Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Niki’s face sours as she sees who approaches. “Great. Someone thought I needed training.”

The piglin general shrugs. “Well, you said it, not me.”

The general- for Niki refuses to name this man, even in her own mind- is a curious puzzle. A piglin walking around in the Overworld where others of his like would Rot, and long enough that his Script carries no Khorsh accent.

“Wilbur says you’ve fought before,” the general offers.

“I led a battalion in the last war,” Niki concedes. “But that was just support. Medical and potion work.”

The general grunts impassively. “Any long term conflict comes down to better supplies. Don’t put yourself down for not getting blood on your hands.”

“Do you put yourself down for getting blood on yours?” Niki brashly asks.

It’s a mistake to say something like that, and she knows it. But the general doesn’t look angry at the question. He pauses, head tilted with actual thought, as if the borderline accusation was worth weighing in his mind.

“I’m not ashamed of my past,” the general decides, “just ‘cus that kind of thinking never really helps anyone. But it’s not a good past. I don’t like repeating it.”

Niki stares up at the underground ceiling of Pogtopia. “And here we are anyway.”

“Yeah. Here we are.” The general sharply cracks his sturdy neck. “Anyways, I’m not gonna mansplain how to throw potions or shoot guns. If you didn’t already know how to do that, you’d be dead. So let’s just check in on your melee combat and see what we have to work with from there.”

Niki almost smiles. “Can’t do medical if you’re dead.”

“Damn right.”

-<>♥<>-

Brother, what’s my name? My name is…

(Our Lady of the Underground!)

Brother, what’s my name? My name is…

(Our lady of the upside down!)

Niki groans discontentedly into her blankets as someone’s morning radio bounces off the walls of the underground city.

Well, ‘morning’. There’s no sun to greet anyone down here. Time is strange, in its own way, in this world without day or night. People get up at the oddest times, and the only people who have to give a fuck about daylight is anyone going up to trade with the surface or getting their doctor mandated sun quota. 

Sun quota. Good gods. It makes them sound like they’re living in some dreadful post-apocalypse, scuttling in a dark trench like rats.

Maybe they are, after a fashion.

It’s not just L’manburg’s destruction that has people fleeing underground. The worsening Crimson epidemic has triggered an all-new exodus of people fleeing to places they hope the blood vines cannot reach- whether it be the northern snow or the deep caverns underground. This once small group of temporary refugees now has to figure out how to stretch food, water, electricity in a place nearing full capacity, and people are talking of expanding deeper.

People are starting to ask who’s in charge.

People are starting to assume who’s in charge.

…People are starting to think that person’s Niki.

“I just don’t get it!” Niki angrily tears apart a baked potato. “I already do enough, why should I be in charge of anything?”

“Maybe is that you do so much,” Shy offers. “Is like you care everyone.”

Shy is one of the many new residents of the Underground, but they aren’t exactly another face in the crowd- they’re an enderman, a free enderman at that. Not quite a new phenomena, but the amount of disoriented, vaguely amnesiac, and suspiciously green eyed endermen wandering into civilization has been going up as of late.

“It’s not like I want to spend all day fixing furnaces and crossing wires,” Niki complains. “But someone has to. It’s better than hanging around depressed all day, anyways.” A pause. “Also, you’re eating the potatoes wrong. You’re supposed to put the butter on the potato, not eat it separately.”

Shy pauses from sticking another slice of butter in their mouth. “Oh. Oh, that makes much more sense.” They move the knife onto the potato, watching the butter melt into the soft flesh with detached interest. “I don’t understand human food.”

“Surely you had some kind of endermen cooking,” Niki insists.

Shy squints uncertainly. “Very long time ago, maybe. But mostly, haunt just eat whatever they can find. Time to cook is time to get hurt by, ah- ⊑⍜⌇⏁⟟⌰⟒ ⋔⍜⏚⌇. Stay too long, you die.” They tilt their head down, taking in the sad look on Niki’s face. “Is not like that now. I am free! I can learn bake potato.”

Niki hums with thought. “The Ades were doing baking classes, weren’t they?”

“Yes, Ade family! Is bird and cow and, ah- goat. But wrong. Different? They teach food.” Shy balances their spoonful of potato awkwardly, moving it towards their outstretched mandibles. “Cow is Lemon Ade, say that Niki Nihachu also bake food in time ago, and now you do not. You stop?”

“Well- I still can, ” Niki corrects. “If I want to. But I don’t. I just- I spent so long making food I could barely even afford to eat, because other people kept taking everything I had. There’s too many bad memories now.”

“You make no food because you are afraid everyone else take your food?” Shy points their spoon in Niki’s face. “But then you have no food anyways. Only one who starves is you.”

“At least if I starved, that would be my choice,” Niki quietly says. “And not something other people made me do for them.”

“Okay. You starve,” Shy harshly allows. “You live in safe place, surround by food always. You are lucky, have so much you can choose to starve. So lucky, and for what?”

Niki looks down at her plate in shame.

“She thinks her life not hard enough?” Shy asks. “Does not earn to eat?” They makes a harsh spitting noise with their mandibles. “Feh. No one earns. Only eat. Is cruel to your food to say you are not good enough.”

“You’re right,” Niki quietly says. “I’m sorry. With the things you’ve been through, I must sound so selfish.” Her callused hands curl into fists. “I’m just- I don’t know if I can take it, the next time someone takes something out of my hands.”

“Then don’t share,” Shy bluntly instructs. “Eat faster. Can’t take if you give them nothing.”

Niki laughs lightly. “I guess that’s one way to do it.”

“You take care of yourself. And then my good friend Niki will always be full. Very good things!” A squinting smile pushes into Shy’s green eyes. “And I will make so many potato. With butter and honey.”

Niki snorts. “What is it with you endermen and honey? I swear you put it on everything.”

“Good with everything!” Shy insists. “Like potato. Potato is… god perfect apple. Straight from the dirt.”

“You sound like someone I know,” Niki teases. “He had the biggest potato farm I’d ever seen.”

“Sounds like a good man!”

Niki’s smile trails off. “Maybe he is. I never really knew.”

-<>♥<>-

Yoooooooooooo, Niki.

I’d’ve stopped by, but I didn’t feel like it. Besides, it’s not like anyone was gonna tell me where you live in this cave commune, and I only really showed up to drop off a little gift for you in your city’s post office.

The last time we talked, you asked about any other sources concerning anarchism- you know, sources that aren’t me. First off, ouch. Second of all, that’s the kind of critical thinking I love to see, and I happen to keep several comprehensive texts on the subject.

So here I am, formally lending you Pëtr Kropotkin’s The Conquest of Bread. It’s not the most exciting read, but it’s comprehensive, and I figured you’d appreciate something by a human author. Sorry I took so long getting around to it- I was re-reading the book to make sure it still held up, and so I wouldn’t be lost if you asked any questions.

When you’re done- or want to discuss- I’ve left a small compass that will take you where you need to go. Consider this an open invitation. I look forward to wherever your thoughts take you from here, and getting to know whoever you turn into in the process.

-Techno (Blade)

Chapter Text

A quick recap of what’s been going on with Techno lately.

Basically, a government got in the way of him and Philza, so they blew it up. Now they’re chilling in the north with this guy called Ranboo- but as time goes by, Techno’s starting to realize that there’s something different about his new neighbor.

First off, Ranboo doesn’t really melt in water the way normal endermen do. Technoblade, Emperor Snow, the general of a thousand battles, failed to register this until they were literally clearing out an infested ocean monument together. (He needs to stop forgetting to eat his chocolate chips.)

But better late than never, he supposes. There is, after all, no time like the present. And no such thing as stupid questions.

Though Techno will admit, at least to himself, that being underwater isn’t exactly a great conversation environment, even with good water breathing enchantments.

“Oh, by the way.” Techno slides his sword out of a guardian’s single glaring eye and starts hauling the corpse by its tail. “Ranboo, there’s been something I’m meaning to ask you.”

Ranboo swims up a crack in the ceiling. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“You’re like, part enderman, right?”

Ranboo hums distractedly, swerving away from the long spikes of another fallen guardian.

Techno squints. “And aren’t endermen, like- terribly, terribly allergic to water?”

Ranboo blinks. “Oh, yeah, no! It’s fine. I have armor on.”

Ah. Waterprot. That makes sense. “Oh, I was hoping you would stare at me for three ticks and then start screamin’ and get out of the water, like-” Techno chuckles. “-like it doesn’t hurt you until you realize it.”

Philza cackles from The Charon’s deck as Ranboo screams with mock terror, watching the two of them climb up with a relaxed smile on his face. His gauntlet-laden hands easily steady the guardian as Techno throws it overboard, crows quickly surrounding the corpse to chip at the prismarine skin.

Ranboo rocks awkwardly on his feet as he watches Techno dry himself off. “Speaking of endermen,” he casually starts, “do you wanna see something cool?”

Philza turns away from the butcher work of his crows, pointing a talon towards Ranboo. “Oh, you’re gonna be freaked out by this, Techno. It’s not natural.”

Techno watches Ranboo scoop up some of the grass that huddles with the poison flowers overgrowing on Philza’s ship, holding the perfectly intact dirt in the air above his wide palms. That wouldn’t be too strange- endermen have tactile telekinesis, so it would make sense if Ranboo did the same.

The strange part is the way the grassy soil in Ranboo’s hands starts to change shape, coiling and curling in on itself like a snake. The grass itself blooms with dandelions and clover.

This solid chunk of dirt is acting more fluid than sand.

It’s acting like a piece of worldspawn.

“Phil?” Techno flatly calls out.

“Yeah?”

“Are we side characters, Phil?”

Philza giggles, hand roughly slapping the guardian’s scales.

Techno gestures incredulously at Ranboo’s hands. “What is this superpower? I want superpowers! What is this?”

Ranboo shyly places the dirt back with Philza’s flowers. “So, technically I can just pick up any block with my hands?”

Techno raises his eyebrows. “Any block?”

“Like stone, or-”

Techno’s snout moves dangerously close to Ranboo’s face. “Any block? Even blocks you can’t normally pick up?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Techno sees Philza’s head turn sharply to him, smiling face rendered stony and impassive. He’s not a god, Techno.

That we know of, the Covenant’s thread whispers back, far beyond the reach of Ranboo’s ears. But there’s ways to hide that from detection. You did the same with Wilbur, after all.

Ranboo, for his part, squirms under Techno’s sudden scrutiny. “I… don’t think that spawners would work,” he hypothesizes. “I don’t think.”

“But have you tried?” Techno presses.

“I have not tried it,” Ranboo admits.

Techno chuckles darkly. “Oh, we’re gonna try it.” He mounts his trident against the holster of the enderpack on his back, clapping Ranboo across his shoulders. “You wanna get experimented on, Ranboo?”

Ranboo tilts his head. “Do you know where a spawner is?”

“Yeah.” Techno fiddles through a map in his inventory. “We gotta go back to a place I have bad memories of.”

-<>♥<>-

Ranboo was kind of nervous telling Philza and Techno about his powers. They only came back so recently, after all, and when Tubbo and Fundy found out, they sure got… enthusiastic about experiments.

Well, so was Techno, but it felt different with Techno. He had only wondered if Ranboo knew what he could do, and asked if Ranboo wanted to test it. And surprisingly enough, Ranboo does want to find out the answer.

Even if Ranboo thinks Techno’s kind of overhyping the whole thing.

“I pick up dirt and I move it,” Ranboo drily sighs as The Charon sails through the river. “I don’t think that’s a main character power.”

“Yeah, that’s how it starts,” Techno smiles. “That’s how it starts, alright? What main character was strong when he first started out?” He closes his eyes as the boat moves along. “Nah, nah, nah. Twenty episodes later, you’re gonna be throwing planets and I’m still gonna be sittin’ here with my sword like, I remember when I was relevant to the plot.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Ranboo jokes, “I’m 98% sure I can’t teleport.”

“Oh god, he might learn how to teleport!” Techno despairs.

And the funny thing is, Ranboo almost wants to be as cool as Techno’s pretending he is. It’s the strangest thing. Because- because Ranboo’s always been sort of a people pleaser. That’s him, Mr. Got No Backbone, smiling and nodding to whatever people say and stewing on his own personal opinions later.

But Techno and Philza? They’ve pretty much proven that Ranboo has… nothing to prove. They really don’t give a shit. Ranboo could admit to murder and those two old men would probably just ask if he needs help hiding the body. Ranboo doesn’t need to impress them in order for them to be nice to him, or let him stay with them.

And yet Ranboo finds, as of late, he wants them to be impressed anyway.

“I’m not gonna be the side character,” Techno quickly insists to Philza’s amused teasing. “I’m at least gonna be the cool sensei. I-” He cuts off as he dramatically clutches his head. “No, but the sensei always dies! NO! Oh, no, that’s how he gets his motivation for the hero’s journey, oh no!”

Ranboo almost wants to point out that Techno already has a student, what with Orpheus and all. And then he remembers- they’d found Orpheus’ parents recently, hadn’t they? A father missing a leg and a mother with a gash tearing off her left ear, survivors of a zombie horde that had attacked their pearlhunter caravan at the end of last year.

An attack that cost them their son, who looked exactly like Orpheus did.

Techno had been… very kind as he explained to them what happened. Orpheus had lost some of his fingers, and he’d been fully infected when Techno found him- even if he shares the same body, he will never be the same son they lost all those months ago. Still, they wanted to try, and surprisingly, so did Orpheus. 

He’s been spending more and more time with his parents and their new job watching the Neve Nether portal, And even if he still tags along for hunts and lessons, Techno has admitted that he’s running out of things to teach the kid, in regards to the clerical stuff they first bonded over.

“Oh, NO!” Techno leans off the railing of the ship as they enter the sea, pointing at a passing islet. “Do you see that over there, Ranboo? Oh, it’s my grave!”

Ranboo squints and sees a large stone cross right where the grass meets the sand. “It has terrible proportions, too.”

Techno groans sadly. “Don’t insult my grave like that.”

Can Ranboo really take the spot that people like Orpheus and Tommy once filled? Could he be Techno’s student in… whatever they decide to learn together? It’s a harrowing question, and Ranboo doesn’t know if he can really answer it. He sulks in silence as they head towards the mouth of some kind of tunnel, noting the way Philza pointedly waits outside.

Birds and caves don’t mix, I guess.

It almost looks like an older, more abandoned section of the Greater Prime catacombs. Multiple steep ravines cutting in on themselves in a terrible crossroads, floors lined with cobble as wooden pathways hang over sheer drops like spiderwebs. There’s hundreds of random coins hammered into the rocks, and long forgotten rooms carved into the walls.

People had lived here, once. By the look on Techno’s face, so had he.

But they haven’t come here for Techno’s old memories, and Ranboo will not ask. He follows his friend deeper down, until the stone gives way to moss-eaten walls and the spawner that sat in the middle, nullified by a perimeter of torches.

Ranboo’s… never actually seen a spawner before. He knows what they are academically- pieces of necrotic worldspawn, sealed in crystal cages generated by the server itself to prevent their further spread. He stares apprehensively at the night dark lattice and overlapping bones floating inside.

“This is a skeleton spawner,” Techno simply explains. He kneels down to its level and smiles, a growl entering his voice. “Tear it apart with your bare hands,” he challenges.

Ranboo cracks his knuckles. “Let’s see if this actually works!”

He splays his fingertips over the lattice and pulls the air around it. Gently kneading at the surface, never quite touching.

“I’m- I’m fairly certain that it won’t work,” he says.

“I don’t think it’s going to work,” Techno concedes, “but on the one percent chance that it does-”

“-but if it does, then that would be really cool,” Ranboo excitedly finishes.

“It would be really overpowered!” Techno takes an enthusiastic breath as he punches the air. “This is part of your trainin’, Ranboo! Use the force!”

“Come on-” Ranboo gives one last tug, and…

…the spawner just pops out of the ground. Like a potato. Directly into Techno’s hand.

Techno and Ranboo scream with shock.

“Okay, okay, okay-” Techno takes a breath and puts his glasses on, squinting inside the cage as the crystals change to a soft pink. “It’s turned into a pig spawner now, but that’s still pretty cool.” 

Ranboo just picked up worldspawn. And changed it.

With his bare hands.

This is either the coolest thing he’s ever done or the most terrifying. Maybe both.

Techno excitedly throws it back on the ground, letting it mold back into the worn-down stones. “Break it again! Quick, before Mojang kills us all!”

Oh, boy! Crimes against the gods! 

Then again, Techno and Philza are gods or something, right? Is he really gonna get smited by collective godkind if actual gods told him to do it?

Honestly, Ranboo doesn’t even care anymore. Techno thinks it’s cool, and going by the reactions on Techno’s comm, so does Philza. That just makes it all worth it, honestly. Smiting it is.

After Ranboo successfully grabs the spawner a second time, Techno puts it in his enderpack with a promise to let Ranboo keep the next one for himself. Which would imply they’re going to make a habit of doing this.

That sounds kind of fun, actually.

-<>♥<>-

“When I pick up rocks, the broken pieces mold back together.” Ranboo tents his hands in front of his face. “Could I pick up cake?”

“That’s actually something I wanted to test,” Techno immediately says. “I don’t think it’s actually useful at all, but-” He blinks. “Well, actually, you might be able to get glitched items if you could pick up cake.”

So far, Ranboo’s hands seem to be about equal to a standard enderman, or silk touch enchantments for cutting tools. At least by Techno’s judgement. Philza, on the other hand, is all too familiar with endermen capabilities, and what Ranboo is displaying is- it’s a bit above average. Even the Hands of the King embedded into Philza’s body can’t interact with raw worldspawn.  

So here they are. Seeing if Ranboo can levitate cake.

After masking up and buying a cake from a bakery by Greater Prime, they sit down to do the test. Techno takes a slice for good measure, just to destabilize the pastry more.

And then Ranboo picked up the cake.

The whole cake.

The whole, completely unsliced cake.

Techno stares dumbfounded as Ranboo excitedly wags his tail, looking at the two older men for approval.

Philza and Techno lock eyes for a moment. As cute as this is, this is… this is not good. This cannot be good at all. Ranboo either just manipulated the ambient worldspawn to make more cake- which should be literally impossible without being a domain god- or Ranboo violated the law of conservation of matter.

Over a cake.

Neither of these are good options.

And Techno would love to have a panic attack about that, but that’s not what they’re here for. Techno is now a teacher, and his student has trusted him enough to show him something unique. Having a negative reaction would be reasonable, but it would be cruel in the face of Ranboo not understanding what he’s doing.

Techno takes a breath.

“You can make infinite food!” he enthusiastically shouts.

“You’ve just cured world hunger,” Philza jokes.

Ranboo giggles as he holds the cake in his hands. “I don’t need to eat ever again!”

“Phil, I don’t think we’re gonna last a full season,” Techno laughs. “He’s gonna punch the ground and it’ll go into his inventory.”

-<>♥<>-

Techno busies himself with a book on the couch while Philza lays on the cushions in front of the fireplace.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Philza lazily orders. “Sun’s been down for four clicks.”

“You first,” Techno fires back. “You barely slept last night.”

Philza’s clicking could have almost been mistaken for irritation if his ears weren’t so limply relaxed. “Fuck off.”

Techno huffs loudly, white furred ears jostling against his head. “I live here.”

Philza’s tail thumps loudly against the wooden floor.

“Spit it out,” Techno bluntly says.

“Are we adopting him?” Philza blurts. “Is that what this is? Be honest.”

“You got attached to him first,” Techno deflects, turning to the next page of his book.

“That’s what you used to say about Wilbur,” Philza whispers.

Techno’s mouth flattens, head turning away. Philza turns to face him anyway. 

“You know I never minded your kids, right?” Philza quietly says. “I know I never- I never made friends with them, but I never hated them. They were yours.”

“They were my students-”

“And they were yours.” Philza’s eyes grow sad. “Every last one.” 

“We can’t even tell him what he is,” Techno murmurs. “We don’t even know what he is- even if we guess he’s a demigod, he’s going to want more than that! And if we leave him to find his own answers, he’s gonna lose his mind over it, he’s gonna turn out like-” His mouth shuts with a sharp click.

“Like Wilbur,” Philza finishes for him. “You can say it.”

Techno closes his eyes and sighs. He hears the movement of barely-there footsteps, bare talons clicking against the ground, before a weight settles beside him and a hand rests on his mane.

“I don’t want him to end up like the others,” Techno whispers. “He’s too young, Phil.”

“He won’t, mate,” Philza asserts. “There’s no war here. And I doubt he’s got a taste for power after what happened with L’manburg.”

Techno laughs grimly. “Even you can’t promise that, Phil. You don’t control who dies any more than I do.”

“I know,” Philza concedes, even as he smiles. “But I’m real good at lyin’ to myself, so let’s act like we’ll be alright this time and we’ll see how it goes.”

“Maybe it really will turn out different this time.” Techno leans his head on top of Philza’s. “Imagine that.”

Chapter Text

“So how do nukes even work?” Niki asks.

“Fission,” Jack flatly responds.

“Well, yeah! You told me that already.” Niki sharpens her cleaver against a grindstone. “But how does it do that?”

Jack takes a long swig from his bottle. He puts the bottle down on the ground next to his chair.

“Logs, mostly,” he finally says. 

Niki lets out an ungraceful burst of laughter.

“No, really,” Jack insists, even as a chuckle builds up in his own mouth. “You know how wands and staffs are- like when they fuck up.”

“They crack from the strain, yeah.”

“Yeah.” Jack picks his bottle back up and swirls it for a bit. “We basically do that on purpose? Chock a hollow log full of ender eyes and redstone circuits, make it soak up a fuckton of energy and give it nowhere else to go. After that, all it needs to do is hit somethin’ real hard and-” He puffs his cheeks. “Oh, boy. It ain’t pretty. Even the really tiny ones can turn sand to glass in an instant.”

“Turn a person to dust, even,” Niki proproses.

They stand together in the kitchen for a moment, utterly silent.

“Do we have to kill him?” Niki quietly asks. “Do we really?”

Jack takes another drink from his bottle. “He fucking murdered me, Niki. He can’t just keep getting away with shit.”

“Well, obviously. But think about it.” Satisfied with the state of her cleaver, Niki turns to the oxtail sat on her cutting board and starts to break it apart. “Getting vaporized instantly sounds a little too kind.”

Jack lowers his glasses as he stares at her. “What part of being vaporized is too nice for you? That’s like- getting torn apart.”

“It just feels too… quick.”

Jack leans back in his seat. “Alright then. What were you thinkin’?”

“Drowning is a terrible way to die,” Niki simply says. “It would have matched what he did to you. Or maybe being crushed.”

Jack nods sagely. “It’d hurt like a bitch. But Tommy’s a hero, and a human one on top of that. Mans is a cockroach, any window he gets is givin’ him a chance to live.”

“Is that why you want the nuke?” Niki wonders. “To make sure he doesn’t have that chance?”

Jack shrugs as Niki wraps up the chopped oxtail. “What can I say? I love bein’ thorough.” 

“I hate him,” Niki murmurs. “I hate that he always gets better. I hate that he always gets to get better.”

“Did you know he signed me on for his little hotel thing?” Jack reveals. “Assistant manager. Fucking prick.”

Niki smiles grimly. “Maybe when he dies, you’ll get to have the hotel instead.”

Jack’s own smile trails off. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Get out of there before the bomb drops.”

Niki scoffs as she cleans off her cleaver in the basin. “I’m not going to stick around for a nuclear bomb test, Jack.”

“I mean it,” Jack presses. “You get out of there when you have to. Even if it means we muck it all up and he lives anyway. He’s not worth your life.”

“I’ve survived being around you heroes for this long,” Niki decides. “I think I can last a little longer.”

Chapter Text

To

Former L’manburg Resident

Calling any and all former L’manburg residents (any administration) who might be interested in funding a L’manburg memorial by the crater site. First meeting will occur in the Greater Prime convention center next Firesday.

<>♥<>-

Niki Nihachu

Djarmor 13

Your requested order of nine (9) morel and six (6) pink oyster mushrooms.

<>♥<>-

-THE BAKERS DOZEN-

Your informal news, straight from the Underground

‘Parrot Ravine’ Here To Stay

The residents in the eastern Underground have decided to leave the open air ravine- and its thriving parrot population- undisturbed despite potential food disruption and noise pollution, out of respect for the parrots having lived there first. 

Anyways, if anyone wants a free parrot, knock yourselves out. Someone’s gonna have to train them so they don’t destroy all our shit.

To The Surprise Of No One, We Still Hate Kinoko

Kinoko Kingdom- you know, the local mushroom hippie city that set up shop above us for no fucking reason- is once again asking us not to eat the mushrooms that keep encroaching into the Underground. Obviously, we’re not going to listen. If they didn’t want us to eat the mushrooms, they should stop being so delicious. Besides, unlike Kinoko, we know how to magically sterilize our food so that we aren’t infected with any dangerous wild magic.

Surface World Still As Shitty As The Last Time We Checked

The Underground receives more and more residents every passing week as the blood vine epidemic continues to worsen. Standing residents are reminded to wear face masks when heading into central Greater Prime or the Badlands areas, and to purify themselves at the shrine when returning into the city.

Community Portal Up And Running

The Underground now has its own resident Nether portal, eliminating the need for a commute to central spawn to use Nether trade or travel. Our Khorsh-fluent residents are working to establish independent trade with the corresponding Nether population.

Alarming Rise In Enderman Sightings

These past few months have seen a sharp rise in sightings of wild endermen haunts near civilized areas. International research confirms that this phenomena is not only server-wide, but worldwide as well. 

Although free endermen are completely reasonable, wild endermen often steal or accidentally destroy crops, and are extremely dangerous to players, requiring nothing more than eye contact to solicit lethal aggression.

The Underground Must Expand

For those who were not present for the last council meeting, the Underground has agreed to expand the city beyond its original historic structure in order to accomodate our increasing population. Those who take initiative in terraforming new areas will have first pickings for what is built there, as well as any ores mined in the process. A beacon is being set up to facilitate this endeavor.

Slime Man Real?

Throughout the server, there have been unconfirmed sightings of a “slime moblin” appearing in roadsides, catacombs, and rural areas.

Slimes are not animals, but rather amorphous lifeforms made out of condensed worldspawn. As such, there are no slime variants of moblin. Slimes of advanced age and size are known to have some shapeshifting capacity- but slimes with the complexity to assume player-like forms would need to be several centuries old at minimum. Could an ancient slime have surfaced from deep underground?

Most alarmingly, slimes shapeshift in order to mimic or evade prey. A slime assuming player forms may not be friendly. If you see this “slime moblin”, be careful.

<>♥<>-

-HARVESTCRAFT-

Good recipes, good crops, good food

Red Beet Chocolate Cake

Makes 16 servings

Ingredients:

-1 3/4 cups flour

-1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

-6 Tablespoons powdered cocoa

-1/2 teaspoon salt

-1 1/2 cups sugar

-2 eggs

-1/2 cup canola oil

-2 cups beets, mashed or pureed

-1 teaspoon vanilla

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 176 C.
2. Oil or spray baking pan.
3. In a mixing bowl, stir together flour, baking soda, cocoa, and salt.
4. In another mixing bowl, combine sugar, eggs, and oil. Beat until smooth.
5. Add beets and vanilla. Beat until smooth.
6. Gradually add dry ingredients, beating well after each addition.
7. Pour into oiled or sprayed baking pan.
8. Bake for 25 tocks, or until a knife inserted comes out clean.
9. Cool in pan.

A mild cake, not overly sweet. Earthy flavor and natural sugar of beets compliments the cocoa. Creates a subtle velvet color in the pastry. Would pair well with confectioner’s sugar, chocolate glaze, or a cream cheese.

Chapter Text

Awesamdude hereby vouches to build LV property and functional casinos, strip clubs, and other means of entertainment in LV land. In return, he will be allowed to place his bank ATM's in the property + will get 35% of the lifetime profits that these means of entertainment entails.

Signed,

X Quackity  

X Awesam   

-<>♥<>-

The contract between SAMS robotics and BIG MAN INC. is as follows:

-All building done under Tommy Innit’s name will be credited to his person.

-Awesam must ensure that Tommy Innit is protected from any harm or grevious bodily injury that he risks during the course of this partnership.

-Tommy Innit MUST compensate Awesam for the work he's done within 7 days of contractual finish.

-All parties involved will NOT speak of this contract to anyone, with a fine of 10 Netherite ingots in the event of failure.

-Tommy Innit is responsible for the storage and preservation of SAM.NOOK, and party to projects SAM.NOOK is used in.

-In order to protect intellectual property and prevent sabotage, SAMS robotics has exclusive maintenance rights over SAM.NOOK.

-Tommy Innit is aware that SAM.NOOK has access to the SAMS robotics database, and is programmed to report any unusual activity or usage of itself to Awesam.

-Tommy Innit will not modify SAM.NOOK for any reason. SAM.NOOK functions as intended.

-SAM.NOOK belongs to Tommy Innit in perpetuity and cannot be repossessed by SAMS robotics for any reason.

-SAM.NOOK operates within the laws of Greater Prime. Neither SAMS robotics or BIG MAN INC. are responsible for any actions SAM.NOOK takes in following or enforcing the laws of Greater Prime.

-In the event that either Awesam or Tommy Innit willfully violates the clauses of this contract, either party can declare the contract, in its entirety, legally voided.

Signed,

X Awesam            

X Tommy A. Innit 

-<>♥<>-

THE ROYAL HOUSE OF GREATER PRIME henceforth entrusts the institution of PANDORA’S VAULT to safely, fairly, and humanely detain any and all persons sent to its purview, by the discretion of His Majesty Lord Eret-of-rine.

PANDORA’S VAULT must henceforth answer to the law and order of Greater Prime. If PANDORA’S VAULT, or any person representing it, violates Greater Prime’s laws within the Vault, or in the name of the Vault, they will be subject to the full legal repercussions implied.

Signed,

His Majesty of Greater Prime, Lord Eret-of-rine

-<>♥<>-

LAS NEVADAS IS ALWAYS HIRING!

Down on your luck? Looking for a quick buck? Las Nevadas welcomes YOU!

Old talent! New talent! People willing to learn new skills! Brawlers, bouncers, bellhops, and everything in between! No matter your past or place of origin, anyone can find a purpose in the city that never sleeps!

Why not make a better gamble with your job prospects? Place your bets on a bright future with MR. LAS NEVADAS.

Chapter Text

SAM.NOOK is a good man.

Good… robot. 

Thing.

It’s certainly a something!

SAM.NOOK is a towering, coppery thing with a vaguely racoon looking face and a red-striped hardhat on its head. It has a sturdy, almost fat body, fit to carry all the heavy loads in its possession, with an enderchest and comm receiver strapped on its back. And it has six hands- six whole hands! Six construction gloved hands attached to six limbs, lining its body like a mantis, or some kind of horrible, horrible centaur.

Well, creepers were already horrible centaurs, but SAM.NOOK takes the horrible centaur cake!

But that’s not SAM.NOOK’s fault. SAM.NOOK is trying its best, and its nightmarish mechanical features are there so it can do good construction shit. That doesn’t mean Tommy can’t make an effort to have SAM.NOOK look a little bit more approachable.

Listen. Technically, an extra large green sweater with a red tie isn’t modification. It’s entirely cosmetic. And sure, he had to give the sweater a special pocket so the communication module didn’t get fucked up, but it’s fine. It’s fine.

SAM.NOOK looks like a quirky teddy bear instead of a destroyer of worlds, and that’s the important part.

And quirky teddy bears are exactly what he needs to help with the hotel. 

Tommy slaps on his hardhat and safety vest before hopping over the fence of the construction site. (This would be extremely dangerous if it were anyone else but Tommy Innit. He’s built different. Don’t parkour at home, kids!)

“Another day, another giant hotel to build, eh Sam Nook?”

[HELLO TOMMYINNIT…]

Oh, there it is. That blessed, blessed sound of… whatever the fuck that noise SAM.NOOK makes is. A babbling, soft pitched noise that doesn’t make any sense. It just sounds nice. And, uh, is probably useful for indicating when there’s words on its communication module.

Tommy has no idea how any of this works. At this point he’s just accepting it.

[IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU TODAY MY FRIEND…] A pause. [CAN I CALL YOU A FRIEND…]

“It’s good to see you too!” Tommy pats one of SAM.NOOK’s many, many hands. “And of course you can call me a friend.”

[AWESOME…]

Tommy snorts. Sam himself had suggested keeping his orders simple when talking to SAM.NOOK, on account of its ‘dialogue tree’ still being relatively primitive. But Tommy’s noticed that the more he talks to SAM.NOOK like a normal guy, the more it tries to sound like one. And it may not be professional, but it’s really funny when SAM.NOOK says neglecting to wear safety equipment isn’t very poggers.

But enough of that. Tommy braves past all the tarps and curtains and into the meat of the construction itself.

For one (robot) guy, the progress is pretty impressive. The foundations are steady, and all the scaffolding of the first floor is pretty much done.

SAM.NOOK’s body whirs as it leans down to come in after him. [WE HOPE YOU LIKE THE PROGRESS ON THE HOTEL…]

Tommy cranks up the music on his comm. “I do like the progress- I love it!” He gestures at the supporting pillars and the stone brick floor. “It’s got the red, and the-” He slaps his chest. “My man Sam Nook! You’re gonna bring me to tears and I already-” He stops himself. “-well, alright, I shouldn’t bring that kind of stuff up. You’re doin’ a good job, mate.”

[I AM YOUR MAN… FOR THIS JOB…] 

“Damn right.”

At the end of the day, SAM.NOOK is just a robot. Tommy can’t… really say if it understands being praised, or calling people friends. But Tommy spent quite enough time being a thankless bastard, in his opinion, so he’s gonna tell SAM.NOOK it’s doing a good job, no matter if it actually knows what that means.

Tommy’s gonna know. He can know for the both of them until SAM.NOOK figures it out.

The chest display revealed on SAM.NOOK’s sweater pocket lights up. [AS YOU CAN SEE THERE ARE SOME NEW REQUIREMENTS ON THE BUILD SITE…] It holds up a pair of human fitted steel toe boots. [WE WILL NEED YOU TO WEAR CONSTRUCTION BOOTS DURING ALL TIME AT THE CONSTRUCTION SITE…]

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Well, you’re not doing it, you hypocrite.”

SAM.NOOK stares at Tommy. And then down at its gloved hands. And up at its hardhat. Its large black eye slots squint at him for a moment.

“Touche,” Tommy mutters as he takes the boots.

[SAFEY IS OUR PRIORITY…]

“Safey?” Tommy chuckles. “I think you need a bit of a spellcheck in there, my friend.”

[SNAKETY IS OUR PRIORITY…]

“Now you’re doing it on purpose!”

[I ALSO HAVE A TASK FOR YOU TODAY… DO YOU THINK THAT YOU COULD FETCH US SOME FRESH SPRUCE WOOD…]

“Spruce?” Tommy looks around the construction site. “You know I’m more of an oak boy.”

[WE THINK IT WILL LOOK MUCH BETTER WITH THE HOTEL THAN ALL THE OAK WOOD…]

Tommy squints. “You’ve got a lot of fuckin’ nerve. You know I could kill a mouse.”

[MAKE SURE TO BRING AT LEAST 6-8 STACKS WITH YOU… THANKS TOMMYINNIT…]

“Do I have to-” Tommy sighs. “Fine. I guess we’re gonna play like that today.”

Oh, he’ll get it done. SAM.NOOK’s got more know-how than he does. If mans wants spruce wood, it’s getting that spruce wood. That’s how this partnership works, after all- it can’t materialize anything out of thin air. Tommy’s still gotta collect the supplies himself.

“Oh, look at me,” Tommy mocks as he jostles SAM.NOOK’s head, “I’m Sam Nook, mimimimimimimi.”

[THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THE FOOD YESTERDAY…]

Ah, yes, the food. Apparently this thing runs on hearts-of-the-sea of all things- gee, thanks for not telling Tommy about that beforehand, Sam- and first off, Tommy hadn’t even known what the fuck those were. Turns out a heart-of-the-sea is this blasted expensive power cell made by seafolk, and Tommy had to scramble around every damn trading port he knew just to find a bitch who knew where to get them, much less be willing to sell one.

All because SAM.NOOK had asked for a spare in case its old one broke. Or, as SAM.NOOK had so eloquently put it, before it starved to death. Way to tug on a man’s heart strings, bastard.

Tommy gives one last hearty slap on the robot’s hardhat before hopping over the fence again.

[STAY SAFE TOMMYINNIT…]

“Always do!”

Tommy distractedly looks down at his comm. Looks like some rando paid big cash to do one of those public texts- something about a ‘launch’ in northern Snowchester in a few tocks. 

He lives in Snowchester now, technically. Or he’s a citizen, or some shit. Tubbo said that L’manburg refugees basically had a free pass to transfer to Snowchester if they wanted, and offered to let Tommy move in with him- or nearby, at least. Like old times.

But Tommy’s happy enough with what he’s got now. Fuck old times, honestly. He’s gonna move on to bigger and better things.

He scrolls through the comments section underneath the announcement, and everyone’s just as confused as he is. Maybe it’s just a weird firework show or something- Tommy remembers the last time him and Tubbo were out for drinks, Tubbo said he’d show Tommy something even brighter than fireworks.

If there’s something going on, though, that probably puts a bit of a damper on Tommy’s lumber plans. Snowchester’s the closest place with decent spruce.

Tommy looks up from his comm and flinches at the sight of something in the corner of his eye.

“Hi, Tommy,” Niki sweetly says.

“Hello, Nihachu,” Tommy forces out.

Tommy forgot she wears Wilbur’s things. Even if it’s just his old wing shawl, and she’s patched it up since then, that- that’s still a dead guy’s clothes. Fuck.

“How are you?” Niki awkwardly asks, following after him as he walks down the Prime path. 

“I’m doing good!” Tommy honestly admits. “I’m going to go chop down some spruce for Sam Nook.”

“Oh! Where are you going?”

“Down to Snowchester, I reckon. They’ve got spruce there.” Tommy adjusts his shirt collar. “And Tubbo’s there, I’ll say hi.”

“I know where a lot of spruce is, Tommy,” Niki insists. “I know a biome.”

“Do they got good podzol there?”

Niki blinks confusedly. “What?”

“That’s the sign of a good spruce,” Tommy sagely insists. “Plenty o’ the ol’ podzol to give you a good mouthfeel for the wood.”

“I- yeah, sure. Just follow me.”

Chapter Text

Niki Nihachu likes to think she’s a kind person.

She was, once, at least. Once, it was easier to be kind, to forgive and forget, rather than be angry. But she’s a bit older, now.

Angry is easy these days, and Tommy Atkins Innit is a very, very easy person to be angry at.

He pretends he’s still like everyone else. Like he’s still a little street rat barely scraping by in a humble cottage- not a decorated war hero, former vice president twice over, shooting interviews about his heroic capture of the Devil Prophet while advertising his latest high rise hotel.

Rich enough to wear netherite thread and still not fixing the patches in his pants because he wants to stay humble. Dressed like he needs to hustle to survive.

Because he still thinks he’s the little guy here, and he has the luxury to keep acting like it when it suits him.

Like Shy would have said- so lucky, and for what?

Tommy doesn’t know what it’s like to starve. He doesn’t know what it’s like to burn alive. To lose his home, over and over and over, from believing the promises of broken men one too many times.

So lucky, and for what?

To be a loud, irresponsible child, money burning a hole in his pockets while he still scrounges for scraps, paying attention to nothing but himself.

Even in the face of his own death, he can’t be bothered to notice. She leads him through the forest and he dawdles here and there, complaining about a mediocre picture show he’s just seen while he stops to test his axe against random trees on the way to their destination. 

At this rate, they’ll be late. Niki turns around, half prepared to snap at him to just hurry up already, before-

-before…

…before.

These kinds of things exist in Befores and Afters, don’t they?

Before Niki turned around just in time for both of them to be knocked against the ground. Before she curled up, a blinding white searing the sight of her own bones into her burning retinas, even as her eyelids felt like they were welded shut.

Two stunned bodies huddle pathetically against the soil until a sound like a gunshot cracks through the air, 27 ticks too late. Niki pushes her hands against the ground, bones aching inside her burning muscles, and looks back. Several kiloblocks away, a halo of snow and ice scatters into the air, an absurd mushroom-like shape slowly tearing at the sky.

Niki and Tommy are still shaking against the ground, wondering if they just died, when a skeleton horse carriage rolls up beside them.

Tubbo leans out the window, face barely visible past a formidable rubber suit. “Did you guys fucking see that?”

“TUBBO!” Tommy explodes. “Was that you?”

“Pretty cool, right?” Tubbo opens the carriage door. “Get in here and put on the spare suits, we don’t want you guys to get radiation poisoning.”

Jack easily covers for Niki and Tommy’s presence, insisting that Niki could have never known about the project or where the missile would land. Tommy loudly insists that he would never be the kind of person to get radiated as they approach the crash site.

The crater- good gods, it was a crater- was nine kiloblocks away, heralded by a sharp radius of felled trees and scattered snow.

It bored down to bedrock.

That was what they just tried to kill Tommy with.

Tubbo and Tommy excitedly shout about how cool it was while Jack and Niki try their best to feign enthusiasm. They head back to a silo by the Snowchester outskirts and hose down the carriage, the skeleton horse, the radiation suits.

(And Tommy, who retaliated by trying to eat the hose several times as water blasted into his face.)

“I tried!” Niki panickedly insists the moment her and Jack are alone. “I tried, I swear-”

“What do you mean, you tried?” Jack shouts. “This is like a kiloblock wide, how could you not get him at least close enough to- to fucking explode?”

“We were so close,” Niki stresses, voice shaking. “He just kept talking, Jack. He kept talking and talking and he just wandered off, and he- oh my god, he was so annoying.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s the whole reason we were trying-” Jack sputters. “You think that you couldn’t have tried to get him a bit closer?”

Niki’s face reddens as frustrated tears build up in her eyes. “I KNOW! I am sorry, I tried, I really tried. He just kept wandering off and chopping trees.”

Jack looks at Tommy and Tubbo fighting over the house, nose wrinkled with disdain. “Look at him, just playing around.”

“I’m sorry,” Niki says one last time. “I tried my best. We were so close.”

“Don’t say that. It just makes it feel worse.” Jack sighs, running his tired hand across his face. “I saw him walking past Snowchester and I thought we had him.”

He lets out a frustrated groan, hissing through his teeth as he flops back into his chair.

“The explosion was bigger than we thought it’d be,” he murmurs. “A… a lot bigger. I- fuck.” His voice turns quiet, strained. “I don’t think Tubbo was bein’ honest with me.”

Niki sits down on the wooden porch next to Jack’s chair. “When is either of them ever honest, Jack?”

-<>♥<>-

When Niki Nihachu returns to her home Underground, she cries.

All those weeks of work, and for what? An empty crater, an empty grave, an empty stomach. Once again, Niki’s wasted her time on some thankless work that she will never have anything to show for, in the name of yet another stupid man who will never even care that she did it.

Why does she bother hating Tommy when he’ll never learn from it? Why does she bother trying to kill someone who will never stay dead?

Why has woman’s work never been of any account? some half-remembered thought whispers.

Niki’s heard that somewhere before, hasn’t she? She’d read it in that book Techno gave her.

She never got around to finish that chapter.

Why has woman’s work never been of any account? Why in every family are the mother and three or four servants obliged to spend so much time at what pertains to cooking? Because those who want to emancipate mankind have not included woman in their dream of emancipation, and consider it beneath their superior masculine dignity to think “of those kitchen arrangements,” which they have rayed on the shoulders of that drudge-woman.

Niki Nihachu, sweet young baker, sweet young cabinet woman. She gave every labor of love she had to that nation. But who even remembers it was her who’d sewn the first L’manburg flag?

To emancipate woman is not only to open the gates of the university, the law courts, or the parliaments, for her, for the “emancipated” woman will always throw domestic toil on to another woman. To emancipate woman is to free her from the brutalizing toil of kitchen and washhouse; it is to organize your household in such a way as to enable her to rear her children, if she be so minded, while still retaining sufficient leisure to take her share of social life.

It will come to pass. As we have said, things are already improving. Only let us fully understand that a revolution, intoxicated with the beautiful words Liberty, Equality, Solidarity would not be a revolution if it maintained slavery at home. Half humanity subjected to the slavery of the hearth would still have to rebel against the other half.

Niki frowns. She flips back to the first page of the book.

There, written in Techno’s impassive handwriting, the words IT WILL COME TO PASS.

It will come to pass.

Niki wipes away her angry tears, keeps reading, and hopes it’s true.

Chapter Text

In defense of Honey Ade, she’s just been real tired lately, alright?

It’s one thing to feed herself, let alone an entire city. And it’s another thing to do all of this while her flock is shrinking.

Oh, Ghost and Sage won’t tell it to her face. They aren’t even thinking it themselves, not on purpose. But as the Underground expands, their gazes turn ever outward, joining the efforts to build and rebuild upon the old bones of these ancient coven catacombs.

And they’ve been thinking about starting a family. Some of the refugees coming in, they’re too young to be toughing it out on their own, and… Ghost and Sage have the means.

Means that would be better spent away from the nest of Ghost’s old mothers.

And it’s not like Honey’s upset! She’ll have more time with Lemon now that they won’t have the kids so close to home, she- she knew it was always gonna happen eventually. An ageless family business was never going to tie Ghost down forever. But it still aches. Just a bit.

Maybe she finally understands why Philza was so torn up when Wilbur left all those years ago, even as he smiled.

Philza. Another testament to drifting flock. Ever since L’manburg fell apart, she’s hardly heard a thing from him. They saw each other in passing during that odd little interview, but that had been it. Honey guesses that’s a bit on her, this time around. That old man hadn’t exactly been in a state to keep track of things like that, when they’d parted ways.

Maybe it’s a bit hypocritical calling him an old man at this point. She’s gone well past her first century herself, hasn’t she? After decades of stubborn survival, she now has those aches and pains and scars a younger Honey had oh-so wistfully yearned for, a life lived in its entirety. Her body crackles in a way her childhood caretakers would have dropped dead to imagine, and she wouldn’t give it up for the world. Every memory written down to her bones.

But Philza’s always been… older. Acted older, felt older, even looked older, his Death-ridden body more worn than any mortal hardcore could hope to become. For all the world envied the idea of the forever young, a fragile life as ageless as stone, Philza had been happy to be its exception. To not only be old, but grow old.

Honey watches her flock fly away from its nest, and she wonders if that makes it easier, being exactly as old as he feels.

She sighs and wets a mop in a wooden bucket, getting ready to clean up the oven room floor. 

Something moves on her left. “Hi, mate-”

Honey shrieks, half-tripping over her bucket as she instinctively chucks the nearest object her hands could find- for some reason, her brain decided this was a nearby bag of flour, and not the very accessible mop in her other hand. There’s an echoed shriek, and whether by ricochet or some kind of retaliation, flour has also headed in her direction, sinking into her now unfortunately bucket soaked wings.

When the starchy explosion settles, Honey finds herself face to face with a very confused, very damp, and very flour dusted Philza Minecraft.

And he says, “Why? Why would you do this?”

“If you were an oven demon, it would have been really funny,” Honey decides to say.

“Fair enough.”

It’s at this point they slowly realize the gravity of the situation they’ve just created for themselves. 

They are damp and flour covered. Flour and water is more than halfway to dough. Halfway-dough is quickly caking everywhere, including on their feathers.

Honey and Philza stare at eachother in one last moment of terrible solidarity as their wings start to shiver like wriggling sacks of wet mice.

“Please tell me there’s a way to fix this without clipping our feathers,” Philza quickly whispers.

“I have preening oil at home,” Honey says.

“Oh, thank fuck.”

-<>♥<>-

Honey looks up from her wings, watching Philza’s own wings fuss and rattle. “You good?”

“It’s fine, mate,” Philza insists as he pulls his wings back down in front of himself. “Benihime’s just bein’ a bitch.” He sighs as Benihime squirms away. “Beni- Beni, hold still you little shit-” Philza tugs on his wing claws. “YOU DUMB FUCK, I’M TRYING TO HELP YOU!’

Honey snorts as Philza finally forces his wings into place, its blue eyespots wide as its black feathers vibrate with discontent. “What, does it just hate gettin’ baths now?”

“No, it’s just bein’ a bitch.” Philza squints as he turns his focus to the comb in his hands. “It was cryin’ about gettin’ all the gunk out right fuckin’ now, and now that I’m actually doin’ it Beni’s freakin’ out everything bein’ all itchy.” He firmly pats down his feathers. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so itchy if you stopped writhin’ like a worm on a string, dumbass.”

“Y’know some people are actually jealous you have wings like that?” Honey points out. “The amount of weirdos I’ve seen wax poetic about cognitive elytra is unreal.”

Philza almost chuckles. “Clearly those people never had to deal with a roommate.”

The two of them fall into a companionable silence as they clean out their crooked feathers.

“I wish I hugged you harder before I left,” Honey whispers. “I could have been leaving you to die in that house and I wouldn’t even have known.”

“I should have found you sooner,” Philza refutes. “But these months since he died, it just-” Philza’s antlers flick. “I think I get used to it, y’know? I stand up and I’m fine, but then it- it changes all over again. People leave, things get fucked up, there’s new problems every week.” He smiles. “We never get more time, do we? All we get with eternity is more time to lose.”

“And all the people waitin’ on us to be the old guys who know what we’re doin’,” Honey drawls.

Philza’s smile softens as he hesitantly moves his comb over Honey’s wings. “Bet you’re been gettin’ a lot of that down here.”

“No one batted an eye when I was just the corner baker,” Honey nervously laughs. “But now that corner baker’s the one tellin’ all these guys how not to starve to death, and they’re lookin’ at all the oven-runner’s real nice now.” Her hands run over Philza’s wings, checking for any spaces he might not have reached. “Niki’s been takin’ it the hardest, I think. She’s been too useful for her own good, and now people are thinkin’ she’s in charge.”

“Reminds me of when I was in the military,” Philza snarks.

Honey snickers, lightly shoving him away. “Don’t say that, you shitty old man! Y’know we’ve got old kingsguard actually trying do pull rank down here.”

“Oh my gods, really?” Philza’s shoulders shake with mirth, in a way an offhanded comment doesn’t quite deserve. “Oh no, I can actually imagine it. Fuck. That takes me back.”

He ducks his head as he laughs, his hair falling over his face.

Honey tilts her head. “Your hair’s growin’ out again.”

Philza stops and blinks. “Has it?”

“Yeah, it’s gone less choppy an’ everythin’.” Honey takes a pocket mirror out of her inventory. “See?”

Philza’s mouth twitches crookedly as he gently nudges the mirror away. “It’s fine, mate. I believe you. I guess I haven’t been keeping up with my trimmin’ like I used to.”

“Aw, it’s not a bad look,” Honey insists. “Just gotta put it up like-” She leans over, tying his hair half up with some string. “There. Everythin’ in the front’s still too short to handle, but at least now it can’t sneak up on ya from the sides.”

Philza stares at her wide-eyed for a moment.

“I missed you,” he finally says. “After you left to go be with Lemon. Even when I knew you were happy. Did I ever tell you that?”

“I got used to you talkin’ to yourself all the time,” Honey admits. “It was weird, not hearin’ that anymore.”

“Do you have greenhouses down here?” Philza suddenly asks. “You have low-light plants, but do you have anywhere to grow daylight crops?”

Honey scratches her head. “We don’t exactly have any expert architects down here.”

“You should ask me to do some greenhouses,” Philza offers. “Pay me in grilled cheeses.”

“And I’ll shout at you if you forget you’re on the clock,” Honey jokes.

“Exactly. It’s the perfect crime.”

Chapter Text

There’s a grand piano sitting in the center of the Underground.

Don’t ask how it got there- no one could tell the story, not even the people who managed it. It’s just there, and no one really wants to move it again.

It must have been beautiful once. A grand, old thing meant to sit in concert halls, or the plazas of beautiful streets. But that was then, when it was young and beautiful- now it is old and worn. Its fallboard is cracked down the middle, unable to spare the once gleaming ivories from the spiderweb cracks dotting their surface. Its keys lie untuned, its wheels creak and strain with rust, and every fracture is stained with smoke and stardust.

It used to sit in L’manburg’s open theatre, before things fell apart.

It sits in the center of the Underground, defiantly present and never repaired. They dared not disassemble it- not for valuable scrap of wood or metal twine, not even to carry it down into the city, step by stubborn step. No one had the heart.

None of these ramshackle refugees know how to fix pianos.

And what none of them knew was that this piano, which had sat in that theatre for longer than L’manburg had ever lived, belonged to Wilbur Soot. His first mark on that nation before it ever came to be, and in the end, it had been the one he loved more than any grand symphony.

Niki had known. He used to play a song for her every year on her birthday.

She hadn’t known about L’manburg or the Dreamlands when they’d first met. Niki Nihachu had been a 9 year old from a flower forest town in the Ursura server, another average human orphaned the same way so many others far younger than her had been- nothing more or less than the harsh realities of a harsh world. Wilbur Soot had only been an odd, kind man who played a song for her birthday, just because she’d mentioned that’s what day it was.

It turned out he had a son not far from her age, and he was an old friend to the Ade family that had hired her for their bakery. When Fundy was away doing exorcisms and hunts, Wilbur would teach Niki guitar songs. They would even sing. And while no one on the server would ever say she was a good singer, with her obviously foreign dialect and meandering intonation, Wilbur had never minded.

And even if history forgot her, President Soot did not. Not through the wars and the death or the government stresses. They didn’t have a piano for her 13th birthday, but she still had her guitar, and they sang together regardless.

And he destroyed her home.

And he left her.

(And then he died.)

He’d smiled before he went away, putting his wing shawl over her shoulders. And for what? She’d been far too young when they first met for them to ever fall in love, and he never fussed over her the way he did Fundy and Tommy. If they were friends, they never knew each other’s secrets. 

She simply knew his bakery orders by heart, and he could play any song she asked.

So lucky, and for what?

And now nothing beside him remains. The sum total of Wilbur Soot has burned to ashes. There is nothing left for Niki, good or bad, but the songs he gave her and a broken piano that no one can bring themselves to play.

She sits on the stairs by the piano, facing away into the street as she hums a melody under her breath.

Someone sits on the piano seat behind her, as if listening to her half-hearted music. The falltop of the piano opens, and a few halting notes start to be plucked out from the keys. Maybe a child’s finally gotten curious.

…At least, that’s what Niki thought before the piano starts to repeat the same melody that she’s humming. Broken and ever so slightly out of tune, but the same song nonetheless.

“I will always,” Niki haltingly sings, “think of you. I see your face when each day is through. And days go past…”

“Oh, so fast,” someone whispers.

Niki stops. So does the piano.

“But memories, they last,” Niki hesitantly continues. The piano starts again, and she sits up a little straighter. “Summer, winter, year by year-”

“Year by year.”

“I hear this song inside my ear.” Niki tilts her head. “Trying to restart…”

“That’d be smart,” the other singer sadly interjects.

“But thoughts of you haunt my heart,” Niki finishes.

The voice of the piano player is high, haunting - like a funeral hymn come to life. It’s familiar somehow, but she can’t recognize it, not like this.

“No, I don’t wanna be alone now,” Niki starts again as the other voice croons wordlessly to the melody. “Just biding my time. I need somebody dearly- and darling, you’d be sublime.”

It almost reminds her of Wilbur, the way he sang when he wasn’t playing for anything in particular. Quiet and murmured and meandering.

“Spring and autumn,” Niki trails off. “Up and down.”

“Up and down.”

“I keep trying to escape this town! And I just might!”

“I’ll take flight…” The voice pauses for a moment. “...maybe tomorrow, not tonight.”

The falltop closes. Niki hears the tap of a cane leaning against the stone floor, and talons clicking against the piano’s wood.

She turns around just in time to watch black wings and lapis eyespots disappear into the crowd.

Chapter Text

Ranboo’s been doing pretty okay these days.

He lives in a house. He has two cats and a non-zero amount of parrots that he can’t bring himself to get rid of. His lawn is entirely spawnproof. His only neighbors are two old men who also don’t want to be bothered by strangers, but are completely fine with being bothered by him specifically.

And ever since Techno and Philza pointed out that mining is a really productive distraction from intrusive thoughts, Ranboo’s been acquiring a suspicious amount of financial stability. Wealth, even. He might be getting richer than Techno, and that’s really saying something.

Ranboo’s neighbors, everyone. They are just- they are just so weird. 

There was this one time he woke them up at 3 in the morning just to tell them he had a dream that Philza’s spine turned into chocolate. Techno immediately told him to wait until he started having spaghetti dreams, and Philza’s only response was to ask if his spine was good chocolate at least. (It was not. It was basically chocolate flavored sugar blocks.)

The amount of nonsense they tolerate from him is astounding. Really. He could have a sugar farm in his basement and they could not be bothered to give a shit.

He does have a sugar farm, by the way. For very normal reasons. Listen, the guy selling sugarcane at the farmer’s market was really hot, and Ranboo didn’t want to unpack all that, so he decided to never need to buy sugar again. This is a completely reasonable response in Ranboo’s opinion, and he might take up Techno’s offer on a spare farming crystal.

(He will not be taking up Benihime’s offer to find out about Philza’s pumpkin basement. He does not trust the smile on Benihime’s face when talking about the pumpkin basement.)

The point being, things have been going pretty great ever since Ranboo moved in with these guys…

…and he doesn’t trust like that. This is starting to get a little creepy.

He’s known these guys since, what- since last Dodekamon? That’s reaching eight months or so, isn’t it? Eight whole months and nothing weird has happened? Eight months of nothing going to shit?

…Okay, there was the execution, but the fact that it wasn't a dealbreaker just raises so many red flags here.

Things never go this well. Not for this long. Somebody always dies, or a new home gets destroyed, or someone he trusts turns out to be awful, or Ranboo fucks something up and he has to run before he gets shot to death over it.

Techno and Philza seem like they can’t be bothered to do something about Ranboo even if they were paid a whole stacked shulk of emerald blocks. They didn’t even reprimand him over eating a tub of frosting!

Hell, when was the last time either of them had even joked about Ranboo paying rent?

It’s just weird. And a little bit terrifying. Because he’s been waiting for that other shoe to drop. He’s been waiting for the limit.

Because there’s always a limit. Everyone has one- this thing that they pretend is okay, but it’s not. You hit a limit on- on what someone’s okay with, or how much they’ll give, and they show you what happens when you hit it. (Nothing good.) And then it’s fine. Now everyone knows the limit. Now everyone knows what happens when the limit breaks.

Ranboo keeps doing all these batshit crazy things and it’s not hitting the limit. And that means that either Philza and Techno don’t have a limit, or the one they have is… really, really bad.

It’s different and Ranboo doesn’t like it. And that’s why Ranboo’s stalking his neighbors through the window of his house.

This is a completely logical progression of events.

He was staring at Techno for a while, which is a very easy thing to do, because Techno is so large and visible. And then the man himself went over to Ranboo’s house, where they discussed many things- like beds, or whether or not endermen eat foxes (they don’t). They even took a moment to appreciate the cows sitting outside Ranboo’s house. 

That’s a new thing. They let a nearby cow farm’s animals graze around their lands, and in exchange Ranboo gets good beef whenever he wants.

Another new thing is that the mailbox that Techno placed outside got an upgrade(?) and no one’s really sure who did it. Possibly Tommy, who left a note inside the new mailbox.

To the Technoblade communtiy;;:;;

HI! TommyInnit is opening a hotel in Greater Prime for all people!

This is just and merely business

IF YOU ARE INTERESTED:

please come along. bring diamonds and cash money.

NO WRONGENS ALLOWED

NO WIVES ALLOWED

it will be so fun

Come along grand opening sometime in the next moonth not quite sure yet but then again we could all die tomorrow ahahahah

hey technoblade

COME ALONG!

LOTS OF POGS,

Dearest Mr Tommy Danger Kraken Innit

“And he only talks to me again when he wants money,” Techno deadpans. “I don’t know what I expected.”

“He sounds… slightly unwell, if I’m gonna be honest,” Ranboo hesitantly observes.

“That’s normal.” Techno rolls his eyes- at least it looks like he does. It’s hard to tell when he’s got next to no pupil going on up there. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was half racoonlin.”

One of the hounds walks over and butts its head into Techno’s leg. Techno looks up from the letter and stills.

There’s a demon standing out there in the snow.

Techno frowns, a concerningly worried look creeping across his face. He distractedly pushes the letter into Ranboo’s chest. “Go drop this off at Phil’s house, probably. He thinks Tommy’s less annoying than I do. I- uh- I need to go check on something, what on earth is-”

He walks back to his house, muttering to himself. But the demon behind them is still following them, past the house wards. Going by the way Techno doesn’t even pause seeing it, he’s letting that happen on purpose. Techno ushers Ranboo into his half of the bridged cabins and towards the storage basement.

“Hello, BadBoyHalo,” Techno drawls from upstairs.

“Hello, Technoblade.”

Ranboo’s ears perk. That was Bad? Good gods, Ranboo barely even recognized him! The Badlands lord Halo always been tall, sure, even taller than Ranboo on a good day, but lately Bad’s gotten all spindly and spider looking. Almost sickly. The once red embroidery of his nice clothes has washed out to a ratty grey, and there’s an unkempt roughness to his horns.

The Crimson is just like any other drug, Ranboo supposes. It’s only a matter of time before it wears even the classiest people down.

And now Bad’s here, trying to pull Techno away from his house for… something. They talk like they’ve known each other for a while- Techno had mentioned having old friends around spawn, hadn’t he? If Bad was one of those friends, it wouldn’t be odd for them to still be on friendly terms.

Except Bad’s making vague statements about a bright red new ‘landmark’ he really wants Techno to see, and the only thing that fits the description is that… egg thing all the blood vine addicts have been talking about nonstop.

Does- does Techno know Bad’s infected? Oh Prime, what if he doesn’t? Oh no, oh boy, oh, oh jeez, that can’t be good. 

And now Techno’s heading out of his house with his pet polar bear in a harness, and him and Bad are talking about the next scheduled boat out of Neve. This is a kidnapping in progress. Or a murder. Or a robbery. It’s some kind of crime, that’s for sure.

And there’s only one way to protect Techno from crime. 

Doing more crime.

Better.

Chapter Text

So Ranboo definitely didn’t stay home like Techno asked.

Techno supposes, in Ranboo’s defense, that he’d only asked Ranboo to pass a letter to Philza, and technically this wasn’t an order, and from a certain point of view this didn’t imply what Ranboo was supposed to do after he finished doing that.

That still doesn’t excuse stowing away on the same boat that Techno and Bad are on and following them at non-stealthy distances. 

Does Ranboo think Bad’s going to shank Techno in an alleyway or something?

…Oh, yeah, no, that’s exactly what Ranboo would be thinking. Techno forgot Ranboo was just kind of like that.

And while Techno won’t say he’s disappointed in Ranboo for those kinds of assumptions- alas, it is the common culture to fear the obviously mentally ill- it’s still mean. Just a bit! Bad doesn’t look that bad. He just looks… slightly more homeless than he used to. And is very obviously under some kind of addictive magical influence. And yeah, that’s not great, but assuming any of these means Bad’s turned into some kind of violently malicious individual is paranoia at best and profiling at worst.

Techno’s not an idiot. Bad could still stab him. But Techno (literal god) could take a stab from Bad way easier than Bad (guy who looks like he’s about to faint) could take a stab from him, so this isn’t exactly a fair situation. 

Besides, Techno’s more concerned than anything. Even if he couldn’t See the magical ghost of blood vines choking on Bad’s throat like a noose- a very thorny tight noose- Bad looks like a wreck. His thin hooves look sore and chipped, his claws uncut, and he reeks of stress.

Techno suspects that Bad bringing him into something they both know is a trap is a cry for help, or as much as Bad can manage under such tight control. And if it’s not… those thorns aren’t for show. If Bad is bringing Techno somewhere under orders, he’ll be punished if he fails to provide results.

The point being, Techno’s going to have to play along for now until he can get more information.

And so that nothing happens to Ranboo.

Gods, why did Ranboo have to trail after them? It’s Techno’s fault for not being more specific, really- he’s far too used to having Philza, who’s been around him so long that the man just knows everything Techno doesn’t say. None of this is (entirely) Ranboo’s fault.

But Ranboo could be a little more stealthy. Come on, bro. The slight muttering and crunching of leaves were just poor form. Maybe they could have a lesson on stealth after this, and also a conversation about profiling biases. 

As long as Bad doesn’t have a panic attack about it first. Techno can only vaguely allude to it simply being a random wild enderman so many times.

“There’s, uh- there’s been some redecorating around here,” Bad awkwardly says as they approach the Prime path. “If you haven’t noticed.”

Techno pulls Steve closer and pats the polar bear’s fur. “It’s very red.”

Very red is an understatement. Everything that even gets near the Badlands is getting crushed by vines as thick as tree trunks. Even the walls of Lemon City are starting to creep with infection. The only thing staying untouched is the path itself- there’s a harsh perimeter where the vines seem to hit an invisible wall.

Even still, just staring at the infection makes his insides curdle. 

“Man, these weeds are really goin’ everywhere, huh?” Techno casually says. “Whenever I have to come down here, I always hack at ‘em with a hoe.”

Bad blinks. “Oh,” he flatly says. “That was you.”

“Yeah, hoes and sickles with like, Fortune and Silk Touch?” Techno clicks his tongue. “Clears ‘em instantly. I was thinking of making a bunch and mass distributin’ them.”

Bad nods slowly. “You know what? That’s… an interesting thought, and we’ll revisit that.”

“Yeah, we’ll circle back.” Techno curls his hand on Steve’s harness. “Come on, Steve. Who’s a good boy?”

-<>♥<>-

Ranboo was prepared to see a lot of things on this stealth mission. He was not prepared for the massive vine bloom inside the L’manburg crater, rooting right against the bedrock. At least Techno’s taking his kidnapping like a real trooper. He’s whacking at vines with a hoe.

But then Techno had Steve wait by a poster while him and Bad went down a tunnel. A narrow, highly visible tunnel. This is not conducive to stealth at all.

Ranboo widens his stance to a crouch and pats Steve on the head. “I’m switching to gamer mode,” he gravely whispers.

-<>♥<>-

The problem with trying to commune with mysterious magic plants, it’s part of this overall problem Techno has.

He’s a little hard of hearing. Most of the time it’s not that big of a deal, really, he barely has to think about it. Been like that for most of his life, he’s worked around it, he reads lips, he copes. Most of the time, he barely even has to think about it. But he’s not hard of hearing because of anything going on inside his ears.

Anyone would be half-deaf if there was an entire amphitheatre screaming in their heads at random intervals. And the closer he’s gotten to the heart of this Crimson infestation, the louder that chorus in his head has been screaming.

Techno lets out a frustrated snort as he tries to sift through the auditory traffic.

BAD

  EGG BAD

VERY SUS

           Egg? EgG? eggE?

Is it trying to replace us lmao

                      Techno you don’t need its help

Techno scoffs. Bad had given an… interesting sales pitch claiming that the Crimson could dissolve mortal governments, as if both of them weren’t aware that the thing would simply replace power with itself.

We are stronger

       WE KNOW IT, WE KNOW IT RUN RUN RUN-

Ranboo’s still here

NO KINGS

        NO KINGS

?uoy wonk I oD .railimaf kool uoY

Techno’s hand stills on the surface of the Egg.

EAT IT

  Ew kill it

         Cringefail + doesn’t speak real words + ratio

               ANTARCTIC EMPIRE RULES THE WORLD

.uoy ot ti evig lliw I .edalbonhceT ,tnaw uoy tahw em lleT

Run

 Leave

    LEAVE NOW

Who dis? We don’t know nobody

A frustrated growl builds in Techno’s mouth. He’s able to hear something, but past the noise he already has to deal with, it’s as good as useless. He presses his hand more firmly against the surface, his magic skating across the golden leaves of the vines.

-eT

-c-c-c-c-c-ceT

         ‘ceT

‘ceT

‘ceT ih ,etam ,iH

C-

C-

T-

Technoblade.

I can kill that which cannot die.

Techno sharply tilts his head and-

“Bad, what are you doing?”

-<>♥<>-

Captain Puffy’s been a lot of things in the short memory of her life, only some of which she had to compulsively lie about to achieve.

Construction wasn’t that much of a stretch when she was strong. She definitely wasn’t lying about knowing her flowers when she got picked up as a florist, and listen, does anybody really need qualifications to work at a McPuffy’s? Working a fryer isn’t exactly an apprenticed skill.

There was getting knighted in Greater Prime, but that was only lying from a certain point of view. She passed the minimum combat skills, didn’t she? And she really was there helping those two times L’manburg fell apart.

The point being, any of her ‘lying’ and ‘scamming’ isn’t actually hurting anyone if she can (mostly) deliver on her promises. It’s a victimless crime! And besides, she does it for an important reason.

Survival.

How could she ever have been honest in the first place? She has no memory of her ‘real’ skills to fall back on, only hazy gut instinct and fading muscle memory. Everyone else gets to have a rich life full of love and family and history. Puffy does not. Puffy has to take what she can get.

When she loses her son, she survives. She learns what happened to him, accepts his absence, and she moves on. Foolish and his family of Totems are strange creatures, but they’re kind, and Puffy thinks they’re trying to survive too. She doesn’t mind being their family, even if it’s only by accident.

So when the world starts turning red, she thinks about her family. She thinks of Foolish and his children. She thinks of Babel, wherever he is now. She wants them to survive.

She creates a way for them to survive. She creates a resistance, and fuck anybody who says she doesn’t know what she’s doing or how to lead. No one needs qualifications to give a shit about other people.

But resistance cannot live on anger alone. It needs solutions, it needs knowledge, it needs-

-it needs Blood. It needs Covenant. And how fortunate, that the Blood of the Covenant lived within the server’s reach. Puffy had been trying to contact him and finally narrowed down a town in northern Neve that could make sure a message got to him.

Just her luck. Looks like Bad intercepted it.

Not that he seems to be doing well with the audience he’s stolen. It’s poor luck that his little religion just rebranded itself as an empire right before trying to secure the allyship of an openly anarchist god.

“Puffy,” Bad hisses, tone still airily friendly despite the obvious strain on his face, “you’re messing this up for me.”

Puffy shoulders her machete. “That sounds like a personal problem.”

“The Egg doesn’t want you here either.”

Puffy scoffs. “You know what?” She hacks her blade at some of the vines crawling from the ceiling. “The feeling’s mutual. But I’m here for Techno, not for you.”

“Look- Techno.” Bad’s axe drags limply against the ground. “Empires are a means to an end. You know who’s in charge of an empire, Techno? An emperor! And you know what? The emperor gets to declare whatever they want-”

“That sounds like a government, Bad,” Puffy deadpans.

“This is like, the single most government thing I’ve ever heard,” Techno flatly comments.

“No, no, no!” Bad’s spider-thin body leans forward to peer at Techno’s face. “I want you to picture an empire that you, Techno, would be in control of, that you could say, hey guys, I’m now in control, and guess what? No more empire.”

But the nerve of him, honestly. He should know better than to offer the Emperor Snow a throne, of all things. Techno’s sharp smile looks prepared to smite Bad on the spot for it. Not that Bad seemed ever wiser.

“Why would he just not have an empire to start with, then?” Puffy loudly asks.

“I could have just made an empire a long time ago if I was interested in seizin’ power,” Techno bluntly points out.

“The Egg can help you achieve whatever your goal is,” Bad continues to insist. “You don’t like government? We could disband the Eggpire right now, but all you gotta do, Techno? You just gotta join the Egg.”

Techno loudly crunches on a golden carrot. “This- this just seems kinda sus, I’m not gonna lie.”

“No! You just spend a little time, down here next to the Egg, and eventually you will come to love the Egg just as much as I do.”

Techno raises his eyebrows. “Is this like a cult-”

“Okay!” Puffy pushes Bad aside and steps forward. “You heard Bad’s side of the story. Mine’s super simple. I think we just turn the Egg into an omelette and call it done there.”

Techno nods sagely. “True, true. Omelette arc pog.” He peers at the various offerings of meat and expensive spices that have been laid out among the leaves of the infestation, slowly being absorbed. “I mean, people have been feedin’ it steak, there’s bound to be some good ingredients. That’s a good breakfast right there.”

Puffy snorts.

“Okay, quick question.” Techno adjusts the comically small glasses on his large piglin face. “If it’s an egg- what will hatch out of it?”

Bad stays silent for a moment.

“Let’s not worry about that,” he says.

“I feel like we should,” Puffy refutes.

“This seems a little important, honestly.”

Bad’s eyes snap towards the back of the cave. “HEY! WHO’S THERE? I SEE YOU!” His head tilts with a sharp crack as he stalks forward. “The Egg sees you, too.”

Chapter Text

The thing about Lord Halo was that people like him. He’s nice.

That’s one of the things Ranboo picked up early about this server. People like the Halos.

Captain Sapnap, the young dashing heir, the loud and friendly leader of the Kingsguard. Skeppy, as rare as his appearances were, forever tied to a love of games and festivities, often heard on the radio commentating over sports.

But most of all, no one would ever dare dislike BadBoyHalo, Badlands native or not.

He would volunteer in kitchens, open his house for holiday festivals, he would give out sweets to strangers just for the hell of it. It was practically a running joke that anyone would trust this literal demon with their first-born child.

A devoted lord, a doting father, a pious man never absent from Shrinesday service, if he wasn’t doing sermons of comfort himself.

People like BadBoyHalo. In the kind of way that months later, would remind Ranboo of the way people like Philza.

“You can’t hide from me, little muffin head,” Bad sweetly croons, as if Ranboo were a child hiding in the church rafters. “Come out.”

Ranboo ducks down into a shallow water pool, trying to curl up small enough for his cloak to cover his body. Even then, a simple rain cloak isn’t a suit of armor- it was never meant to protect him from a constant onslaught of water, and he can feel his hubris in the growing sting around his feet, the burn in his eyes as he desperately tries not to breathe.

And he fails.

Whether through panic or just not holding his breath hard enough, Ranboo runs out of air. His mandibles painfully force open on reflex, and he bites back a pained sound as the water forces its way into his nose, his sensitive teeth, the tender flesh of his gums. The last of his breath forces out in an exhale, bubbles peppering his face, and he wastes it wondering if drowning would even hurt less, had he not been an enderman.

A black shadowy hand pulls Ranboo’s collar above the water before he can breathe.

Ranboo sniffles and gasps, blinking away acid-like tears from his eyes, only to find Bad staring down at him with a delighted squinting smile.

“Come here, Techno,” Bad happily lilts. “I have something for you.”

Shit.

Ranboo watches Techno and some tall ramlin stranger warily trudge into view. They’d almost been out of the cave by the time Bad called them- if it wasn’t for Ranboo, they wouldn’t still be in this situation right now.

Shame mottles his face in uneven colors as Bad continues to drag him along by his soaked collar, and he’s got little other choice but to follow. Bad is bigger, stronger, and obviously more dangerous- even Ranboo’s not stupid enough to take on such a strongly bound demon in a fight. And even if he was, then what? Bad’s not in control of himself. Ranboo would be hurting an innocent man.

“Have you met my friend, Ranboo?” Bad coyly asks.

“No- no- no, I don’t t-think I have,” Ranboo stammers.

Ranboo desperately looks back to Techno- and Techno, despite it all, comes to his defense, pulling him away from Bad’s grasp. And Bad is… weirdly okay with this. By the time Ranboo stops panicking about what’s going to happen next, they’re all sitting together in some kind of lunch table, awkwardly eating steak sandwiches.

“So, Techno.” Bad puts his hand on the table. “You’ve been to visit the Egg firsthand. You’ve been there. What do you think? You heard what the Egg had to offer.”

Ranboo pauses at his sandwich. The Egg was speaking to Techno? That’s… mildly horrifying.

Techno, for his part, seems to barely care. “I dunno. It spoke, like- Latin or something.”

“You weren’t picking up on the meaning at all?” Bad presses.

Techno pushes Steve’s snout away from his food. “If it wants me to understand it, it could speak more comprehensively.”

Steve lets out a small groan.

“What did you hear, Bad?” Puffy accusingly asks. (Puffy, that was her name. RIght.)

“Look, I heard the Egg make Techno a very, very good offer.” Bad’s white eyes flick back to Techno. “Anything that you want, Techno. Anything that you want.”

Techno gives his polar bear a firm pat. “I’ve been pretty good recently, honestly.”

“Your heart’s desire, Techno,” Bad disbelievingly continues. “You’re telling me there’s absolutely nothing you can think of?”

“Nah, I’m just kind of vibin’. Listen, if the Egg hatches, and this huge fox comes out, that’d be awesome.” Techno gestures to Steve. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m a fan of very large animals.”

Ranboo wonders if he counts as a large animal. He’s basically an animal, right? Most people are some kind of animal. Except for dryads. Those aren’t animals. Those are plants tricked into thinking.

Are endermen even animals? Ranboo thinks they’re… probably animals. But what if they’re not? Are they spirits? But there’s animal spirits, aren’t there?

Maybe… maybe endermen are weird robots. Robots aren’t animals.

…Wait, fuck, no, Philza’s got robot bits and he’s still an animal. Is- is Benihime an animal? Is sentient transforming goop an animal? Ranboo wonders what that feels like. It probably feels like feathers. He’s never touched feathers before, he thinks. It’s basically just left hair, right? Is it soft-

“Ranboo, what do you want?”

Ranboo freezes as Bad stares at him expectantly. “I- to not be involved, honestly.”

Bad leans closer. “Well, the Egg wants you to be involved. In fact, I might go so far to say that it needs you to be involved!”

“I don’t think it does,” Ranboo awkwardly cringes.

Bad turns to Techno. “Techno. You said you like Ranboo, right?”

(He did?)

“Eh, he’s alright,” Techno underwhelmingly allows.

“He’s alright?” Bad smiles. “So you wouldn’t want anything to happen to Ranboo.”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh… no, not particularly.”

“That’s good.” Bad stares at Techno for a long moment. “That’s good.”

And then Ranboo falls.

-<>♥<>-

Technoblade has outlived every student he’s ever had.

The bad ones are more memorable. The betrayals, the lies, the stupid well-intentioned mistakes that get them killed. Those ones burn out in a blaze of grief and glory all in one.

But the ones that hurt the most are the good ones. The truly good ones. The kind ones.

Those unfortunate ones that value the life of an immortal teacher more than that of a replaceable student.

It takes Techno a few moments to realize that Ranboo hasn’t joined them. (Not yet.) When the chaos clears, and Bad has escaped to somewhere else to relish his short-lived victory, Techno looks down the steep tunnel that Ranboo’s been thrown into, water pooled under the enderman’s feet. 

He’s not dead.

“Do we need a rope or something?” Puffy asks.

“There’s water down there,” Techno dismisses. “I can trident him out. Ranboo, hang tight! I’m comin’ down!”

-<>♥<>-

Wells are strange, aren’t they? Little tunnels to water, bored straight into the ground. Entire villages, entire castles, can be built around these simple structures.

All for a drop of water.

It’s such a morbid thought to an enderman, for anyone to crave so much water.

The structure that Ranboo has fallen into must have been a well once, but it’s beyond useless now- its lower levels infested with blood vines, drying pools thick with sediment, salt, and iron-laden red.

The vines around him are full of too many sharp thorns for Ranboo too climb out, and trying to silk touch them would just risk the thorns falling onto his own body. He can’t even teleport out- if he’s even able to teleport in the first place, he can’t remember how, and even if he did, he doubts he could manage that much of a vertical distance.

There is no way for Ranboo to get out on his own. He needs to wait for someone to help him out.

“Techno?” Ranboo tentatively calls out. “Te-”

Ranboo coughs violently as something slides down his throat, and a red grainy liquid dribbles out of his nose. He must have accidentally swallowed something as he fell. He did kind of land face first.

Wait. Wait, this well is infected. This water has blood vine stuff in it, he can’t just have it coughing up in his lungs!

Ranboo scrabbles for a corner of the well water that might be a little less deep than the others and tries to cover up his mouth in a handkerchief.

What’s the matter, little prince? A crackling voice whispers in his ear. Afraid you might catch your death? 

Oh, great. Another dumb voice in his head to join all the other ones. 

Don’t insult yourself. I’m just as real as you are.

All the more reason to ignore it. Ranboo stares stubbornly at the wall, ears straining to hear for anyone else coming down to help.

You need no help. I am here to help you.

“With what?”

I can change the body and the mind, given time. Why, if you so wished it, I could make sure you never Sleep again.

Ranboo freezes.

You’re afraid, aren’t you, little prince? Afraid of the call of your lost kin, and what it has taken from you.

“You can’t fix my memories,” Ranboo rasps. “No one can.”

Who’s to say? At the very least, we could keep you from losing more. Wouldn’t that be worth it? Just for a while. The vines curl closer, its voice going even quieter. And wouldn’t it be nice, to be part of something that lasts? That cannot betray you?

Ranboo starts to shake.

And look what you’ve done without your wits, it suddenly hisses. What you’ve done without me. Stealing precious treasures, destroying the homes of others? YOU ARE LOST.

“I didn’t do that,” Ranboo shakily pleads. “No, stop-”

Lend me your ears, little prince. I will make you more than you will ever be. Give yourself to me, and your mind will never know Sleep again.

“No, no, no-”

The voice drowns in a new, bell-like sound as a bright golden light suddenly floods the well. The thorny vines skitter back into the stones, hissing with distaste.

Ranboo flinches as a hooved hand lands on his shoulder.

“Woah, hey, it’s me. It’s just me, Ranboo.” Techno wraps an arm around Ranboo’s thin body as he brandishes his trident. “We’re gettin’ out of here, alright?”

Ranboo mutely nods.

“Okay. Just hang tight, kid. I’ll take care of this.” 

With little more warning than that, Techno bends his knees and leaps, a violent spray of water carrying them upward out of the well. Ranboo’s knees buckle as soon as he hits solid land.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay,” Techno softly says as he presses a fire charm into Ranboo’s hands, drying out the stinging water. “Bad tried to pull a fast one, it’s not your fault.”

“He tried to hurt you because of me,” Ranboo keens. “You wouldn’t have stayed with him if I didn’t get caught cus’ I was stupid-”

“Hey.” Puffy’s body sidles into view. Ranboo tries to focus on any of her features. Mm. Shiny horns. Big hair… thing. Yep. “You shouldn’t have expected someone to attack you or use you to hurt someone else. That’s not your fault. Okay?”

Ranboo slowly nods. Techno’s frown softens as he pulls Ranboo up to his feet.

“Let’s go see if there’s a pharmacy nearby, okay?” Techno offers. “I don’t want you walking back to Neve with water burns.”

“Don’t tell Phil,” Ranboo whispers. “He’s gonna kick me in the shins.”

“I mean, I also walked into a magic trap with you, so-” Techno claps him across the back. “I won’t tell him if you won’t. Let’s get some candied melons from the market and see if that can bribe him into not preening us to death over this.”

Chapter Text

Listen, it’s not like Niki’s turning into an anarchist or anything.

She’s not.

Techno just says very sensible things and has lots of good advice about independent homesteading and mutual aid. If Niki really is being radicalized by an evil terrorist or whatever, it’s sure being cleverly hidden behind long lessons about food preservation and the husbandry of small animals.

She is learning… so much about raising chickens and rabbits for food in limited land space. And potatoes. Because for some reason, tubers of all things are among the hardiest and sabotage-resistant crops in existence, and that’s very ideal for people trying to repel the state.

Or. Y’know. Live underground away from all the plant cults.

The point being, Techno knows a lot of things that Niki and the Underground actually need, and he never minds Niki asking follow-up questions. So when Techno suggests that there’s a mutual friend that Niki could meet up with about blood vine resistant plants, Niki takes it at face value.

Niki expects any number of things from someone that Techno calls a mutual friend.

Niki does not expect this mutual friend to be her ex-girlfriend Captain Puffy.

“You, uh-” Niki awkwardly appraises Puffy’s dark clothes and wine red jacket. “You got new clothes.”

Puffy wipes her sunglasses with her shirt. “You changed your hair.”

Niki lets out a nervous laugh, running over her pink and orange locks. “I guess I did.”

Puffy’s ear flicks, her nose twitching silently. “Can we just start over?” she finally blurts out.

Niki lets out a strained breath. “We really fell off, didn’t we?”

“Between you running away from the country, and Doomsday-”

“-and now all the other shit with the Egg-”

“-we just haven’t had-”

“-time,” they both say.

They stare at each other for a moment before looking away, soft laughter caught on their mouths.

“You’ve been vandalizing propaganda posters without me?” Niki teases. “Whatever happened to being a florist?”

“Had to get hobbies after my favorite bakery disappeared,” Puffy sadly smiles. “And… and my son.”

Niki puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh no. What happened?”

“He’s alright,” Puffy immediately says. “He’s with his real family now.” Her bright smile pushes a squint into her green eyes. “It’s been weeks. I’m over it.”

(No, she’s not. She’s lying.)

Puffy drags a hand over her face. “Anyway! Plants!”

Niki blinks. “Right. Plants. Techno said you have some?”

“So y’know cocoa beans?” Puffy starts. “Turns out they have this thing called caffeine in it that makes shit weirdly resistant to blood vine stuff, and I know this guy who knows this other guy HBomb-”

“You know HBomb?”

“-and he trades with this guy who has a garden of these weird tree berries he swears he saw in a desert on this one server, and it’s just… full of so much caffeine.”

Niki nods like she followed any of that. “So, how does it work?”

“You can fertilize the plants with it, feed the berries to animals, and the berries have these weird… beans inside them that you can steep to make a drink out of. Apparently it’s called coffee.” Puffy shrugs. “Sounds fake as hell, but it works. Animal infections have gone way down and it’s helping people who got accidentally exposed. I’m out smuggling bushes to different places, tryin’ to get people into it. Gonna stop by my son’s place later.”

Niki stares at her for a moment.

“Different son,” Puffy clarifies. “Nice guy, runs a temple on the Denetyr coast. Kind of in the middle of nowhere, but he still wants to be safe.”

“Is there a lot of people there?” Niki hesitantly asks.

“Not really,” Puffy easily says. “It’s kind of lonely out there.”

“Do you think his temple could take some people? Who are trying to be safe from the infection?” Niki lets out a strained chuckle. “The Underground is starting to get a little crowded.”

Puffy hums. “Why don’t you come with me? For the shipment. And we can talk to him about it together.”

Niki shrinks back slightly. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to waste your time-”

“Until this whole Eggpire bullshit calms down, I’ve got nothing better to do,” Puffy bluntly says. “So, like, if you’re free?”

Niki thinks of uncleaned furnaces in the Underground, of food stores that need to be checked, of new faces that need orientation, of chickens that need to be fed, of beacons that need to be set.

Niki thinks of everything else she could be doing right now, and thinks of five other people that would easily take her place.

“You know what?” Niki decides. “I am.”

-<>♥<>-

Nihachu: going out with a friend. Probably back late or tomorrow

honeyarsonist: oh? What for?

Nihachu: drugs and illegal immigrants

honeyarsonist: thank fuck i thought it might have actually been something bad

Chapter Text

You two seem very close! You are wives?

Niki freezes, looking awkwardly at the barrel chested beluga moblin steering the ship. “Uhhhh-”

The white whalin lets a quacking laugh out of their blowhole. Joke, a webbed hand signs. Only joke. Many people used to come here after they wed, to bless their future children.

Niki tilts her head. “Isn’t this place new?”

Very old, the whalin corrects. Just not always on land, yes? Sometimes it is under the sea, sometimes up here with the sand. Depends on who calls for him.

“Him?”

The Shark King, the whalin clarifies. Name-breaker. He claims he is not a god, but his body is forged by their touch.

Niki is starting to have some questions about Puffy’s new kid.

“LAND HO!” Puffy shouts as she runs along the side of the deck. “We’re coming up on the coast!”

The first thing Niki sees isn’t really the coast itself- it’s the massive gold-capped pyramid of sandstone, tearing out of the ocean and piercing into the clouds. The humble houses and trade buildings lining the shore, all prepared to greet the colorful incoming boats, almost pale in comparison.

As they land, Niki stares wide eyed at the motley crowd. The expected traffic of seafolk and testificates is undercut with revenants, and lots of them. The tell-tale glassy eyes of Rot survivors- humans, elfins, testificates, and even piglins- seem to outnumber the living.

Goodbye, friends, the whalin good-naturedly dismisses with a lift of their hat. I go take care of the shipments. You tell the Shark King that Kotaro-of-the-Pier sent you here.

“You’re a saint, Kotaro!” Puffy declares as she hops off the ship.

Kotaro’s mouth breaks open with a harsh, toothy grin.

“Puffy,” Niki slowly says, “did you adopt a mob boss? I’m not mad, I just want to know.”

“I’m pretty sure the only mob this guy knows is the animal kind,” Puffy bluntly says. “He’s too busy figuring out what colors to put on murals to bother with criminal stuff, and-”

“Hey, GRAMPS!” A young voice shouts. “What’s cracking?”

Niki whirls around to face a literal golden child with silver hair, emerald eyes, and a shark-toothed smile. From a distance he looks like a lanky little boy, but as he runs towards them, skirt and sandals swishing against the desert sand, he turns out to be almost Niki’s height.

As for Puffy, she takes the tall child- and abrasive greeting- in stride, leisurely laughing down at him from her own prodigious height. “You’ll be what’s cracking if you keep that up, Junior. Did you leave your sister behind somewhere?”

“Did not!” Junior flips open his satchel to reveal another gold child, a sleepy round toddler that looks like she’s been plucked from the arms of a marble statue. “Dad said I had to watch her for a bit.”

“Where is your dad, anyways?” Puffy asks. “He didn’t forget I was coming, did he?”

“He had to do a shift dance! But he’s almost done, I think.”

“Shift dance?” Niki confusedly repeats.

Puffy snorts. “Oh, you’ll see. Lead the way, Junior.”

They walk on a central road of marbled tile. As they walk through this city of undead, they pass great vaulted structures of austere sandstone, every pillar and wall etched with thousands of tiny intricate flourishes. Not even the walls are allowed to remain idle, their surfaces lined with expensive panels of lapis, glowstone, and sea lanterns. Hanging gardens bloom amidst giant statues of multi-headed snakes while temple cats lounge along the stairs and pillars, leering at them with piercing eyes as they pass.

Niki can’t help but feel that this sort of place should not exist. This impossible tribute to countless hands, and the countless centuries those hands must have built in- utterly unimaginable.

It makes her feel so… small.

The entrance to the main temple is heralded by black hellhounds painted into the walls, titanic statues of muscled bodies serving as the first sentinels to greet those that dare step forth. 

It is there, in the shadow of a beaconed pyramid and under the watchful stone eyes of a sphinx, that the Shark King dances.

Shark King is certainly a fitting title. His grey gloves and boots are rough like sharkskin, and his headdress takes the shape of a shark’s glaring maw, as if it perpetually threatened to swallow his head. Every step he takes on the golden scarab beneath his feet half-threatens to shake the earth in time to the music around him. Even if he wasn’t surrounded by inchlings, he would still be a giant in every sense of the word.

Puffy barely holds back a laugh as Niki stares in shock at the spectacle.

But the music eventually ends, as all things do. The gigantic man claps his hands toward the sky.

ALRIGHT, DOOZERS! he cheerily exclaims. PACK IT UP. I NEED #1-500 ON INSPECTION, #3-4K ON THE GARDENS, LAST 900 CHECKING THE SHIPMENTS, AND… He takes a deep breath. 1K, GET SOME CHOCOLATE ON STOVE FOR DINNER TONIGHT FOR EVERYONE. YOU GUYS EARNED IT.

The inchlings erupt into riotous cheers, their insectoid wings rattling out of their shells. Leather boots and gloves get put back onto tiny limbs, and various color-coded hard hats find their way onto fluffy, four eyed heads. They quickly scatter into different directions- some going back into the city, others flying into the sky, and an alarming number disappearing between the bricks and tiles in the walls.

“You done, Foolish?” Puffy shouts.

Foolish turns around on his feet, square pupils almost gleaming as he looks down at his two guests. OH, HEY! As he steps forward to greet them, his body starts to shrink- down, down down, down until Puffy comes up to his chest instead of his knees. “Did I miss your landing, or did you get here early?”

“Eh, a bit of both,” Puffy admits. “Kotaro always gets us going fast. You know how it is when dolphin’s grace kicks in.”

“Fair enough!” Foolish turns his eyes to Niki. “Who’s your lady friend?”

“Um- hi,” Niki squeaks out. (Gods, he’s huge. She doesn’t really know where to look.) “I’m Niki. I’m across the water from you at the east. Puffy was saying you could offer some protection? From the blood vines?”

Foolish’s friendly smile drops. “Oh, I see. Then this isn’t such a friendly visit after all. My apologies.” He sighs and scoops his children up into his arms. “Still, you came all this way! Why don’t we talk this out over some food?”

Dinner is a humble and communal affair that seems to draw the entire temple together. Piglins, doozers, testificates, seafolk, and endermen all get served out of the same large batch of biscuits and stew. Even the temple cats get their share allotted in painted porcelain bowls, while skeleton horses mysteriously guzzle at the meat put in their troughs.

Foolish breaks off a chocolate biscuit for his daughter while she sits in his lap. “So, protection. What are we looking at? Wards, defensive architecture? I did some dragon warding statues for Kinoko recently.”

“I was hoping more for shelter,” Niki confesses. “Our city is built out of coven catacombs, it’s getting too crowded from all the people escaping the pandemic. We want to have somewhere else people can go instead of just turning them away.” She looks out at the bustling crowd of the temple. “But it looks like you’re already very populated here, too. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Foolish’s face falls. “No, not at all! My temple has plenty of room, if that’s what you’re worried about! I’m a peaceful man, Niki, I’m not going to turn away anyone who needs a place to stay.”

“This is obviously holy ground,” Niki insists. “I don’t want to encourage people to disturb it.”

Foolish braces his free hand on his knee. “This is my temple. As long as people respect this place, I can protect anyone that takes shelter here.”

“Even from the Crimson?” Niki presses.

Foolish laughs. “Look around you, human. Do you see blood vines here? Anything that makes it past the wards is burned to soul ash by day’s end.”

Chapter Text

Dr. Drops-by Ponk

40 Fino Lane

Lemon City, Greater Prime, Dreamlands

Doctor,

Your last mandatory bi-weekly BVI (Blood Vine Infection) test came back positive. This means that the amount of BVI traces detectable in your system has been deemed to go beyond a safe, benign, or asymptomatic threshold.

In the interest of patient safety and in compliance with our current BVI guidelines, you are not permitted to enter Lemon City medical facilities except as a patient, and you will not have any medical authority until such time that you have tested negative for three (3) consecutive bi-weekly tests.

In the meantime, please follow pandemic guidelines, self-quarantine as directed, and seek medical attention when necessary. The well-being of our medical professionals is more important than ever.

In light of your absence, and due to their specific qualifications to address the current pandemic, Doctor Sisu of the Curses and Esoteric Injuries Office has been unanimously promoted to Acting Head Doctor by the Dreamlanders Medical Council.

-<>♥<>-

To

Lemon City Medical Personnel

By the mandate of Acting Head Doctor Sisu, the Curses & Esoteric Injuries Office and Potions & Poisons Department will now be the primary authorities for future BVI research. All data collected from other departments will now be reported to these two for more dedicated processing.

A research paper is being compiled to send to Mojang. This pandemic is potentially symptomatic of a greater server problem that could spread beyond the Dreamlands if left unchecked.

-<>♥<>-

To

Lemon City Medical Personnel

An anonymous personnel member has notified us that several of their confirmed BVI+ patients have been arrested for trying to infect food and water supplies, and been sent to Pandora’s Vault. A Lemon City representative will be sent to inspect Pandora’s Vault to ensure it follows BVI quarantine guidelines.

-<>♥<>-

To

Awesam

40 Fino Lane

Lemon City, Greater Prime, Dreamlands

By decree of The King, you are kindly being asked to pay your OVERDUE taxes.

These taxes will go towards benefitting the greater good and the Dreamlands as a whole!

Failure to pay your taxes will result in…

Seizure or forcible dissolution of private properties from which you derive profits, equal to the sum owed.

Should you hope to avoid this consequence you shall deposit ONE of the following:

- 2 Stacks of Iron

- 1 Stack of Gold

- 16 Diamonds

- 1 Netherite Ingot

-<>♥<>-

To

Big Man Sam

40 Fino Lane

Lemon City, and everyone knows where the fuck that is

Sam, I’ve been really thinking about it. I know I said I wouldn’t visit Hunter again after the whole bullshit he spouted last time, but I did say I’d see him again, I GUESS. Wouldn’t do nobody any good if I pussied out.

Besides. Closure and all that. How’s the start of Triamon sound?

-Tommy (Innit)

Chapter Text

It’s as though Ranboo was two different people.

No, that’s not quite right is it? He was only ever Ranboo. Just the one.

But that Ranboo is… a character of sorts. Whether he means to or not. A character written into different stories, an actor playing on different sets. And whether Ranboo, character, means to or not, every role produces a mask, adapted to the script around him.

He’s long since accepted that there may be nothing beneath the mask- nothing that people would ever understand, anyways. He can only choose which masks he prefers to play.

Ranboo wears the faces of Neve and Snowchester quite comfortably these days.

Snowchester is familiar. It’s a bit like the more suffocating parts he used to play- full of pre-packaged lines and dress codes and pretense. Comfortable pretense, of course. They put on their coordinated clothes and wear their horn rings and say their loving lines like the world’s longest running private joke. There are worse things to pretend to be than family, and him and Tubbo both agreed to it. This dollhouse of domesticity is a small comfort against the terrifying ‘real world’ their elders have so graciously left them with.

Neve is not scripted. If it is, it’s written in a language too young for Ranboo to understand.

And thinking of Neve- who he becomes in Neve- always brings him back to thinking of Techno and Philza. They’re the senior actors in this set piece, after all.

But from there, the metaphor begins to fall flat. A senior actor would instruct their junior in the finer details, or at least keep a fellow actor up to speed. The show must go on.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

Whatever song and dance these two gods have made for themselves, Ranboo doesn’t know what lines he has in it. They don’t seem to expect him to have any part in it at all. They exist. So does he. That is that. But he wants to understand. He is… trying to understand.

It’s been so long since he’s really wanted to know someone, and nothing more. Not to be safe, not to survive. Just to want, and know that he could.

“-I’ve got, ohhh, just a spare 32 ingots on me, mate,” Philza leisurely drawls out. “It’s not like they allow proper iron farms on servers as rural as this. Sadge, innit?”

“Don’t I know it,” the Warden of Pandora’s Vault dryly crackles on the other end of the speaker.

Oh. Ranboo had been told about this once, hadn’t he? Ham radio. Self-made bursts of signals that belonged to no station, only bored people with a technological streak and half a mind to browse. Philza had been the one to say it was a great way to get quick trades, wasn’t it?

A crow rifles through an enderchest, and Philza loosely inclines his head, eyes closed. “32 iron ingots and 22 iron blocks. I just checked. What’s it to you?”

Someone audibly leans forward on the other end of the line. “How many diamonds do you want?”

“I don’t need or want diamonds, though.”

Philza’s relaxed posture and distant smile look bored, dismissive. But if that had really been the case, his ears wouldn’t have been so sharply perked, his long feathered tail thumping a slow rhythm against the floor.

“What do you want?” the Warden asks. “I have essentially everything.”

An admission of need. An admission of budget. A mistake. Philza’s grin catches Ranboo from across the room, scarred eyes full of something sharp. 

(Elytron are predators, Lagos once told him. Ranboo had stared at a gaggle of overfriendly, overwhelmingly passerine children, and back to Lagos again. He often turned a skeptical eye to Lagos’ little lessons, when he Walked enough to remember. But now, sometimes, Ranboo wonders.)

(Ranboo, when he Walks, wonders if Lagos was thinking of Angels.)

Philza lets out an idle noise, feet kicking aimlessly back and forth. “Got any god apples?” he coyly starts, as if everyone in the household doesn’t have a personal specimen sitting in their enderchests.

“Just got the one,” the Warden shoots down.

“Hm. Totems?”

“I’d rather keep mine, if that’s alright with you. How about enderpearls?”

“Please. I have tons of those.” Philza curls into the arm of his chair like an unbothered cat. “And I can trade for pearls if I want. We’re not short for pearlhunters around here.”

“I see.”

“Of course, I could always ask for a favor.”

The Warden pauses. (He is right to do so.)

“How’s about this?” Philza casually offers. (Casual, as if he were asking someone to fetch a bowl of sugar from off a shelf.) “The blueprints to the prison.”

“Half a stack of iron for access to the most secure thing I ever made?” the Warden rhetorically asks. “I’d rather head down to the mines.”

Philza claps his hands and laughs to himself. He needles over a few more variations- a visit to the prison, an exemption from arrest. Each time the Warden says no, the Angel seems to be more and more amused by his refusal. 

“HEY THERE!” A chipper voice suddenly shouts from the radio. “Sam, it’s Foolish here. Your weird temple neighbor across the quarry? Anyways, what if I gave you TWO STACKS iron-”

Ranboo shuffles closer before his neighbor turns the radio off. “Phil.”

“Ranboo.”

“Phil.” Ranboo’s tail wags as a devious squint breaks across his face. “I literally have 12 stacks of iron blocks.” He pauses. “Five stacks. I have five stacks.”

Philza’s tail thumps loudly on the ground as he ups the volume of his radio again. “Five stacks of iron for a get out of jail free card! Take it or leave it!” He slaps his hand on the table. “GOING ONCE-”

Ranboo frowns. “Wait, what do I get out of this-”

“GOING TWICE-”

“You could have said three and I could have kept two!” Ranboo wheezes.

“-AND THREE TIMES, GONE!” Philza snickers at Ranboo. “Now the price has dropped. Two stacks.”

And stupidly enough, the Warden folds. After a weird moment of needing to clarify they’re talking about straight iron blocks, not iron ore- seriously, why not hand the dumbass a pickaxe and some land if they’re going back to basics- he tries a little harder to negotiate.

But he’s scared to commit. Scared of Philza… and Ranboo.

It’s not a bad feeling, to be honest.

“Too bad,” Sam casually says. “You guys are just gonna have to watch me mine for myself.”

“Mine what?” Ranboo snarks. “The sandstone dick someone put on the prison ceiling on Moonsday? Bet you’re feeling real bad about the mining fatigue field now, huh?”

Philza and his crows let out harsh wheezes of laughter.

“You guys are harboring the most dangerous man, and a child with sandstone outplayed you,” Ranboo smirks.

(He happens to know for a fact that said ‘child with sandstone’ was Tubbo, but the Warden doesn’t need to know that.)

The Warden sighs. “The prisoner’s not gonna get out because of a penis.”

“I dunno man,” Ranboo needles as he rocks back and forth on his feet. “Seemed like a big deal. You never know, man. He’s done some crazy stuff! Maybe you need to look into an anti-penis defense program.”

“Mate, stop-” What little composure Philza has shatters into breathless giggles all over again. “Oh, my gods-”

The Warden scoffs. “Well, screw you guys. I’m just gonna mine.”

“He wants the blocks so fucking badly,” Philza whispers to Ranboo. “He just wants to have the upper hand.”

“Ranboo, you’ve got a bunch of iron, right?”

Philza clicks harshly, gesturing silently to the radio.

“I could make you a memory machine for it.”

Ranboo looks Philza directly in the eyes. “I don’t want to remember this.”

“You don’t have to,” the Warden dismisses. “That would be for the best, actually.”

Philza’s mouth quirks with distaste as he gets out of his comfy armchair to go sweep out the chimney. “I don’t even need the iron or the jail card,” he smirks as he huddles away, wings peeking out to keep his balance as he reaches up the bricks. “I would merely just break out.”

“How do you even know I have the iron you want?” Ranboo decides to ask.

“You lot live together, don’t you? I assume you can get it if he has it.”

-<>♥<>-

Philza stills, hand stiffening around his broom.

Oh. They’re doing that thing again. The thing where people talk about Philza when he’s right there. Okay. 

Okay.

(Okay.)

“Are you saying I would steal from Phil?” Ranboo calmly clarifies. “You… you-” He sputters. “YOU TERRIBLE PERSON!” He explodes. “HE IS ON HIS LAST LIFE!”

“He doesn’t seem to be doing too badly,” the Warden callously notes. 

(Philza does not allow his hands to shake.)

“I’m not going to steal from Phil, you terrible man!” Ranboo hisses.

“Steal from him and not write it down.” the Warden pragmatically offers. “You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

Ranboo freezes.

“I’ll kill you,” he lowly promises, “and not write it down, before I ever steal from Phil.”

Philza lets out a loud pointed laugh. “Thanks, Ranboo, mate.”

Ranboo whirls around, his eyes furious. “I AM DEFENDING YOUR HONOR! HE CAN’T JUST- he can’t just talk like that- like you’re not there! It’s horrible!”

Philza hums flatly.

“Sam,” a vaguely familiar voice floats out of the radio, “are you just gonna let a toddler patronize you like that?”

“YES!” Ranboo shouts. “YES, HE IS, BECAUSE HE KNOWS THAT-”

The rest of Ranboo’s words float incomprehensibly past the rising rattle of Philza’s wings roaring in his ears. All these fucking rows are giving him a bloody headache.

Oh, Ranboo means well. Philza knows it. The kid’s just trying to be a good friend. But is it too much to ask to go a year without somebody shouting over Philza’s head how he can and can’t be treated? A month, even?

Is it too much to ask?

“-if I’m old, Phil’s a geezer-”

Ranboo’s mandibles are out in full angry display. “DO NOT SAY THOSE THINGS ABOUT PHIL, OR ELSE I SWEAR- not swearing, but, like, I’LL HIT YOU-”

Benihime’s livid eyes snap open.

-<>♥<>-

“Hey. Mate.” Rough talons brusquely push Ranboo to the side as Philza- no, no, wait, that’s Benihime, what’s Beni doing out - pushes forward towards the radio. “Don’t drag my boys into a shoutin’ match, you fucking child. I might be an old man, but I’m not gone dim upstairs, alright? I am wise beyond my years-”

“To your years, more like.”

“Oh, you want me to act my age? Fine. I’ll play.” Red creeps down an Angel’s antlers. “Centuries are mere childsplay for me, boy. I’ve seen many like you fall- and you will not be the last.”

“What was it like?” The Warden challenges. “Seeing everyone you loved die, slowly, as time moved on?”

“Painful,” Beni concedes. “But not as painful as what I inflicted upon their enemies.”

A pause.

“I hope their enemies suffered greatly,” the Warden finally says. “And that I will never be counted among them.”

“Smart man,” Beni tersely allows. It turns off the radio and backs away with a discontent click.

Something’s wrong. Ranboo doesn’t quite… understand how Benihime works, but it- it would always just pop in for a moment or two, maybe more if it was having a good time, and then Philza would come right back. It never just overrides Philza like that all of the sudden.

No need, Beni had said. He’s safe here.

“Benihime, what was that about?” Ranboo slowly asks.

Beni shakes the broom in its hand for dust. “Don’t like shoutin’.”

“But Sam wasn’t-” Ranboo frowns. “You know I wasn’t shouting at Phil, right?”

“Still shouted. Still bad.” Beni turns back to the chimney Philza was sweeping, and after a moment’s consideration, continues the task itself. “Not yer fault, eyas. It be like that sometimes.”

There’s that word again. Eyas. Ranboo’s only ever heard Fundy and Tubbo use it, besides Philza. They must have picked it up from him. And then when Beni had talked to the Warden, it called Ranboo its-

“What did you mean when you said I was your boy?” Ranboo hesitantly starts. 

Beni lets out a vague growling noise.

“Not that I’m- like, really weirded out by that or anything!” Ranboo insists. “It… just kind of came out of nowhere?”

“We- I-” Beni lets out a brief series of stuttering, clicking chirps. “It’s nothing. You’re our friend.” Its eyes dim. “It’s nothing.”

Ranboo watches Benihime clean out the chimney in awkward silence.

“I still can’t believe Phil tried to hustle the Warden of Pandora’s Vault,” Ranboo finds himself saying.

Beni’s mouth almost quirks into a smile. “Is that what happened?”

“He tried to get access to the prison,” Ranboo snickers, “with iron blocks. And it almost worked.”

Beni snickers. “He wouldn’t even want it. Probably just wanted to see if the guy would do it.”

“I offered my iron stacks to up the stakes,” Ranboo admits.

“Don’t do that,” Beni lightly scolds. “You need the money.”

“I- I really don’t, actually?” Ranboo hesitantly corrects. “I don’t spend all that much. Like, I get nice stuff for my kid, but that’s about it. I’m richer than I’ve ever been.” He laughs. “Apparently I’m one of the richest people on the server. The news wants to do interviews.”

A pause.

“You did that, y’know. You and Techno. You guys taught me to keep track of my stuff better and, uh- occupy my time. So- thanks.” Ranboo looks off to the side, lightly wagging his tail. “I didn’t think I’d get to live like this.”

Beni stares at him for a moment, and then smiles. “No problem, mate.” Its antlers swerve sharply, as if suddenly remembering something. “Wait, did you tell that guy to install anti-penis defenses on a fucking prison?”

“You can’t prove anything.”

“Oh my gods, you did.” Beni laughs, tail thumping with mirth against the ground. “You really fuckin-”

Ranboo’s own tail starts to wag as Beni and the crows start to echo the wheezing laughter Philza himself had done not too long ago.

“You’ve got some sass in you, eyas,” Beni chuckles. “Why do you let people think you’re polite?”

“Same reason you and Phil do, I guess,” Ranboo snarks.

There’s a knock on the door, and Techno pokes his wide head inside. “I heard shouting all the way across to the other house.” He looks at their wagging tails, and Ranboo hears Techno’s own tail thumping against the side of the door. “You having some kind of secret party in here?”

“Phil and Ranboo bullied a cop,” Beni deadpans.

“Ah, that explains everything. Carry on, then.”

Chapter Text

Ghost and Sage have two lovely daughters now.

Aether and Clementine- a puffy haired human and a brown chicken elfin. Clementine had needed a place to stay, and Aether had offered it right up until the sky fell down on L’manburg.

Two children. Six chickens. It’s a very… balanced family, or at least Niki thinks it is.

She wouldn’t know, either way.

It really is a lovely family. A lovely, lovely family. How strange, that something so lovely dares to exist in the middle of all this pain.

But the world is not so painful these days, is it?

The city grows. The piano plays on. There is food to eat, and beds to rest in, and despite it all, the sun still rises. Every day, Niki remembers L’manburg a little less, and she realizes, slowly, that she’s alright with that.

She starts baking again.

Not with the Ade family. She is not ready to stomach their too-earnest kindness, and she suspects she may never be ready again. Her tastes have changed. She savors sweetness a bit less than she used to before, and it has become hard to part with food, even for something in return.

But she started baking again.

Because she is a baker. Because she has lots of free time on her hands. Because she suddenly finds herself enjoying food, and she misses the smell of bread.

And she started baking again.

She bakes, and the kneading of dough soothes the tenseness of her stone-callused hands. Someone else can fix the stairs. Someone else can ensure the world continues to spin.

In the meantime, Niki wants to live.

So she’s started baking again.

Nothing too complicated. It’s been months, after all. Just a quick test batch of cinnamon rolls, maybe something to give to the new kids. Something simple, like how she used to do.

They turn out terrible. Nothing burnt, but she must have overbuttered it- what should have been a subtle filling is leaking out onto the baking tray. Not bad for a first try, but a far cry from what she used to do.

But she’s started baking again.

Niki pops one in her mouth, savors the imperfect taste, and tries again.

Chapter Text

Tommy’s been doing some thinking lately, alright? Seeing as he’s going to be visiting Hunter again. 

He’s been thinking about moving on. Closure, or some shit. And it got him thinking about all the stuff he’s lived through.

L’manburg’s far behind him, that much is certain. There is nothing left for Tommy to move on from in that place- nothing but a cauterized crater in the ground. There’s little point dwelling on something Tommy can’t even say goodbye to.

Wilbur’s dead. And Chekhov, wherever he’s wandered off to now, doesn’t deserve to answer for what Wilbur’s done, as troubled and flawed as he is himself. Talking to him won’t change how Wilbur died. It won’t change what he left behind.

With that being said, there’s nothing left for Tommy to really look back on, aside from what lies in Pandora’s Vault.

…And a little winter cabin in Neve.

He’d only stayed with those two tired old men for a few months- not even half a year. It’s barely even a blink, compared to the rest of everything he’s lived through. 

Even still. Looking back, those days feel like the safest Tommy’s ever been in his whole life. That place felt like home. And no matter what he meant by it, he threw that away. He’s gonna have to cope with that.

Besides, Tommy’s gonna have to talk to the two eventually, right? He can’t just avoid them forever.

(Well, he can, but he doesn’t want to.)

Minor setback, though. Tommy forgot the damn place was warded.

“PHILLLLLLLL!” Tommy’s loud voice shrieks into the sky. “LET ME IN! I’M LOST!”

A crow perches on a tree branch and looks at him.

Tommy points accusingly at Chatters. “I know you can see me, Phil! You’re not gonna let me die in the woods and you know it!”

Another Chatters coyly tilts its head.

“I know you won’t,” Tommy repeats, quieter this time. “Cus you still care. You promised.”

A crow lands on his head, pecking at his hair. The rest fly away, further into the woods, just slow enough for him to catch up.

(And Tommy goes home.)

Philza waits on the bridge between his and Techno’s houses, hands clutched around a steaming mug.

“I’m never gonna be rid of you kids, am I?” he wearily smiles.

“Nope!” Tommy brightly says. He idles at the foot of the stairs. “Is, uh- is Techno home right now?”

“Hibernating. You’re not gonna be getting anything from him any time soon.” An antler flicks. “Do you want me to tell him you were here?”

“No,” Tommy quickly denies. “No, I’ll just- I’ll just come back later. How’s Big Ben doin’?”

Philza snorts as the eyespots of his wings stare at Tommy. “It doesn’t like when you call it that.”

“Sure thing, Big Ben.”

Philza watches Tommy stand in the snow. “Come inside. You aren’t dressed for Neve, you’re gonna fuckin’ freeze out here.”

“The Nether was really hot!” Tommy insists. “It’ll cancel itself out!”

Philza doesn’t say anything to argue the point. Philza stands there with his warm clothes, wings swaddled around him like a cloak, takes a long, long sip of his hot drink, and waits.

“Whatcha drinking up there?” Tommy finally asks.

“Honey and milk,” Philza easily answers. “But I’m about to go inside and have some soup after. Do you want any?”

Tommy grumbles as he walks up the stairs. “I guess. But you better have some decent fucking food at least.”

“It’s just some tomato soup.” A pause. “With some grilled cheese that’s actually fucking melted for once.”

“No.” Tommy kicks the snow off his shoes. “No, I’m not listenin’ to this shit again-”

Philza’s wings snap open. “He burned the toast and the cheese still wasn’t melted!”

“I take you to a nice restaurant one time-”

Philza opens the door, feathers still rattling with distaste. “If it was so nice, why couldn’t he make a fucking sandwich?”

“You could have ordered something actually fancy!” Tommy points out.

“THAT RAMLIN CHEF IS SO PRETENTIOUS HE CAN’T REMEMBER HOW TO MAKE NORMAL FOOD-”

Chapter Text

Hunter’s been in prison for nearly a month now.

A whole month! And he’s never even tried to escape, not once- Tommy asked, and Sam had confirmed it. The man’s not going anywhere any time soon.

A whole month of peace and quiet.

So why does Tommy still feel so awful? He’s got his hotel, he’s got his business, but he still feels a- a little bit low. Empty.

And he thinks it’s because he hasn’t shut the book, so to speak. Hunter’s still in his life. Like a girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend. But Tommy really wants to be done with him. Wipe his hands, so to speak.

Tommy doesn’t need Hunter anymore. He’s in prison, he’s locked away, and Tommy wants to start living his life. Because he hasn’t lived his life- not really. He hasn’t lived his life since L’manburg started calling for him. 

What’s he really done with his life since he first shook General Soot’s hand? It’s just been war after war, death after death. It’s been morbid!

So today…

…Tommy’s going to say goodbye.

(He thinks they both deserve it, for better or worse.)

-<>♥<>-

The thing about Lagos is that he has these plans.

Improvisational plans.

And they aren’t bad plans! They just… tend to treat Lagos as more expendable than he actually is.

Like this whole prison thing. Having an entire maximum security prison built, just so he could chuck himself in it. And for what, the drama? The pity points? It’s all so…

…contrived.

Ranboo thinks he’s allowed to say that. And yes, he did help Lagos pull it off, but that was with the knowledge Lagos was gonna do it whether Ranboo wanted him to or not.

He doesn’t know if he’s fortunate or unfortunate, that he can only think of these things when he Walks.

And now Lagos is locked up in Pandora’s Vault. Big fucking deal. Now what? Because the next step in the brilliant plan is…

…wait for Lagos to feel like doing something.

That’s no way to live. That just leaves everyone else scrambling for stage directions! And now Punz has fallen in with the Egg! It’s just so disastrous. So, to hell with the plan. Ranboo’s going to get the ball rolling by his own damn self.

Even if he has to blow the prison sky high to do it.

-<>♥<>-

WAIVER: PANDORA’S VAULT

I HEREBY ASSUME ALL OF THE RISKS OF VISITING THE HOLDING CELL, including by way of example and not limitation, any risks that may arise from negligence or carelessness on the part of the Prison guards, prisoners misbehaving, from dangerous or defective equipment, or property owned, maintained or controlled by the Prison Guards. 

I certify that I waive, release, and discharge the Prison from any and all liability, including but not limited to, death, disability, personal injury, property damage, property theft, or actions of any kind which may hereafter occur to me, including my traveling to and from visting the Prisoner. 

Written name, then sign:

Tommy Innit          

Tommy At. Innit     

 In the event that a prisoner is to escape during my visit, or after my visit because of my actions, I hereby give permission for any individual to hunt me down and kill me until I am completely dead.

 Signed:

Tommy At. Innit    

In the event of security protocol taking place while I am within the bounds of the maximum security cell, I hereby acknowledge that I could potentially be locked within the cell for up to 7 days, or until the security issue is resolved.

Signed:

Tommy At. Innit    

Chapter Text

The first day, Tommy just screamed.

He’s a loud kid. He’s Tommy, he can’t bring himself to be anything else. But when those prison alarms went off, he panicked. He started screaming for Sam to lower the drawbridge for the maximum security cell, to get him out of the Vault.

And Sam didn’t answer.

Because Tommy signed the contract.

In the event of security protocol taking place while I am within the bounds of the maximum security cell, I hereby acknowledge that I could potentially be locked within the cell for up to 7 days, or until the security issue is resolved.

Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. He was never good at reading the fine print, was he? He never really learned that there’s some rules he can’t cheat and charm his way around.

Tommy has no friends here. In Pandora’s Vault, there are no people. Only serial numbers in assigned cells, and the Warden that keeps things that way.

But who is Tommy to know this? He’s never been a prisoner before, not really, and even if he’s going to be an adult soon…

…he isn’t one now. He’s still a kid.

And kids panic.

“PHIL!” Tommy pounds on the netherite fencing of the cell’s entrance. “PHIL! GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

“This cell is completely soundproof,” Lagos drily mutters from the cell cot. “And even if it wasn’t, we’re surrounded by lava and literal block layers of obsidian. Grandpa’s not gonna hear you.”

“He’s got Chatters!” Tommy shakily insists, pacing around the room for any weakness in the soundproofing. “Those fucks hear everything, if I just-”

“It’s a vault, Tommy. One way in, one way out. I’m pretty sure Sam shoots animals for getting too close.” Lagos turns in his cot to watch Tommy’s fruitless efforts. “What the fuck would Phil do for you, anyway? Don’t tell me he’s snatched another kid.”

Tommy visibly stutters for a moment. “I mean- it’s not like I’m his kid kid- I guess I knew Wilbur, and- and I just- I thought he-” 

His voice, for the first time, goes quiet.

“He’s nice to me,” Tommy weakly whispers. “He said he would help me. He promised.”

Lagos stares at Tommy for a short while.

“You can’t get in or out without the Warden unless you already know how the prison works,” he finally says. “Phil can try his best, but I doubt he even knows you’re here. You’re gonna be stuck with me for a while, Tommy.”

Tommy scoffs sharply. “Yeah, yeah. Bet you’re havin’ a big laugh about it right now. Tommy and Hunter, forever and ever. Creep.”

“Eh. Not really.” Lagos shrugs. “Sure, it was kind of nice to have somebody here with me, but you’re loud and annoying. You’re no fun to play with if I can’t fucking leave.”

Tommy sits down on the floor. “You’re a real fucked up guy, y’know that? You just go around saying this shit like it’s normal!” He points to himself. “I mean, I know I’m not the greatest guy, but you’re on a whole other level of fucked.”

Lagos scratches a doodle of a rabbit in his journal. “I think I’m pretty normal, all things considering.”

“You got me kicked out of my own country, man!” Tommy points out. “And then you kept me in Logstedshire like a bug in a jar!” Tommy loudly bites into a food ration bar. “I’ve still got nicks from all the times you’d punch me for fun with your shitty armor hands.”

“What even happened to my armor?” Lagos wonders. “Did they destroy it?”

“Tubbo got it. Keeps it in a collection like a little museum boy.” Tommy kicks his foot out to jostle the cot. “And don’t dodge the conversation, bucko. You’re fucked up.”

Lagos clicks sharply. “You know I had a reason to do all those things, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, attachments are bad, you want to control the server again. Still fucked up, all the shit you’ve done to me.” Tommy leans back. “All the bullshit you put me through, I wouldn’t do to anyone. Even if I fuckin’ hated them. I wouldn’t lock someone away like a toy.”

Lagos looks Tommy in the eyes. “You locked me in here.”

Tommy looks away. “That’s different. You’re not normal. Everyone’s fuckin’ terrified of you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Tommy.”

Chapter Text

On the seventh day, a cat snuck into Pandora’s Vault.

A grey and white tabby with pale green eyes. One of Tommy’s, or at least indirectly. Apparently he manages some property in Greater Prime that has warding cats, and Tommy took up their binding himself. It must have teleported to Tommy by accident while it was patrolling.

Lagos loved that cat with all his heart.

He tried to, at least. He really, really did. 

(When he is questioned about today’s events later, the cat will be all they can get him to talk about.)

Tommy stares down at the cat. “He is really fuckin’ annoying.”

“No, he’s not,” Lagos refutes. “He’s the best thing that’s happened to us.”

Tommy stands at the edge of the lava wall and pats his leg. “Hey, c’mere!” He grins sharply at Lagos. “You know what I named him, don’t you? Pussboy, come here!”

“No, you’re gonna get him hurt!” Lagos puts the cat back up on the desk and goes back to his writing.

“What are you writing about?”

“I’m just writing to pass the time.” Lagos pauses. “You know we’re in here for a very long time.”

Tommy stomps over to the desk and leans on it dramatically, looking the cat in the eyes as he drums his hands on its back. “Oh, Pussboy, you are so ugly.”

“Mrah.”

“Don’t be mean,” Lagos scolds.

“I’m just petting him,” Tommy grumbles. He paces around the room, making loud gargling noises to himself that bounce oddly in the soundproofed cell.

“At this point, you’re trying to annoy me,” Lagos flatly notes. “I feel like this entire time, there’s not been a single moment where you’ve been quiet.”

Tommy finishes off a ration bar. “Do you have any more food?”

“I don’t have any for you.” Lagos loudly closes his book. “Maybe for every ten ticks you’re quiet, I’ll give you one tenth of a potato bar.”

The intercom in the cell crackles. “Hello?”

Tommy rushes to the entrance of the cell. “SAM! SAM?” He sighs loudly. “OH MY GOD, it’s been- how long has it been now? Nineteen days.”

Lagos looks at him skeptically. “How do you know it’s been nineteen days?”

“I’ve got a good body clock.”

“It has not been nineteen days,” the Warden flatly says. “How’s it going along in there?”

“I’m good!” Tommy answers. “Hunter’s just been sat here singing to me repeatedly about girls that he loves.”

Lagos rolls his eyes. Tommy was the one belting show tunes at the top of his fucking lungs all day.

The Warden hums. “Okay.”

“Mm, that’s what I said,” Tommy continues. “Um- what are you here for, Sam?”

“Oh, I’m on the other side of the lava wall,” the Warden explains. “I’m here to drop some food down there. I figured y’all are getting low on potatoes?”

Ah, the famous prison diet. A daily hearty serving of mineral-loaded potato bar, with a complementary side of- wait for it- mineral-loaded sweet potato bar. 

Tommy’s still excited anyway, eagerly hoarding every single food packet dropping down. But not enough to tide away his anxiety, apparently.

“Can you let me out?” he quietly asks.

“Oh, Tommy, you can’t leave yet,” the Warden sympathetically says. “We haven’t found out what was causing the security issue.”

“Sam.” Tommy’s face starts to go pale. “Sam. I know what I signed. Let me out.”

“Tommy, I can’t let you out!”

“At least let down the lava so I can look at you,” Tommy begs. “Just let me look at you in the eye.”

“Tommy, that’s against the protocol,” the Warden refuses. “I can’t do that.”

Tommy goes back to the cat and sulks. Lagos looks up at the intercom in the ceiling.

“So, is he gonna be in here for a while?” Lagos asks.

“I mean, just for a little while longer, I’m trying to figure out what the cause of the security breach.”

“Yeah, and how long is he gonna be in here for?” Lagos presses. “When is he gonna leave?”

“Once I discover what the issue is-”

“LET ME OUT!” Tommy snaps. “WHAT’S THE FUCKIN’ ISSUE, MAN? I’ll solve it myself! Let me out!” Tommy’s words grow more and more frantic. “I know my rights- human rights, human rights- let me out-”

“If you don’t find out the issue,” Lagos wonders over Tommy’s desperate pleas, “is he gonna be in here ‘til you do?”

There is a long pause.

“Potentially for a while,” the Warden vaguely admits. “But not forever, Tommy. Don’t worry.”

Tommy frowns. “You said it was a week. They said it was a week- a week, seven days, my friend.”

“I know. I know. I figured I could find anything in a week. But it’s gonna take a little more time, okay? You gotta trust me, Tommy. We gotta make sure we’re doing everything… as secure as we can.”

“Sam- Sam- Sam- seriously, this is bad- I know my rights, I’ll get my fucking lawyer on you, I-” Tommy’s voice starts to break. “Sam, you know I don’t do well in close quarters. And I haven’t for a long, long time.” His words wither away to a faded whisper. Lagos wonders if the Warden could even hear him from the intercom. “Sam, this is worse than exile. Let me out. I d-don’t like this.”

There is a sigh from the intercom. “If I let you out while there’s a security issue that could affect #001 being in there, is that really worth it?”

“Oh, for once in a life, stop bein’ a fucking PUSSY, man, just-” Tommy’s eye twitches. “Just fucking shoot him in the face for all I care, let me out!”

“Tommy, I promise I’ll let you out soon. You just gotta be strong, man.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy hisses.

“I’m doing my best, Tommy,” the Warden weakly insists. “I’m only one guy. Hang in there. Bye.”

“NO, NO, NO, NO- SAM! SAM-”

The intercom shuts off.

“Well, it’s not that bad,” Lagos says.

“It’s shit,” Tommy bluntly says. “I hate you, you’re ugly.”

“Look.” Lagos runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been in here way longer than you. I’m used to it at this point. If anything, this has been better for me!”

Tommy sputters. “How?”

Lagos shrugs. “It’s been better! I have company. I have a cat.” He squints. “Well, it’s not my cat, technically. It’s your cat. But still. It’s just as good! Keeps me company when I write and everything.”

A smile creeps slowly under his mask.

“Tommy. What if we get out together?”

“No,” Tommy immediately says. “Cus then you’ll break out with me, and… I don’t want you to break out with me.” He turns back to the cat. “Excuse me, Pussboy! You’re in my spot!”

Lagos sticks out his arm, blocking Tommy’s attempts to drag the cat away from the desk. “Leave the cat alone, man.”

Tommy turns between the cat and Lagos. His discontent shuffling stops.

“Do you like this cat, Hunter?” he softly says.

“I-”  Lagos lets out an irritated sigh. “Yes.”

Tommy innocently tilts his head. “Why?”

“Tommy, he keeps me company.”

“Do you love him?” Tommy presses.

“...Yes,” Lagos hesitantly admits. “I do.”

Tommy lets out a mocking cooing noise.

Lagos gives the cat a gentle pat. “He’s made things better! Listen, when you leave, maybe you could like, sit him down here and let him stay-”

Tommy tugs on the cat’s collar. “Come this way, Pussboy! Come on!” He lets out a groan. “ Ugh, cats are so dumb, they don’t-” Another tug. “This way, this way-”

And here’s what Lagos will realize later. Later, too late, when what is done cannot be undone.

Pandora’s Vault keeps its prisoners down with mining fatigue. Mining fatigue weakens the strength of the body, saps energy that much faster. Despite this, humans are resilient. Adaptable. Strong.

Tommy Innit is a supersoldier human already adjusting to magically enforced debuffs.

A cat is… just a cat. It’s fragile, especially when so lethargic from the mining fatigue.

And fragile things break when they’re handled too rough.

There is this small, silent moment where Lagos and Tommy have both realized that the cat has stopped moving.

Tommy looks Lagos in the eyes.

“And that’s what happens when you love something.”

-<>♥<>-

SECURITY FOOTAGE

PANDORA’S VAULT- ISOLATION CONTAINMENT

TRANSCRIPT: 1 TRIAMON 2021

INNIT: You’re fucking evil, you know that?

#001: Tommy, how am I any more evil than you are?

INNIT: Let me out.

#001: How am I supposed to let you out?

[INNIT STARTS TO SHOUT FOR THE WARDEN. HE HAS DONE THIS INTERMITTENTLY SINCE THE START OF THE SECURITY BREACH.]

INNIT: [WARDEN], it’s me, your best pal! Haver of wives! Let me out! (TO #001) Oh my god, man, just die. You’re evil. You’re so evil.

[DIALOGUE TOO INCOMPREHENSIBLE TO TRANSCRIBE.]

#001: I’ve been sitting here thinking about… the revenge that I’m gonna get when I get out.

INNIT: How could you even get out?

#001: I have a plan, [THE WARDEN] doesn’t-

[AUDIO IS REDACTED.]

INNIT: Fuck off, man! No, no, no. You can’t just say ‘I have a plan’. You lie, [#001], you’re a chronical [sic] liar!

#001: Tommy, I have a plan.

INNIT: What is it, then?

#001: Well, there’s a certain someone that owes me a favor. That may be a part of it.

INNIT: What the fuck do you mean, T- (SUDDENLY VERY FEARFUL) You’re out. Oh you’re talking about (AUDIO DISTORTED), I need to silence him when I get out!

[THIS THIRD PARTY IS UNIDENTIFIED. JUDGING BY REACTION, INNIT KNEW THE IDENTITY OF THIS INDIVIDUAL. INTERROGATE #001 AT A LATER DATE.]

INNIT: When I get out of here, I’m gonna- no, because fuck you, man! You’re not getting out of here! You’re a fucking- fuck you.

#001: Fuck you, Tommy! You’re so- I’ve sat in here, listening to your bullcrap! Your whining, your crying! Crying about how this is worse than exile, this is so terrible! You’re sitting in a box!

INNIT: (SHOUTING) I’m claustrophobic!

#001: (PUNCHING INNIT) I’ve been in here for a hundred times longer than you! And you sit here trying to tell me that it’s so horrible! Well guess what? We had each other to talk to, and we had a cat until you fucking killed it.

INNIT: [#001]- and listen to this. Fucking engrave this on you. Write this into your arms, [#001]. You. Don’t. Have. Me. You’ll never have me. We don’t have each other. Alright? 

[INNIT PUNCHES #001.]

INNIT: I am me, and you are this fuckiing loser going around manipulating people, lying to get what he wants. You are a fucking no one, man! Alright? And when I’m going to leave here- you’re not! You might have a favor- you think that [AUDIO DISTORTED] is going to break you out? You-

[AUDIO DISTORTED.]

INNIT: -but he likes self gain! You think he wants to piss off the owner of the most powerful building on this entire server? No, [#001]! You’re a fucking asshole, you’re delusional, and I fucking hate you.

#001: I will get out of here. And I will. And I’ll have my revenge. And the thing is, even when I’m in here- even when I’m in here- I’m more powerful than you are when you’re outside. It’s true, and it’s always been true. And it’ll be true.

INNIT: [#001]. Look at me. Stop fucking talking for once in your self obsessed life.

#001: (SHOUTING) Says you! (HITTING INNIT MULTIPLE TIMES) You’ve been in here annoying me for how long-

INNIT: If I wanted to, right now, I could just kill you. And the only reason I’m not is for my friends, for Tubbo, because we need that fucking [REDACTED]! Alright? That’s the only reason I’m not killing you.

#001: Tommy. I am never, ever, going to [REDACTED] to help you or any of your stupid little friends. Okay? 

INNIT: Say that again.

#001: I am never going to [REDACTED.] I will never use it on you. I will never use it on any of your friends. I will never use it to save any of you. So kill me! Go ahead. Come on.

[AUDIO SILENCE.]

#001: And when Tubbo dies, and you’ll come here begging- you come here begging, and I’ll tell you, “Let me out.” Let me out! Otherwise, I’m not using it, and Tubbo [REDACTED]. 

INNIT: What do you mean, when Tubbo dies?

[A PAUSE.]

#001: If Tubbo dies. Look, I’ll get out eventually. Either you’ll let me out, or… people will be dead. That’s why I’m in here.

INNIT: Shut up. Shut up. I know why I’m in here. This isn’t worse than exile. This isn’t worse than the exile. Because the thing is, in the exile, I thought you had all the power. I thought you were dangling me like a little fucking puppet man! And even though in here it’s small, and-

[MINING FATIGUE ALARM SOUNDS.]

INNIT: -I’m claustrophobic, right? And I hate this! Here’s the thing, [#001]. Here’s the thing. Here’s the thing I know.

[INNIT LAUGHS TO HIMSELF.]

INNIT: I don’t think [REDACTED] is real. I… how could I be so fucking… the [REDACTED], it’s not real, is it? It’s not fucking real.

#001: Oh my god.

INNIT: Because all you do- all you do that I-

[#001 ATTEMPTS TO INTERJECT, INNIT PUSHES HIM BACK.]

INNIT: Shut the fuck up! What I remember from exile is all you do is lie to me. And then you unveil this big thing in this finale, and-

[PASSAGE REDACTED. CONTAINS PRIVATE INFORMATION ABOUT INNIT.]

INNIT: You are a clinical manipulator. A psychopath, if you will. So I know… this [REDACTED] that you keep going on about, your little card that J. Schlatt- J. Schlatt was just a fucking drunk man! He wasn’t this guy who had this access to some omnipotent [REDACTED]- fuck off, man. You’re lying.

#001: (BECOMING VISIBLY AGITATED) You’re calling me a liar. You’re calling me a liar when I’m not lying.

INNIT: You’re lying!

#001: Why else would I switch sides?

INNIT: You’re just lying, aren’t you? It doesn’t make sense that you’d have this- like- it doesn’t add up! I genuinely think you’re just lying.

#001: Every time, you come here and you be disrespectful, you be annoying, you be a little bitch, and you complain-

[INNIT AND #001 START TO ENTER A PHYSICAL ALTERCATION. #001 IS USING AN UNOPENED FOOD PACKET AS A BLUNT INSTRUMENT.]

#001: You walk in here, and you accuse me of being a liar, of being manipulative-

INNIT: (QUIET) Stop punching me, please-

#001: (CONTINUES HITTING) No! I’m not going to give you any- (BACKS AWAY) I’m not lying! J. Schlatt gave me a [REDACTED]! He gave me a [REDACTED] after… before he died. Because he said-

INNIT: [REDACTED]! Right now!

#001: (LAUGHTER) That’s not how it works.

INNIT: [REDACTED] right now, he’ll just show up right here-

#001: (SHOUTING) Why would I be lying? Why would I be lying about that? Oh, what, to save my own skin or something?

INNIT: Exactly! You’re a liar! And through your netherite armor and skin, I look at you, and you know what I see? I see a sad, little man who’s insecure about the fact that this server has gotten so far ahead of him, and his only little glimpse of power in this world is gone. I see an insecure, sad little man. So fuck off.

#001: Your life is literally in my hands. Does that piss you off? Does that make you mad? That makes you so mad-

INNIT: My life is not in your hands-

#001: (SHOUTING) I might as well be a god, Tommy! You can’t kill me, and I can kill you!

INNIT: Do you fucking hear yourself? You’re so far up your own-

#001: What does that mean? If you can’t kill me, does that make me some kind of god?

[#001 HAS RESUMED HITTING INNIT.]

INNIT: I could kill you if I wanted to.

#001: Okay. But you won’t!

INNIT: You know why I won’t? Because I’m leaving this prison-

[VISIBLE INJURY HAS ACCUMULATED ON BOTH INNIT AND #001.]

INNIT: Stop it! Stop it! It hurts, stop it!

-<>♥<>-

And Hunter stops.

“Look at me,” Tommy shakily whispers.

And Hunter looks at him, head tilted. Dull green eyes and all.

(Gods, he looks ill.)

“The only reason I haven’t done it,” Tommy laboriously says past his split lips, “is because I know you’re stuck in this prison. And I-” He laughs unsteadily. “I’m gonna get my little scooter out, and I’ll be fine, Hunter!” He smiles. “You, you’re stuck here forever.”

Hunter’s hand starts to shake on his collar.

“I don’t think this revive book is real,” Tommy whispers. “Schlatt? He’s fucking dead. I’ve seen his grave! His grave is real, his corpse is there!”

Hunter goes still. His grip tightens on Tommy’s shirt collar, lifting the human up from the floor.

“Why don’t you go see him, then?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, a whistling keen flying out of his mouth as he tries to escape the other man’s grip. “No, no, no-” His arms desperately claw at Hunter’s shirt, legs kicking out as his body is pushed against the wall. “No, stop it, stop it STOP IT STOP IT-”

-<>♥<>-

[AN AUDIBLE CRACKING NOISE WAS HEARD BY THE INTERCOM.]

[INNIT STOPS MOVING.]