This is Minecraft Manhunt

{⋅. Thirty-Five .⋅}

It's almost funny how a stationary object can have such a change in human emotion.

Fear spiked in George's chest, as the metallic disc lay, seamlessly harmless. But from his own personal experience, it was the opposite.

Metal was snatched away from Dream, the cold whisper of steel whipped from his hands. George threw it onto the ground, before promptly stomping on it. 

Again.

And again.

And... one more time just for good measure.

When the sounds of crunching gears and glass finally stopped, Dream deemed it safe to open his eyes he had closed to try and avoid flying bits of death compass, and slid his mask to the side of his face.

"... George?"

Panting slightly, his goggled friend looked up.

"Sorry... I just really hate the muffiny compass..."

Dream chuckled, the fond memories of his friend Badboyhalo flooding in? Was he worried? Was his friend even aware of the predicament he and two others had found themselves in?

Didn't matter, they had to be getting close now.

George kicked the pieces of the smashed in compass to the wall, before breaking the floor underneath them, effectively dropping the remains into the ravine. Falling, falling until the distant sound of lava swallowed them whole.

"Is... is it gone?"

Dream shook his head, doubtful.

"This ones gone, but know that we know there's more out there..." He sighed. "We just gotta be more careful."

George nodded, and went back to hunting through the chests in the spawner room.

From the singular torch they had placed on top the caged critters, Dream could see his friends face. His clout goggles covered his eyes, but his mouth was a straight devilish line. Was it fear? Maybe tension? Perhaps even confusion, or outright anger? It was hard to read.

But against all odds, they would hopefully get through this together.

Crackle

Dream heard it first, it sounded like the crackle that was played when the dragon was slain. But it seemed, softer? Maybe even more high pitched.

Where was it coming from?

"George?"

"Dream?"

"Do you hear that-"

Dream heard it before his mind could register it.

George was screaming, his finger pointing at the hole that had doomed the so called compass.

Repaired, as if it was never touched or broken.

If stationary objects could express emotions, Dream could bet this one would be swearing angry swears at them. Maybe shaking it's head in shame and rage?