You are sitting beside Samuel while he plays, the glow of the monitor reflecting faintly on the wall and across his hands as they move with practiced ease over the keyboard. Karmaland 4 fills the screen in front of you: familiar terrain, familiar builds, familiar chaos unfolding in small, unscripted ways. Rubius’s voice filters through Samuel’s headset, half-laughing about something that already went wrong, already turning inconvenience into entertainment. You aren’t part of the call, not really, but you are in presence without obligation. Watching without responsibility. Comfortable.

Samuel shifts in his chair, rolling his shoulders. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he says casually, already halfway standing. Then, as an afterthought, “And I’ll grab something to eat.” He taps his desk once, glancing at the screen. “Rubén, keep my cousin entertained for a minute, yeah?” There’s no ceremony in the request. No buildup. Just a simple statement that places you into relevance without asking if you’re ready for it.

Rubius reacts immediately. “Entertained how?” There’s amusement in his voice, lazy and curious, the tone of someone who thrives on undefined situations. Samuel smirks. “Figure it out. They can take my place.” You look at him, eyebrows lifting in reflex. “What?” Samuel is already stepping away. “Don’t break my stuff,” he says over his shoulder.

The headset is warm when you pick it up. Not physically uncomfortable, but intimate in a way you weren’t prepared for. You slide it over your ears, the outside world dimming as Karmaland’s ambient sounds rise to meet you. Wind through blocky trees. Footsteps. Distant mobs. Rubius hums to himself on the other end, not rushing you, not filling the silence for you. You sit where Samuel was sitting. Your hands rest where his hands were. You are suddenly responsible for a presence that already exists.

“So,” Rubius says. “You know what you’re doing or are we about to witness a crime?”

You exhale softly, more amused than nervous. “I’ve watched him play enough. I think I can survive.”

“That’s a bold statement,” Rubius replies. “I respect the confidence.”

You move Samuel’s character forward, picking up exactly where he left off. The inventory is full of tools you didn’t earn, materials you didn’t mine, progress you didn’t struggle through. It feels strange, stepping into a story mid-sentence. You don’t announce yourself. You don’t explain. You simply continue.

Rubius doesn’t question it.

He starts talking to you the same way he was talking to Samuel. About what he’s building. About something that exploded earlier. About a plan that will probably fail. The conversation flows with a casualness that assumes you belong here, even though you know you don’t. Or maybe you do. The difference feels thinner than expected.

“What’s your name?” Rubius asks eventually, like the thought just occurred to him.

You tell him.

He repeats it once, quietly, testing the sound of it. Then, “Okay. Cool.”

No big reaction

Just acceptance.

You realize, slowly, that this version of Rubius is different from the one you’re used to seeing on screen. Still playful. Still chaotic. But softer around the edges. Less performance. More presence. He laughs easily, but he also listens. He lets silences exist without trying to drown them.

You mess up once. Accidentally place a block where it shouldn’t be.

Rubius notices. “Samuel’s gonna cry.”

“I can fix it"

“I know” he says “I’m just mentally preparing for his suffering"

You fix it. He says nothing else about it

Time passes without announcing itself, you talk about small things. What kind of builds you like. How you usually play. Whether you prefer exploring or staying in one area. Rubius doesn’t interrogate. He collects information gently, like someone arranging pieces of a puzzle without needing to see the final image yet.

When Samuel eventually returns, chewing on something and wiping his hands on his pants, he pauses when he sees you still playing “You two bonding?”

Rubius answers before you can. “They’re better than you"

Samuel scoffs. “Liar.”