threat simulation theory || ranboo

simulation

The winter evening was punctuated by distant sounds of thunder. The snowfall was silent, yet judgemental in the way it stuck to the nape of his neck. He'd worked so hard for this netherite armor to avoid coming into contact with any water. And yet here he was, gritting his teeth as a droplet of water slid down his back. Like it was for nothing.

He picked up his pace, following the imprints in the snow. When he finally made it back to the mansion, he thought he would collapse. He kicked off his boots by the door, stumbling upstairs to remove the rest of his drenched armor. Instead, he came face to face - or rather, face to knee with MICHAEL. A hesitant smile flickered across his face as he tried to catch his breath. "Hey, MICHAEL. Sorry about, um...I've been meaning to come see you--" He cut off his own excuses as he met his son's blank gaze. "I missed you."

Ranboo slipped off his helmet, running a hand through his damp mop as he took a knee to look MICHAEL in the eyes. Had he gotten taller? "Hey kiddo, we'll hang out sometime. Just you and me." Still blank. With that, he stood up and pulled out his notebook to scribble down a reminder.

Do father-son activities with MICHAEL. (Baseball???)

And then, just in case: MICHAEL is your son.

With how much he'd been forgetting lately, it seemed necessary. He looked back up from the pages as he waited for the ink to dry. MICHAEL turned to trot back into his room. As soon as he thought himself to be alone, he let his posture deflate and his brow furrow. He hurried into the master bedroom. The stacks and stacks of books on Tubbo's side of the bed had collected dust these past few days.

Ranboo picked up a journal and rifled through the pages, trying to remember. November 27, 2020. It was like he had woken up from a slumber that he'd been stuck in for years. He always had dreams about his life before the SMP, but it was only recently that he thought to start writing them down. Some of the pages were entirely nonsensical - scribbles he'd written in panic. There were drawings of people like him, the underwater city he'd always wanted to build, friends that had passed away and friends he hadn't met yet. And then the words that appeared intermittently in every journal.

Find the

Remember your

Water these

He remembered the pure agony that bubbled in his brain as he woke up each time. He remembered reaching for the nearest journal to write down what he could before he blacked out again. Ranboo felt something graze his leg and jumped, reaching for his sword.

It was MICHAEL. It was just MICHAEL and Ranboo had nearly...

He tried to take a deep breath, but it was labored and uneven. The baby zombified piglin took to playing with the pages of a journal. "No, don't--" Ranboo launched himself off the bed to grab it away. As he pulled, MICHAEL pulled back, tearing out a portion of the page. They both stopped when they heard the ripping sound. "MICHAEL, this isn't a toy."

He had already long forgotten about the book, climbing on the bed to sit on Tubbo's pillow. Ranboo gently pulled the piece of paper from his little hands and picked up the journal to try and put the page back together. He squinted, trying to read the parts that got smudged.

"Remember y...you...are?" He looked back down at his son, who had busied himself with a dead allium. "You are. Oh my God. It doesn't say 'your', it says 'you are'." Ranboo quickly rose to his feet, beginning to pace. "You are, you are, you are..." He repeated the phrase to himself over and over. The memory was there. It was in reach, he just had to get to it.

He looked back at the page in his hands. Was this the reason why he'd been hitting a brick wall these last few days? "Water...what..." Ranboo muttered words to himself over and over again, like a guessing game. Some of the words felt correct and others completely wrong.