Chapter Text
Rain hit the roof in uneven bursts, loud enough to drown out the distant sounds of players moving through the base below. Water slipped down the windows in warped lines, distorting the lights outside into shifting streaks of gold and white. The storm had been going for hours now, turning the entire server grey.
Spoke liked it. Storms made everything feel quieter. Storms almost reminded him of himself, a beautiful chaotic product of nature.
He sat cross-legged on the floor beside a cluttered chest, tools and broken redstone components scattered around him in messy piles. An ender pearl spun lazily between his fingers while a half disassembled compass rested in his lap. The room smelled faintly of smoke from the lantern hanging overhead.
Behind him, the iron door slammed shut.
Spoke didn’t look up.
“You know,” he said casually, “people usually knock before storming into someone’s room like they’re about to arrest them.”
JamatoP ignored the joke.
“That was you.”
Spoke finally glanced over.
Jamato stood in the doorway soaked from the rain, hood pushed back and expression sharp with irritation. There was dirt on his boots and water dripping from the ends of his sleeves. He looked like he’d crossed half the server just to get here.
Spoke raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna need to be more specific.”
“The chunk failures, duped items that used to be in the wonders, stacked totems, wormhole mechanics.”
Spoke smiled.
That answered the question immediately.
“Oh,” he said. “That.”
Jamato stared at him in disbelief. “You’re admitting it?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
The room went quiet except for the rain.
Jamato stepped further inside and shut the door behind him harder than necessary.
“Do you even understand what happened out there?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Spoke tossed the pearl once before catching it again. “I do, actually.”
“No, you don’t.”
Spoke leaned back against the wall. “Chunks unloaded. Entities duplicated. A few people lagged. Everything fixed itself after a restart. Nobody died.”
“That’s not the point.”
Spoke laughed softly under his breath.
“You sound like a teacher giving me detention.”
Jamato didn’t smile.
“There are things in this server you don’t understand,” he said carefully. “And every time you mess with glitches like this, you make it worse.”
Spoke rolled his eyes immediately.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The dramatic speech.” He waved a hand dismissively. “You always do this. Every exploit I find suddenly becomes some horrible forbidden thing that’s gonna destroy reality. You act like you didn’t open my eyes as to what these exploits could do. Who can we help? Who we could kill.”
Jamato crossed his arms tightly. “Maybe because you’re not trying to protect anyone but yourself.”
Spoke grinned.
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, my good friend. Besides, when did you get morals?”
The look Jamato gave him after that should’ve felt insulting.
Instead, it only made Spoke more defensive.
Because underneath the frustration, underneath the anger, there was something else in Jamato’s expression.
Worry.
Spoke hated that.
“You think I’m reckless,” he said.
“I think you’re obsessed.”
Spoke stood up too quickly, tools clattering against the floor beside him.
“I’m curious,” he corrected sharply. “There’s a difference.”
Jamato let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Curious people know when to stop.”
Spoke scoffed.
“You know what your problem is?” he snapped. “You see something you don’t understand and immediately decide it’s dangerous.”
“And your problem,” Jamato fired back, “is thinking you understand more than you actually do.”
Spoke took a step forward.
“I understand more than anyone else on this server.”
The words came out harsher than he intended, but he didn’t take them back.
“Who figured out the teleport desync exploit?” he continued. “Who learned how to bypass chunk borders? Who discovered entity freezing? Nobody else even knew half this stuff was possible.”
“And look what it’s doing to you.”
That made Spoke pause.
Only for a second.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jamato hesitated.
That hesitation annoyed Spoke more than the accusation itself.
“You’ve changed,” Jamato said finally.
Spoke barked out a laugh. “Wow. Deep.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“You haven’t slept properly in days.”
Spoke’s expression tightened slightly.
Spoke looked away.
“It’s called being busy,” Spoke muttered.
“No,” Jamato said quietly. “It’s called something being wrong.”
The lantern above them buzzed faintly.
Spoke stared at the floor.
He didn’t like this conversation anymore.
Because the truth was… there had been moments lately.
Little things.
Tiny things.
Moments where the world felt delayed.
A player speaking and their voice arriving half a second late.
Doors opened before he touched them.
Static in the back of his mind during quiet moments.
Once, two nights ago, he’d looked in a window reflection and seen his skin flicker wrong for a frame.
Just one frame.
Long enough to notice.
Not long enough to prove.
He hadn’t told anybody.
Because if he admitted it out loud, it would become real.
And Spoke didn’t want it to be real.
Instead, he forced a grin back onto his face.
“You’re overthinking things.”
Jamato looked unconvinced.
Spoke walked past him toward the desk shoved against the far wall. Maps, scribbled notes, and glitch calculations covered nearly every inch of the surface.
He grabbed one of the papers.
“You know what I think?” he said. “I think people are scared because they can’t control this stuff.”
Jamato stayed silent.
“So they call it dangerous instead.”
Spoke pointed toward the notes.
“This server has rules. Every exploit proves that. Every glitch is just another crack showing how the system actually works.”
“And what happens when the cracks spread too far?”
Spoke looked back at him.
“Then I’ll figure out how to fix them.”
Jamato stared at him for a long moment.
Then he shook his head.
“That’s the thing,” he said softly. “You still think you’re in control.”
Something about the way he said it sent irritation crawling under Spoke’s skin.
“Why are you acting like this?” Spoke demanded. “It’s code. Bugs. That’s all this is.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Too firmly.
Spoke frowned.
Jamato looked toward the rain-streaked window.
“There are things buried in this server,” he said quietly. “Things nobody was supposed to touch.”
Spoke snorted.
“Oh my god. Listen to yourself.”
“I’m serious.”
“You sound insane.”
“And you sound arrogant.”
The room fell silent again.
Outside, thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance.
Spoke crossed his arms.
“You know what I think?” he said after a moment. “I think you’re scared somebody else understands the server better than you. That the student became the master.”
Jamato’s expression hardened instantly.
“This isn’t about ego.”
“Sure.”
“I mean it.”
Spoke shrugged.
“Then prove me wrong.”
Jamato looked exhausted.
Not angry.
Exhausted.
Like he’d had this argument with himself a hundred times before ever coming here.
“You keep forcing open doors that shouldn’t open,” he said quietly.
Spoke smirked.
“And?”
“One day something’s going to answer.”
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Spoke laughed.
Not because the warning scared him.
Because it excited him.
“Good,” he said.