A plurality discovery story:
When I think about the word alone, I go back to 5th grade — eleven, maybe ten years ago. I was a strange kid, though I didn’t know then that it was undiagnosed autism making me feel like an alien dropped on the wrong planet, or a robot without an instruction manual. I never really fit anywhere, and people noticed. Bullying wasn’t a rare occurrence, it was constant, even when I thought I’d found friends. Liking the wrong things too much, being “annoying,” having my interests used against me — it all added up to that sharp, familiar kind of loneliness.
At home wasn’t much better. My parents were divorcing, and both my mother and grandmother were alcoholics. So the internet became my escape, my secret door out of the noise. I poured myself into Club Penguin. It was silly, bright, and safe. And when I got stuck, I found a guide, which led me to a YouTuber named Thinknoodles. His voice was calming. He made me feel like I wasn’t so strange after all.
And then there was Minecraft. That’s where I stumbled into someone else: this hyper, shy, odd little robot of a person named Graser. For once, there was somebody out there who acted like me. I wasn’t alone anymore — not really. The day he did a face reveal and I saw someone who even looked like me, something shifted. It was like the universe was saying, “See? You’re not as alone as you think.”
That spark gave me creativity. I made YouTube videos, I learned to edit, I wrote fanfics. One of those fanfics would later change everything.
But back then, when Thinknoodles and Graser split, it shattered me. It felt like two parents divorcing all over again. At first, I sided with Think, but things felt too calm. Eventually, I went back to Graser, and instantly, I felt like I’d come home. Still, years passed. I got older. My focus shifted. Graser faded into the background of my life.
Cue 2025. I’ve been through a lot — the good, the bad, discovering my autism, struggling through creative ruts. And then, like any special interest does, Minecraft came back. Cube SMP content dragged me down a rabbit hole, and buried in it, I found an old fanfic I’d written: Kepslar’s Revenge.
The premise was simple: a robotics inventor creates a bunch of robots with cool powers, two of them fall in love, and then one gets kidnapped. But something about rediscovering it sparked me in a way I hadn’t felt in years. I started writing again. Words spilled out of me. No plan, just story, just life.
By chapter 10, something happened. Something I can’t explain. My girlfriend and I had been talking about hypnosis, joking about what it would be like to hypnotize someone into being a fictional character. I laughed, but the thought made me blush. I admitted it would feel different if it wasn’t some popular franchise character, but someone I had made.
She teased me — and turned it around. What if I dropped into one of my characters? It was tempting. Eventually, I caved.
It was supposed to be just a game. Just a drop. But it wasn’t.
Instead, someone else took the wheel. And they didn’t leave.
At first I thought maybe it was just a weird side-effect. But the chills, the static, the pressure of presence didn’t go away. Even at work, through fireworks on the 4th of July — he stayed. And two, almost three months later, he’s still here.
