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Schlatt’s words cut through the crowd like a lightning strike, fixes itself on Technoblade like a vice. From behind, rows and rows of eyes are looking at him. He feels like he’s been dunked in the water again.
Technoblade swallows. “I do…what?”
“Yknow, take care of him. Take care of this traitor,” Schlatt says. He gestures to the side, to where a podium is placed in front of the throne. The throne that had become a cage for Tubbo.
Technoblade blanches, fighting back the initial no that rises to his lips. There’s so many people there. So many enemies. So many eyes. So many mouths moving behind hands. He’d get slaughtered in a heartbeat if he refused.
He’s not the leader, Wilbur’s the leader. Technoblade turns to the crowd again, darting his eyes until he finds Wilbur, crouched on the roof. He looks for help, but Wilbur only stares back in shock.
He glances at Tubbo. The boy’s eyes are wide, swimming with panic that can’t be faked. Whatever’s happening is not going to plan. But Technoblade was only here for reconnaissance. If he acted out now, he’d be blowing his cover. Schlatt doesn’t know that he’s with Wilbur and Tommy. Or does he?
They know. They must know. Calling him up was just as much a test of his loyalty as it was a death sentence for Tubbo. What game are they playing?
Technoblade finds himself stalling. “Take care of him, like, get him some breakfast? Get him a nice coat?”
He’s blatantly misunderstanding, everyone can see it. He stalls and stalls and digs his feet in until Schlatt sighs dramatically, drumming his fingers on the throne. “I mean take him out, Techno. Kill him.”
“I-”
“Right now! On this fucking stage!” Schlatt brings his fist against the throne with a clang, and Technoblade flinches as the sound echoes.
He’s out of excuses.
His feet move mechanically, taking him onto the podium. Like this, he towers over the throne, over Tubbo, and once again he’s reminded that the boy is only sixteen.
He’s a child.
There’s an unsettled murmur in the crowd. Niki shouts and pleads, and Fundy glances around uncomfortably. Even Quackity makes an aborted motion towards Schlatt. “Schlatt, it’s a festival, man! Do we have to kill him?”
But Schlatt’s immovable. Their protests fall on deaf ears, and he pushes and pushes back until they’re silenced, stuck staring at Technoblade, the harbinger of death.
It's always been like that. Technoblade has always been viewed as a weapon. As a tool. He finds a belief, a cause he’ll gladly fight for-
anarchy
-and becomes their willing instrument of war. That’s how everyone saw him, and that’s how he saw himself.
“I’ll be honest,” Dream had said that day, standing besides Tommy and him. “You guys are a lot more intimidating now that you have Techno on your side.”
He can’t back out now. He’s been given an order. Technoblade lifts up the crossbow. It halts right above Tubbo’s heart.
Even Pogtopia, welcoming him with open arms, viewed him that way. Beneath the cheerfulness of meeting an old friend, there was delight in turning the tables, in having a queen on the chessboard. And Technoblade was never bothered. He understood, and he accepted, and he embraced it. The end result would always be worth it, he thought to himself.
But the longer he stayed in Pogtopia, the easier it was just being a part of it. Wilbur was a coin toss, sometimes fun to be around and sometimes in an unapproachable mood. But Tommy was diluted sunshine running through living veins. He was a boy who had lost everything almost twice over, but still had the strength to stand tall and hope.
Tubbo stares at the point nervously. His heart must be beating as fast as Technoblade’s heart is, but he looks oddly calm, oddly confident. Technoblade wonders where the confidence comes from.
Tubbo never came around as often, being busy in Manberg, but he was part of Pogtopia nevertheless. Technoblade had watched him and Tommy during a slow day, swimming in the river and bantering among themselves with the ease of best friends, before Tubbo had to leave early and sneak back into Manberg. They used to have a lot more of these days, Tommy told him after.
His own body trembles but his hands are steady.
It had been so easy to dodge the truth. Whenever Wilbur cornered him and asked him about his motives, he’d raise his voice just a little bit, throw in a few words about revolution and anarchy. Tommy would clap him on a back with an elated laugh. Wilbur would allow himself to smile.
It was a mutual, unspoken agreement.
Schlatt speaks again, tone casual but veering on something dangerous. “Technoblade? We’re uh, we’re running on a tight schedule here.”
“It’s good to talk to you again, old man,” Tommy had said on the first day he arrived. He’d said that with such raw honesty and unexpected fondness. And Technoblade, with all his snark and wryness, had faltered.
“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” Technoblade whispers.
The truth was, he did end up growing to care about them. Just a little bit.
Tubbo stares, and he watches as the nervousness in the boy’s face slowly melts into blank horror. Tubbo looks at him as if seeing him for the first time. “Technoblade?”
He’s always been the weapon. Born in chaos, fighting for chaos, living for yet another government run to the ground. Fighting for rot and ruin.
He looks at Tubbo and sees Tommy, Wilbur, Pogtopia. He was a weapon to them. And yet…
No one’s there to help him now. No one’s there to tell him what to do, or help him stand against Schlatt. There’s only an order, looming large over his head. Technoblade panics, because he’s never been good at fighting for himself.
He shoots.