Work Text:
Collin couldn’t recall the last time his Minecraft world was peaceful. And he doesn’t mean the difficulty—how he envied that others could only mean so. No, because Collin’s luck had been nothing short of bad, what he meant was simply normal. Entity-less.
The entities that roamed his world were terrifying. Supposedly. Each and every one, endlessly throwing threats to take his vessel, soul, and what not. Setting up strange obelisks in his property as if he hadn’t made it explicitly clear that they can’t be doing that.
Collin had a theory as to how he was always able to escape unharmed: most of them feed off of fear. Which means, try as hard as they might, all efforts would bare no fruit. Collin prided himself in being nonchalant. Threaten him all they want, they’d never be able to push him to give a fuck.
Well, save for one. And it just had to be the worst one.
His dumbass copycat. Colinlock19, Colinlock16, Collinlock… man, whatever it was. Collin referred to it as “Clonelin”, for ease.
Collin had been aware of Clonelin’s presence for a while. Not that it was difficult to be so, considering the bastard made no real effort to conceal itself. Repeatedly showing up at his house and claiming it was the real him over, and over, and over again, to no end. Literal (digital) Satan reincarnate was present in Collin’s world, yet this guy somehow posed more of a problem.
Never a threat.
Only a problem.
Collin’s comfortable, dare he say cute, little wooden cabin was sullied whenever it housed this little shit. And it housed it on most days—today happened to be one of those. Collin’s big fat problem was staring him in the face right now, eyes ever unblinking, just like always.
Collin crossed his arms, scoffing. “I don’t even care about the identity theft anymore,” he said, exhaustion clear in his tone, “just get your own house, man.”
Clonelin took a second to respond. When it finally did, Collin expected just as much. “This is my house… you leave…” it answered. Without fail, its voice came out robotic, glitchy, and broken. Spoken like a different person interrupted in between and took over every other word.
“Why are we having this conversation again?” Collin scowled, teeth nearly gritting before he caught himself. “I’m not even asking for much. I think I’ve been real nice, letting you cosplay as me.”
“You… my copy, my copy…” it whispered under its breath, “I am Collin…”
Collin pursed his lips inwards, and with a deep breath, he let out a heavy sigh. What was the point? Clonelin never once listened to him before, why would today be any different?
Still seething from his hellish barely-even-a-conversation with Clonelin, Collin stomped away, rolling his eyes as he passed it. He made his way to his chest without further acknowledging its presence.
A soft creak resounded through the room as the chest was opened. Collin was disappointed with his findings.
New entities joined Collin’s world recently: Assimilation and Andre. Assimilation was a dark, inky, shape shifting entity with a single white eye, designed to do as their name foretells—or so one would think. They don’t actually seem to assimilate anymore. Andre, on the other hand, was a humanoid machine, programmed to speed run through and through. Though, much like Assimilation, speed running didn’t seem to be Andre’s goal anymore, either.
Collin remembered them because Andre recently wr bitch% sped ran stealing his items.
The longer Andre didn’t show up at his doorstep, remorseful and ready to return his things, the more Collin was assured it’s never happening. Collin can’t stay in a resource drought forever, so he may as well start gathering again.
From the chest, he took only what was necessary—or, well, what he could: sticks, coal, iron, some food, and a few blocks. He’ll make the utility blocks on the way.
Collin spun on his heel, immediately being met with Clonelin, who was up close and personal. He remained unfazed. This wasn’t a first. Again, he simply walked passed it, leaving his house with the intent to mine alone.
Surely, it wouldn’t follow him.
It followed him.
In hindsight, with the information Collin had garnered of his clone, he should’ve expected this. He could blame no one but himself.
No matter. Collin was used to it. Besides, Clonelin wasn’t particularly scary—tagging-along everywhere, always mimicking his words and actions… but never doing much else. Andre, the thief, was a lot more threatening in comparison.
Collin remained alert though. Which should come with ease, considering it was a lot more difficult not to be wary in a world like his, but Collin was still Collin—tired all the time; and with his weariness came double the effort with anything, including being cautious. What a blessing it was that he was smart and ever ready, for should he find himself in trouble, his signature move, router disconnect, will be his saving grace. If Alt+F4 wasn’t enough, that is.
Collin continued to traverse the cave, past its narrow entrance and emptied out corridors. He moved towards areas unlit, placing a torch down every now and then to prevent getting lost. Stopping only whenever he saw ore veins of any kind, especially iron, and if he’s lucky, diamond.
Still following his trail was Clonelin, who was being quite well-behaved, to Collin’s surprise. Collin half expected it to destroy the things he’d placed, or perhaps take the ores Collin spotted first—and Collin’s had enough of thieves for a lifetime, actually. Part of him felt relieved that it remained disciplined, but the other part felt suspicious.
Clink. Collin’s pickaxe broke before him, leaving the iron vein mined only half-way. He opened his inventory and made a crafting table, then, a furnace. Collin placed them beside each other, smelted the iron he’d collected prior, and waited.
Clonelin’s movements remained curious, beady eyes scanning the newly placed blocks, transfixed and almost entranced, like it had never seen it before.
“You’re weird,” said Collin upon noticing. “You’ve been to my house. Way too many times, and none of which with my consent, mind you. You know what these are. Are you good?”
“Shut up,” spat Clonelin. Collin’s jaw fell agape. “Bitch.”
“Wow, holy shit, that’s rude—who taught you that?” Then he realized how stupid it was to ask, so he sighed, burying his face in his hands. With words muffled, he spoke, defeated, “don’t answer that.”
Collin went back to ignoring Clonelin as a whole. Soon enough, some iron finished smelting, the amount being just enough to make another pickaxe. Collin could resume his former task…
…except he couldn’t. Clonelin decided it was no longer going to be docile. Before Collin could reach out and grab his rightfully owned iron, Clonelin did exactly what he was worried it’d do: steal.
“You can’t be serious.” Collin groaned, voice more annoyed than ever. “Give it back.”
For a moment, Clonelin merely stared at him, unmoving, glued to its spot. Maybe it was thinking, but at what cost? In the end, it made the most annoying choice. It shook its head no.
“The fuck?” Collin’s voice came out squeaky, yet again in full disbelief that this brat is acting like a child.
Alright, fine, whatever, to hell with those three measly pieces of iron. Clonelin can do whatever it wants with that. Collin doesn’t care enough to fight back anymore. More iron had smelted within the duration of their conversation—if one could even call it that—so Collin used those to make his pickaxe instead.
Three iron and two sticks into the crafting table then formed Collin’s pickaxe. He immediately got back to work, mining what was left of the iron vein.
As he mined, he could hear Clonelin shift about behind him. What made Collin pause was the sound of wood breaking, which he could only assume was Clonelin going rogue and stealing even more things. What, was it mimicking Andre now or something?
Collin turned around to see what it was up to. To no one’s surprise, Clonelin was in his personal space again. Yet only momentarily, for it walked passed him quite quickly.
“What are you—” Collin was interrupted by the unbelievable sight that beheld him. Clonelin mined the rest of the iron. But instead of keeping it (which Collin assumed it would do), it immediately handed it over to him, alongside the crafting table it did indeed break.
Collin narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow—what? He picked up what was given to him. Much like Clonelin, Collin could only stare, baffled by this entire situation. Of course, Clonelin stared back. And with its void button eyes, akin to a doll that could come to life at any moment, Collin could only stare for so long. Creepy.
“…Thank you?” He blinked before he tore his gaze away. He’s not sure how he’s even capable of saying thanks to Clonelin of all people, but… Collin was polite, he knew to show gratitude when necessary.
The adventure continued.
As the pair dived deeper into the cave, more ores exposed themselves. Collin would mine what was in reach, while Clonelin would mine what was in higher ground, much too far for Collin to take—well, he had blocks to help reach them, but it’s too much effort. Like clockwork, Clonelin would run up to Collin like an enthusiastic wolf, handing over all its findings.
Collin remained confused. He could never get a read on Clonelin—not that he’s sure anyone ever could—but this was probably the strangest thing it’s ever done. He wasn’t about to complain, though. This worked to his favor.
“Hey,” called Clonelin, “tool.”
And just like that, Collin took a deep breath, ready to scold Clonelin again. Insulting him by calling him a tool, this guy was relentless!
But Collin’s rage dissipated as quickly as it came to be, for he realized almost instantly that Clonelin wasn’t insulting him, no… Collin had forgotten it wasn’t the best with words. Clonelin was merely asking for a new pickaxe.
“You really are a weird one,” said Collin, yet he placed a crafting table and furnace down anyway. More iron was tossed into the furnace for smelting. “This time, you can actually take from the pile and I won’t get mad at you. Since you helped and stuff.”
“Help…” Clonelin repeated, words foreign on its tongue—if it had one. Collin’s unsure whether Clonelin even had a mouth or not, its yellow parka always zipped up to cover half its face.
Once the iron had smelted, Clonelin did what it was told and took only half. Collin grabbed what remained.
Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to give iron so freely to someone like Clonelin. At any moment, it could craft a sword or an axe, and Collin would end up dead, “Game Over” flashing on his screen. Yet somehow, Collin felt no need to worry. His gut told him all will be alright, at least for now.
Collin later found out that trusting your gut is something people could opt to do more. As their trip continued, not only would Clonelin lend a hand with mining ores, but it would mimic Collin’s actions and fight off mobs that dared interrupt their collecting session. Yes, Clonelin had crafted new equipment indeed, but it was never once used to harm Collin. Only mobs.
Some good came out of this at least.
“That was exhausting…”
Collin was back home, and as expected, Clonelin was there too, still clinging like ivy.
“We managed to get a lot though. No diamonds, but it’s a start,” said Collin, placing the items they’d gathered in his chest. “And hey, this isn’t a daily thing, okay? You can’t just come around whenever you want—”
A harsh punch, from none other than Clonelin, popped him out of the chest inventory screen, halting his assortment.
“Ow!” Collin hissed. “Bro, what the hell, I thought you were chill now?!” His fingers hovered over the Alt and F4 keys, ready to escape should Clonelin try anything more.
What Collin didn’t expect was for diamonds to start pouring out of Clonelin. By the looks of it, it dropped around half a stack. It punched the wooden plank beneath the diamonds, as if telling Collin to pick it up.
With caution, Collin followed suite, stepping just a tad closer, enough for the diamonds to swoop their way into his inventory. Upon inspection, they looked… normal. He’s seen what some pigs look like in his world, so he wouldn’t rule out the existence of strange ores and ingots, especially ones that come from entities he doesn’t particularly trust.
This entire session had been confusing.
Clonelin’s always been annoying, especially since stealing Collin’s identity alone was never enough for it. Minecraft’s world generations are grandiose and expansive, and yet, Clonelin would always roam places where Collin was, rendering it nearly impossible for Collin not to see its obvious display of theft. Stuck to him like glue when he never wanted it to be. Acting like a little kid, arguing with him like a little kid…
Now, all of a sudden, it was being nice to him? It was acting like another player, one much too close for comfort. This should piss Collin off more. He wouldn’t go so far as to say Clonelin acted like a real human being, but if it drew closer to that… wouldn’t that mean its mimicry was succeeding?
“What’s with you?” Collin spat, tone venomous, and angry, and agitated. Yet instead of drawing closer, he moved back, furthering the distance between them.
Clonelin stared. Like always, it stared, and stared, and stared, like a statue: immobile, forever stationed in place. Forced to witness the life people live; how they love and hate, how they anger and pleasure, how they cheer and weep. Forced to see life fulfilled, then end in death, time and time again. Forced to watch and only watch, incapable of knowing what all of it truly felt.
Or perhaps Clonelin was more like a photograph: blank, bare, and lifeless—until a photo fades in, showing a moment captured, frozen in time, albeit belonging to another. Yes, a photograph… cursed with the capability of existence only through taking another.
“I am…” it started, “Collin.” All the time, the same answer. “I am Collin,” it repeated, again, like Collin hadn’t heard it the first time. Like Collin hadn’t heard it a billion times.
Collin recalled a time from days, weeks, or maybe even months ago, wherein Clonelin proclaimed, “I am Collin,” in the very same spot they were in now. That time, Collin answered, “I’m Collin too,” and as expected, it insinuated a fight. They argued back and forth, it was all they’d ever do, and who could blame them? In the real world, this would be a serious crime. Identity theft wasn't something to be taken lightly. Collin could easily take Clonelin’s ass to court and win for sure.
But this wasn’t the real world. This was just Minecraft, and Collin could easily let this all go. He could start anew, migrate to a different world… hell, he could stop playing this game entirely! It wasn’t difficult to shut the computer down, or uninstall the game. Collin controlled Minecraft more than it controlled him.
Probably. A cold sweat ran down his back at the thought of uncertainty. Because why was it so terribly hard to quit? The idea of moving to another world and deleting this one made Collin sick. His head spun, his stomach churned. Who was he to do all that? This wasn’t… his world. It wasn’t originally. No, it was his…
“Bro,” Clonelin sliced through his thoughts like a newly sharpened knife. Its lack of personal space yet again evident, and now, they were looking eye to eye. “You good?”
God, what a weird fucking guy. Looking up at him despite its stature, eyes blank yet somehow always pleading, as if begging for permission to exist, or perhaps co-exist alongside him. Collin didn’t like how it looked at him, how much it tried to be him… didn’t like how today, it tried to get along with him, and acted like a “good guy” because it merely copied him.
Doing all this as if Collin was a person worthy to be imitated, to be followed, to be listened to.
As if Collin was worth being someone to look up to at all.
“Okay,” Collin finally answered, chest heavy, voice but a whisper, “okay. I’m Collin too.” The most obvious and laughable thing in the world. “But you need to leave. Now.”
This time, Clonelin remained quiet. It did not taunt, nor complain, nor yet again proclaim: “I am Collin.” Instead, it moved away, standing tall, and for once, it followed Collin’s command. Footsteps grew quieter and quieter, before the door creaked, signifying its exit.
Collin moved away from his computer. He slumped back on his chair, head heavy in his hands. The sounds of rain from his game harmonized with the drizzle outside his room, and soon enough, a chorus of his sobs followed.
Collin was alone again.