Steve Chapter 899: Fake People Mode (Patreon)

[System prompt: After studying the concepts of “Observer Effect,” “Consciousness ≡ Self,” “Idealism,” and “One Is All, All Is One,” you have obtained permission to download a new module.]

[System prompt: Dummy Module download started.]

[System prompt: Dummy Module download complete. Load now?]

(MC: Probably Fake People Mod)

“…Huh?”

The moment the system voice read out the module’s name, Fang Mo—who had been brimming with anticipation—froze. “Wait… what?”

[System prompt: Dummy Module download complete. Load now?]

Maybe the system thought Fang Mo hadn’t heard clearly, because it patiently repeated the question.

“Dummy?”

Hearing that name, Fang Mo looked completely baffled. He frowned instinctively. “Er… why that module?”

Truth be told, he had been looking forward to the next module.

That longing wasn’t a lie: Fang Mo knew the module tied to Schrödinger was going to matter to him. Otherwise—given his playful personality—he’d never have pushed the plot this quickly; he’d have spent ages messing around and torturing everyone for fun.

As far as he was concerned, this module should rank right up there with JEI in importance.
Something on the level of WorldEdit, Equivalent Exchange, RF Toolbox… heck, he’d even believe a module that lets you change the entire game mode.

But a Dummy module?

Honestly, he was stumped.

He did know a bit about it—after all, he’d used similar things on servers before. The so‑called “Dummy Module” isn’t just one specific mod; it began as a server plug‑in that let you park an AFK dummy to keep chunks loaded. Not every server can run huge mods like Railcraft, after all.

The plug‑in proved so useful that, as versions updated, a whole family of functional mods sprang up: Carpet for newer versions, Real/Fake Player, Test Dummy, Sandbag Dummy, Dummy Actor… all sorts of oddities.

Because Fang Mo had died so early in‑game, that was pretty much all he knew.

Still, even though it puzzled him, this was a hard‑won new module—no way was he giving it up. With a single thought, he chose Load.

Moments later the system responded:

[System prompt: Dummy Module loaded successfully.]

[System prompt: Because you have downloaded and run a brand‑new module, you receive one Lucky Block. It will grant a random item from any known module.]

A Lucky Block appeared in Steve’s hotbar.

At that exact instant—without warning—an immense torrent of information poured into Fang Mo’s mind.

“—Ugh!?”

The data load was horrifyingly huge. For a mod that looked tiny and insignificant, the information was unprecedented. Fang Mo’s mind blurred at once.

An indescribable strangeness filled his head.

Clutching his forehead, he staggered back two steps as though hit by something severe. He felt his consciousness shift: an ineffable sense that he both wasn’t himself and yet was—so bizarre he couldn’t even put it into words. In a way it was like his self‑identity had glitched.

“What the hell is this feeling?”

He looked down at his hands; his body seemed to be changing—as though corrupted. His palms blurred beneath mottled, flickering blocks of color, stuttering like a broken game frame laced with forbidden shades from beyond.

An extreme indescribable chaos.

His awareness kept “ascending,” expanding. Unawares, his eyes had turned pure silver. The flicker rate of his body only sped up—psychedelic, warped, like an abstract model gone out of sync.

Then, in the next second—

He vanished.

…

Out on a grassy plain, cows and sheep grazed. The square sun sank toward the horizon. Neutral mobs from Grimoire of Gaia meandered aimlessly.

Without warning Fang Mo materialized.

“Hmm? The MC world?”

He looked around blankly. “How did I jump here? Coordinates… wait—what?! Seventeen million blocks out?”

Before he could process it, he vanished again.

When vision returned he stood in a forest of eternal twilight. “Eh? Twilight Forest?”

Again he blinked out. In rapid succession he appeared inside a dungeon, atop a Battle Tower, in a Nether fortress, a Machine Dimension, an Antimatter Field, beneath Bedrock in the Overworld, the Oumuso Temple, a Chaotic Hive, a Dimensional Prison, a Cyclops’ cave… practically every corner of the modded universe.

“What is going on?”

With each jump his head grew heavier and the mottled colors on his body thickened. “Did I… bug out?”

By the end he no longer resembled a person—just a rolling mass of blocks, fragments, abstract light, and code strings, vaguely humanoid, eyes radiating endless white. There was no trace of his usual cheeky humor—only something chilling, inhuman, peeling the humanity away.

By now logic told him to quit the module immediately.

He intended to, yet just as he tried to disable it, his mind cleared instead—only now it felt even stranger.

He could feel himself.

Yes, feel himself—impossible to phrase, but the best term. It was as if he existed both inside and outside himself. He was… part of himself.

Like when your arm numbs because you slept wrong. You wake, rub the limb, and the instant your numb hand touches flesh the odd, half-familiar sensation floods back. The blood recirculates, the numbness fades, your body “awakens.” Hand and arm notice each other simultaneously—I stroked me. That was Fang Mo now.

“I… am actually me?”

From the figure formed of kaleidoscopic blocks came a faint whisper.

Realization dawned.

A blinding white light flared; all the chaos vanished. In a blink, Fang Mo reappeared in London—space around him still frozen.

“So that’s how it is.”

The white in his eyes receded; clarity returned. Then, abruptly, he raised a hand toward empty air and issued a command:

/Player

At that thought, the void beside him blazed. Infinite, multicolored radiance converged, coalescing into glitching blocks that squirmed into a vague humanoid. At the very last moment the figure’s eyes flashed an icy white—like an undead ghost from a creepypasta.

Agony ripped through Fang Mo, as though something split apart—like Patrick Star being sawed in half but remaining alive and becoming two identical beings. When the pain ebbed, he had a second visual feed; all sensations overlapped, reminiscent of when he first awoke his Steve Stand.

Worse, when he so much as thought, the dummy mirrored him and summoned its own Steve Stand—skinless, pure vanilla.

His senses tore into four quadrants.

“Ugh…”

The extremity made him clutch his head—and the mannequin did the same, its faceless visage showing anguish.

“Holy—?”

Seeing this, Fang Mo blurted, “It really is like that?!”

“Ho‑ly—?”

the dummy echoed in stuttering syllables, static crackling like a glitched system.

Fang Mo said nothing more; instead he closed his eyes and operated.

With experience puppeteering the Steve Stand, he quickly had the dummy moving. It checked its body, walked over, pinched Fang Mo’s cheek, then—with a flash—activated Customize Steve. The blocky form solidified into Fang Mo’s own appearance.

“What the—so you can play it like this?”

Looking at his own hand, Fang Mo—or rather, the other Fang Mo—exclaimed again.

At last Fang Mo understood: while the Dummy Mod was a small convenience tool in normal gameplay, in his hands it became something utterly different. His functional mods were already absurd—devouring everything (Voracious Devourer), infinitely levelling Iron Fist Steve, Void Ore Mining—but even among those, the Dummy Mod might sit at the apex, because it rewrote fundamental rules.

In‑game, dummies are just AFK chunk‑loaders.
Here, because they count as player entities, they are literally extensions of Fang Mo.

He’s no longer a single being. If he wishes, he can become a terrifying army of players—an entire server, a “Fourth Calamity” guild that swarms and meta‑games every world.

Unlike Shadow Clones or Limbo clones, this isn’t any known duplication skill. The player entities he spawns have no subjective will, no autonomy, not even “copies.” They’re simply parts of Fang Mo—“will extensions” of the chaotic sentience called Fang Mo. Beneath the human façade they’re still endless void and darkness—just like his own data‑body.

All their actions, words, and even thoughts are powered by him alone.

Put simply: if his main body is vacationing in the White Great Land and one player entity pops into Puella Magi Madoka Magica and impregnates Kyubey, it’s still Fang Mo himself who did it.

No split personalities, no clone working for the original—because every entity is just raw data, and all that data is Fang Mo.

Abstract? Absolutely. Ordinary mortals would never grasp these depths. But in terms of existential form, Fang Mo has long since risen beyond humanity—he’s chummy with Outer Gods; who knows how twisted his true shape is.

A “plural‑self” existence is common among Outer Gods. Thinking along those lines, ideas flooded Fang Mo’s head. Curiosity aflame, he took off his Arcane Ring and handed it to himself.

His other self donned the ring, raised a hand, and a fireball the size of a wagon wheel roared out. Two Steve Stands popped up in sync, tossed a Tinkers’ dagger between them, and the blade flashed twice through the air—same insane posture and speed as always.

“E mmm…”

“E mmm…”

Watching the fireball’s yield and the dagger’s strike rate, Fang Mo reached a raft of conclusions. Apparently, since they’re both “players”—better yet, both him—equipment is interchangeable. True, the real‑world Arcane Ring hits a bit softer—makes sense: new body’s base stats are lower, so it can’t unleash an equivalence‑grade artifact’s full power.

“…This is freaking ridiculous.”

After a long silence, Fang Mo opened his eyes and muttered—

“…This is frick‑ing ridiculous.”

—and the other Fang Mo echoed him in perfect unison.