Oneshots! (Mostly Hermitcraft)

Not you [Xisuma]

I've had harrowing experiences as well. One resulted in several nasty scars and a couple weeks in the ICU. I've got nothing left from it except the two X-shaped ridges of twisted skin over my nose, a deep slash in my back, and a burn on my left arm. Oh, and the memories. Wonderful pieces of cake hidden deep in my history. It's not a good cake, though.

I like pie better, anyway.

MrBeast stops, coming up to meet me. "Outstanding performance as always, Void." I hand him the band, following him back into the main hall to wait for everybody else to complete their assessments. I select a bench on the side of the room, collapsing into it as I let the magic of my armor to remove the sweat.

Almost there, brother. I'm almost done with training. I'll make sure no other player has to suffer like we did. I'm making the world a better place. I wish you were still here so you could see how far I've come.

I shook off my reverie, noticing that nearly everyone was back from their assessment. Most were in a worse state, breathing heavily from the effort of protecting at least ten NPCs at the same time. Only one seemed mostly unfazed, although the way he plopped down on the bench beside me said otherwise.

"How'd you do, X?" he asked, rolling his neck. He pushed back his lime green hood and raised his mask on top of his dark brown hair. He looked over at me, the small scars on his face aging his youthful appearance slightly. We're both twenty-four, but we look several years older from the scars and haunted eyes.

"I think I did well," I responded, not bothering to take off my helmet. "You?"

"Same. How come you never take that thing off? I've been your roommate for the past six years, and I've only seen you without it like, five times."

I chuckle, knowing that he's exaggerating. "Memories."

I had modified it after arriving nearly six years ago, but I didn't wear it often until I got the majority of my scars. Some protection is better than none.

"Ah, the mysterious, traumatizing past."

"Yeah, I don't want to talk about it."

"To each their own, man. I mean, what can I say? I'm a man with ADHD who needs his white smiley face mask to focus on anything." Dream smiles encouragingly. "You'll be ready to talk about your trauma when you're ready. It doesn't matter if you wait another six years."

"Thanks dude," I replied, smiling. His grin broadens as he reads my expression, the only one who knows me well enough to interpret it correctly. Skip calls our attention back to the center of the room, saying he was going to lead us down to the underground laboratory.

"We've been there already," Dream whispers as we fall into the back of the column of trainees. "What could be down there?"

I shrug in response, keeping my eyes on the rest of the players. We step into the giant elevator at the end of the hall, the piston doors closing behind us. Skip places a redstone torch on the wall, causing another panel of buttons to pop out. I raise my eyebrows in surprise, glancing at Dream. Clearly, he's as surprised as I am. Skip punches in a code, Dream muttering the numbers next to me. I elbow him, giving him the 'don't do that, dude' look. He ignores me, committing the code to memory. I roll my eyes, focusing on the now-descending lift.

We step out into a poorly lit hallway, the soul torches every ten blocks barely providing enough light. Skip gathers us around him, clearing his throat to speak.

"This is our best-kept secret. It needs to stay in the darkness to remain dormant, otherwise it would run rampant. Please limit your light usage; the torches should be sufficient."