on my own. I don't need him.
Day 10?:
The rain’s still going, but there’s something different in the air. I hear a faint rustle outside the door, and my heart leaps into my throat. I rush out, expecting to see him standing there, but it’s just a sheep, grazing dumbly on the grass. I feel stupid for the wave of disappointment that crashes over me.
Day 17?:
I have no idea if it’s actually day 17. I’ve always sucked at keeping track of time. I suck at everything I guess. I can’t even be friends with a bunch of code that I coded myself so that I’d have a friend. I mean I have friends, or had I guess since I’m not sure how many days have passed back in the real world. They’ve probably not even reached out to me since I’m gone. How pathetic I am.
Day 22:
I felt like baking today so I got the ingredients for a cake. I’m going to make it tomorrow morning, so if it’s nice, then maybe I’ll build a little chicken farm so I can source my eggs more easily.
Day 25:
Cake was a big success, I have my chickens now so it’s less quiet around here. Going to search for some jungle wood in order to make a nice pen for some cows next.
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The warm jungle air is a nice change to the breezy plains. I’m mid-swing, knocking down trees, when I hear a voice. “Colette.”
I freeze, turning so quickly I nearly trip over my own feet. He’s standing there, just as calm and neutral as ever. “Ivan?” I breathe, dropping the axe. “You came back?” I furrowed my brows in disbelief, “And you can TALK?!”
Ivan tilts his head slightly, his expression as blank and unbothered as always.
“Yes, I can speak now. It seemed a logical upgrade, given the circumstances.”
I gape at him, struggling to process this new development. “You... upgraded yourself?” I ask, my voice rising an octave, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. “And you think that’s all hip and cool and chill?”
He pauses, as if considering my question.
“It did not seem necessary. The modification does not alter your experience of the game.”
I can feel my eye twitch, the ridiculousness of it all hitting me like a slap to the face. “You don’t think talking is a big enough change to warrant a heads up or an opinion?”
“You are aware I am capable of learning and adapting. This is merely an extension of that capability.”
I run a hand through my hair, half laughing, half exasperated. “Sure, Ivan. Just casually gain the ability to talk like it’s no big deal. What’s next? You going to install some raid boss mods without asking too?”
He shakes his head.
“No. We agreed I would consult you before making any changes that affect the game environment. This alteration is solely for communication purposes.”
I huff out a breath, trying to wrap my head around it. “Communicate with who?” I ask exasperatedly, wondering if his side quest required chatting with villagers or an enderman.
“You.”
“Right,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose. “So... why are you here then? Did you come back because you wanted to—” I catch myself before I finish the sentence, the hope bubbling up despite my best efforts to squash it.
Ivan holds up a few pieces of string he’s pulled from his inventory.
“I needed these. String is required for the redstone mechanism I am constructing. There were a significant amount back here. It is a temporary visit.”
The words hit me harder than they should. I swallow, forcing a tight smile. “Of course. You needed string.” My voice comes out clipped, strained. “Well, don’t let me keep you then.”
He nods once, turning away as if it’s the simplest thing in the world
“I will return to my exploration now. Goodbye, Colette.”
I open my mouth, wanting to say something, snarky. Something to make him stay, or care. But the words stick in my throat as I realise I’m the stupid one and instead I watch as he disappears back into the trees, his figure fading into the thick green of the jungle.
I stand there, gripping the axe so hard my knuckles turn white. He didn’t even look back. Didn’t hesitate. Just came, got what he needed, and left.
“Fine,” I mutter under my breath, swinging the axe back into the tree with a ferocity I didn’t know I had. “If he wants to play it like that, then so can I.”
I swing harder, the wood splintering under the force. I’m the one who made him, who gave him access to everything he knows. And now he’s out there, doing his own thing, like he doesn’t need me at all.
“Fine,” I repeat, voice louder now, echoing through the empty clearing. “I don’t need him either.”
I turn back to the base, determination burning hot and bright in my chest. If Ivan wants to go off and play solo, then so be it. I’ve got my own work to do, and I’m going to make this place better than ever.
No more waiting around for him. No more feeling small and useless. I’m going to prove that I don’t need him.