Archive of Our Own ^beta

Technoblade didn’t consider himself to be a vigilante. 

Vigilantes were good people trying to do good things - people who stepped up to protect others. They did what they did because it was the right thing to do. (At least, according to his books.) Hell, more often than not, the people called “vigilantes” were more heroes than the actual heroes - the pompous assholes who paraded around for the media, wearing the title of “hero” that had been given to them like it was a crown. None of those “heroes” had ever looked at Techno and decided that he was worth defending. 

Techno was not a good person. He had been in his fair share of fights, knuckles worn with scars that spoke of brutal victory and bruises hidden beneath oversized hoodies. He was selfish. When he picked someone to stand beside him, he defended them because they were one of his - not out of any goodness. It was loyalty, pure and cruel. It did not make him a good person. 

No. Techno was an artist. The streets were his canvas, ink-stained hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. The sirens of police cars were a symphony, the rhythm of boots against concrete serving as percussion that drove the melody. The alleyways welcomed him with open arms. With every tag, he left a piece of himself on the city he had been born into. 

It was dangerous, yes, but it was addicting. How beautiful it was to be unknown, to be hidden, to be chased.

The alleyways welcomed him with open arms. He moved carefully, gracefully, eyes darting towards every sound, greeting the people he knew with a cautious nod and the people he didn’t with a cold stare. On another night, he might have stopped to talk. 

But tonight, he had a job to do. 

Despite what others may say, there was an honor to be found in thievery, an honesty in deception. There were rules, a code to follow. 

One. Never take from the ones who need it more than you. 

He’d made the mark a few days ago, scoping it out with a few casual strolls by, bright pink hair shoved into a black beanie. His gaze was careful, scanning for cameras and lockboxes, finding footholds to jump gates. The night shift didn’t matter - no employee would stop him, once they realized who he was, and no night guard could stand in his way. 

Two. Local shops and small businesses are off-limits. 

It was a massive business. Not the kind that cared for its employees, nor that benefited the community it sat in. It was one of the most prominent buildings in his area, an eyesore of fluorescent lights and concrete floors.

Its only use would be to Techno. 

Three. If you steal more than you need, the kids come first, then anyone else who needs it.

Selfishness was common. Techno found that people always looked after themselves first. But in an uncaring and callous world, where kids could be tossed onto the streets for who they were, where people were abandoned for their altruism, selfishness couldn’t be all there was. 

There was a spot on East Main, in the shadows of the bridge that crossed the river that wove through the city. The sound of rushing water was barely audible above the sound of dozens of cars passing above, and Techno’s footsteps were invisible. Techno pretended he didn’t notice the eyes watching him, the whispers of children, fingers that were too young to know the grime of the streets.

He always left something there. Whatever blankets he could spare in the wintertime, loaves of bread from chains, food that had been thrown away because it was past the expiration date. 

Techno didn’t acknowledge their presence, and they never thanked him. 

Four. Respect other thieves. No snitching, and if you can help someone make a mark, then do.  

Techno worked alone. It was better that way. Easier. Safer. 

The Zephyrs roamed the streets, watching from the corners with an arrogant cockiness that Techno had grown to hate. They were dangerous - not enough to garner fear, but enough that Techno’s caution was invaluable. 

They worked as a group - not quite a gang, in Techno’s mind, but some mutual bloodthirst kept them all connected. Their smiles were always a bit too wide, hands resting on holstered weapons in a silent threat: one that could be denied, if anyone asked. The Zephyrs were dangerous, even more so than any law enforcement. The police couldn’t hunt. The Zephyrs could and would - brutally and lethally so. 

He’d tagged over their symbol enough times that he was in more danger than most. They were brutal, bloodthirsty. All it would take was one slip-up and he was dead.

Five. Do whatever you have to do to survive.

It was a broken system - no one could argue that - but Techno didn’t know how to change it. So he rebelled where he could. He splattered spray paint on the walls of city government buildings, a neon reminder that this was not their city. He slipped a spool of thread into his sleeve and a package of needles in the other, quietly reminding himself to offer to repair the tent of the kid on the corner of Main and 6th. He shoved handfuls of seeds into his pockets, native wildflowers that would put down roots, grow strong, grow stubborn. 

Techno breathed in. 

It was time.  

There is always a strange energy to these nights. The anxiety of being caught tugged at his stomach even as adrenaline hummed in his chest. He adjusted his backpack over his shoulders, pulling the strap tight across his chest. Deft fingers slid a respirator up into place, concealing the lower half of his face as he tucked a few loose strands of hair into his beanie, pulling up his hood for extra concealment. 

The fence was easy work, the toe of his boot slipping easily into the space between chain links as he leapt over the top. He hauled himself over the top, leaping easily over pointed metal. The loudest sound was his backpack, metal cans clanking quietly against one another. He landed behind the building, escaping the motion-sensor lights in the front.

Glancing for the security camera, he ran, darting from the shadow of the fence into the entryway. One hand twitched to his hood, making sure it was still pulled up. He’d been right - the electronic keypad had been identifiable from beyond the fence. Damn things were always too easy to get past; he slipped a key from his pocket and unlocked it, pulling the front panel open and hitting the lock release mechanism. 

He shut the keypad panel and slipped into the door as the lock clicked open with a metallic click, the noise echoing in the nighttime quiet. 

The nighttime was his haven, especially in a shop like this. It would be easy to stroll through the aisles, but the less time he spent here, the more he’d have for later, and the night was young. He strode through the aisles, boots surprisingly quiet on the tile floors. It was fairly straightforward - the choice of food was almost instinctual after so many years - and he knew he could always return later. 

Soup, the kind that didn’t need a can opener to be opened. A bit of jerky. A few bags of rice and beans, some pasta, a bit of canned chicken. Canned fruits and vegetables. A jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread for himself. 

There was a little bit of money left in the registers. He’d asked Tubbo months ago, back when the kid had still worked at this location. The closing shift reset the drawers every night, leaving some change in for the morning shift. He’d also checked: if the drawer was short, it came out of the company’s overhead, not the employees’ pockets. Techno slipped a key into the drawer and bumped it gently, just enough to get the pins to align. The key turned easily beneath his fingers. One after another, he slipped out a few bills from each drawer - a few ones here, a couple tens there, perhaps a twenty. 

And now, for the fun part.

Techno dug two cans of spray paint out of his backpack, flipping one paint can over in his right hand. The image was already clear in his head as he slipped out the back door again. He could hardly contain his excitement as he strode to the front of the store. As much as he would love to relish in his art, he knew he was in sight of the cameras. 

He smiled behind the respirator as he laid down his canvas, black paint erasing the scuffs on the brick walls, covering part of a metal door as well. It was always nicer to paint on smooth surfaces, but the impact of this location was more important than anything else. This would be visible not only to the company, but to the community as well. The company would see it only as an act of vandalism, but the people knew that it meant this store was damned. His mark was a crown of thorns, a mockery of whatever “power” others thought they had. 

He tossed the black paint into his bag, uncaring as black ink smeared on the plastic of the bread bag as he swapped over to red. Techno painted the first stroke, the lines familiar to him. He threw up a quick tag in red, larger than the letters would usually need to be. Stepping back, he traced the letters again, giving them a misty aura against the black. 

He knelt for a moment, just long enough to pull out cans of gold and white paint, setting the white on the ground as he shook up the gold. He repeated the same process of lines and mist, outlining a golden crown above the word. 

The white paint was always the most fun. He twisted off the lid, shaking the can quickly before filling the red and gold lines with a thin center of white. The white can was tossed into his bag as well, and he misted over a light layer of red and gold to ever-so-gently hush its brightness. 

Techno stepped back to admire his handiwork. The black cloud of paint encompassed the paint that seemed to glow like a neon light, even in the flickering fluorescent exterior lights. A golden crown shone above his name--

REIGN.

As much as he wanted to bask in his art, the longer he spent in view of the cameras, the higher the risk of getting caught. He threw the cans of paint back into his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and tightening the straps. 

With one final glance at his work, he ran. 

His footsteps were even, breath hardly changing as he ran back around the building, boots thumping against the concrete. He jumped easily, the toe of his boot catching the fence to vault over the top, one hand between the top of the chain links. 

Techno kept to the corners, to the edges of the sidewalks that the flickering fluorescent street lights didn’t quite illuminate. He kept his head down, an additional layer of subtlety even as his eyes searched for any danger around him. He wove through the streets with the dexterity of weeks, moving rapidly towards the bridge. 

He knelt in the shadows of the rusting metal that blocked out the night sky, slinging his bag onto the ground next to him. He unzipped it, leaving a pile of cans and plastic bags on the ground for anyone who needed it, rice and vegetables and soup. 

He stood, pointedly ignoring the eyes he could feel boring into his neck, as he grabbed his backpack and strode away. 

His apartment was relatively nearby, almost silent compared to the low hum that always thrummed through the streets. The alleyways and sidewalks of a city are never quiet, which was comforting just as much as it was unsettling. 

The respirator was the first thing to come off, and he inhaled the fresh air deeply. The black hoodie followed shortly after, revealing a graphic t-shirt from an old video game company and hair pulled back into a half-braided bun. He let his hair loose, pink strands falling past his shoulders. He switched jeans, discarding his paint-splattered jeans for a clean pair, as well as his boots, the black combat boots tossed aside in favor of more polished platform boots. 

Many of the differences were subtle, but they were useful. It was the little changes that were the most important, and he was careful never to wear the same clothes that Reign did. It kept him safe, and, for the most part, protected. 

He slammed his apartment door closed behind him, shoving his other arm through the sleeve of a gray denim jacket, tugging the cloth over his shoulders. There was no point in being quiet; if something was going to hurt him, it would hurt him no matter how loud he was. 

It was strange to step onto the streets as Techno after finishing his work as Reign. Reign was a mystery out of necessity. The black hoodie with sleeves splattered with every color of paint imaginable and the respirator covering the lower half of his face gave him some semblance of privacy. Reign was a silhouette, an idea, a symbol. Reign was everybody.

Techno, on the other hand, was nobody. He was more identifiable, certainly - after all, no one assumed that the guy with the bright pink hair ever concealed his identity. He held himself proudly, shoulders squared and head held high, but he did so alone. Everybody knew Reign, but no one knew Techno - not really. The few people he did interact with were distant. He asked for favors and always returned them quickly, never remaining in anyone’s debt. It wasn’t trust, but it was some sort of mutual understanding. 

It was lonely, but it was safer. 

Techno himself was not an easy person for a number of reasons, not the least of which was Reign. The Zephyrs were enough of a threat that his identity was of the utmost secrecy. They were brutal; if he was discovered as Reign, he would likely be killed, as would anyone close to him. Techno, on the other hand, was safe, save for a few leering glares. 

As he walked, he couldn’t help but glance at the store he’d just hit. His tag seemed to glow in the lights, the name and crown vivid even at night. He ducked his head to hide a slight smile, satisfaction humming low in his chest. 

He shoved open the door to the 7-11, squinting slightly in the fluorescent lights at such a late hour as he nodded stiffly to the cashier. He grabbed a paper bag, shoving in three of the taquitos from the roller grill. It was a hot meal, and one that was relatively cheap, which was all it needed to be. A slight smile twitched across his lips - with the cash he’d snagged that evening, he could likely swing for an energy drink. He’d call it congratulations for a job well done. 

He paid quickly, slipping back out onto the streets. The nights after a run as Reign were always easier, even if his instinct kept his head on a swivel. It was easier without having to worry about where his next meal would come from, if he’d be able to make this month’s rent. 

“Stop right there,” a wavering voice said from behind Techno. 

Techno froze, head turning just enough to see the barrel of a gun pointed at him. The rest of his body followed, turning carefully, arms raising slowly as he let the plastic bag fall to his wrist, leaving his hands empty. A blonde kid stood before him, too skinny for his height, the sleeves of a too-large red hoodie shoved up past his elbows. He gripped the gun like it was foreign to him - which, all things considered, it likely was.  

In any case, it certainly wasn’t the first time a gun had been pointed at Techno, but that didn’t make the danger any less real. 

“Careful there,” Techno rumbled, voice strained. “I’m just going about my business. I’m not a Zephyr.” 

“Neither am I. Give me the bag.” The barrel of the gun shook slightly. “And whatever money you have.” 

“This is just food - nothing valuable.” Techno explained, empty palms turned carefully towards the blonde. 

“Hand it over.” The blonde’s eyes were hard, only the slightest hint of desperation shining in the low evening light. 

That desperation was familiar to Techno. He knew what it was to be willing to go so far for so little, willing to raise his hands and promise violence for a mouthful of food, willing to threaten strangers just for a shitty 7-11 taquito and a Monster. And the blonde was so young-- it hurt Techno to think about, even more so to see in front of him. 

So instead of doing the logical thing and handing over the aforementioned taquito and Monster, Techno stepped forward. “Kid, if you’re that desperate for food, there’s other options. I know a place--”

“Stay back,” he spat, raising the gun to Techno’s head. 

“Staying,” Techno said, freezing in place. “But really, I’ll go buy you a hot meal. You look like you need it.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” The tip of the gun dipped slightly, as though it could feel the boy’s hesitation. 

Techno shot him a look. “It means I don’t think you’re exactly in a position to turn down a free meal. I know what that’s like.” 

“Yeah, but Wil--” The blonde coughed, cutting himself off, even as Techno filed the name away for future reference. “I’m not the only one I need to take care of.” 

“Okay,” Techno said, wrists twitching as he tried to make an appeasing gesture without moving too much. “That can be handled.” 

The kid’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not afraid of me? I have a gun,” he said, jerking it forward like he wanted to prove a point. 

“You’re just a kid,” Techno snorted. 

“I’m old enough,” shot back the blonde, but the barrel dropped down slightly again. 

“Yeah, but you’re not going to shoot me,” Techno said carefully, stepping forward again. “So why don’t we--”

BANG.

Even after years of handling guns, the noise was always louder than he expected, stabbing through his ears and leaving them ringing in the silence that followed. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. Techno caught a glimpse of the shell as it fell - his brain supplied the sound of the empty brass hitting the pavement, his eardrums still struck by the sound of the gunshot. The side of his shoulder pulsed, an invisible force pressing down on his skin. Techno could feel the blood sticking the fabric of his jacket to his arm. 

The kid stared emptily at Techno’s arm, mouth open, the gun almost falling out of limp hands. Techno stepped forward fast, grabbing him by the wrist and yanking the gun from his grasp. He hardly put up any fight as the weapon was torn from his hands. 

“Give me that,” Techno growled. He knew he’d regret the movement later as his shoulder began to buzz, his body acutely aware of the injury but the immediate adrenaline preventing the pain. 

“I shot you,” he whispered. “I really shot you.” 

“Yeah, you did,” Techno snapped. He hit the magazine release, pulling back the slide and letting the bullet fall out of the chamber. He tucked the magazine into his pocket before snapping the slide back into place and tucking the now-empty gun into his belt. “Now are you going to run or stick around for the consequences?” 

He ran. 

“Figures,” Techno hissed, gritting his teeth. The adrenaline had begun to fade, leaving a burning sensation along the entire width of the injury. His knees buckled, the pain transforming from something familiar into a new type of burning, tendrils of fire singing beneath his skin. The rough ground scratched at his skin even through his jeans. 

Maybe getting shot was a bit more of an issue than originally anticipated. 

To some extent, that didn’t matter. It wasn’t like there was anyone coming for Techno. He was alone, as he always was. He fought for others only to be cast aside. It was the way it always had been and always would be: abandoned and alone.

“Hello?” 

Okay, maybe not entirely alone. 

Despite everything, Techno still had the sense to glare at the person who peered around the corner. He shoved himself upright, wincing internally with the knowledge that his clothes would likely be ruined from an ungodly combination of blood and whatever-the-hell grime from the ground. 

The man’s hair was the first thing to catch in the light of the evening sun, blonde hair otherworldly golden. It was almost familiar, compared to the blonde hair of the kid who had just run off. His gait was slightly uneven, walking with a slight limp. Techno realized as he approached that it was because the older man was leaning his weight onto a worn cane, the dark wood almost invisible in the alley’s shadows. 

“Hey, mate, are you okay?” 

Techno let out a hiss of pain, the automatic distrust turning it into a sound closer to a growl. The blonde man seemed unfazed, stepping closer. His footsteps were quiet, the sound of the cane hitting the ground a quiet rhythm against the buzzing of streetlamps. Techno raised his eyes slowly, glaring directly at the man who knelt with a quiet groan in front of him, ignoring the street grime on clearly-loved jeans. 

“Please don’t tell me that was your kid who shot me,” Techno muttered, still leveling the sharpest glare he could, all spitfire and razor-sharp danger. 

“No.” The man shook his head, setting the cane down next to him. “But I heard the gunshot and figured I’d come check it out.” 

“You heard a gunshot and decided to walk towards it?” Techno snorted. “And they say that I don’t have a sense of self-preservation.” 

The man shrugged, seemingly unfazed by the venom Techno continued to throw. “I’ve seen worse. Besides, there aren’t many things around here that will hurt me.” 

Techno’s breath hitching as a new wave of pain pulsed through his arm.

It didn’t go unnoticed. “The same can’t be said for you, it seems,” he said, gesturing towards Techno’s arm. “Do you mind if I take a look?” 

The logical part of Techno’s mind screamed for him to run. Something about this man seemed off, a strange aura of danger despite kind eyes and a gentle smile. 

But Techno’s instinct - the instinct that had helped him escape the police, that had helped him scope out new areas for projects, that led him to good opportunities and great people, that had saved his ass hundreds of times over - well, his instinct said to stay. 

“Sure.” 

The blonde was careful in his movements, shifting his weight slowly forward as his fingers brush feather-light over the bloodstained sleeve. Techno huffed slightly as the fabric was pulled away from the wound, blinking away dark spots as the fabric stuck to congealed blood. 

The other man hissed apologetically, a sympathetic noise. “Just a graze. Still, we should get it cleaned up.”

“No hospitals,” Techno said, the words falling from his mouth before his brain could register what he was saying. “I’m not going to the hospital.” 

“Oh, I’d never propose something like that.” The man smiled, a sharp thing that said he might know a bit more than he was letting on. “We can take care of it back at mine.”

Techno squinted, peering at the man. “I don’t even know your name.” 

“Oh.” He blinked, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Phil. I’m Phil.” 

Techno sighed. “Your place better not be far away.” 

It wasn’t, thankfully. Techno moved slowly, his arm jostling with every step even as he reached across to steady his shoulder with his other hand, not trusting himself or the other enough to lean on him. 

Phil’s apartment was a simple place, almost elegant. A few paintings hung on smooth white walls, minimalist frames next to massive windows. It spoke of old money, but there was the strange stiffness of someone who could leave it all behind in a heartbeat. Techno came to a halt in front of a mahogany bookshelf, the urge to look at any available books overwhelming despite the strange circumstances he found himself in. Phil’s footsteps continued further inside, the rubber cane stopper as constant as any heartbeat. 

“Come on, mate.” Techno barely suppressed the instinctual flinch as Phil’s voice echoed through the apartment. “You can look at the books after we’ve gotten you patched up.” 

Techno turned away reluctantly, following Phil’s voice into a white-tiled bathroom. “Robert Graves. Good choice for Greek mythology, although I usually prefer getting my information directly from the originals.” 

“I’m afraid my Greek is a bit too rusty for that,” Phil said with a chuckle, barely glancing up at Techno as he laid out gauze and bandages, carefully prepared and maintained. His cane rested behind him, leaning against the wall. He gestured towards the edge of the bathtub. “Go ahead and have a seat.” 

Techno sat slowly, still tense. 

“Do you mind?” Phil’s hands hovered over his sleeve, eyes already set on the wound, eyes carefully analyzing it. 

Techno shook his head, wincing as he raised his arm slightly so the blonde could take a better look. 

Phil tugged gently at his sleeve, wincing apologetically as Techno hissed in pain. “Alright, I’m sorry about this one, but I’m gonna have to cut away a bit of your sleeve.” 

“Go ahead,” Techno grunted, voice tight as he glanced down at it. He couldn’t help but flinch again as the cool metal scissors rested against his skin. 

“Don’t look at it,” Phil tsked. “It’ll only make it worse.” 

Techno turned his head away obediently, even as he rolled his eyes. “Hard to think about anything else at the moment.” 

“Then talk with me. What’s your name?” 

He worked his jaw for a moment, wondering what was the best answer. A tagger name wasn’t nearly as anonymous when spoken aloud, and Phil had already seen his face. Besides, he still didn’t have a guarantee that this dude wasn’t a cop. 

Phil took his silence as an invitation. “If all else fails, I can just call you Reign.” 

Techno’s gaze snapped over, meeting blue eyes that sparkled with mirth, crows’ feet wrinkling around the corners of his eyes as Phil tried to suppress a smile, ultimately failing as a mischievous grin spread across his face. Techno rapidly tried to school his expression into one of neutrality. 

“I don’t know who you think I am--” Techno started, voice careful. 

Phil’s hands didn’t stop moving, dabbing at the wound with clean gauze between a pair of forceps. His movements were deft, the familiarity speaking of years of experiences and countless wounds. “It’s your choice either way. I’ve had enough experience not to mind.” 

He kept his neutral expression for a couple more moments before letting out a sigh. 

Nothing to lose.

“Techno.” 

Phil nodded thoughtfully, letting another piece of gauze fall from the forceps, setting them down on the edge of the bath. “Well, Techno, you lucked out. It’s hardly more than a graze, so no need for stitches.” 

“Could you have given me stitches?” Techno’s brow furrowed slightly. 

“If it came down to it,” Phil shrugged. “There’s a suture kit under the sink.” 

“What are you, in the mafia?” 

Techno’s voice was dry, the sarcasm almost painfully evident. But something still flashed across Phil’s face - Techno only glimpsed it because he had been watching carefully, and it was gone quickly enough that it might never have been there at all. Phil kept his face carefully blank, the corner of his jaw tight in a way that Techno knew well. 

“Can I ask how you got here?” 

It was a deflection, one Techno chose not to pursue. 

“I… walked,” Techno replied simply. 

Phil snorted. “How informative. No, I meant how did you end up getting shot in an alleyway?” 

“No one expects to get shot in an alleyway, Phil,” he deadpanned. 

“And yet here we are,” Phil said. 

“The one who got shot, and the one who invited him into his house.” 

Phil huffed out a laugh. He reached for the cane behind him, pulling it in front of him and standing carefully, a clearly practiced movement. “Well, I’ll take my chances. Like I said, not much around here will hurt me, and I assume you’re no exception.” 

Techno couldn’t help the curiosity that began to blossom in his chest, but he shoved it down. If Phil was protected by something, then that same something could present a danger to him. 

Instead, he looked down at the scraps that Phil had cut from his jacket and shirt. “I liked that jacket.” 

“I can replace it,” Phil said, head tilting apologetically. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Techno waved him off. 

“No, really--” 

“Phil,” Techno interrupted him, voice firm. “I mean it. No need to replace something that wasn’t your responsibility.” 

He wasn’t sure how to interpret the look Phil gave him, a curious gaze that seemed to search Techno’s soul. But after a few moments, Phil nodded. “I won’t push. But the offer stands.” 

Techno muttered a half-audible thanks under his breath. “Sorry for taking so much of your time.” 

“Really? You’re apologizing for getting shot?” Phil raised his eyebrows with a short laugh. “Really, mate, it’s nothing. I know what it’s like to be in those situations, and I know it’s easier if you’ve got someone by your side.”

Techno shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.” 

Phil opened his mouth before closing it quickly, clearly thinking better of whatever he was going to say. He shook his head briefly. “You’re good to go, Techno. Just keep the bandages clean, and try not to strain your shoulder too much.” 

“Thanks,” Techno muttered.

“It’s nothing,” Phil said, waving a hand. 

It’s not nothing, Techno thought to himself-- something he didn’t dare voice, for fear that Phil might ask for something in return. Instead, he shrugged, immediately wincing as another lance of pain shot down his arm. 

Phil grimaced, his own shoulder twitching like he knew the pain. “Anyways, it’s getting late. Are you going to make it home?” 

“Kicking me out?” Techno’s lips twisted into a pained, wry smile. 

Phil grabbed his cane, standing in a smooth motion. “You’re welcome to stay, but I don’t think you will.” 

“You’re right,” Techno said, mirroring his motion. 

Phil walked him to the door. It was strange, that they knew so little about each other, yet they had found themselves in such an impossible situation. 

“Well,” Phil said, pulling open the door. “Good luck out there.” 

Techno shivered as the night air hit his now-bare arm. “Bye.” He left without another word, leaving Phil’s figure silhouetted in the light from inside his apartment. 

Techno moved slowly back to his apartment. Despite his instinctual urge to move fast, every step jostled his shoulder, even with the bandages Phil had wrapped so carefully around the wound. The adrenaline had faded, and he could feel every bit of the pain that dug its talons into his arm. Better to move slower and save himself the pain; there would be enough of it to come as the wound healed. 

The evening seemed almost too quiet. Techno was on edge - and justifiably so, considering that he had just been shot, and he hadn’t had the chance to eat his taquito. The energy that would usually go into a fight still hummed under his skin, still itching to swing at something. 

The juxtaposition between his apartment and Phil’s was striking. His apartment was cramped, the couch pushed into the corner, the table next to it cluttered with books and papers. The radiator rattled, and it always seemed to be dusty, despite his best efforts. Everything was worn and rough around the edges; all the lights were slightly too dim even as the electricity hummed through his lamps. It was nothing like the polished floors and bright lights of Phil’s apartment. 

He didn’t let himself think about that. Instead, he slumped onto his shitty couch and breathed, letting his head tip backwards as he simply let himself settle. 

He didn’t even realize that he fell asleep until he was woken up by the alarm on his phone, the loud alarm barely fazing him. 

Techno’s day job - working as a tech consultant - gave him an inconsistent schedule at the best of times. He was used to pulling all-nighters, tired eyes trying to iterate on old solutions. It was a thankless job, with no glory or recognition past the occasional “Thanks!” at the end of an email. But it offered him flexibility and anonymity, both of which were more important than the fame. Besides, Reign had enough of a name for both of them. 

Still, he’d found it was helpful to keep a schedule - some attempt at waking up in the morning and getting a few hours of sleep. The destruction of his sleep cycle was inevitable, but he could at least try and keep some semblance of a schedule. 

He slapped a hand down without thinking, eyes bunching up as he tried to turn off the alarm. 

His breath caught in his chest as pain lanced down his arm and up into his neck, his shoulder pulsing with the painful reminder of what had happened the day before. Burning tendrils of sharp pain sunk into his skin, transforming into an achiness that throbbed with every heartbeat. 

“Ow,” he muttered, letting himself go lax on the couch for a moment before he pushed himself upright. If this was a graze, he hated to think of what a more direct hit might have felt like. But even with a gunshot wound, the world stopped for no one, and Techno was no exception. 

The first order of business was, as always, food. 

He stepped out of his apartment, throwing on a zip up hoodie over his shoulder. He’d accepted, for the most part, that it would be a couple of days before he was able to move as he normally did. He had no interest in trying to give himself stitches tearing the wound even larger. 

He’d only walked a few steps when a familiar voice halted him in his tracks. 

“Hey, mate. How’s it going?” 

“I’ve been better,” Techno said, shrugging with his good shoulder. 

“I figured as much,” Phil said with a smile, shaking his head. “You look like you could use a meal, kid. Do you want to go grab some food?” 

“I don’t want your pity,” Techno said, voice tight. Food was always difficult: something so simple yet held so much power. A meal could represent an agreement, just as much as it could be pity, a peace offering, or an honest opportunity. 

“It’s not pity.” Phil was quick to reply, holding up one hand in an appeasing motion. “I just want to know who exactly I invited into my home.” 

Techno shrugged, the tension still lingering in his posture. “You’re buying.” 

“Fine by me,” Phil laughed. “Follow me.” 

They headed down the street, Techno falling easily into stride alongside Phil. 

“You seem to be moving alright. Shoulder seems a bit stiff though.” Phil said, voice even, as though he discussed gunshot wounds every day. 

“Well, Phil, you see--” Techno turned to look at Phil as they walked, face expressionless. “I believe my shoulder seems a bit stiff because I was shot.” 

Phil choked. It was something so simple, an undeniable truth. But hearing Techno say it with such a straight face-- he couldn’t keep a straight face. 

“What? It’s true!” 

Phil’s laughter didn’t fade by the time they reached the restaurant. He practically held himself up on the door handle, holding it open for Techno to walk in. 

They were greeted by a diner, hardly more than a few booths and a couple seats, shining maroon vinyl against the white-tiled floors. The restaurant itself was a hole in the wall, with only a few patrons keeping to themselves-- a beanie-clad kid in one corner with his nose buried in what seemed to be a book of laws, and a woman with curly white hair staring into a chipped mug of coffee. The lights were almost blinding, reflecting off the polished tables. Phil waved to the brunette behind the counter, heading to one of the booths. 

“I don’t mean to question your decision,” Techno said, settling in the seat across from Phil, “but I’ve seen your apartment.”

“What about it?” Phil asked, leaning his cane against the wall. 

“Surely you can afford better than this.” Techno crossed his arms.

“I can,” Phil replied with a shrug. “But we both would have been uncomfortable in a Michelin-star restaurant, and why waste the money when diners have perfectly good food?” 

At least he doesn’t sound like a rich asshole, Techno thought, even if he ends up being one.

“Diners are a liminal space,” he said instead, after they ordered.

“Oh?” 

“Nothing exists in or out of a diner. It’s an in-between,” Techno explained. “The people too.” 

Phil chuckled. “Well, I happen to be of the belief that there’s nothing a classic diner meal can’t fix.” 

“Even a gunshot wound?” Techno raised an eyebrow at Phil. 

“Mate, you have got to stop bringing that up,” Phil said with a laugh. “Someone’s going to overhear.” 

“So what?” Techno turned, raising his voice as he turned towards the rest of the diner. “Gunshot wound!” 

None of the other patrons glanced their way. The kid with the beanie turned the page of his book. 

“No gunshot wounds, but I have your food,” the waiter said. Techno closed his jaw with a click as the man gave him a withering look, the bags under his eyes saying “I don’t get paid enough for this.” 

Techno sank back into his seat, turning slightly red in embarrassment as he mumbled his thanks. Phil was kind enough to mask his laugh in a bite of potatoes. 

The conversation fell quiet as they both ate. Techno focused on his food, keeping his head down. He’d had enough nights where food had been given and taken on a whim, and although he didn’t think Phil would do that, a bit of additional caution never hurt. The burning in his arm with each bite was less important in that moment than making sure he ate. 

Phil, thankfully, didn’t say anything while they ate, letting Techno’s silence settle over them like the night sky outside. 

The meal itself was uneventful. Phil paid for the bill before Techno could even register that it had arrived, and all Techno could do was mumble his thanks. 

As they stood, Phil tapped Techno’s ankle with his cane, catching his attention. “I’d like to give you something, if you’d accept it.” 

Techno’s shoulders tightened, something in his gaze shifting. 

Phil dug in his pocket for a moment, pulling out something and offering it to Techno on his open palm. 

It was a beautiful emerald necklace, four small emeralds carved into leaves and arranged into the edge of a laurel branch, edges held in place by delicate gold. The gold chain was simple, yet it didn’t tangle or snag as Phil lifted it up, extending it towards Techno. Techno couldn’t help the way his eyes lingered on the emeralds, which glittered as though they were touched with morning dew. 

“I-- I can’t accept something like this.” Techno shook his head in disbelief.

“You absolutely can,” Phil replied. “It’s a gift, mate.” 

“But why?” Techno brushed a finger on the necklace, watching as the emerald and gold shimmered. 

“You’re a fighter,” Phil said simply. “I am too.” 

“And how, exactly, does that correlate to the necklace?” 

Phil tilted his head to the side. “Some questions are better left unanswered, I think.”

“It’s beautiful,” Techno murmured. 

“Call it a thank you, if it will make you feel better.” Phil said with a small smile. 

“It won’t, but thank you anyways.” Techno accepted the necklace and clasped the jewelry around his neck, and Phil’s smile grew.

The days that followed were strange. 

Granted, any period of time following getting shot was bound to be strange, especially after the conversations he’d had with Phil. Techno himself was an unusual person, which did not help matters - “normal” was a subjective term, after all. 

He tried to maintain his schedule: sending messages to clients during the day and going out as Reign at night. But something seemed off in the nights. The Zephyrs watched him more closely, several inclining their heads at him as he passed.

He tagged a few buildings, “REIGN” in golden paint that shimmered in the street lamps. He stole a few cans here and there. But the Zephyrs didn’t come near him, even when he tagged over their symbol. 

It was… respect.

It kept happening, even when he wasn’t Reign. Techno was a nobody, but no Zephyr even dared to come close to him. He could feel their eyes resting on him, tracing his path as he walked, but they didn’t act. It felt almost protective, which was even stranger. 

It didn’t make any sense. Not unless it was--

“You need to tell me what’s going on.” 

Phil looked up from the kitchen counter at the sound of the door slamming open, wielding a chef’s knife with dexterity as he diced mushrooms. “Welcome back, Techno. Care for some risotto?” 

Techno strode into the kitchen, the sound of simmering stock and toasting rice grains quiet compared to the sound of his boots on marble floors. “No, I need an explanation. What exactly am I wearing, Phil?” 

The blade paused, hovering above the chopping board. “Pardon me?” 

Techno wrapped a hand around the pendant hanging around his neck, yanking the chain. The clasp broke, and he poured the chain onto the jet-black counter next to Phil’s elbow. “Explain.” 

“Come chop,” Phil said, spinning the knife in his hand to offer Techno the handle. 

Techno gritted his jaw, but accepted the knife readily. “Sliced?” 

Phil nodded, sliding over to allow Techno to take his place. He reached for a wooden spoon and stirred the arborio rice, glancing at the stock simmering on the eye behind it. For a moment, the only sound was wood against metal and the rhythm of the knife against the board as the two stood shoulder to shoulder.

“You have questions.” Phil’s voice was quiet, hardly louder than the sound of Techno’s chopping.

“I do,” Techno said. Most of the anger had drained out of his voice, but an undercurrent of tension remained. 

“Put the necklace back on.” Phil smiled crookedly, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. 

Techno paused. “Will you at least tell me why?” 

“I will,” Phil said quietly. He paused for a moment, reaching for a ladle to pour the first bit of broth over the rice grains. “That necklace, it’s… protection.” 

“Elaborate,” rumbled Techno.

“The laurel branch is my symbol, and the emerald marks you as under my protection - of the innermost circle.” 

Techno paused, turning over the information in his mind. “Protection from what?” 

“Keep chopping,” Phil urged quietly, knocking his elbow against Techno’s as he stirred. Techno obliged. “Everyone around here knows my name. They respect me. With my symbol around your neck, no one would dare to threaten you.” 

“You said when we first met that there was nothing here that would hurt you,” Techno recalled. 

Phil nodded. “And that now extends to you. Have you heard of the Zephyrs?” 

“I asked you before if you were in the mafia,” Techno said, knife hitting the board with a bit more force.

Phil winced. “I wouldn’t call it a mafia as much as it is a network of connections.” He added another ladle of broth. 

“That’s a mafia,” deadpanned Techno. 

“Call it what you like,” continued Phil. “It’s provided me with the means to protect myself and the people I care about.” 

“Why… would you not tell me this?” Techno’s motions turned careful. Phil could feel the stiffness in his arm, but he never stopped slicing the mushrooms. 

“I wanted you to be able to choose.” Phil stared resolutely into the pot, stirring a little harder. “I didn’t want you to feel like you owed me anything.” 

“Phil.” Techno glanced over, not quite meeting Phil’s eyes. “Everyone always expects something in return. What are you waiting for from me?” 

“The only thing I’m waiting for from you are those mushrooms. Pans are in the cabinet below the counter - fry them up with a bit of butter.” 

“You knew I was Reign,” Techno muttered, voice tight. “The Zephyrs would have killed me for that.” 

“You’re right,” Phil said, a terrible truth. “Which is why I’m the only one who knows. The Zephyrs have been given instructions to defer to Reign, and my necklace keeps you safe as Techno.” 

“Why?” 

“I was hoping you’d be able to trust me, one day.” Phil’s motions slowed for a moment. “I was hoping to earn it.”

Techno relaxed minutely, brushing behind Phil. Earning trust, at least, was something that both could understand. The blonde turned the heat on high as Techno set the pan on. “And what’s this about an innermost circle?” 

Phil hummed. “Well, it’s not much of a circle - as much as two people can be.” 

Techno’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything. Butter sizzled in the pan, shortly followed by sliced mushrooms. 

“My organization is going through-- well, it’s what I can only call a bit of an overhaul.” Phil shook his head as he stirred the last of the broth in. 

“Phil, one of these days, you’ll get better about not speaking in halves. Elaborate.” 

Phil let the wooden spoon rest on the pot. He slipped past Techno with a turn, pulling open a drawer for a grater with one hand and reaching for a block of parmigiano reggiano resting on the counter with the other. 

He moves like a dancer, Techno thought. For all that he may be a fighter, there’s still such grace in his movements. He huffed out a slight laugh. 

Phil glanced towards him at the sound, a smile spreading across his face. His hands never stopped moving, resting the grater on the chopping board Techno had used for the mushrooms and beginning to grate the parmesan. He moved fast, with a dexterity that might have been alarming for anyone else. 

“I’m not proud of what my organization has become,” Phil said after a moment, interrupting the quiet sounds of cooking. “I don’t even know if I can call it mine. I’m not proud of it - not the way it is now, anyways.” 

Techno hummed low in his throat.

“It’s not a good place to be. It’s not a good life to lead.” 

“But it’s the life you lead.” 

“It is the life I lead. And if I have anything to say about it, it won’t be the life anyone else leads.” He lifted the grater, letting the fresh parmesan tumble out. “Even if I have to start from scratch.” 

A moment of silence passed. 

“Was it the suture kit that gave me away?” 

“Yeah. It was the suture kit.”

“Fucking-- I knew it. Come eat.” 

Techno picked up the golden necklace with careful fingers, clasping it around his neck and letting the emerald leaves settle between his collarbones. 

It took time. 

It took many questions asked hesitantly in the evenings, of stories told over cups of tea. Techno wanted information; Phil had never been afraid of patience. There was a difficult decision to be made, one that neither of them rushed towards. 

Phil was hesitant to show Techno the more difficult aspects of the work that the Zephyrs had done, the darkest parts of himself. 

Techno, however, had no such hesitation. Others might have called it foolish, but Techno had never shied away from the darkest parts of himself. He had carved the very depths of his soul into a sword and shield, prepared to defend himself with any and every tool. 

It wasn’t inviting, and Techno did not claim to be kind. But when someone chose to stay, it was always worth it. 

“Do you want to tag a building with me?” 

“What?” Phil turned, setting down the plate he held in his hand, turning towards Techno. 

Techno sat at the kitchen counter, elbow planted on the granite as he watched Phil unload the dishwasher. “I want to go tag a building. You can come with me, if you want.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “So you won’t empty the dishwasher, but you’ll invite me to tag a building?” 

“Come on,” Techno scoffed with a laugh. “You can’t tell me you’re not curious.” 

“Oh, I am,” Phil said, dropping a dish towel over the oven handle. “I’m just also going to give you shit for not helping out.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes or no, old man. I have a place in mind.” 

“Yes,” Phil said, closing the cabinet door. “Where are we heading?” 

Techno smiled. 

An hour later, they both stood on the roof of one of many brick buildings. The sun was approaching its downfall, light slowly turning golden as the late afternoon turned into evening. 

“Really?” Phil said, still slightly breathless, leaning heavily on his cane. “You took the guy with the cane to the roof of a building?” 

“Hey, I offered to carry you up,” Techno said, dropping his duffel bag to the ground. It clanked, the sound of metal cans hitting each other muffled by the canvas. 

“I think the fuck not,” Phil said, laughing incredulously, but there was no bitterness to it.

“Phil, we took the elevator,” Techno pointed out, voice dry. 

“Let me have this,” he hissed, his voice still fond and full of laughter. 

“Come on,” Techno said, walking towards the wall. “I’ll show you how it’s done.” 

They stayed up there for hours, long past the sunset, until their work was illuminated by dim fluorescent lights and the moon. 

Techno painted with the dexterity of someone who knew it well. His face was more peaceful, all the tension draining from his jaw as he fell into the rhythm of spraying and coloring, sketching and filling. There was a reason he was renowned as he was - he was an artist. 

Phil, for his part, failed magnificently.

First, he hadn’t pressed on the cap hard enough. The wall was splattered with sad attempts at spray paint, weak droplets of paint that had fallen more due to gravity than Phil’s handiwork. Once he’d finally understood, his motions were stilted and jolted as he tried to copy Techno’s movements, failing fantastically. 

Phil had an artistic flair - Techno had seen the oil paints tucked into the corner of his house, accompanied by easels and brushes, stained with old paint. But even that skill couldn’t help, because his handwriting was atrocious. His tags were illegible and uneven, alternating between an almost invisible spray and heavy drips from where he’d lingered too long. Plus, it was damned difficult to undo any paint on the concrete, save for Techno covering it up - which he refused to do, simply because of how funny it was. 

The final result was a mural, of a kind. Techno had painted his own symbol in black, filling the letters of “REIGN” with starlight and planets. He outlined it in gold, starlight seeming to shine from within. From a distance, it would look simply like a block tag. But anyone who cared to look at the details would see the universe. 

Phil’s contributions consisted of a few silver splatters of starlight, a shitty purple flower at the bottom, and the word “FUCK” in shaky green letters. 

Techno laughed until he could hardly breathe. Phil followed soon after, laughing almost uncontrollably. 

They practically fell into a booth of the hole-in-the-wall diner just around the corner from Phil’s apartment. Techno slumped against the wall, shoulders still shaking with laughter. Phil sat across from him, the picture of composure if not for the stifled laughter Techno could see building on his face. 

“And here I thought life couldn’t get any more interesting,” Phil said, a crooked grin spreading across his face. 

“You’ve got no idea, old man,” Techno replied, mirroring Phil’s smile with his own. 

“I’m not that fuckin’ old,” sighed Phil, shaking his head, but his smile didn’t wane. “Besides, I think I have enough experiences of my own.” 

“Oh, I’m sure.” A hint of dry humor touched his tone, a joking reminder of the danger they both knew too well. 

The waiter approached their table, one eyebrow raised as they both shoved down their laughter upon his approach. “Coffees, I presume?” 

“Maybe we do come here too often,” Techno muttered beneath a smile as Phil nodded. 

“And our usual order,” Phil added. 

“Got it,” the waiter said, shoving the pen and order pad into his back pockets. “That’ll be out shortly.” 

“Do you remember the first time we came here?” Phil asked, gaze trained on the waiter for a moment before darting to the other patrons. “You said a diner is an in-between, and the people are too.” 

“True,” Techno said. “It’s not a destination, and I think that goes for the other people here.” 

“But that feels… too narrow,” Phil replied. “Everyone is always important, even in the in-between.” 

Techno paused for a moment, allowing the ambient hum of the cafe to fill the air. “If you could do it all over again, would you?” 

Phil hesitated, eyes growing slightly sad. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s right for me to make a decision like that.” 

“Why?” Techno said, spinning his coffee mug. 

“Certainly, it’s offered me money and power. But it’s also a difficult life to lead.” Phil shrugged. 

“As you’ve made it clear,” said Techno drily. 

“And is the power I’ve accrued worth the lives I’ve taken? To some, the answer is yes. But what about the families of the dead? Who am I to quantify the value of a human life?” 

“I don’t know if the two are ever separable, though,” Techno said, sitting back in the vinyl booth. “I think life and pain go hand in hand.” 

“That’s a miserable way of thinking,” said the waiter, setting down their plates. Phil let out a poorly-stifled snort at the expression that flashed across Techno’s face. 

“Then how would you explain it--” Techno glanced at the waiter’s name tag, letters scrawled on the pin. “-- Wilbur?” 

“Pain is inevitable, certainly, but focusing on that will fucking kill you,” Wilbur said, seemingly unbothered by the topic. 

“So then what would you have us do?” Phil asked, a smile flickering across his face. 

“You do the best you can,” Wilbur said, rocking back on his heels, folding his hands behind his back. “Can I get you anything else?” 

Phil couldn’t help but smile. 

Admittedly, Techno did not trust easily, He’d been burned one too many times by people. His trust had a price, and it was one that Phil was almost too willing to pay. Techno knew what it was to be betrayed. He knew what it was to be manipulated, to be threatened. But with Phil, it was… different. Phil didn’t pretend to be a paragon of virtue - rather, he was practically painfully aware of his own weaknesses and errors. 

“I’m not a good person.” 

Techno lowered his mug before it reached his lips, setting the ceramic down gently as he marked the page of his book with one finger, turning his full attention to Phil. He didn’t bother to speak, instead allowing Phil to speak at his own speed. 

“I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.” Phil let out a breath halfway between a sigh and a groan, leaning into his cane as he sat in the armchair opposite to Techno. “And what I am not is a good person.” 

Techno spun his own cup around. He scooted it across the table, handle-first towards Phil. “Tea. It looks like you need it.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Phil grumbled, but a smile flickered across his face as he picked up the cup. “Black tea, with a bit of jasmine and vanilla, yes? Good blend.” 

“I’m getting better with it,” Techno said with a tilt of his head. Phil knew him well enough to know that that meant he’d been practicing - something he’d never admit to on his own terms. Techno wanted to appear casual and effortless, even if that meant working behind the scenes. 

Phil hummed, a quiet thing that spoke of his own pensive thoughts. “My hands aren’t clean, Techno. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve killed people for a single word, destroyed buildings to prove a point.” 

“Okay.” 

“You can’t just say okay to that, Techno. You don’t understand--” 

“Your hands may not be clean, but neither are mine.” Techno’s gaze didn’t waver. 

Phil blinked. “Pardon?” 

“There was someone. Once. His name was Ranboo.” Techno set down the book, closing it entirely. “He was the last person I trusted. He was a good kid. Rarely threw up simple tags - he always wanted to create mosaics, neon-effect pieces. He was an artist unlike any other. If the streets were an escape for me, they were a home for him.” 

“What happened?” Phil whispered, the words falling almost unwillingly from his lips. 

“His parents disapproved,” Techno said simply. “They didn’t think being an artist, especially with graffiti, was fitting for someone like him, and they made their disapproval clear.” He paused, jaw tight as he laughed humorlessly. The sound echoed slightly, a haunting sound. “They killed him for it. I was there, in the hospital. He told me what they did to him, how they tried to beat the art out of him. And then he was gone.” His voice cracked. “My little brother was gone.”  

Phil sucked in a breath. 

“And I killed them for it.” 

“That wasn’t--” Phil’s eyes softened. It wasn’t pity - Techno might have thrown his book at him if he had shown pity . But Phil knew that pain all the same. “That was on them, Techno. They killed their own kid.” 

“And I still killed them. My hands aren’t clean either, Phil.” 

Phil sighed. “Our world is a complex one. And I don’t think there are heroes or villains - the labels very rarely match the titles, anyways.”

“People do bad things for the right reasons, and people do good things for the wrong reasons.” Techno shrugged. “Maybe there’s no heroes. No villains. Only people trying to do their best.”

Something flashed across Phil’s face, some emotion - longing? sorrow? hatred? regret? - that lingered for only a heartbeat before a careful nothingness swept across his features. 

“I suppose all we have left is trust,” he continued. “Trust in each other and in ourselves.” 

“And you’d trust me?” Phil’s voice was as vulnerable as Techno had ever heard it. 

“You trust me,” It wasn’t a question, simply a statement of fact. 

“How can you be sure?” 

“You drank my tea,” Techno offered simply. “You didn’t see me make it, and you didn’t see me drink it. I could have put anything in there. I could have poisoned you.” 

“You wouldn’t do that,” Phil whispered, and it wasn’t a question.

“You trust me,” Techno repeated. 

“I do.” 

And so finally - finally, after so many nights and many more conversations - Phil agreed to bring Techno into the fold. 

“What do you want, Techno?” Phil perched on the kitchen counter, kicking socked feet gently. It was easy to forget the lives that rested on his conscience like this, blonde hair illuminated softly in the warm kitchen lights. 

Techno blinked. “What do you mean?” He shifted slightly in his seat at the island, fidgeting with his own mug of tea. 

“What do you want to do with this? Of all the power now at your disposal, what is it that you desire?” 

“Testing my honor so soon, I see,” Techno said, lips twisting in a dry smile. 

“And why shouldn’t I test you at every turn?” Phil shot back. “Shouldn’t I be certain of the person I’m choosing to help renew the Zephyrs?” 

“If you’re uncertain of this decision already, then I’d question your original judgment.” Techno crossed his arms. 

Phil sighed. “I don’t doubt you, Techno. But you could have your first taste of what power can offer you. Money. Respect. The lives of others resting in your palms. I’ve watched it change people, and I’ve watched it break them.”

“I know.” He deflated, knowing that his irritation was unfounded. It stung to have Phil ask, but it was far better to have upfront questions than to leave a seed of doubt to grow into something far more dangerous. 

“So tell me - what do you want from this?” 

“I just want to do something good,” Techno said simply. “I want to be able to take care of the people I’ve chosen as my own, and if I can, I’d like to leave a legacy.” 

“Legacy,” Phil hummed. “An interesting choice of words.” 

Techno shrugged. “Say what you like about my words. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that my people will be supported and protected, no matter what happens to me.” 

“And would that be with the Zephyrs?” 

“Not as they are now,” Techno replied. “But rumor has it that you’re trying to make them into something different.” 

“True,” Phil acknowledged, “but it will not be an easy task.” 

“It never is,” Techno sighed. “So you tell me, Phil, what are you trying to do?” 

Phil let out a breath, one that sounded far heavier than it should have been.

It wasn’t an easy answer. So few things were, with lives in play and the stability of a city balancing on the tip of a bullet. It was easier to explain in pieces, parts shared one by one until Techno could begin to put the puzzle of the Zephyrs together. 

“The police are corrupt, you know,” Phil muttered as he separated eggs, pouring the yolks into a pile of flour. He peered at it, quickly counting the yolks, before tossing the last of the eggshells into the trash and picking up a fork to begin bringing the dough together. 

“What a surprise,” Techno replied drily, turning a page in his book. He sat at the kitchen island facing towards Phil, who was intently focused on the quickly-forming pasta dough in front of him. 

“It’s probably my fault,” he added, bringing in more of the flour to the center. “Well. My father’s, technically, but that’s functionally the same thing at this point.” 

“I’d argue the opposite, actually,” Techno said, looking up for the first time. “You’re actively trying to undo the legacy your father left for you. That has to count for something.”

Phil inclined his head slightly, still staring at the flour-egg slurry. “But it hasn’t worked. So what good are my efforts?” 

Techno set down his book. 

A few days passed, filled with quiet stories and company. 

The hum of the diner had become a comforting sound, the clicking of utensils against plates and ceramic mugs against the tables a rhythm to the soothing chatter of other patrons. Phil had been right - there was something intrinsically comforting about diners. It was as though the rest of the world faded away, leaving only red vinyl seats and black-and-white tiles. In Techno’s opinion, diner food would heal all. 

“I think I can do more good outside the law,” Phil said carelessly, snagging one of Techno’s fries. 

Techno shrugged, pushing the little bowl of ketchup towards him. “What, like it’s hard? They hurt more than they help, especially in our cases.” 

“You mean a broken system can’t help the people stuck inside it?” Phil smiled wryly, grabbing another fry. 

A couple days later, Techno sat in the park, sketchbook open on his lap. Phil was settled next to him

“I just want to do the right thing,” Phil said, breaking the silence.

Techno’s pencil kept moving, sketching out jerky lines for his next tag. The outline of the building was hardly more than a blur. There was a vague silhouette of a crown, wrapped in vines until it was almost unrecognizable. The letters “REIGN” were still clear, the darkest shading accentuating each letter between petals and leaves. 

Techno hummed, and the sound was all Phil needed to know that he had been truly heard.  

The universe found them later in Phil’s kitchen, Phil perched on the kitchen counter again. Techno questioned how the other man found that position comfortable, even if he’d never voice such a thing. 

“We could burn it all down,” Phil said conversationally, as though he hadn’t proposed uprooting the system his family had built for decades. 

“We could,” Techno said, voice neutral, waiting for Phil to continue. 

Phil smiled, no kindness in his eyes. “I’d like to see it burn.” 

“Then I’m by your side.” Techno replied immediately. 

“Running a business like this-- it’s not all muscle and fights.” Phil crossed his arms, eyes gleaming with the promise of something hidden, something sharp. 

“You think I don’t know that?” Techno’s smile was just as sharp. “I knew you were old, but I didn’t think you’re memory was already--” 

“Shut it,” Phil said, letting his own smile grow. “I need you to be smart, Techno.” 

Techno stood, sliding off his seat. 

“Where are you going?” He shook his head. 

Techno didn’t respond, footsteps echoing through Phil’s apartment. It was only a brief departure, but he returned with a well-worn book in his hand, sliding it towards Phil. 

The blonde hopped off the counter, landing silently as he picked up the book. “The Art of War? A bit cliche, if you ask.” 

“This one isn’t my favorite translation, but it’ll do.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “It would be too easy otherwise. I’ll acquire a few additional copies for your reference, if you’d like.” 

“No need.” Techno shrugged. “Pick a page. Your choice.” 

Phil flipped the book open at random. “97. Order and disorder--”

“Order and disorder are a matter of organization. Courage and cowardice are a matter of momentum. Strength and weakness are a matter of formation.” The words slipped from Techno’s lips easily, as though he’d repeated them to himself a thousand times. “Give me another one. Something harder.

“113. So, a military…” 

“A military force has no constant formation; water has no constant shape. The ability to gain victory by changing and adapting according to the opponent is called genius.” 

Phil tossed the book down on the counter. “You’ve proven your point, mate.” 

“Have I?” Techno gave Phil a look. “Or are you just going to question me again?” 

“Well, I mean--” Phil interrupted himself with a laugh. “I assume I don’t need to teach you how to keep a secret or how to conceal your identity.” 

“What would you even know about hiding your identity? The whole city knows your name.” Techno shot back. 

“Okay, but I know the principles.” Phil rolled his eyes, leaning back on the counter he’d sat on previously. 

Techno snorted. “Bruh. It rarely works out that way.” 

“I suppose I’ve been successful enough in any case,” Phil said easily, ignoring the look Techno gave him. “Oh, before I forget--” 

“Your memory, Phil, it’s fading before our very eyes,” Techno said as Phil made his way into the house. He tracked Phil’s footsteps, listening as he made his way into his office, footsteps mostly even on the smooth floors. 

“Shut.” Phil’s voice echoed through the apartment as his footsteps approached again. He set a bundle of fabric at Techno’s elbow, folded neatly. Techno pulled it closer, running his fingers across the fabric as he unfolded the material. 

It was a denim jacket, the material a beautiful warm gray. It wasn’t the thin cotton-polyester blend that Techno had come to expect-- no, this was thick denim, the high quality kind that would last for decades. 

It was a small gesture, knowing the resources Phil had at his disposal. But the care that had been put into it meant immeasurably more. 

Rather than voicing any of this, Techno simply said, “You invited me to join the mafia before you replaced my jacket.” 

“You literally told me not to replace it!” Phil cried, throwing his hands up in the air even as he smiled fondly. 

“Bruh,” Techno said, shaking his head. 

“Besides.” Phil rolled his eyes. “We had bigger issues at the time, which have since been addressed.” 

“Come on, Phil, you think anything’s gonna hurt me?” Techno rolled his eyes, pulling the folded fabric towards him. Neither of them mentioned the way he held it to his chest, fingers wrapped around the fabric like it was already the most precious thing to him. 

“I know you better than that,” Phil said with a smile. 

Techno slipped on the jacket as he left Phil’s apartment, relishing in the weight of the gray denim. It fit as though it had been made for him, and knowing Phil, that wasn’t entirely out of the question. He swore he could see golden thread embroidered into the edges of the sleeves, a pattern he couldn’t quite make out in the low light. There was beauty in its simplicity, in the tiny details that helped make it what it was. 

He was so caught up in the appreciation that he didn’t catch the gleam of metal in the corner of his eye until it was far too close. He arched sideways, narrowly avoiding the blade that was thrust at his midsection. 

Techno hissed, attention snapping inwards towards the knife that dove for his stomach again for a moment before he glanced towards the person’s face.

It was a kid. Again.

Later, Techno would sit with himself and wonder why so many kids kept trying to kill him. (Certainly, there had to be a universal limit to “murder attempts by children.” He hoped.) But for now, the more prominent issue was the boy in front of him, wielding a knife. His blonde-brown hair was cropped, a few short pieces sticking out of a purple hood that really did nothing to hide his face. 

“Really? Again?” 

The kid clenched his jaw, adjusting his grip on the knife. His hands were mostly steady, stress betrayed by a slight tremor and knucklebones pushed white against his skin. He didn’t speak as he jerked forward again, spinning the blade in his hand to slash upwards at Techno. He seemed almost desperate to fight, to kill. To his credit, the kid in the purple was a strong fighter. Despite the clear nervousness, he was clearly trained by someone with experience street fighting, with enough sparring experience to build a style of his own. Which is why Techno was so surprised when he was able to block the knife easily, pushing it away from him--

--and the blade slid into the kid’s stomach. 

Blood blossomed beneath it, staining the purple fabric, like a deep scarlet rose in a field of violets. The fight was over just as quickly as it had begun. He fell without a sound, and the silence was more heartbreaking than any cry he could have let out. 

Part of Techno wondered why the kid had bothered to pick a fight at all, if all he was going to do was die. He hated admitting it, even to himself. 

Techno took pride in the fact that he did not run from fights. He took blows unflinchingly, and he accepted the consequences of harsh words without hesitation. But from this - from the dead body of a kid he had killed in the desperation of survival - Techno fled. 

He ran to the only place he knew would be safe, the only person he knew he couldn’t hurt.

Techno practically pounded on Phil’s door, hardly feeling the sting of his knuckles against the wood. Phil was blessedly quick to answer, and Techno practically fell into his apartment. 

“Techno, what--” Phil turned as Techno moved. “Is that blood on your sleeve?” 

Techno nodded, unable to quite form words. He was fire and blood that would burn away muscle and bone, but Phil was solid stone, unable to be touched by the flames that licked at Techno’s sleeves. 

Techno followed Phil into the apartment, sitting down on the couch. He emptily accepted the mug of tea Phil pushed into his hands. The warmth grounded him, and he blinked, the world coming more and more into his vision until it was in sharp focus, the guilt burning in his stomach more painful than ever. 

“He was just a kid,” Techno said, shattering the quiet. His mind was razor sharp, replaying the scene in every blink. “But he was so desperate to kill me.” 

Phil stilled instantly, hands curling into fists. “Someone tried to kill you?” 

“Tried,” Techno said, the corner of his lips twitching up in a joyless smile. “It didn’t take.” 

“Are you okay?” 

Such a simple question, and yet he found he couldn’t quite answer. “I killed another one,” he muttered. “Another death on my hands.” 

Phil knelt in front of him. “This wasn’t your fault. I promise you.” 

“If not mine, then whose?” Techno shook his head. 

“Mine,” Phil replied easily, a sad smile flickering across his face. “I’m giving you an out, Techno. Leave. Run. Get away from me and from everything that happens here.” 

“Phil, I’m not going to abandon you.” Techno reached out, setting the mug down on a nearby table to grab Phil’s elbow. “You wouldn’t abandon me.” 

“This life, it will kill you.” Phil shook his head, trying to pull his elbow from Techno’s grasp as his smile wavered, but Techno kept his hold. 

“Look at me. Phil.” Phil shook his head, but Techno didn’t let up. “Look at me.” 

Phil’s eyes snapped upwards, filled with the most undiluted fear Techno had ever seen from Phil before it was carefully shuttered away behind nothingness. 

What happened to him? 

“Tell me the truth, Phil. Talk to me.” 

“I didn’t want you to be burdened with this knowledge like I am,” Phil sighed. “I had hoped that just starting anew would have been enough.” 

“Well, it wasn’t. Listen--” 

“My father was known as the Ender King.” Techno’s jaw snapped shut as Phil spat the words, voice more venomous than Techno had ever heard it. “He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, to carve out a place for our name in the city. He was brutal. Bloodthirsty. He’d kill his own son if it meant protecting the Zephyrs.” 

Techno hummed. 

“When he died, I thought it was over.” Phil shook his head. “And then people began hailing me as the new Ender King.” 

He sucked in a breath, jaw tight. “I see.” 

“The power, it was… addicting. Sickening. I was drunk on it, and I almost lost myself in it. It was protection and power and endless possibilities, but it wasn’t a life. Every piece of light and joy had been squeezed out of it. It was rife with corruption, and no one could trust anyone else. It choked even the most loyal members, including my father.” His voice quieted. “Including me.” 

A few moments passed. Techno sat in the silence, waiting for Phil. 

“I thought I’d never find love. I thought I didn’t deserve it, and to be fair, that would have been true if not for Kristin.”

“You haven’t mentioned her before,” Techno murmured. 

“It’s hard to,” Phil admitted, eyebrows furrowing. “When someone you love so wholly is taken away from you, it-- it changes you.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Techno said, letting out a humorless laugh. 

“She died because of a hit. As the heir to the Ender King’s throne, I was under constant attack. It kept me vigilant, but it also made me paranoid.” His voice quieted. “Not paranoid enough to save her.” 

Techno hummed. 

“I died when she did. But my heart kept beating, and the world kept turning, and no one noticed.” His fingers curled around one of the golden chains around his neck. “I swore I’d make things right - if not for my sake, then for hers.” 

“You won’t lose me,” Techno rumbled, voice low as he answered the fear that Phil hadn’t quite voiced. 

“But I can’t take that risk,” Phil said, eyes hard as his hand fell into his lap. 

“So then…” Techno paused, searching for the right words. “Why me?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why choose me? Out of everyone you could have chosen to help you, of all the people who were already loyal to you, why me?” He paused. “Why take that risk again, having already lost someone you care about so deeply?” 

“He wonders,” Phil sighed dramatically. “He doesn’t want others to doubt him, but then he doubts himself.” 

“Shut up.” Techno rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question.” 

Phil’s face sobered, eyes growing serious. “I suppose it’s because you’re like me, in many ways. You want to do good, and you do so on your own terms. You have your own code.”

“I would have thought you wouldn’t want someone like you,” Techno said, voice even. “Otherwise, why not choose a Zephyr?”

“Both of us want to do good on our own terms, unbound by any limits. That’s our commonality - that’s not negotiable. As for why I didn’t pick one of the Zephyrs-- well, they were loyal to my father before they were loyal to me, and his example is not one I care to follow.” Phil interlaced his fingers in front of him. “I was born into this life, but you-- you will carve a place for yourself in it, and that struggle will make it all the more beautiful.” 

“Getting poetic on me already? It’s too early in the evening.” Techno chuckled. 

Phil snorted. “Shut up. Someone just tried to kill you. I’m allowed to be poetic.” 

“I never said you weren’t,” Techno shrugged, a smile flickering across his lips before it faded. “But neither of us can do this alone. And if you won’t choose a Zephyr, we still need someone.” 

“We do.” It wasn’t a question; it was a damnation - at least to Phil, who didn’t have any resources that weren’t intrinsically linked to the Zephyrs by the very name he bore. “I could try and pull in some favors, but--” 

“You could always pull a favor from me,” Techno huffed. 

“No,” Phil said sharply. “I would pull in favors from others, but never from you. You’re a friend, not an acquaintance and not a business partner. I don’t pull favors from friends.” 

Techno smiled - something quiet and almost sad. “I’m glad to be your friend.” 

“And I, yours.” 

“Still, if you’re looking for manpower…” Techno paused, wondering if it was a good idea to even bring up. But this was Phil - either he’d call Techno out on his bullshit, or he’d support the idea. He could trust in Phil. “I might know a kid.” 

“Who is it?” 

“Scrawny blonde kid - desperate for some help, and willing to do whatever it took to protect someone else. You remember the night we met?” 

Phil shot him a look. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about bringing in the kid who shot you.” 

“It’s fine! It barely grazed me!” 

“HE STILL SHOT YOU!” 

Despite Phil’s protests, Techno soon found himself back in the alleyway outside Phil’s apartment. He’d left his knife and his new jacket behind, along with instructions to Phil about finding the kid - and, if anything went wrong, Techno’s body. A plastic bag dug into his wrist, the slight heat from a shitty gas station meal emanating from inside. 

Something in Techno’s gut told him that he wasn’t alone. 

“Kid. Get out here. I know you’re listening.” 

His instinct was correct. The kid stepped into the alleyway, blonde hair sticking up on one side from a poor night’s rest, shirt looking even dirtier than the last time Techno had seen him. His hand was wrapped around the handle of the pistol, tip trained on the ground as his finger rested on the trigger guard. It wouldn’t take much to spook him, especially if their last meeting was any indication. 

Techno held up both his hands before the blonde could utter a word, the plastic bag falling into the crook of his elbow. It was a strange sense of deja vu, even without the gun pointed directly at him. “I just want to talk.” 

“Sure you do,” the kid spat. 

“Put the gun away, and let’s talk.” Techno wiggled his elbow slightly, just enough for the bag to shift. “I brought food.” 

He didn’t move. “How do I know you’re not going to hurt me?” 

“If I wanted to hurt you, I already would have,” Techno said. “You weren’t hard to find. Now put the gun away and take a damn taquito.” 

He wasn’t sure if curiosity or hunger won out, but the kid shoved the gun into the waistband of his pants. 

He needs a holster. I’ll ask Phil for recommendations.

Techno lowered his hands slowly, still careful not to make any sudden movements. He reached into the bag, pulling out the paper bag with the still-hot taquitos inside, holding them out. The kid stepped forward and snatched them from his hand, as though Techno would take them away if he didn’t move fast. He tore into the food as soon as it was in his hand. 

“What’s your name?” Techno asked, popping the tab on his own can of Monster. 

“‘ommeh,” he mumbled, mouth full of taquito. He huffed out a breath, trying to cool the food inside his mouth. 

“Lovely,” muttered Techno.

He swallowed hard. “Tommy.” 

“Nice to meet you, Tommy. I’m Techno.” 

“Shit fuckin’ name,” Tommy shot back before taking another bite. 

Techno raised an eyebrow. “Really? You shoot me and then insult my name?” 

Tommy flinched back. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that one, Big T.”

“Don’t call me that,” Techno sighed, shaking his head. This might end up being a more difficult task than he’d originally thought. 

“Sorry for shooting you, big man.” 

That’s as good as it’s gonna get, Techno thought. He waved a hand slightly. “It could have been worse. You just grazed me.” 

“You’re not mad?” For the first time, Tommy looked away from what was left of the food in his hands. 

“I mean, I didn’t want to get shot,” Techno said bluntly. “But I know what it’s like to be desperate. And in your situation, I probably would have done worse.” I have done worse, some part of him adds on. 

“So what do you want, then? Why’d you find me again?” Tommy shifted just enough to toss the wrapper into a nearby dumpster, never turning his back towards Techno. “Unless you just wanted to be a fucking creep or some shit.” 

“I’m not trying to be a creep,” Techno shot back, voice flat. As much as he tried, he couldn’t help the touch of irritation that entered his voice.

“Well you’re sure acting like it.” Beneath the bluff and bluster of fast words and a harsh tone, Techno couldn’t help but recognize the familiar sound of fear. 

“Look, I’m just looking for some help. I need some extra hands for a project.” 

Tommy snorted. “All you need is a white van to kidnap kids in and you’re set.”

“I’m not trying to kidnap you. I just--” Techno sighed. “I just want your help.” 

Tommy blinked. “Why me?” 

“Why me?” The question echoed in Techno’s mind, and for a moment, he was asking the very same question to Phil. The doubt and mistrust were all too familiar on his lips, and for a moment, he wasn’t looking at Tommy. He was looking at a reflection of himself, the memory of who he once was, just as scared and hungry. 

“Because you have something to protect,” Techno said instead. “I can help you do that.” 

“And what do you want for it?” 

“Loyalty,” Techno replied, as honest as he could ever be. “I need people I can trust.” 

“So you went to the one who shot you?” Tommy’s voice rose in disbelief. 

Techno snorted. “You’re not the first person to say that. But if you were loyal enough to shoot a stranger to get a shitty meal for someone else, then I know you’ve got the loyalty I’m looking for.” 

“It’s not that fucking simple,” Tommy shot back. 

“Then simplify it,” Techno shrugged. 

“It’s not just me that you’re dealing with,” Tommy said. His voice was strange - the fondness of someone he truly cared for mixed with the resolution to protect them. “My brother. You have to protect him.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“Wilbur.” 

The waiter? “That can be arranged,” Techno replied without hesitation. 

“Promise?” Tommy squinted at Techno.

“Promise,” Techno said. 

They met on neutral ground.

Well, technically speaking, it was Phil’s territory, but it was Wilbur’s diner, and that was as close to neutral as anything got. 

It was after hours, the overhead light seeming brighter than ever in the late night. Wilbur didn’t lock the door, instead simply slipping the keys into his pocket. Techno knew all too well that despite the security the door lock might offer, it would also slow down Tommy and Wilbur if they chose to run-- which Wilbur was clearly prepared to do, shoulders tight. 

Wilbur and Tommy slid into the seat across from Techno and Phil, Wilbur narrowing his eyes at the two of them. Techno’s arms were crossed, still unsure of Wilbur. Phil appeared more relaxed, certainly, but Techno knew him well enough to see the way his fingers tightened around the handle of his cane. Tommy, for his part, seemed as though he hadn’t a care in the world, as though he wasn’t sitting across from the street-artist-turned-thief that he’d previously shot and the mafia boss of the most powerful group in the city. 

“So,” Techno started. “You know who we are--”

“Are you going to hurt my brother?” Wilbur interrupted him. 

Tommy, without missing a beat, turned and punched Wilbur in the shoulder. The brunette turned, shooting Tommy a look that said, “really? right now?” Tommy shook his head. “Wil, come on. If he was going to hurt me, I’d be dead in the alleyway right now.” 

“Kid’s got a point,” Techno rumbled, hiding a snicker at Wilbur’s aghast expression as Tommy so casually mentioned being killed. 

“And you,” Tommy said, rounding on Techno. “I’m not a kid, so stop calling me that.” 

This was apparently too much for Phil, who let out a loud laugh - the hearty kind that came from his chest. “Techno, I see why you wanted to bring him in.” 

“Bring him into what?” Wilbur was quick to continue his questions. 

“If either of you would let us get a word in…” Techno sighed. 

“Hey, you asked us to be here, not the other way around,” Tommy said, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. 

“He’s right, you know” Phil whispered, leaning towards Techno. 

“I am painfully aware of that,” Techno said, his expression carefully blank. 

“Talk.” Wilbur crossed his arms. Tommy glanced over, noticing Wilbur’s position and crossing his own arms. 

“I’d like to get rid of the Zephyrs,” Phil started, eyes darting between the two boys to gauge their reactions. Neither of them moved as he continued. “Well, technically, it would be a reform. But it’s a major change nonetheless.” 

“And who are you anyways?” Tommy blurted.

“Tommy,” Wilbur hissed, swatting gently at Tommy before turning back to Phil. “He’s right, though. Who are you to do something like that? What gives you the right?” 

Techno shifted. “He’s--”

Phil cut him off before he could finish. “I’m… just someone who wants to leave the city a little better than I found it.” 

Wilbur ran a hand through his hair. “Look it’s just that-- Phil, you don’t look like you’re cut out for this kind of shit.” 

Phil sighed, tenson leaking from his posture. “I hope you never have to understand the violence it took to become this gentle.” 

“I-- oh.” Wilbur blinked. “I wasn’t expecting that kind of answer.” 

“To be fair, we weren’t expecting the diner waiter to be the brother of the kid who shot me.” Techno said, shooting Tommy a look. 

“You shot him?” Wilbur hissed. 

“Not on purpose!” Tommy held up his hands. 

“Next time you shoot a member of the fucking mafia, tell me,” Wilbur whispered, voice urgent. 

“I told you!” 

“Not that he was in the mafia!” 

“In Tommy’s defense,” Techno interrupted the two, “I wasn’t technically in the mafia when he shot me.” 

“And no one’s said anything about being in the mafia anyways,” Phil added. 

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Not like you need to say it, Phil Astraeus.” Phil flinched back at the sound of his last name, wincing. 

Techno leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “Be careful with that name. Names have power, you know.”

“Some do.” Wilbur shrugged. “But others simply offer anonymity.” 

Techno looked at him, trying to gauge what lingered under the surface. . “And what do you want your name to offer?” 

“Right now, survival.” Wilbur crossed his arms. “Anything else will come in its own time.” 

Phil smiled, trying to be gentle, but it looked more like a grimace. “We can offer you much more than simply survival, Wilbur.” 

“I’m sure you can, but at what cost?” 

The words seemed to linger in the air. Phil heaved a sigh. 

“I know the Zephyrs are broken,” Phil said simply. “It’s not something I’m proud to be a part of anymore.”

“Was it ever?” Tommy said.

“When I was younger, I thought it was,” Phil replied. “The Zephyrs made my family safe. They made sure we always had food on the table, and the people were kind to me. Of course, they were being paid by my father, but they were still kind.” 

“So what?” Wilbur challenged. 

“I want to offer that safety to others. This power has the potential to do something great, and it’s being wasted on tasteless bloodshed.” 

“I don’t know if I’d call such violence a question of taste,” Wilbur muttered half-heartedly.

“It was for me,” Phil said simply, an honest truth. 

“So what does that mean for us?” Tommy asked. 

“We come up with a plan. We cut out the rot from the Zephyrs, and we make it into something great.” Phil sat back, a smile playing across his lips. 

“Sounds so simple,” Techno deadpanned. Phil rolled his eyes. 

“Why are you even asking for our input?” Wilbur planted his elbows on the table, leaning forward. “You know this lifestyle, Ender King.” 

Phil managed to hide his flinch at the name Wilbur wielded. “I know how my father would do it,” he said smoothly, “but perhaps you have a new way of thinking. I’m perfectly happy to let old habits die.” 

Something flickered across Wilbur’s face, as though he had heard the sentiment before and knew better than to trust it. “Do you have any mercenaries you can bring in?” Wilbur asked. 

“Ones you can trust,” Tommy added. “They have to be poggers.” 

“They have to be…” Techno glanced towards Phil. “Poggers?” 

Phil nodded sagely, as though he knew exactly what he meant. “I know a couple, but I’d rather keep it to just us. In this case, manpower isn’t as important as the element of surprise.”

“Then we should have weapons,” Tommy said, sitting upright suddenly. “I’d like a sword.” 

“No,” Wilbur said, shaking his head. “No one is giving you a sword.” 

“Well--” Techno ignored the glare Wilbur gave him. “I’ve seen what he can do with a gun. I want to see what he’d do with a sword.” 

“We have weapons,” Phil said, before any conclusion could be drawn as to whether Tommy would get a sword. 

“Information,” Techno rumbled. “We need more information.” 

“I have some information about where to start, but people don’t trade information so freely amongst the Zephyrs.” Phil crossed his arms, leaning back.

“I don’t suppose either of you are hackers?” Wilbur said, tone joking. 

Techno’s gaze shifted. “Well… not exactly.” 

“I was kidding--” 

“I’m a technologist,” Techno explained, cutting off Wilbut’s incredulous tone. “Hacking isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse, but I know enough to find a digital footprint.”

“You’re a hacker,” Tommy breathed.

“Engineer,” Techno corrected him. 

“Hacker,” Tommy said again. 

“Tommy,” Wilbur cut in, with a note of caution in his voice. 

“All that being said.” Phil smiled. “Are you in?” 

“We’re in,” Tommy said, extending his hand out, head held high. Phil took his hand with a smile, shaking it. 

Wilbur extended his hand as well, nodding shortly as he shook Phil’s hand. “Does that make us Zephyrs?” 

“If you want it to,” Phil said with a shrug. “The Zephyrs, as they are, are going to dissolve. But for you-- well, the Zephyr is only the wind that enables the crows.” 

“The Crows.” Wilbur nodded more to himself than to anyone else.

“We’re the Crows, Wil,” Tommy whispered, eyes wide. 

Techno and Phil stood, and Tommy and Wilbur mirrored them. “Welcome,” Phil said quietly, something soft in his voice. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” Wilbur said, even as he extended his hand for another handshake. 

Phil shook his hand once, twice. “I won’t.” 

Techno shook his head at the sight - such formalities had never made sense to him. “I’ll meet you at your apartment, Phil - I want to run and grab my laptop and a few tools.” 

Phil nodded. “Stay safe.”

“I’ll probably beat you back there.” Techno rolled his eyes with a smile as Phil swatted the tip of his cane halfheartedly at his ankles. He unlocked the door with deft hands, stepping out into the night. 

The three remaining stood in silence for a heartbeat, before Phil broke it. 

“If you’ll stand with me, then take these.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two necklaces. Three tiny crystals dangled from each chain, shaped carefully into a cluster of petals. The emeralds sparkled in the light, glistening green below the long gold chain. 

Tommy was the first to step forward, accepting the necklace with graceful hands and eager eyes. Wilbur was more hesitant, brow furrowed as he latched the necklace around his neck. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s a necklace, dumbass,” Tommy said, slipping the chain over his head. 

Wilbur shot him a look. “It’s never just a necklace, Tommy.” 

“Your brother’s right,” Phil said to Tommy, before turning to Wilbur. “I want to dismantle the Zephyrs. But while they still exist, these necklaces will make sure they don’t mess with either of you.” 

“These must be valuable,” Wilbur said, not quite meeting Phil’s eyes. 

“I may not like the legacy my name has built,” Phil replied, “but I will still leverage its weight to protect you.” 

Wilbur finally looked up, tired brown eyes meeting blue. Phil’s gaze didn’t waver; there was no doubt. 

“Okay,” Wilbur said, and it felt like acceptance. 

“Come on back to my place,” Phil offered with a smile. “It’s more comfortable, and we can talk tech over a coffee

“I bet you live in a rich person apartment,” Tommy said immediately as they began to walk. “I bet you have a chandelier.” 

“No chandeliers,” Phil said, pushing open the door. “Just some good couches, a few bookshelves, and a place to sleep.” 

Tommy filled the silence in the short walk back to Phil’s apartment, interspersed with Phil’s laughter as he answered the kid’s questions. Tommy seemed to think that Phil’s apartment was a mansion - or perhaps a pocket dimension - asking about ballrooms and boats stored somewhere inside. Wilbur followed quietly, hand wrapped loosely around the necklace at his solar plexus. 

“Marble countertops?” Tommy bounced on his toes. 

“Granite,” Phil replied. “And it’s right here, so you can just see it for yourself.” 

“Epic,” Tommy said, eyes glowing. “Poggers.”

“Give me just one second.” Phil fumbled for his keys as he made his way carefully up the stairs. Wilbur and Tommy waited on the sidewalk behind him, turned slightly as Tommy whispered something into Wilbur’s ear. 

The key didn’t even reach the lock before the door exploded outwards. 

The sound didn’t register immediately, the ground shaking as the force pressed down on every inch of their bodies. When it did hit, it was overwhelming, the pressure building up until they swore their eardrums were going to burst. Wilbur and Tommy stumbled backwards, still a few meters behind Phil, falling to the ground. Wilbur threw himself over Tommy, hoping his body was enough to protect his brother from the destruction, two others following shortly. Flames licked outwards, tendrils of fire reaching out to try and grab them in an embrace of hellfire, even as the force of the explosion pushed them into the ground. Any noise they might have made - any cry, any scream - was muffled in the sound of destruction as the very infrastructure of what had once been Phil’s home collapsed. 

The explosions were over so soon, yet every part of Wilbur ached as he prayed to anything that was listening that Tommy would be safe. Wilbur’s ears rang as he lifted himself up slowly, arms still wrapped tight around Tommy. Ash floated gently as what remained of Phil’s apartment smoked, flames dotted throughout the interior. He blinked his eyes hard, eyes stinging in the smoke. He coughed, throat raw, feeling Tommy doing the same as the blonde stirred slightly before practically jolting upright, almost headbutting Wilbur’s chin. 

“Wilbur, what--” 

“Are you okay?” Wilbur’s eyes were frantic, darting over every part of Tommy’s face, scanning for any injury. 

“I’m okay,” Tommy replied. “Are you--”

“Are you hurt? Tommy, I need to know if you’re hurt.” 

“WIL!”

Tommy’s cry jolted Wilbur out of his tunnel vision, the world snapping into pure and painful focus. He blinked, grip loosening on Tommy’s shoulders. Tommy pointed behind them, towards the street. 

Phil had not been so lucky. 

He had presumably caught the full force of the blast, being mere inches from the apartment. His body rested unmoving on the asphalt, several arcs sliced into his face from slivers of what Wilbur thought used to be his door. His cane was missing altogether. Wilbur stumbled over, legs far weaker than he’d expected as he stumbled to the ground next to Phil. 

“Phil,” Wilbur said, voice coming out hoarse and broken again as he shook Phil’s shoulder. He cleared his throat, wincing at the burning sensation, before trying again. “Phil!” 

Phil’s eyes opened slowly, confusion etched into the wrinkles. “Wilbur?” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Wilbur sighed, leaning backwards slightly, hand falling off of Phil’s shoulder to help prop himself up. 

Wilbur had never seen his usually razor-sharp eyes so unfocused as Phil tried to push himself upright, 

“Stay down,” Wilbur said, unable to quite move. He was already so sore - he couldn’t imagine how Phil must have been feeling. “You’ve probably got internal injuries or something.” 

“I probably have internal injuries,” Tommy said from where he and Wilbur had been. He stumbled upwards, barely able to take the few steps over to Wilbur and Phil before falling to the ground again, laying flat on his back, arms spread. “That fucking sucked.” 

“Don’t joke like that.” Worry colored Wilbur’s voice, making it sharper than he’d intended as he looked at his little brother. 

“I’m not jok--” 

Both of their gazes snapped over as Phil bolted upright with a gasp, Tommy’s words dissolving in his throat. 

Techno.

Phil’s stomach felt like a void, pulling his very soul into nothingness. Techno had left before them and moved far faster than Phil. He’d had plenty of time to make it back to the apartment, and he had a key to get in.

“Techno.” 

Phil scrambled upright, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, unfeeling of the aches that he was certain he’d feel tomorrow. Hell, he probably wouldn’t be able to move tomorrow, but it didn’t matter, not when Techno was in there, Techno could be hurt, he could be dea--

He couldn’t think of that. He wouldn’t let himself think of that. Emotions could come later.

His legs almost gave out from under him as he fought to make it towards the wreckage; even if his mind wasn’t registering the pain, his body certainly was. One knee did collapse, hitting the ground, but he kept pushing forwards. Every muscle screamed, but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He heard some guttural cry, and some part of him absently registered that it was him making that noise. 

Something pulled back on him, preventing him from running towards the still-burning remains of his home. He turned just enough to see that it was Wilbur, grabbing his elbow. 

“I have to make sure he’s okay,” Phil choked out. 

Wilbur’s hold on him didn’t waver. “Not at the cost of yourself.”

“I dragged him into this,” Phil argued. 

Tommy tugged on his sleeve, hooking a finger into the fabric. “He chose you,” he whispered, and something in his voice was far more aged than it should have been, as if he knew too much of life and death. “He didn’t choose to die, but he chose you, Phil.” 

“You don’t understand,” Phil said, voice grating. “I had a duty to him, and I failed.” 

“Your duty is to protect as many lives as possible.” Wilbur’s voice left no room for argument. “Including your own.” 

Something in him surrendered. He fell to the ground, shoulders shaking as he trembled. Wordlessly, Wilbur wrapped him in an embrace, Tommy shifting to hug him as well. Phil cried silently, in the muffled way that came from years of stifled cries and silent tears. Part of him hated it, hated his weakness. But some part of himself whispered, “ maybe this is healing.”

If healing came at the cost of a life, he would never heal again. 

“Phil!” 

He could hardly bring himself to move, a bone-deep fatigue resting over him like a blanket. 

“PHIL!” 

Wilbur jostled him slightly, and Phil shook his head. “Phil, you gotta look up.” 

“First you won’t let me run, and now you won’t let me sit still.” Phil’s voice sounded awful, between tears and smoke. 

“No, I think you’re gonna want to take this one,” Tommy added, his hand going limp on Phil’s arm. 

Phil looked up, the weight of everything an impossible burden on his head, which felt too heavy to be held upright on his shoulders. He almost fell sideways as his gaze finally rose to see--

Techno.

Techno was standing there in the denim jacket Phil had given him, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked exactly the way he did less than an hour prior, as though the world hadn’t shifted. He hadn’t been touched by the destruction that lay before them. Phil had been wrapped in flames, but Techno didn’t burn. 

Before Phil could even react, Techno was already by his side. “What happened?” 

“The apartment’s gone,” Phil muttered, coughing slightly. He was still sitting upright, although admittedly a bit precariously. His mind was clearing - which really only meant that he was increasingly and painfully aware of how much his body ached from the impact. 

Techno narrowed his eyes, rounding on Tommy and Wilbur. “What did you do?” 

“Nothing!” Wilbur held up one hand in an appeasing gesture, the other arm extending in front of Tommy protectively. “We had nothing to do with this, I swear.”

“Back off, Techno.” Techno’s posture immediately grew less aggressive at Phil’s words, though his eyes were still mistrustful. “This wasn’t them.” 

Techno sighed. He gave the two a small smile and a nod. “Come on. We need to get away before anyone shows up. We can go back to mine.” It wasn’t an apology - Techno would never apologize for protecting someone, especially Phil - but it was enough. Wilbur relaxed, letting his arms fall to his side. 

Tommy squinted at Techno from behind Wilbur. “Do you live in a rich person apartment?” 

“No,” Techno deadpanned. 

Phil began struggling to his feet, and Techno was there before he could even think to ask for help. He threw one arm around Techno’s shoulders, Techno practically holding him upright. 

“Are you two going to be okay?” Techno looked towards Tommy and Wilbur, both of whom seemed to be standing with a bit more ease than Phil. 

“For now,” Wilbur said, looking towards Tommy, who nodded. “After the adrenaline…” …I don’t know, went unsaid, his voice trailing off. 

Techno wrinkled his nose, a slight grimace that he couldn’t quite mask. “I can’t wait. My apartment is a few blocks from here.” 

They were certainly a sight: three of the four soot-stained and smelling of smoke, moving with as much haste as possible away from a wreckage sight. Even Techno, who hadn’t been touched by the explosion, was still notable, his pink hair glowing in the fluorescent street lights. Techno was sure they were being watched, not only by the eyes of Zephyrs that always lingered on him, but by every passerby and shopkeep closing up for the night. 

As the adrenaline faded, Phil was acutely aware of how much everything hurt. His legs ached with every step, his head was throbbing, and he was pretty sure he’d torn up his elbows on the asphalt, if the warm wetness on his sleeve was any indication. 

It was a blessing when they arrived at Techno's apartment, although Phil did not at all trust the rickety metal staircase that creaked with every step. Techno muttered an apology as he fumbled for his keys, and for a moment, Phil was struck with a heart-stopping fear that Techno’s apartment was next to be destroyed. 

But nothing happened.

The door swung open, revealing Techno’s apartment. The four stepped inside, and Techno flipped a few lightswitches. The apartment hummed as electricity flowed, lamps flickering to hesitant life. 

“Apologies for the mess,” Techno said as he eased Phil onto the couch. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to have guests.” 

Somehow, it was that deadpan humor that finally broke the tension. Tommy was the first to begin laughing, shortly followed by Wilbur’s high-pitched giggles and Phil’s admittedly exhausted chuckling. Techno huffed out a laugh, a gasping sound that made Tommy laugh even harder. 

“Holy shit,” gasped Phil through laughs. “The apartment bombing didn’t kill me, but this might.” 

Techno’s stricken expression made Wilbur laugh harder, clapping as he almost tumbled backwards into the wall. Tommy shoved Wilbur forward, sending him stumbling into Techno. This, in turn, only caused Techno to laugh harder. Phil was practically boneless on Techno’s couch, still laughing quietly. Tommy flopped down next to him, wheezing out a laugh at Phil’s oof . 

As their laughter faded, exhaustion set in. Tommy was practically already asleep, even as dusty as he was. Phil wasn’t far behind him, looking fondly towards the younger blonde. 

Wilbur held up his arms. “You wouldn’t happen to have a shower, would you?” 

Techno jerked his head towards the hallway. “I’ll get you some towels and a change of clothes.” 

“That would be appreciated,” Wilbur sighed. 

“Are we crashing here?” Tommy mumbled, voice muffled by the couch cushion. Wilbur glanced towards Techno, waiting for an answer. 

Techno shrugged. “Sure. Not as nice as Phil’s, but it’ll do.” 

“I’d argue that your apartment is nicer than Phil’s, because it hasn’t been exploded,” Tommy said. Phil let out a snort. 

“Come on, kid,” Techno said. “You and Wilbur can take my room - whatever arrangement of bed and floor you want.” 

“Take your own bed,” Wilbur protested. “Tommy and I can take the floor.” 

“You just watched an apartment explode,” Techno said, voice leaving no room for protest. 

“Big man makes a point.” Tommy held up a finger for a moment before his arm flopped limply back down on the couch. 

Wilbur sighed. “Thank you, Techno.” 

Techno waved off his thanks with a careless hand before shuffling through his apartment, setting out extra towels and rummaging to find a few changes of clothes. 

The night found them clad in various hoodies muttering bleary-eyed goodnights to one another. Wilbur and Tommy had retreated into Techno’s room, with the door shut behind them. Techno had heard a few muffled whispers - not enough to make out what they were saying - before they fell silent, presumably asleep. 

Phil sat on the couch, hair still slightly wet. He’d found a t-shirt and sweatpants somewhere, looking far more disheveled than Techno had ever seen him. 

“You alright?” Techno sat down next to him, setting two steaming mugs of tea on the couch-side table, shoving over the pile of books. 

Phil let out a groan, dragging both hands down his face. 

Techno huffed out a low laugh, but there wasn’t much humor in his eyes. The smile slid off his face. “Wilbur told me you tried to find me in the wreckage.” 

“Of course I did.” Phil’s hands fell to the couch with a dull thud. 

“Why would you do that?” Techno hissed, the startings of anger coloring his voice. 

“Because if you were in there, I needed to pull you out,” Phil replied, voice even. He opened his eyes, lifting his head just enough to look at Techno. “I’d expect you of all people to understand.” 

“Phil, I’m not--” Techno sighed. “You can’t risk yourself like that. Not for my sake.” 

“Why not?” He shoved himself upright. “Techno, I’d fight and kill and die for you. I thought you knew.” 

“I do know. But you can’t--” Techno curled in on himself slightly, and for a heartbeat, he looked so young before the determination returned. “You can’t just leave. We have a job to do, and we can’t do it without you.”

“Why not?” Phil let out a tired laugh. “If this whole thing would fall apart without someone as insignificant as me, then maybe it was never meant to be.” 

“I think you underestimate your own importance,” Techno said quietly. “To this, and to us.” 

“Importance isn’t the word I’d use,” Phil replied, voice dull. “I dragged you into this, and someone tried to kill you. I brought Wilbur and Tommy into this, and they immediately got hit by an explosion. I can’t even control the Zephyrs anymore, because only one of us-- one of them would have the resources for an explosion of that size right under my nose.”

“Phil--” 

“How can I guarantee that I’m any better than my father?” 

The two lapsed into silence, accompanied only by the strange hum of electricity and the rumble of a few late-night cars. 

“I’m sorry,” Phil whispered. “I’m so sorry, Techno.” 

“You’re already better than your father ever was,” Techno said instead, either unhearing or uncaring of Phil’s apology. “You gave Wilbur a purpose. You gave Tommy the tools to protect what he cares about the most.”

“I--”

“And you saved me,” Techno cut him off. “In more ways than one.” 

Phil paused for a moment. “If I could move, I think I’d hug you.” 

“Getting lazy in your old age,” Techno replied immediately. 

He was greeted swiftly by a pillow to the face, laughter ringing out as Phil’s arm fell back to the couch. 

As the laughter subsided, Techno couldn’t help but ask. “Are you going to be okay doing this?” 

“What do you mean?” Phil asked. 

“That was your home that got destroyed on the path to tear down the Zephyrs,” Techno said. “And now we’re going to destroy anything left of your legacy.” 

“I’ve never been afraid of sacrifice,” Phil replied simply. 

“Aren’t you… sad?” 

“I don’t get sad.” Techno turned towards Phil, who was smiling sharply at the ceiling, even with his eyes closed. “I get even.”

No one slept well that evening. 

Techno woke up to the sound of his door slamming open. He was on his feet before he was really even awake, eyes still blurry with the remnants of a poor night’s sleep. He flicked open his knife, positioning himself in between the door and Phil, who had also shoved himself mostly upright, leaning against the couch without his cane. 

Wilbur entered, eyes wild. “He’s gone.” 

“Who’s gone?” Techno asked, tongue heavy in his mouth. 

“Tommy.” 

In an instant, Techno snapped into alertness, all dregs of his fatigue dissolving as a pit grew in his stomach. He suddenly realized that Wilbur didn’t look any better than he had the night before - actually, he looked worse. His brown hair was matted with blood on one side, sticking up wildly. 

“What the fuck happened?” Phil said, stepping past both Techno and Wilbur to close the door. His footsteps were uneven, clearly stiff from the events of the previous day. 

“Tommy and I, we went out this morning to get breakfast. You were both still asleep, and we thought--” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as it pulled at the blood on the side of his head. “We thought we could make it back.” 

“That was stupid,” Techno muttered. 

“I’m aware of that now,” Wilbur snapped. 

“It’s because he looks like me.” Phil’s eyes were hollow. “He looks like I did when I was his age. They thought he was the next Ender King, with me dead.” 

Techno snorted. “If that’s the case, it’s a miracle they didn’t kill Wilbur.” 

“Maybe they should have,” Wilbur spat. “I’ll kill them.” 

“Fuck, what--” Phil scrubbed his eyes with his hands. “What time is it?” 

“Just past noon,” Techno supplied. 

“You said this would protect us.” Wilbur yanked at the chain, breaking it off and throwing it at Phil, who caught it easily, looking down at the three tiny emeralds that now rested in his palm. 

“I thought it would,” Phil murmured. He looked up at Wilbur, rage burning in his eyes. “But I won’t fail where the emerald did.” 

Wilbur scoffed. “Like you’d do shit to protect some street rat kids. I trusted you once, Phil. That’s not a mistake I’ll make again.” 

“I know,” Phil said, shaking his head, the anger not fading. “But I swear it to you, I’ll earn your trust again, when you’re ready to give it to me. For now, I’ll kill whoever took Tommy myself.” 

Techno could see the way his hands shook, the way Phil’s knuckles pushed against his skin, the way he gripped his cane like it was the only concrete thing in an ever-shifting world. “Phil, sit down.” 

“I’ll kill them, Techno.” Phil turned, eyes just a little too wide, and suddenly, Techno could see the Ender King. It was a thirst for blood, a call for revenge, to destroy and to kill. It was brutal and merciless, but it wasn’t emotionless. It was a shield turned into a sword, driven by a desire to keep and protect. 

“Sit down,” Techno repeated. “You’re emotional. You’re not thinking right now.” 

“I don’t need to think,” Phil hissed. 

“You do,” Techno said, trying to keep his voice level. “We come up with a plan, and we’ll get Tommy back. But not while you’re like this.” 

“Is he--” Wilbur’s voice was quiet, but no less angry. 

“This is what it means to be under Phil’s protection,” Techno said, head turning towards Wilbur even as his gaze remained on Phil. “This anger is yours, and it is a promise.” 

“Of what?” 

“Protection,” Techno replied. “Destruction. Revenge.” 

“Oh,” Wilbur said, voice small. 

Techno turned his attention back to Phil. “We’ll come up with a plan, Phil. Whatever happens, you aren’t doing it alone.” 

The bloodlust faded slowly, anger still simmering in his veins. But this was the anger of Phil, not the anger of the Ender King, and that was enough. “Punz.” 

“Punz?” Techno said. 

“Punz would know,” Phil said, shaking his head. He flexed his hands, stretching his fingers from the fists they’d been curled into. “He’s a mercenary who worked with the Zephyrs, but he’ll do anything for the right price.” 

Wilbur scoffed. “Of course you’d know.” 

Phil turned, narrowing his eyes. “He may not be loyal to me, but that means he’s not loyal to anyone else. In this world, it’s a power in its own right.” 

Techno snorted. “I wouldn’t call that a power.”

“He has nothing to hold onto, so he has nothing to lose,” Wilbur said. “It makes sense.” 

“Techno, you and I will go talk to Punz,” Phil said. “Wilbur, you stay here.”

“No fucking chance,” Wilbur replied immediately, back straightening. “That’s my fucking brother.”

“You’re angry,” Techno said. “You’re only going to get angrier dealing with Punz.” 

“We can’t risk this not working,” Phil murmured. “Wilbur, you have to stay here.” 

“Fine,” Wilbur spat. “But I’m not gonna be fucking happy about it.” 

“None of us expect you to be,” Phil replied, voice carefully even. “But it’s for Tommy’s sake that you stay here.”

Wilbur didn’t reply, fuming in anger. 

Techno shook his head, heading out of the apartment, leaving Wilbur to his anger. Phil hesitated, looking at Wilbur for a few moments more before following Techno. 

Phil took the lead once they got to the street. Techno followed, unsure of where exactly they were going. 

Thankfully for his anxiety, it was only a few blocks away. Phil slipped into a convenience store, waving to the owner as he opened the door to a stairwell carefully concealed behind a shelf - obvious enough to those who knew, but hidden from the common passerby. 

The two stepped into a low-lit establishment, a dark wood bar against the far wall. Several pairs of eyes shifted towards them as they entered before sliding back to their own conversations. Techno wrinkled his nose at the smell of smoke and alcohol mixing together, already anticipating the headache he’d have later. 

“He’s at the bar,” Phil murmured, just loud enough for Techno to hear. “Let me do the talking.” 

Techno nodded, shoulders tightening as he looked towards the lone person playing with his glass at the bar. 

“Punz,” Phil said, baring his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile. 

“Phil,” Punz replied. “Good seeing you here.” It didn’t sound insincere, but it also didn’t sound real. Techno supposed that was the skill of a mercenary with no ties: neither insult or compliment. 

“You know why I’m here, mate,” Phil said, leaning heavily on his cane. 

Punz sighed, downing the rest of his drink as he turned fully towards Phil. His white hoodie stood out even in the low light, gold chains glittering with every move. 

“Hey, don’t kill me. I just took the money,” Punz flashed a more genuine smile, something cocky. 

“And was it enough?” 

Punz shrugged. “Cash is cash. I’ll take the punishment I deserve.” 

Phil shook his head, a slight smirk on his face. “I shouldn’t ask, but how did you know?” 

“You have a routine, Ender.” Punz gestured to the bartender, who refilled his glass with amber liquid. “This one’s on you.” 

Phil rolled his eyes, but nodded to the bartender. His eyes were concealed behind sunglasses that were far too opaque for the low lighting. As the man turned, Techno caught a glimpse of blood-red irises in a sea of black; the whites of his eyes had been tattooed. 

“I didn’t realize I had become a man of routine,” Phil said with a pleasant smile. “There’s nothing more dangerous for people in our line of work.”

“And I have to ask - how did you survive those charges? I heard there were enough explosives to level the building.” Punz swirled his drink, a sharp look in his eyes. 

“It did,” Phil said honestly. “But death doesn’t come so easily to people like us.” 

Punz shrugged. “For us, maybe. For the younger ones… well, it’s much harder. My little brother - you remember, the one who loved that purple hoodie - he only lasted a few months before taking a knife to the gut.” 

The air seemed to tighten in Techno’s chest. This was the brother of the kid he had killed. This was the one who had sent a kid to kill, to die. Static rose in his ears. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear as Phil hummed. “My condolences.” 

“It was nothing,” Punz said. “He couldn’t keep up. Natural consequences.” 

“Natural consequences?” Techno gritted out. The anger burning in his chest threatened to overwhelm him, the static in his ears ringing as the corners of his vision pulled inwards. 

“I’m sure you’ll see them for yourself one day,” Punz said, a teasing smile playing across his lips as he took a sip. Techno could feel dark eyes watching him - both Punz and the barkeep. “Phil, keep your rookie in line.” 

Phil waved a hand. “I intend to make him one of the best. But for now, Punz, you and I have business.” 

“Ah, of course! Bad, please bring the gentleman a drink. Perhaps a soda for the rookie.” He turned towards Techno. “You’re too young to be drinking on the job.” 

“No need for a drink. I’ll keep this quick,” Phil said, holding up a hand before Techno could say anything. “I’m looking for information. A friend of mine told me about his own little brother going missing.” 

“Interesting.” Punz crossed his arms. “I hear that Sam’s been spending more time than usual in his apartment. Renovating his guest room, perhaps.” 

“I’ll have to see if he needs any help moving things around,” Phil said, pulling a bundle of bills out of his pocket and sliding it across the bar. Punz reached out, tucking it into the pocket of his hoodie as Phil continued. “There is, of course, one more matter to be addressed.” 

“Looking for whoever bombed your house?” 

“You’ve always been a smart man,” Phil said simply. 

“And what makes you think I would know?” Punz said, glancing towards the bartender - Bad, Techno’s mind filled in. 

“Don’t think I didn’t recognize your handiwork. You have a distinctive style when it comes to explosives,” Phil said. “What I care about is who hired you to do it.” 

Punz simply shrugged. “And risk breaching confidentiality? What kind of mercenary would I be?” 

“Shame,” Phil sighed. “I had plenty more for anyone who could answer, but I suppose I could always take it to Quackity, if you don’t know. 

“Oh, hell no,” Punz spat, sitting upright. “Bold fucking move, to bring his name into this. Maybe I should just finish the job that Dream couldn’t.” 

Before he could move forward any further, the handle of Phil’s cane was pressed against his chest, pushing him back into his chair. “Careful, Punz. I won’t forget everything you’ve done for me. But don’t forget everything I can do to you.” 

Punz leaned back, just enough to get away from Phil’s cane, but his eyes still burned with anger. “Get the fuck out, Phil. I’m not giving you fuck-all else.” 

“As you wish.” Phil bowed his head slightly, a move of politeness even in the face of Punz’s anger. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.” 

The door closed behind them, and Techno immediately hissed. “What the fuck was that?” 

“Techno,” Phil started, but he couldn’t get the words out.

“Did you know?” Techno asked, voice cracking. “Did you know that the kid was Punz’s brother?” 

“No,” Phil said, voice steady. “Not for sure.”

“But you had a suspicion,” Techno pushed. 

“I did,” confirmed Phil. “But I needed you to understand exactly how bad things are for the kids.” 

“They’re just kids,” Techno whispered. 

“They are,” Phil replied. “And I don’t want any more to die.” 

“So what, you wanted me to face down his brother after I killed the last one?” Techno curled in on himself. 

“I wanted you to see that no one cares,” Phil said simply. “Even if they started for the right reasons, they’ve become no better than the people we wanted to stop. We cannot afford to do the same thing.” 

“I--” He straightened, pulling himself upwards. “I know.”

“Come on,” said Phil, striding forward, cane striking the ground. “Let’s get Tommy back.” 

“Are we picking up Wilbur on the way?” Techno ran forward a few steps to keep up with Phil. 

“I think he’d kill us if we didn’t.” 

Phil was right. Wilbur was pacing in circles around Techno’s tiny apartment. His eyes were wild, burning with a kind of anger Techno had only seen in people willing to kill and die. 

Wilbur led the way this time, striding on long legs at a pace too fast for Phil and Techno to keep up without running. He glanced back only when he needed, just long enough for Phil to point with the base of his cane in the right direction. 

They arrived - Wilbur still angry, Phil slightly breathless, and Techno doing his best to hide his heavy breathing - to a nondescript apartment building, concrete stairs with a rickety wood railing leading to the upper floors. It was slightly shabby, bushes in the front dry and uncared for. 

Wilbur crossed his arms as Phil stepped forward. “Are you ready?” 

“I’m getting my brother back,” Wilbur spat. 

Techno shrugged. “Good enough.” 

The stairs creaked beneath their feet as they made their way up to the second floor. Phil knocked with the handle of his cane, before folding both his hands in front of him, resting on the handle. 

The door swung open, revealing a slightly tousled man, a green flannel thrown over a simple t-shirt. 

Phil stepped forward into the apartment, Techno and Wilbur following behind him. The man stepped back without protest, not commenting on all three pairs of shoes on worn tan carpet. The walls were undecorated, with nothing to distract from the shabby couch and flickering table lamp. 

The man - Sam, Wilbur assumed - looked as though he’d seen a ghost. “Phil?” 

“Sam,” Phil spat. His voice was unkind, even with a hint of sadness coloring his tone. “I didn’t think you’d sink so low as to kidnap a child, much less one of mine.” He didn’t see the way that Wilbur’s eyes shifted to him at the claim of Tommy as his.

“You weren’t supposed to-- Punz said--” Sam stuttered. 

“I was supposed to be dead?” Phil laughed, humorless. “Is that what he told you?” 

He nodded, wordless, face paling. 

Techno stepped forward. “And it wasn’t just Phil. That kid you have? He was caught in the explosion. So was his brother.” Techno pointed at Wilbur, who crossed his arms. 

“I didn’t know. I never would have--” Sam cut himself off, as Phil opened his mouth. 

“You wouldn’t have destroyed my home?” Phil shook his head. “Somehow, your word doesn’t stand for much anymore.” 

“Phil, I’m sorry.” Sam seemed to curl in on himself.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.” Phil rested both hands on his cane. “Let the kid go, Sam.” 

“I can’t. You know I can’t.” His shoulders hunched over. “Dream will kill me.” 

“I’ll kill you too,” Wilbur said simply. It was the first time Techno had heard him make a threat like that, but his voice didn’t waver. It was simply a fact: if Wilbur didn’t find Tommy again, he’d destroy anyone in his path. Techno glowered over his shoulder, ready to step in front of the brunette if Sam made any threatening move. 

Phil set a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. “What changed, Sam? What happened to you?” 

“I wanted to do the right thing,” he whispered. “I thought Dream was doing the right thing.” 

“It’s not too late,” Techno said. “Tell us where Tommy is.” 

“I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Phil challenged. 

“Can’t,” Sam repeated. Something in his posture shifted, muscles tensing. Techno stepped forward, pushing Wilbur behind him. 

“Tell me this,” Phil said. His grip tightened on his cane. “Do you still think Dream was right?” 

Sam didn’t reply. 

Instead he leapt forward, curling his hands into fists, one launching towards Phil’s face. 

Phil leaned slightly enough, just enough that Sam only hit empty air. Techno shifted, ready to put himself between the two. Phil held out a hand to stop him, gaze not moving from Sam’s defensive posture. “If Sam wants to fight me, let him bear the consequences.” 

“You can take him.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, though Phil knew it was. 

Phil smiled, and it was a brutal, cold thing. “When has that ever been a question?” 

Phil stepped forward, as Sam swung again. With a flick of his wrist, his cane seemed to leap upwards, and he caught the end. It spun immediately, the momentum of the handle catching Sam by the wrist and redirecting his blow, twisting his hand through the air. Sam stumbled as Phil pushed him back again with his cane. Phil surged forward, tossing his cane behind him as he moved. 

Sam kept trying, but every blow simply seemed to miss. Phil’s competence made Sam look foolishly incapable in comparison - as though Sam had never been in a fight before, though his scarred knuckles said otherwise. Sam fought like a boxer, swinging hard, hands always returning in front of his face. He threw his entire body into every hit. 

Every hit missed. 

“What did they do to deserve this, Phil?” Sam’s voice cracked. He didn’t cry - not in the midst of a fight. “Why do you protect them?”

“They are mine to protect,” Phil replied simply. 

“How?” It was the question of a broken man, and Sam’s voice cracked on the word. 

“You were one of mine, once,” Phil said. He moved fluidly, even in the midst of Sam’s flurry of blows, his own movement almost careless in its intentionality. “I would have killed for you.” He struck carefully, accurately. One hand lashed out and struck the center of Sam’s torso, right between the base of his ribs. Sam let out a wheeze, doubling over. Phil didn’t give him any chance to recover, striking down at the base of his head. “But I would die for them.” 

Sam fell to his knees, coughing a bit. “But still - you won’t kill me,” Sam said, shaking his head as he shoved himself back upwards, raising his hands again and preparing to swing. 

“I don’t need to kill you,” Phil said. He held his hands open in front of him, as though he was an immortal accepting an offering - awaiting Sam’s surrender. “I just need you to go down.” 

From behind Sam, Wilbur swung. Sam turned just enough to glimpse Phil’s cane whistling through the air. It cracked against his temple, and Sam fell to the ground with a thud. His eyelids fluttered but did not open, the only sign of life. 

Wilbur sighed. “That felt good.”

“You could have let me do that,” Techno grumbled as Wilbur handed the cane back to Phil. 

“I needed to get it out of my system,” Wilbur said with a shrug. 

“I hear something,” Phil whispered, flicking his wrist to grab his cane in the middle. He spun it, an almost nervous motion, back and forth as he crept further into Sam’s house. “We’re not alone.” 

Techno pushed past him, putting himself between Phil and whatever was further inside Sam’s house. “Let me.” 

Phil huffed out a breath, rolling his eyes, but didn’t protest. Wilbur trailed behind both of them, hands flexing like they were searching for a weapon. The hallway wasn’t quite wide enough for two of them to stand shoulder to shoulder.

Techno glanced behind his shoulder as he approached the door, the grain of the wood barely visible beneath white paint. “On three,” he whispered. “One. Two--”

He surged forward, foot striking the door next to the handle. It practically flew off the hinges, wood creaking beneath the force. 

A muffled scream greeted them. Tommy was curled into the corner, hands bound behind his back. Another scrap of cloth had been tied around his mouth in some form of a makeshift gag. 

“Oh my god.” Wilbur practically fell to his knees, shaking fingers struggling to untie the cloth around Tommy’s mouth. The gag fell around his neck.

Techno stepped forward before Wilbur could fumble with the cloth around Tommy’s wrists, flicking out a knife. “I got this.” 

Tommy, for his part, did not flinch away as the cool metal pressed into his skin. Techno worked with an artist’s accuracy, cutting away with a flick of his wrist. He tried to ignore the bags under Tommy’s eyes, the haunted look that was mixed with anger. 

With Tommy’s hands freed, Techno stepped back to inspect the rest of the room. Tommy had clearly put up a struggle, books knocked off shelves and nearly every other piece of furniture knocked out of place. 

Wilbur wrapped an arm around Tommy’s shoulders, letting the younger lean into him. 

“Sorry to cut things short,” Phil said, poking his head around the corner of the door, “but we need to move.” 

“Already?” Wilbur asked, brow furrowed. 

“Dream doesn’t know we have Tommy back yet,” Phil replied, stepping into the doorframe to lean against the edge. “We still have a little bit of surprise.” 

He led the three of them out into the living room. Tommy collapsed onto the couch, limbs splayed out. Wilbur slipped next to him, pressing their shoulders together. Phil dragged one of the folding chairs from the kitchen, while Techno stood to his side. 

“What’s the plan?” Tommy asked, rubbing his still-sore wrists. 

“We have to stop Dream. He’s the rot of the Zephyrs,” Phil said. “Techno and I heard it from Punz, and Sam confirmed it.” 

“How do we know that someone won’t take his place?” Wilbur asked. “If this Dream guy has a system, it would be easy for someone to step into his position.” 

“Cut the hydra’s head off, and burn what remains,” Techno mumbled. 

“Nerd shit,” Tommy said, louder. 

“Techno’s right,” Phil said. “It’s not enough to stop Dream. We need to destroy his resources too.” 

“But as soon as we stop Dream, someone will take over his resources.” Techno folded his arms. “Dream isn’t someone that can step down without others noticing.” 

“And as soon as we touch his resources, we lose the element of surprise for Dream himself,” Phil continued, brow furrowing. 

“So we do both at once,” Wilbur said immediately. “Do you know where Dream keeps his shit?” 

“It’s in a warehouse by the docks,” Phil said. “He holds his court a few blocks away.” 

“Court?” Tommy wrinkled his nose. “What, like a king?” 

“Kind of,” Phil said, shrugging slightly. “Anyone who needs his attention can ask, and it’s a good way for him to know what’s going on around him.” 

“So I’ll go in, set some charges, and blow the building to shreds.” Wilbur spoke casually, as though he wasn’t proposing such destruction. 

“I can do it too.” Tommy stepped forward, but Wilbur immediately blocked his path.

“Let me.” His tone left no room for question, yet Tommy still pushed back. 

“Wilbur, this is too dangerous. You could get hurt. You could die.” Tommy shook his head as he spoke, trying to dismiss even the concept of his brother getting hurt. 

“And what about you?” Wilbur didn’t yell; he didn’t need to. The sharpness in his voice, the profound pain carved into it - they made his voice far more powerful than any yell. “I just got you back, Tommy. I can’t lose you.” 

“And I can’t lose you,” Tommy shot back. 

“You don’t want to do this, Wilbur,” Techno said, voice soft. “I can see that.” 

“Nope,” Wilbur said simply. “But I’m gonna do it anyway.”

“I’m sure as hell not gonna let you do it alone,” Tommy said. 

“I’m not sure I want you to do it at all,” Phil cut in. “I don’t like this. Dream could predict this move from us, and any trap he sets would just be a knife to the throat.” 

“We’ve faced down worse, me and Wilbur,” Tommy replied, puffing out his chest. 

“Besides,” Wilbur added. “When you’re born with a boot on your neck, sometimes a knife to the throat feels more like a comfort than a threat.” 

“Somehow, that’s not reassuring,” Techno said quietly. 

“No, it’s not.” Wilbur looked down. “But it’s what we have to do.” 

Phil tapped his cane against the ground, peering at it, inspecting it for any damage. “Wilbur, with me. Sam has some materials we can use. Techno, you’re on guard.”

“What about me?” Tommy piped up. 

“You do nothing--” Wilbur started, but Techno interrupted him. 

“We’ll talk strategy,” he said, voice even. Wilbur glared at him, eyes burning, but Techno didn’t flinch. 

“Fine,” Wilbur ground out. His voice was tight, jaw clenched. 

“Come on,” Phil said, bumping his shins gently with his cane. “Techno will watch Tommy.” 

Techno nodded, watching as Wilbur shot him one more glare before turning back towards Tommy. 

Tommy was hunched over on Sam’s couch, elbows planted on his knees as he stared resolutely at the ground. His knee bounced, shaking his entire body. 

Techno sat down on the couch next to him. “Tommy, talk to me.” 

“What’s up, big man?” He didn’t look up. Tommy’s tone was slightly off - not enough that anyone else would have noticed, but Techno was observant.

“You seem off. You’re angrier. You’re desperate.” 

“Maybe I am,” Tommy shrugged. “Maybe I’m fucking pissed I got kidnapped. Maybe I’m angry my brother is in danger.” 

“It’s not good to go into a fight desperate.” Techno shook his head. “I’ve done it enough times to know.” 

“You don’t know shit about me,” Tommy snorted. “We’re not the same, and you don’t know shit.” 

“I know that we’re more similar than you may think,” Techno said quietly. He dropped his hand onto Tommy’s shoulder - not enough weight to hurt him, but enough to keep the kid from running. “You’re not acting like the Tommy I know. You’re acting like the scared kid on the street.” 

“In case you didn’t fucking notice, I never stopped being that scared kid on the street,” Tommy spat back, shoving Techno’s hand off him. "You thought I changed because you wanted me to change, so I'd fit into that fucking stupid plan of yours, fit into the fucking Zephyrs.” 

“This was never about the Zephyrs,” Techno replied, louder than he’d intended. Tommy flinched back, and Techno tried to ignore the tug in his gut. “Not for me.” 

“What was it then?” Tommy’s voice was suddenly quiet. “For you, I mean.” 

“Did you ever hear about Reign?” 

“What, the graffiti vigilante?” Tommy asked, looking as though the answer was so obvious it was confusing. “Who fucking hasn’t?” 

“It was me.” The words rushed out of Techno. He suddenly realized that this was the first time he’d actually told someone - Reign had always been a secret, until Phil had simply known. “Is. It is me.” 

“Holy shit.” Tommy reeled backwards for a moment before springing forward again. “Holy shit!” 

“The first time I acted as Reign, it was because I knew this city was broken. It’s a system designed to hurt, not help,” Techno explained. 

Tommy snorted. “You don’t have to tell me that, Big T.” 

“I couldn’t help anyone without breaking the law. So… I did.” He smirked, something cocky and confident. It was so easy to slide into the persona the city had built for Reign, even though he had almost forgotten it himself. As long as the people remembered, Reign would live on. 

“I shot Reign?” Tommy blurted out the question. 

“Yeah,” Techno said drily. “You did.” 

“I shot the guy who saved us?” Tommy’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d said, clapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Wait, what?” Techno’s brow furrowed. 

“Wilbur’s gonna kill me,” he whispered from behind his hand, the words barely audible. 

“What do you mean, Reign saved you?” Techno pushed. 

Tommy sighed, dropping his hand to his side. “You remember that winter, a few years back? Coldest one we’d had in fuckin’ forever. Ice everywhere and shit.” 

“That is what tends to happen during winter,” Techno said. “But continue.” 

“Wil and I were on the streets at that point,” Tommy explained, shaking his head as he stared at the ground. “It was the worst things had ever been. We didn’t have a tent yet, and we hadn’t found anywhere else half-decent to stay. No blankets, no jackets, no food.”

Techno made a noise of concern low in his throat. 

“I’d never seen Wilbur so scared before, even though he tried not to show me.” Tommy said. “And then a sleeping bag was left in the alleyway. Wilbur thought it was a trap - it was too clean - but we needed it.” 

“The red one, right?” Techno asked. 

“The red one.” Tommy nodded. “And then there was a blue puffer jacket - I still have it, actually. And then cans of food started arriving, the ones that had the pull tab.” 

“You don’t need a can opener for those,” Techno practically whispered. 

“We didn’t have one anyways,” Tommy shrugged. “Wilbur almost put a knife through his hand trying to open the other kind.” 

Techno rolled his eyes. 

“And for the first time in weeks, we had dinner--” Tommy’s eyes were wide, as honest as they had ever been. “--thanks to you.” 

Before Techno could reply, Phil and Wilbur reentered the room. Wilbur’s hands didn’t shake anymore, though they were coated with a dusting of gray powder. 

“We have explosives,” Wilbur announced, clapping his hands together. 

“Techno--” Phil stepped forward, balancing a cardboard box between his arm and side. “Found some things you might like.” 

Techno stood, pulling the box from Phil’s hold. It held an eclectic collection of weapons, all in relatively pristine condition. The first thing to catch Techno’s eye was the brass knuckles - only one of a pair, but shining golden in the light. He pulled it out, slipping it onto his right hand and flexing his fingers. 

Phil chuckled. “I had a feeling you’d like those.” 

“A little big for my side, but they’ll do,” Techno said with a smile. He slipped them off, tucking them into his pocket. He returned to the box, pulling out knife after knife as he tucked them into various pockets. One was tucked into his boot, another knife into his back pocket, another two into his jacket. The sheath of throwing knives was attached to his belt, hidden by the gray denim. 

“Got enough knives, big man?” Tommy snorted. “Leave some for the rest of us.” 

“There’s also a gun,” Phil provided helpfully. “But I figured that wouldn’t be your style.” 

“Nah.” Techno shook his head. “I don’t want it.” 

“I do!” Tommy raised his hand, waving his arm in the air. 

“No,” replied the other three in unison - Phil and Wilbur out of some semblance of personal principles, and Techno to prevent himself from getting shot again.

“I have this.” Techno revealed a large hunting knife, pulling it from the leather sheath.

“Fuck yes,” Tommy breathed, leaning forward as he took the knife from Techno, inspecting the straight blade. 

“Fuck no,” Wilbur said. “You are not giving him a knife big enough to be a sword.” 

Techno shot Phil a glance. “In my defense, he already shot me.” 

“So you want him to stab you next?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m not going to stab you,” Tommy said, swinging the knife through the air and coming concerningly close to slashing Techno. 

“Sure,” Techno said, shifting slightly away from Tommy’s reach. “Phil, are you ready?” 

Phil nodded. “Wilbur?” 

“Ready as I can be,” Wilbur sighed, flexing his fingers. “Tommy?” 

“Hell yeah,” Tommy said, crossing his arms with a crooked smile. “Techno?” 

“Let’s go blow this bastard to shreds,” Techno said, baring his teeth in a grin. 

It was a longer walk to get to the docks. Tommy was uncharacteristically quiet; his only bouts of energy being brief sprints forward to scout ahead before returning to their group. Phil and Wilbur seemed well occupied by their own thoughts. 

Techno, for his part, couldn’t help the strange amusement that bubbled in his chest. How strange it was, to have so much violence ready to unleash at their fingertips and yet to go unnoticed by the people walking by. 

A few blocks before they arrived, Wilbur halted. Tommy almost ran into his back at the sudden stop.  

“We should split up here,” Wilbur mumbled, head still caught in his own thoughts. 

Phil nodded. “Are you two ready?” 

Tommy was the first to reply. “Of course.” 

“Good luck,” Techno said, giving Tommy and Wilbur a measured look. 

Something hit his stomach hard, squeezing around his middle. Techno looked down to see Tommy, arms wrapped around him in an embrace. Before Techno could react, Tommy released him, stepping back. 

“Don’t fucking die out there,” Tommy said, looking slightly embarrased and glaring at the ground. 

“Bold of you to assume anything out there can kill me,” Techno chuckled. 

Tommy smiled - something that didn’t quite reach his eyes - as he and Wilbur turned and made their own path away from Phil and Techno. 

Their arrival to the docks was one without fanfare. 

Despite their attempt at surprise, Dream was waiting for them. He didn’t look like what Techno had expected. His clothes were clean, but not flashy, a simple pair of dark green work pants and a black t-shirt. As Techno and Phil approached, he pulled off a pair of worn work gloves, jamming them into his pocket. He had a watch on one wrist, the only thing that truly spoke of money - a Rolex. 

“Phil,” Dream said cordially. 

“Dream.” Phil returned the greeting with the same cold tone. “You have something that I want.” 

Tommy, Techno realized. He wants Dream to think we’re here to negotiate for Tommy. 

“So you came to negotiate?” Dream smiled, baring white teeth. 

“Of course,” Phil said, ducking his head. 

“Well, then there’s no point.” Dream crossed his arms as his smile dropped, eyes hard. “There’s only one thing I want.”

“No.” Phil shook his head. “I will not hand over the Zephyrs.” 

Techno’s eyes widened a fraction. Phil spoke the words with such defiance and fatigue that even Techno could tell that this was an ongoing debate. 

“I’ve already amassed enough power to overtake you.” Dream spread his arms, motioning to the warehouse that was just behind them. “What more could you want from a successor?” 

“That does not mean you are in a position to take the Zephyrs.” 

“But why should you be in charge of the Zephyrs, Phil Astraeus?” 

“I never wanted this.” Phil shook his head. “It was passed down to me with my name.” 

“It’s not enough to inherit a name. It’s not enough to deserve something,” Dream sneered. “You have to be worthy.” 

“And you think you’re worthy?” Phil scoffed. “You, who has killed over an insult, who doesn’t believe in anything other than himself?” 

“High words, from someone whose hands are just as stained with blood,” he spat. 

“At least I stick to my fucking morals,” Phil said, shaking his head. 

“Morals? Morals?” Dream pulled a knife from his belt, balancing the tip on one finger before tossing it up into the air and catching it, spinning it deftly in his hand. “I’ve stared death in the face over and over, and every time, I’ve spat in that face. Morals or not, I’m strong enough to do what others won’t.” 

“Like kidnap a child? Like burn a home to the ground?” Phil challenged. “You don’t know the first thing about strength.” 

Dream’s knife spun faster, like an angry animal lashing its tail.

“You kill. You abuse. You let others do your dirty work. You might be powerful, Dream, but that doesn’t make you strong.” 

“I’m strong enough to destroy you,” Dream said, smiling widely. “The question is if you’re going to let him die with you.” He pointed the tip of his blade at Techno, who stood behind Phil. 

Phil mirrored Dream’s smile with a cold one of his own. “Don’t threaten me or one of mine unless you’re prepared to carry it out.” 

“Oh, I’ll carry it out,” Dream said. “It’s not a threat, old man. It’s a promise.” 

“Bold words, from someone who has yet to succeed at anything.” Phil’s smile only grew. 

Dream lunged forward with a scream, slashing at Phil. Phil deflected his blade easily, wielding his cane like a sword. 

“I taught you everything you know, Dream,” Phil said, standing up straighter as he spun his cane easily. “But I didn’t teach you everything I know.” 

Dream laughed, an almost crazed sound. “I can still kill you and prove that I’m the one who deserves to lead the Zephyrs.” 

“It seems that there are still some lessons you need to learn.” Phil replied instead, eyes cold. He was the first one to dance forward this time, spinning his cane in one hand, seeming entirely relaxed despite the situation at hand. 

Dream, on the other hand, fought with the desperation of cruelty, the anxiety of someone trying to prove their worthiness. Failure wasn’t an option for him, but it wasn’t for Phil either. He lashed out again, slashing desperately towards Phil. 

Techno intercepted him before the blow could even hit, catching Dream’s arm with his forearm. His other hand slipped into the brass knuckles, driving it home into Dream’s gut. Dream coughed hard as the air was forced out of him. Techno shoved him backwards with the same arm that had blocked his blow, stepping back just long enough to wrap his fingers through the other set of brass knuckles. He wasn’t as accurate as Phil was with his blows, but every blow hit hard.

Dream was caught between the two of them, striking out wherever he could, but even he couldn’t avoid every blow from both of them. 

Phil wielded his cane like a biblical angel, possessed with the full force of the heavens - or perhaps it would have been more accurate to say the anger of the nine hells. It was the force of a longsword with the dexterity of a rapier. Even without a sword’s sharpened edge, Phil was far deadlier than any swordsman. He spun his cane, striking the back of Dream’s hand. The blade clattered to the ground as Dream snarled, shaking out his hand. 

“Fine,” he hissed, pulling a gun from his waistband. He didn’t check to see if it was loaded - he didn’t need to - simply flicking off the safety. “We’ll do it this way.”

“Absolutely not,” Techno said, lunging forward into Dream’s face. One hand caught the wrist that held the gun, pointing the muzzle towards the sky as the first gunshot rang out. Techno’s other hand swung hard. His fist cracked across Dream’s face. 

Dream stumbled back, hands darting to his face. His fingers came back stained with blood, which oozed from both nostrils and a new laceration across the bridge. “You broke my nose, you bastard!” 

“I’ll break a whole lot more,” Techno rumbled, a slight smirk on his face. He raised his hands, the knuckles of his right hand adorned with golden metal, the other hand wrapped around a pocket knife. 

Dream adjusted his grip on the gun, leveling the tip with Techno’s throat. Phil slipped past him, swatting the gun sideways with the handle of his cane before swinging it around into Dream’s ribs. Dream let out a wheeze, squeezing the trigger just enough fire off a gunshot. It pinged off one of the cars behind Phil and Techno. He fired again and again, desperately trying to hit one of them. 

Techno ducked on instinct, still wary of the sound of gunshots. He could have sworn his shoulder twinged, phantom pain zinging across the still-fresh wound that Tommy had given him. 

Phil swung his cane again. Dream fell with another choked sound, one hand darting to clutch his ribs. Techno lunged forward, delivering a kick to Dream’s chest. Dream slid backwards, hand scrabbling on the ground for something.

“Who--” Dream coughed, spitting. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

“Phil Astraeus.” There was no smile on his face, only pure rage. “The wind under the wings of my crows. The defender of the family I have forged for myself. The man who taught you everything you know, and the man who is going to kill you.” 

“Fuck,” Dream hissed. He hauled himself upright, clutching his gun with one hand and his knife in the other. He flipped the blade in his hand, resting the butt of his gun on the handle of his gun. His gait was unsteady as he stepped forward, movements clearly pained. Techno tensed, ready to intercept another blow. Phil remained carefully relaxed, head tilted slightly as he watched Dream’s advance. 

Before he could get any closer to them, the ground seemed to shudder. Dream stopped immediately, head whipping around as he tried to find the source. The air stilled for a moment, too still - deathly still - gasping into the void before the cosmos. Techno’s vision narrowed, mind humming with one single thought: protect Phil. 

He grabbed Phil, hauling him away from Dream. They’d only made it a few steps before the warehouse erupted in light and sound. 

Techno practically threw both of them behind one of the cars, Techno using his body to shield Phil from the cascading glass from the now-shattered car windows as the body of the car shielded both of them from the force of the explosion. A wave of heat emanated through the air, wrapping tendrils of warmth around the car. 

“Wilbur and Tommy,” Phil breathed, trying to poke his head over the car to look at the warehouse. He only barely glimpsed the fire branching out from the windows before Techno pulled him back. 

“Keep your head down.” 

Phil sighed, but didn’t try to stand up again. 

It wasn’t just one explosion - it was an avalanche. Wilbur had done his job well. The explosions were chained together, a rhythm of fiery energy amidst the creaking groans of the infrastructure and the sound of destruction from within. 

The sound had barely stopped before Phil was shoving himself upright, leaning heavily on his cane, with Techno following behind him. 

The warehouse was rubble. What had once been brick and concrete had been reduced to a pile of debris, pieces of metal rebar sticking out at various angles. Whatever had been inside was gone, either destroyed by the initial explosions or crushed by the rubble. 

“Do you think they made it out?” Phil asked. The fire was still burning, the orange light reflecting in his eyes. 

Before Techno could answer, their attention was called downwards by a cough. Dream laid on the ground, coughing and clutching his ribs. 

“Who?” Dream spat, shoving himself upwards. “Did who make it out, Phil?” 

“Stay down,” Techno said, stepping forward. 

“I can still beat you,” he snarled. “Get that? Can you get that through your thick fucking skull?” 

“You really think so?” Phil asked quietly.

Dream raised his gun and his knife. “I fucking know it.” 

Techno raised his fists, fingers flexing as he adjusted the brass knuckles. He reached into his back pocket, flicking open a pocket knife. “Try it.” 

Dream screamed as he ran forward again, firing uncaringly again and again. He fought with a fury he didn’t have before - the desperate anger of a man with nothing left to lose. 

Techno could barely dodge his barrage of knife slashes and gunshots. It was a careful balance - close enough to Dream that the gun was useless, far enough away that the knife couldn’t hit him, moving with enough erratic energy that no blow could have landed regardless. It worked, but Techno could feel himself tiring. It was a mental and physical game - an exhausting one. 

Phil darted in and out, dancing around Dream and raining down blows on him. A strike to the back of the knee sent Dream stumbling. Another blow to the ribs, and Dream cursed. Phil swung his cane again, aiming for Dream’s head. 

Dream simply raised an arm to block it. He absorbed the blow, no longer even making any attempt to dodge. He wrapped his fingers around the cane, yanking it from Phil’s grasp. He let one end fall to the ground, pretending to inspect the handle before he raised one foot. 

Dream stomped hard, hitting the middle of the cane. It snapped, and Phil hissed, letting the pieces fall to the ground with a clatter. 

“What are you going to do now, Phil?” Dream crowed. “You couldn’t beat me with the cane, you can’t beat me without it.” 

“That’s what you think,” Phil replied, baring his teeth in something that was an unkind echo of a smile. Instead, he reached behind his back, lifting his own jacket and pulling out a pistol. He swiftly pulled back the barrel, loading a bullet into the chamber. 

He was further away from the fight now - the gun wasn’t as good at such close range. Techno was thankful. It was easier to focus on Dream when Phil wasn’t at risk. 

Dream, for his part, did not let up. He unleashed a flurry of blows, some with the knife, a few with the butt of the gun.

Techno didn’t slow down. He glanced blows off where he could, hoping that he’d be able to do some damage without a solid punch. His knife was more elegant, a deadly waltz of unpredictable blows. 

The two were evenly matched, and that made the fight intensely more difficult. Any victories were small, hoping to wear down the endurance of the other. Still, Techno couldn’t help the smile that spread every time 

Dream slashed towards Techno, turning as he swung upwards with the blade. Techno dodged, dancing back for a heartbeat before lunging forward again. He was fast, even as sore as he was, quick reflexes and even quicker decision-making.

But he wasn’t quick enough to dodge the butt of Dream’s gun, swinging sideways. It struck his temple, and he collapsed to the ground, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Techno!” Phil screamed, lurching forward, new adrenaline coursing through his veins as he stumbled towards where Techno had fallen. 

Dream tsked gently, pointing his gun downwards, the tip trained directly at Techno’s head. Phil froze, a horrible sinking feeling pulling at his chest. 

“Don’t do this,” Phil begged, feeling as though the world was crumbling beneath him. The gun fell from his fingers, clattering to the ground, praying to anything that would listen that Dream would focus on him instead.

“What a sacrifice, Phil.” Dream smiled, an unkind thing that stretched too wide and did not reach his eyes. It looked as though he was wearing a mask that had been carved in an attempt to reflect human expression. “What a pointless sacrifice.”

He squeezed the trigger, smile widening.

“Techno, what do you want from this?” 

“I just want to do something good.”

Click.

A bullet did not fire. 

Dream’s head snapped downwards as he pulled the trigger again, but the gun simply clicked again. 

He doesn’t have any bullets left, Phil realized. The pit in his stomach erupted into flames, fury burning. He raced forward before Dream could register what had happened, bending down just long enough to scoop up the knife that had fallen from Techno’s hand. 

He didn’t even bother to shoot, simply whipping Dream across the face with the muzzle of the gun. In a heartbeat, Techno’s blade was lodged beneath Dream’s ribs, the tip of the knife pushing upwards. 

Dream looked down again, as though he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Blood began to blossom. 

He fell with a breathy gasp that was almost muffled by the sound of Phil pulling the knife from his gut. 

“I thought I was ready to forgive you, Dream.” 

Dream coughed, spitting blood. A tooth clattered to the ground and he grimaced, but he couldn’t muster the strength to stand again. 

“I thought I was capable of forgiveness, because I am the only one who can grant you mercy.” Phil stood over him like an accursed angel, inspecting the gun. He pulled back the barrel, and a bullet slid into the chamber. “And now, there is none left for me to give.” 

“What happened to you?” Dream coughed again, but it was weaker, as though the fatigue of his defeat was finally sinking into his bones. 

“You should be grateful,” Phil said instead, cocking the hammer. 

“Grateful for what?” Dream’s voice rose. “Grateful to watch you burn the legacy your father built? Grateful to watch you topple the empire that could have been something great? Grateful--” 

“You should be grateful,” Phil interrupted him, “that my crows have given me enough mercy to give you a quick death.” 

“Your father would not have stood for this,” Dream rasped. 

“I am not my father.” 

Phil didn’t flinch as he pulled the trigger. Dream collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, forever silenced. 

He turned, just in time to see Techno sitting up slowly, blinking his eyes open. “Ouch,” Techno grumbled. 

Phil almost laughed in pure, sheer relief. His face was splattered with blood, and Techno’s mind hummed. Protection. Safety. He walked over slowly, stiffness evident in his gait, and extended a hand towards Techno. Techno took it gladly, pulling himself up to his feet. 

Phil’s eyes caught on something behind him. Techno turned, just in time to see Wilbur and Tommy stumbling towards them. Both of them were stained with soot, clothes torn and slightly fire-singed. 

“Holy shit,” Tommy said, stumbling slightly. Wilbur caught him immediately, only to stumble under Tommy’s weight. Techno caught the both of them, steady weight keeping them both upright. 

“You’re alive,” Wilbur laughed, eyes wide, not quite meeting Phil’s. “Holy fuck, we’re alive.” 

His eyes caught on Dream’s body. For a moment, Wilbur held his breath, wondering if Dream’s body would move again. He exhaled hard, blinking back the tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes.

All four of them stared at the fallen body. It seemed so strange, that the man who had caused so much chaos and pain now lay so quietly. He would cause no more bloodshed, no more fiery embraces, no more death and destruction. 

Tommy was the first to ask. “Is it over?” 

“Not yet,” said Phil quietly, tearing his eyes from Dream’s body.

Techno was the first to turn back to Phil.

“What do you want from this?” 

The words rang through the air, which still smelled of gunpowder and death. Somehow, the thing that Techno asked so simply was heavier than any gun or any responsibility. 

Phil paused for a moment, turning the possibility over in his mind. It was hardly a debate. The decision had been made long before that night. 

He looked to Techno, silhouetted by dim and flickering lights. ““Dream was right. I’m not fit to be the head of the Zephyrs. But you are.” 

“Wait, what?” Techno turned

Phil nodded. “It’s time for the Ender King to die. It’s time for Reign to be crowned.” 

“Phil, no,” Techno whispered, voice caught somewhere between emotion and exhaustion. “You can’t leave me, not for this.” 

“I’m not leaving you. I will be here to help you and to guide you.” Phil shook his head, hands deftly working around the pistol. The now-empty magazine clattered to the ground, and he pulled back the hammer to let the last bullet resting in the chamber fall to the ground. “But let this legacy of bloodshed end.” 

“Why me?” 

It was the same words that had been uttered so many times, and yet Phil couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face. “I was destined to end up here, I think. I was born to be the Ender King. My father’s actions laid the foundation for my legacy before I had any choice in the matter.” 

“You always have a choice, Phil,” Techno whispered. 

“But you didn’t know me as the son of the Ender King. You didn’t know me as Phil Astraeus, of the Zephyrs.” Phil rested a hand on Techno’s shoulder, looking him directly in the eyes. “You just knew me as Phil.” 

“You can still be Phil,” Techno replied, grabbing onto Phil’s wrist like it would make him stay, as though it could. “You don’t have to leave. Please don’t leave.” 

Phil shook his head, even as a pang pulled at his heart. “As long as I’m head of the Zephyrs, the Ender King lives on. With you in the seat of power, the Zephyrs have the chance to become something greater.” 

“I can’t do this alone.” 

“But you’re not alone, Techno,” Phil said, smiling slightly. He motioned for Tommy and Wilbur to step forward. “You have people you can trust.” Phil turned towards Wilbur and Tommy. From his pocket, he withdrew a trio of emeralds on a golden chain and extended it towards Wilbur. “And I hope that you will be able to trust Techno to protect you, even though I couldn’t.” 

“But you did,” Tommy said. He pulled his own necklace from inside his shirt. “We’re alive, and now we can defend ourselves.” 

“Tommy’s right,” Wilbur said. Slowly, he reached towards the necklace, looping it over his head. “We trust you. I--” He paused, taking a breath. “I trust you.” 

“I will be here to advise you.” Phil smiled, eyes shining as he turned back to Techno. “But the crown is yours.”

Despite the chaos that had already occurred and the blood that had already been spilled, the transition of leadership was a surprisingly simple one. There was no fanfare, no celebration. 

It happened quietly, with the four of them gathered around a table. 

Phil rested a large notebook on the table, black leather worn smooth, a few scratches arcing across the surface. The edges of the pages were gilded, along with a simple “Z” on the cover. The golden embossing seemed to glow. Many of the pages were folded in, the corners curling inwards with age. 

“This journal contains the history of the Zephyrs. Every leader has written their stories and their knowledge.” Phil rested his fingers on the cover, pushing it towards Techno. “I have told my story. It’s time for yours to begin.” 

Techno looked down at the book. It seemed mysterious and strange, and yet something in it was so familiar to him. 

“This I do pass unto you.” The words seemed to simmer with power as Phil spoke them, as though they were wrapped in magic. 

Techno accepted the book, running his fingers across the surface. He flipped through the pages until he found the last one with writing. Phil’s careful handwriting filled the page, scrawled words that told of his epilogue. He traced the words until he reached the bottom of the page. 

Signed, Phil Astraeus. The last Ender King. 

Many things changed, and many things stayed the same. The universe had a plan for Techno, some unspoken story that had been intertwined with his destiny. 

The rules had changed. Techno had changed. 

One. Never take from the ones who need it more than you. 

It was strange, in many ways. He didn’t have to make marks the way he used to. Instead, he could delegate. He learned about the Zephyrs and their skills, reading through the legacy notebook in the evenings. 

He learned that a woman named Puffy was a doctor, willing to treat anyone - Zephyrs, the homeless, children. Quackity was a law student who specialized in loopholes, finding the gaps in between where the Zephyrs could flourish. Tubbo was young, but he was the best when it came to electronics and explosives. His technology, while volatile, would help lead the Zephyrs into the modern era. Bad was the bartender at the bar where he’d met Punz, but he was also the best at sharpening knives to a razor’s edge. 

Techno swore to himself that he’d take care of them. He’d make the city better for them. 

Two. Local shops and small businesses are off-limits. 

With the network of Zephyrs at his fingertips, Techno could only begin to imagine what was possible. He changed the rules, starting small. 

Local shops were still off-limits for the Zephyrs. But as it turned out, many of the shops were eager to help on their own terms. 

The owner of the bakery set out loaves of bread and cookies at the end of the day - anything that would otherwise be thrown away. The produce shop on the corner of Main Street did the same with bruised apples and peaches, slightly wilted greens still good to be eaten. 

Techno sent a Zephyr to go pick up whatever hadn’t been taken by little hands. They delivered it to Wilbur’s restaurant, where the chef - a woman Techno hadn’t met before but whom Wilbur greeted with kindness - made a hot meal for anyone who needed it. 

There were more Zephyrs there than he had anticipated. Many of them needed the hot meal, and almost all were curious about the new leader of the Zephyrs. Techno introduced himself to every single one of them, greeting them with an even gaze and a firm handshake. It was his way of telling them that things had changed. 

Three. If you steal more than you need, the kids come first, then anyone else who needs it.

Techno couldn’t change everything. 

Selfishness was still common. It was too easy for people to revert back to the same desperation and pettiness. They had lived with it for so long that it was more of a habit than anything else. But as things changed, people did too. 

In the shadows of the bridge, Techno could still feel eyes watching him, young hands wrapping around walls to watch as he walked. The sound of rushing water filled his ears as he set down a heavy duffel bag, pulling out cans and arranging them into a small pile next to the cans that had been left by another. He folded a few blankets carefully and set them down. 

This time, he left a scrap of paper under the cans as well, with a simple message alongside the address to Wilbur’s cafe. 

A hot meal for anyone who needs it. 7pm every day. 

The next time he stopped by, the paper was gone.

The asphalt where he usually left cans had been decorated with sidewalk chalk and the messy handwriting of children. They had drawn flowers of every color surrounding a box around where he piled the cans. Inside the box was the outline of a crown, drawn over and over in gold-yellow chalk until the lines were solid. 

It was a silent thank you, the only one they knew how to give. 

Four. Respect other thieves. No snitching, and if you can help someone make a mark, then do.  

Phil found a new apartment. 

Techno had been by his side as he toured new buildings, trying to see which one felt like home. He watched as Phil stood in empty entryways and abandoned living rooms, eyes full of sorrow. 

Phil had been a force of destruction for so long. The legacy of the Ender King made it feel like his hands were bloodstained, incapable of any gentleness. His home had been one of many casualties of his life, and he had accepted it with the dreadful numbness that came from unending grief. 

Eventually, he had found a new home - a brownstone building overlooking the park that they’d sat in so long ago, only a few blocks from the bridge Techno knew so well. Techno watched as a little bit of life entered his eyes as he took in the bookshelves opposite massive windows, exposed brick and polished glass and deep brown wooden floors worn smooth. The skylight let in a ray of sunshine, wrapping them both in the sunlight’s warm embrace - nothing like the flames that had encompassed his last apartment. This was a place where he could feel at home. 

Techno bought the brownstone. 

Then he bought the one next to it. Then the one on the other side. 

When the contracts were settled and Techno was positioned as the new owner of all three townhouses, he called Wilbur and Tommy. 

The Crow’s Nest, they called it, the three town-homes connected to one another. 

The four of them went shopping for furniture together. 

The worry hadn’t faded from Wilbur’s shoulders yet. His mind was still whirling with numbers, calculating paychecks and meals, wondering if there was enough for him and Tommy. He didn’t quite realize that life could get better, that it would get better. 

Tommy had insisted on a massive TV screen. Techno found one used and fixed it himself, installing it in the living room of Tommy and Wilbur’s house. None of them commented on the brand-new Nintendo Switch that had appeared next to it within the week. Tommy installed Animal Crossing and played it endlessly. Wilbur, for his part, preferred to play GeoGuesser on the big screen, narrating his own voyages through the virtual world with the same dramatic air as any actor. 

Phil had found a massive, emerald-green couch and fallen in love. Wilbur had made fun of him for having a green couch, but it was so comfortable that none of them could complain, even though it was an absolute pain to maneuver into Phil’s place. Frankly, everything in Phil’s apartment was a pain - from the couch to the architecture drawing desk to the bookshelves that lined every open wall. Techno didn’t care - whatever it took to make Phil feel at home. 

It took a better part of a week to move Techno’s server system from his old apartment into the brownstone. He’d chosen the one closer to the bridge, with one of his windows facing the underpass. It was nicer than anywhere he’d ever lived. 

Wilbur and Tommy deserved safety, to never worry if they would have a roof over their heads or food for dinner or heating in the winter’s cold. Phil deserved a home, a place where he could cook and laugh and read without fear of his enemies. 

Maybe, just maybe, Techno could believe that he deserved it too. 

Five. Do whatever you have to do to survive live.

In his years of life - as Techno, as Reign, as the head of the Zephyrs - Techno had come to know many things. Among these was the careful difference between surviving and living, existence and life. 

Gone were the days of flickering electricity and dinner eaten cold out of a can. Instead, Techno had an assurance: he had somewhere to return to. He had people who cared for him, and who he cared for. 

The system was still broken. Even with all the resources of the Zephyrs, change took time. Techno still rebelled. He taught Tommy the best places to tag, what kind of paint caps would be the best for different tags. He watched as Wilbur began busking in the park with a well-loved guitar, the case open in front of him as onlookers tossed in coins and bills. 

Phil began mixing his own wildflower seed mix, the kind of flowers native to their region mixed with fertilizer and soil. He even bought a hollow cane, filling the body with seeds that would pour out with a twist of his wrist. Techno helped him grow herbs to replace the ones that had burned. Mint and rosemary, thyme and basil - pots of sprouting plants lined every windowsill. 

But there was a new kind of rebellion. 

He spent his evenings surrounded by the people who brought meaning to his life. Even after a long day, he went to Phil’s house for dinner. Tommy and Wilbur argued over little things - whether tomato sauce or alfredo was better, the best texture for a blanket, kettle corn or butter popcorn. He looked on with amusement, letting himself be pulled into their arguments with a smile and a bit of witty banter. Phil was always quick to join, pushing at one of them to propel them to increasingly ridiculous arguments. 

It felt like rebellion. It felt like an insurrection, a revolt against the fate that the universe had handed him. He had taken destiny into his own hands and crafted it into something more. He wasn’t damned to a life of solitude. 

This was his rebellion: happiness. 

Six. The King protects his own.

Not the Ender King. Not a lone crow, bound by nothing but the sky. Not the wind, formless and wavering. He was the King, renowned for his title, revered for the work he had done. 

The legacy of the Ender King faded into nothing more than myth. Techno made sure of it. He built layers of protection around the place he called home and around the people he had let into his life. He would never allow them to fear for their safety, for their happiness. 

There was a time where Techno had mourned what once was, what might have been. Gone were the days he could walk the streets unknown, just another passerby in the evening light. He was known: accursedly and irreversibly known. 

He couldn’t help but feel selfish. The world was at his fingertips, a network his to command, with more resources and responsibility than he knew what to do with, and he mourned for himself. He mourned for the life he had known, for the quiet future that he had sacrificed for the chance to do something good, something great.

The crown was a heavy burden, but it was one he did not bear alone. Phil brought with him experience. Wilbur brought caution. Tommy brought creativity. Each of them were invaluable in their own way. 

Techno, for his part, refused to rely on the reputation that had been handed to him. He did not try to buy loyalty. There was no cost to be repaid, no consequence lingering overhead. He earned the loyalty of each and every Zephyr, and they returned his honor with respect. 

Reign had been crowned, a coronation in blood and fire. But Techno had made a home for himself, illuminated with light and laughter. A protector, a king, a brother, a friend. 

Unequivocally and undeniably himself. 

Unequivocally and undeniably happy.