Hey guys, Spalter here. I wrote this story after seeing a theory for Minecraft. I wrote this in about an hour, so, sorry for any grammar errors. So, without further hesitation, I give you...
Minecraft Phycosis Theory
Italics - View from Steve
Regular - Third person view
A police man barged through a crowd of people who were gathered around the bloodied body of a woman. A man in a blue shirt stood over top of her, the katana in his hand dripping with blood. He pointed it defensively at the crowd.
"S-stay back!" He shouted and every one frooze. The cop had made his way to the scene.
Click!
The police man cocked his pistol and pointed it to the deranged killer. The man turned and slashed at the cop. The crowd gasped as the cop fell over dead.
However, this was not what the man seen at all. To him, the world was blocks, not the smooth curved shapes that surrounded him. Before him was not a crowd of scared New Yorkers and police, but instead an army of zombies. A couple of skeletons archers surrounded him, bow drawn back.
Several officers surrounded him now, all pointing their guns at his head. The citizens were now being protected by riot sheilds held in place by more cops.
"Excuse me...pardon me...can I get through?" A meek voice said from the back of the crowd. A man wearing glasses made his way through the barrier of people. He tried to approach the lunatic, only for a cop to stop him.
"Sorry sir, I'm going to have to ask you to stay back." The officer replied.
The man sighed and tried to walk around. "Let me through, I'm his therapist." The cop shrugged and moved aside.
The man shivered and began to panic. The white-eyed man who haunted his dreams approached him slowly, whispering his name. "Steve...Steve...
...Steven...Steven, I need you to come back now." The man's therapist said as he lurched closer.
Steve gasped and grabbed one of the zombies, holding his iron blade to its throat. He knew for fact that the demon hated it when he killed his minions. The white-eyed man stopped in his tracks.
The girl gasped and cried and begged as the man raised the katana to her throat. He was mere inches away from slitting through her artiries. A deranged grin spread across Steven's face.
"Stay back, demon! Stay back or your precious minion gets it!" Steven shouted in a shaky voice.
The therapist straightened his coat, knowing the one and only way to get his patient to calm down long enough for the SWAT team to arrive. He looked down to his name tag, which read 'Hero B.' one last time before putting on a convincing demonic voice.
"Let the undead go! It is of no use to you!" The white-eyed ghost demanded. Steve thought it over for a bit and tossed the zombie to the ground. Steve pointed his sword at the ghost. He noticed a few creepers join the crowd around them.
The higher up armed forces had arrived and the therapist knew that his assistants would be arriving soon. He directed his attention back to the iron blade coming closer to him.
"Foolish mortal, you think your pathetic little toys can stop me?" The ghost laughed. "I always knew it would come down to this." Steve replied and walked closer to the ghost, who he often called 'Herobrine.'
The therapist remained calm as the blade was pressed against his chest. It tore a small hole in his shirt, but he remained still. Steven had always been his worst patient. Steven, or 'Steve' as he called himself, dreamed that he was in an imaginary world where everyone was either monsters or animals. He also loathed his therapist, calling him 'Herobrine', a clever play on the therapist's first and middle name. Steven was known for outbrusts of violence, but had never killed anyone.
Suddenly, two tall, black, slender figures appeared behind the demon. The walked forward and grabbed Steve by his hands. He fought and struggled against there grip, but was unable to break free.
Finally, two assistants from the mental hospital arrived at the scene dressed in black lab coats. The therapist nodded and the two went forward and grabbed Steven by the wrists. Steven struggled and slashed the sword at them. However, he dropped it and the police grabbed it before he could.
The Endermen dragged Steve closer towards the portal. They dragged him in and threw him in jail cell. More Enders surrounded his cage, all their purple eyes focused on him. He tried his best not to make eye contact.
Several other mental doctors surrounded Steven's padded cell. They watched as he screamed and cried for them to stop staring. They took notes and ran tests over and over again. Finally, they came to a conclusion they could not bear.
The demon entered his cage, a bow in hand. Steve tried to talk, but his voice was muted from screaming. All he could do was sit there, his hands and feet bound by iron shackles, and accept his fate.
The therapist had been given to task of putting his patient out of his misery. If he didn't, the county jail would anyway. Steven was on trial for murder and they would've had an execution anyway. The therapist loaded the small pistol and walked into Steven's cell.
The demon loaded the bow and drew it back. His voice was barely a whisper. "Goodbye, Steve."
The therapist held the pistol to Steven's forehead. His voice was only a whisper, but still held so much sadness. "I'm sorry, Steven."
Twang!
Click!
THUNK!
Bang...
Silence.
Respawn...
I do also have an annoucement. I will be uploading the next chapter of Not Going Back on June 28th!
Anyways...
Spalter away!
~PEACE!