"Bound to the Mask"
The first time you heard his voice, it wasn’t dramatic. No thunder, no tension, just a low chuckle echoing through the forest as you mined coal from a cave’s mouth. You were new to the server. You’d joined on invite, your username floating into the chat like a drop of ink into water. Most players didn’t notice.
But he did.
"Need help?" Dream asked, his voice soft and curious.
You turned around quickly, startled. Standing there, just outside your render distance until now, was the one player whose reputation was whispered more than spoken.
The green mask stared blankly at you.
“Dream,” you said, awkwardly gripping your stone pickaxe. “No, I’m good, thanks.”
“You sure?” he asked. “Could be mobs nearby. Wouldn’t want anything to happen.”
He said it with such casual calm, but something beneath it felt… off. Not threatening. Not yet. Just too interested.
“I can handle myself.”
“I like that,” he said. “Strong players survive longer.”
You didn’t reply. You kept mining, but you felt his eyes on you. You thought he’d leave eventually.
He didn’t.
That night, you built a basic house—a small oak cabin by a river. Cozy. Simple.
The next morning, a chest was outside your door.
You opened it to find enchanted iron armor, stacks of cooked food, and a note:
“For strong players. —D”
You frowned, glancing around. There was no one in sight.
Still, you used the armor. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. Probably just him being generous. He probably gave everyone this kind of welcome.
But then came the second chest.
Then the third.
Then the signs appeared outside your house:
“Nice base.”
“I saw what you built underground.”
“You’re interesting.”
You tried to shake it off. People had odd quirks on this server. Maybe he was bored.
But then he started appearing during your sessions. Always online when you were. Always in the shadows of the map. Always at the edge of your field of vision.
Watching.
“Do you do this with all new players?” you asked one day, trying to keep your voice casual.
He didn’t answer at first. Then, after a pause:
“No. Just the ones I want to keep.”
You laughed it off.
What else could you do?
He hadn’t done anything wrong, not really.
But still, you moved your base. Changed your username on Discord. Stopped sharing your coordinates in group chats.
And yet, the next morning, a chest was waiting for you.
“You moved. Good choice. This area is safer. –D”
You didn’t scream. But your heart thundered.
Over time, the others stopped talking to you as much.
Tubbo left the VC when you joined. Ranboo became cold. Even Technoblade—usually impossible to rattle—seemed wary.
“He’s watching you,” Techno said once, voice low.
“I know.”
“Then you should know how that ends.”
But you couldn’t stop it.
Everywhere you went, Dream followed. Sometimes silent, sometimes playful. Sometimes kind. Sometimes cruel.
And part of you—the worst part—started to expect him. Started to feel comfort in the routine. Started to miss him when he didn’t speak.
That’s when you knew you were in danger.
One day, you tried to confront him.
“Why me?” you demanded. “Why are you always watching me? What do you want?”
His avatar stepped close, until his masked face was nearly touching yours.
“I want to see what you look like when you break,” he said softly. “Because I know it’ll be beautiful.”
You logged off.
You didn’t come back for three days.
He messaged you every night.
“Come back.”
“I miss you.”
“Don’t make me come find you IRL.”
You told yourself it was a joke.
You told yourself it was just roleplay.
You told yourself you were safe.
You were wrong.