"He who questions reality too late has already lost himself to it." —By Fallen :P
9:46 PM.
The faint hum of a ceiling fan filled the room, blending with the distant murmur of the TV from the living room. The air carried the scent of fresh chai—sharp with ginger, softened with milk. It was familiar. Comforting. A part of routine.
"■■■■■■■, your chai is getting cold!"
His mother's voice echoed through the hallway.
■■■■■■■ blinked, glancing at the clock on his monitor. Shit. He thought to himself. He was supposed to start his stream at 9:30, but, as usual, time had slipped away from him.
"Five minutes. I'll be there in five minutes." He had told himself that and That was fifteen minutes ago.
He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair before pushing himself out of his chair. His bare feet touched the cool tiled floor, grounding him. He stretched his arms above his head, his gaming chair creaking behind him. The blue glow of the monitor cast long, sharp shadows across his cluttered desk... snack wrappers, old notes, empty bottles. A mess, but his mess.
Dragging himself to the bathroom, he flicked on the light and splashed cold water on his face. The sting against his skin jolted him awake. He grabbed his toothbrush, running it lazily over his teeth as he stared at his reflection. Dark circles. Unkempt hair. Tired eyes. He looked like someone who lived half their life online. Which, well… was accurate.
He spat, brushed his teeth, rinsed his, and reached for his phone. Missed messages.
[Maa] – "Did you eat properly?"
[Rohit] – "Bro, you going live? Solo-Craf event looks sick."
[Some Discord Ping] – "@everyone, who wants to do an end-city raid?"
Later, he thought, stuffing the phone in his pocket. Right now, Solo-Craf's 7th-anniversary stream was the priority.
He made his way to the kitchen, the warmth of the room contrasting against the artificial chill of his setup. His mother stood by the sink, stacking plates. His father sat in the living room, half-watching the news while scrolling through his phone.
He grabbed his mug from the table, taking a sip. Lukewarm.
"I called you ten minutes ago." His mother shot him a glance. "You live in that room now or what?"
"Haan, haan, I'm here." He took another sip. The taste of ginger and cardamom settled him.
"And don't forget... You owe me some groceries tomorrow."
"Mmm... Yes mam" His eyes flicked to the small steel plate beside the mug. Two Parle-G biscuits. He dipped one into the chai, watching it soak before taking a bite.
Biskoot and chai. The only combo better than diamonds and netherite.
From the living room, his father finally spoke. "Going live?"
"Yeah, Solo-Craf anniversary event."
His father nodded, still glued to his phone. "Good. Don't forget to eat."
That was the closest thing to 'I'm proud of you' he was getting tonight.
With one last sip, he set the mug down and stretched. A stray thought flickered in his mind—when was the last time he actually sat down and had dinner with them?
He shook it off. Later. There was always later. But how many times had he said that before?
The moment he stepped back into his room, the warmth of the kitchen faded. The soft noise of the TV, the quiet presence of his parents—it all disappeared.
Now, there was only the dim blue glow of his monitors.
"Alright. Let's do this." He muttered to himself.
His gaming chair creaked as he sat down, fingers instinctively finding their place on the keyboard. His second monitor was already alive—chat scrolling at full speed, messages flooding in even before the stream had started.
"BRO GOATED STREAMER IS HERE!!!"
"Chai OP! Parle-G OP!!"
"Subham, when will you finally do a house tour??"
"Bro is stalling, start the game already LMAO."
Five years ago, Subham was just another Minecraft player—a guy with a mic, a cracked version of the game, and a dream. Now? He was Subman0. A 5-million-subscriber powerhouse, one of Solo-Craf's most influential creators, and a name that had become inseparable from the server itself.
Solo-Craf wasn't just a game to him. It was home.
What started as casual late-night streams—just him, a few friends, and a scuffed webcam—quickly turned into something bigger. His videos, full of chaotic PvP battles, high-risk speedruns, and insane redstone builds, had helped turn Solo-Craf from a niche server into one of the biggest Minecraft communities out there.
Now, he wasn't just a player—he was part of the foundation.
A content creator. An event host. A legend within the server's sprawling worlds.
Every major Solo-Craf update, every new game mode, every community tournament—his name was there. His influence shaped the way players experienced the server.
And tonight? Solo-Craf's 7th Anniversary.
Another milestone. Another event. Another stream. Another reason why, no matter how big he got, this place still felt like home.
Subham chuckled, cracking his knuckles. "Relax, relax. I'm getting there."
His fingers hovered over the mouse. Something in his gut twisted.
He hesitated—just for a second.
The screen flickered. A single frame of static. Gone before he could register it.
His brows furrowed. Weird. His PC never lagged like that.
Click.
The game is loaded. The Solo-Craf spawn plaza came into view—a massive, breathtaking build.
"Damn… they really outdid themselves."
Towering pixel-art banners hung from the skies, glowing lanterns floated in midair, and fireworks erupted in synchronized patterns. NPCs bustled about, offering limited-time quests and event rewards.
His chat exploded with excitement.
"BRO THIS IS INSANE!"
"7 YEARS STRONG! SOLO-CRAF FOR LIFE!"
"■■■■■■■, check out the new event gear!!"
He grinned. This. This was why he loved this world.
Then—the announcement appeared. "Today... we welcome you for the grand opening of our new server. It's a branch of Solo-Craf, with content never seen before."
A hush fell over the plaza. Even chat slowed down.
And then—
3...
2...
1...
0...
The sky erupted with fireworks. But something was… wrong. The colors weren't pixelated. They were too smooth and the sparks were quite detailed as well. The way the sparks rippled through the air—this wasn't possible in Minecraft.
■■■■■■■ fingers hovered over his keyboard. "Yo… what mod is this?" Then—A new screen popped up.
'Player Subman0, do you wish to join the server IRL-Survivors? (Y/Y)'
Subham blinked. His cursor wouldn't move. Pressing Esc did nothing. His stomach twisted.
"Chat… do you guys see this?" The responses flooded in—
"See what?"
"Subman0 trolling again, LMAO."
"What's happening???"
His breath hitched. He tried closing the game but... Nothing happened. Alt + F4?. No response. Power button. Nothing. No shortcuts were working— but... why? He felt as if Something was wrong.
His hands trembled. The air felt colder, a deep, unnatural chill creeped down to his spine.
His gaze drifted to the body-length mirror stuck to his wall. It was supposed to show his reflection. But it didn't.
Rather The glass seemed to flickered No... Rather It was distorted—like a glitched screen. His reflection was lagging, a split-second delay between his movement and the image. ■■■■■■■ breath caught in his throat. That… that wasn't normal. He shot up from his chair, heart pounding. His reflection stared back, movements syncing again. Everything looked fine.
But Then...His reflection twisted.
The mirror showed him—DEAD. A long, jagged stick pierced straight through his skull. His eyes—pure white, pupils gone—bled thick, blackened streaks of blood.
And then... SNAP
The mirror was normal again .As if nothing had happened.
■■■■■■■ staggered back from the mirror, his breath shallow, erratic.
"No. No, that— That didn't just happen. I didn't see that. I DIDN'T SEE THAT." His voice cracked, barely a whisper. "I'm seeing things. That's all. Just… seeing things."
His legs felt weak, his stomach churned, but his instincts screamed MOVE. LEAVE. NOW.
He tuned around and stumbled towards the door. He reached for the knob— the most obvious thing to do was to just open the door. Right?
He tried to open the door but... It wasn't opening... as if It was being forced by someone outside. He tried to pull the knob and turn it several times but... nothing happened.
He yanked it harder... Still Nothing happened.
"Hello??!!"
"....." No response.
"Maa? Baba? are you there??"
"If you are there then please open the door!" No answer.
He twisted the knob harder. He shoved his shoulder against the wood several times but... Nothing happened... It wouldn't budge.
His voice rose, raw and desperate. "Hello?... Maa?!!... Is Anyone there?!! PLEASE! PLEASE Open this damn door!" Nothing.
The silence felt heavy. Unnatural. Like the whole world had muted itself. His chest tightened. His breath hitched.
He spun around and ran to the window. Locked... No... It wasn't locked rather... the window was stuck as if it was refusing to open itself.
Without thinking, he grabbed his chair and hurled it with all his strength.
CRASH!
Or at least… there should have been one. But... nothing happened. The window didn't crack, It Didn't even shake. It was like the chair had hit solid concrete. No… that wasn't it. It wasn't just about a window that wouldn't break. But rather, To him this whole situation felt wrong. It felt like he was trapped. Not in his room but... Inside something. Something that wouldn't let him leave.
His breath hitched. His chest ached. A deep, sinking feeling weighed down on him—not fear, but something worse. Like the walls weren't just holding him in. Like they were the only thing left. With a desperate look, he turned to the window. And froze.
The city... The city was… gone. First, the streetlights blinked out. Then the buildings—one by one—erased themselves from existence, like ink being washed off a page.
Then... Nothing. Not darkness. Not emptiness. Just a pure… abyss. A void in its truest form. It felt as if there was never anything there to begin with. As if the world itself was being deleted.
Then... a ringing filled his ears—high-pitched, unnatural. Like the world itself was screaming in silence.
■■■■■■■ hands trembled. Not just from fear—from something deeper. A hollow, crushing sensation swelled in his chest. His breath came too fast. His mind refused to understand and His body refused to move.
"No. No, NO—!!!"
"This... This isn't real... NO... IT CAN'T BE REAL." He shouted as his eyes darted back to his PC.
Everything around him felt unreal, like a fever dream twisting out of control—but that screen? That screen was the only thing that felt real. Was it a sign of It's connection?. Was it the cause?. Whatever was happening to him, it all led back to that screen. It was still there. As if it was waiting for him to click any one of the options.
"Player Subman0, do you wish to join the server IRL-Survivors? (Y/Y)"
The words pulsed, as if it was a heartbeat. And then Something snapped within him. A sudden wave of rage and fury exploded in his chest, drowning out his fear.
"Shut up. SHUT UP!" He shouted
CRASH!
He slammed His keyboard right through the monitor, shattering the glass in an eruption of sparks and static. A sharp sting ripped through his palm—warm blood dripping onto the desk. He didn't care as his breath was ragged. His vision blurred. He grabbed the CPU, yanking cables, tearing the entire setup apart.
"WHY... WHY WON'T YOU TURN OFF?!!"
"JUST LET ME WAKE UP FROM THIS DAMN NIGHTMARE!!" His voice cracked, his throat burned, but he didn't stop.
He swung his leg back—then—SLAM!
His foot collided with the CPU.
Once. Twice. Again. Again.
The metal casing dented. Sparks flickered.
His chest heaved. His hands shook. His entire body trembled. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe.
"Calm down. Just… breathe."
[Breathe In.... Breathe Out.... Breathe In.... Breathe Out...]
He opened his eyes where he had brutally destroyed his CPU only to find that it wasn't... There? Not only that but...There was no sign or anything related to him breaking the CPU.
A cold shiver crawled up his spine. Slowly, he turned back to the desk… Only to find that Everything that he had destroyed just now was still there... On his desk. The shattered monitor, The broken Keyboard and the destroyed CPU... All of it was back in their original place. Untouched. As if nothing had happened to it to begin with.
He glanced at the monitor in fear... The Screen "Player Subman0, do you wish to join the server IRL-Survivors? (Y/Y)" was still there.
All of a sudden,
His knees buckled up. His world (Body) spun. Before he could think—his body moved. His legs carried him forward, slow, steady—not by his own choice.
His hands hovered over the mouse—trembling, resisting—But they weren't his to control. His fingers moved, precise, deliberate. Like his body had already decided.
"Player Subman0, do you wish to join the server IRL-Survivors? (Y/Y)"
[NO NO STOP. PLEASE STOP!!!]
(■■■■■■■ inner monologue)
The text pulsed, slow and rhythmic. Like a heartbeat. His fingers twitched. His throat was dry. His chest felt tight. Yet, his hand moved on its own.
[Internal CRY]
(■■■■■■■ inner cry and plead)
[Someone... anyone... please... save me]
(■■■■■■■ inner monologue)
His finger hovered—hesitated—Then...
CLICK. (SFX)
That's when ■■■■■■■ had realised that... The choice was never his... He saw his screen, it slowly started to... glitch?...
with each glitch, there was a crack to both his reality as well as the monitor's screen.
The monitor's screen shattered and the reality was broken And then—
Darkness.