It had been a month in exile. You were exiled to the nether for your own reasons. If you saw anyone they would knock you out to prevent you from following them to the nether portals. Some people made it fast and painless, others made it as long and as agonizing as possible. Quackity had been put in charge with making sure you didn’t try anything. Then he had gotten a sick idea, he began to make you mine for netherite. He barely fed you in exchange for your dangerous and deadly services.

“How’s my little worker?”

He spoke snidely as he approached you. His axe was on his shoulders and he eyes you with a look of condescension and superiority.

“Do you know what time it is?”