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The first time Techno was ever captured, he escaped within two days. He was never captured again. It’s why, as he’s dreading the footsteps coming down the dungeon hall, he regrets letting the Emperor’s men capture him.
“Who are you?” Techno asks gruffly. He doesn’t bother to move from his corner, his head resting on the ice-cold stone encasing him. He was having a wonderful time counting the drips of water from the stone ceiling when quiet footsteps stopped in front of his cell door. Glaring through the bars, Techno doesn’t relent when his eyes adjust to the small, blond kid staring at him with wide eyes. He’s probably about twelve years old, but he carries himself like he’s fifteen and stupidly in charge.
“Who are you?” The kid counters, crossing his arms as if he owns the place. “Bitch.”
Techno raises an eyebrow, scanning the fine gold thread lining his baby blue shirt and ivory white pants. He’s too clean, hair carefully brushed into two short pigtails and not a speck of muck, dirt, or blood in his shining face. He’s obviously not supposed to be down here. “Go back upstairs,” Techno says, “you don’t belong here.”
The kid hums, before reaching in his pocket and pulling out a ring of keys. Techno almost jerks at his chains before realizing he has no idea what he would do if he were to get his hands on those keys. Tongue between his teeth, the kid unlocks the door after a countless number of attempts, the metal bars swinging open like they aren’t an obstacle to Techno escaping.
“I’m here to keep you company,” he announces, having to pull with all his might to close the heavy metal bars behind him. “‘Cause my dad says that no one deserves to be alone.”
“Even the worst of people?” Techno asks, raising an eyebrow. Like me?
“Nope!” A toothy grin smiles at him—the kid is actually missing one of his front teeth—and he crosses the distance between Techno and him in a few quick steps. He scurries like a mouse, Techno observes, darting here and there like there are a million things to do and not a million minutes to do them. The kid rummages in his pockets, pulling out crumpled paper that has his face screwing. “It was s’posed to be a paper bird.”
Techno laughs shortly, surprising himself and the kid, who takes a small step back but doesn’t lower his hand. “Are you sure?” Techno asks, scrutinizing the paper that looks more like a spitball. The small hand inches closer, the kid’s wide blue eyes never blinking. Techno doesn’t move, just in case it scares the little boy. “Oh, you are sure.” Most kids run off the moment they get this close, but perhaps the chains and broken foot lower the scariness of his intimidating form.
The kid scowls, before he’s close enough to touch Techno’s arm. “Hold your hand out,” the kid demands, shaking his hand that is still holding the paper “bird.” Techno doesn’t move. “C’mon, bitch.”
“I’m not sure that’s gonna entice me to do what you want,” Techno drawls, before slowly unfolding his arms. He holds one of his hands out expectantly, and isn’t surprised when a thankfully not slimy piece of paper falls into it.
The kid yanks his hand back, still with that perpetual frown. “Don’t use words I don’t know,” he says, stepping back closer to the bars. “Bitch.”
“You only seem to know one word anyways,” Techno says, not bothering to look up. He winces as he turns the bird over in his hands, chafing from the cold metal digging into his wrists. He’s pretty sure the left one was bleeding yesterday, but that also could’ve been moisture from the ever-present water dripping from the ceiling.
The kid lifts his top lip in confusion before shaking his head. “I have to go now, ‘cause Dad said I have lessons soon.” He doesn’t wait for an answer from Techno, who raises an eyebrow. The kid steps through the door, locking it behind him after fumbling with the keys only twice this time.
“You didn’t even tell me your name,” Techno calls, falling from his mouth without regard to his own will. He doesn’t care about the kid’s name. He wishes he could take it back as the kid turns around, smiling.
“My name is Tommy, bitch. Don’t wear it out.”
Tommy is gone in a flash, not even giving Techno two seconds to be polite and say it back. He may be an assassin, but he still has manners. Ears straining for a sign of Tommy coming back, Techno rests his back to the frigid stone. The paper bird sits in his hand, fingers curled around it gently. No point in harming something already broken.
Emperor Philza is shorter in person than described on the streets. Months ago, when Techno was scouting for details on his target, he was not told that the Emperor is fucking puny compared to Techno. He couldn’t exactly tell when he was trying to assassinate him a week ago since it was dark in the Emperor’s room, but by goddess, he did not expect this level of shortness.
Of course, he doesn’t voice this as much as he would like to since the Emperor is holding his noose, but it’s nice to think about.
“If I were smart,” Emperor Philza starts, leaning against a cane with a crow"s head. Techno feels the immense urge to kick it from under him, but his chains are still fastened to the wall. “I would execute you as soon as possible.”
“Then you must be stupid because I’m not dead yet,” Techno says, glancing at the singular, flickering candle. It"s relit every day by a guard, and At least he’s had light in his cell this whole time.
Emperor Philza chuckles, standing up straight. “You forget that you’re the one in chains.”
A retort tips at the edge of Techno’s tongue, but he refrains for the sake of keeping his head. “Fine,” he says after a moment, “why haven’t you killed me yet?”
The Emperor ignores him, using his cane to come closer to Techno despite the chagrin of the guards surrounding him. He doesn’t move, arms stilled on his propped up legs as the Emperor stops a foot away. He grits his teeth when the cane nudges his left leg, forcing it outwards.
“How’s the broken ankle feeling?” The Emperor asks, void of any concern. Techno grimaces as that dreaded cane—he’s going to snap it in half the moment he’s able to—taps directly on the spot that hurts most. He thinks of the crumpled bird nesting in his bloody pant’s pocket. “Oh, not too nicely, then.”
Techno turns his lip, resisting the need to draw his leg back towards him. The Emperor doesn’t take his eyes off of him, and neither does Techno move his eyes. “It might be the cold, Emperor,” Techno says, biting the inside of his cheek when the Emperor nudges his leg again.
“I suppose it is a bit chilly down here,” Emperor Philza says, walking back to the cell door. “Your trial will be soon.”
“When is soon,” Techno asks as Emperor Philza steps through the door with his guards. They lock the cell. The Emperor doesn’t say a word, staring at him with an unreadable expression. “When is soon,” he repeats as Emperor Philza turns around and starts walking away.
“You’ll find out. Soon.” If Techno already wasn’t already being paid to murder the Emperor, then he’d do it for free. “Rest up, Blood God.”
“You never told me your name.” It’s Tommy again, this time dressed in a deep red shirt and tan pants. He looks as clean as ever, while Techno can practically feel the grease sliding down his hair and onto his face. He’s uncomfortable, leg hurting like a bitch and dust creased into every crevice possible. What he wouldn’t give for a bath.
“It’s Techno,” he grumbles, closing his eyes. He thinks he’s been in this cell for two weeks now, and the lack of a bed and clanking of chains interrupts his sleep. If anything, him giving his name over so easily is a testament to the exhaustion pulling at his bones. “Now leave.”
The click of a lock and swinging of squeaky metal causes Techno to clench his teeth slightly. The noises pierce into his headache, and he turns to the right, a weak attempt to block the screeching.
“Sorry,” Tommy apologies, before scuttering over to Techno. He opens his eyes to Tommy a few feet away, eyes wide with nervousness and concern. “I’ve got something for you.” Tommy rummages in his pockets—deep pockets that look to be filled to the brim—and pulls out a roll of stark white bandages. He inches to Techno, before quickly shooting out the hand holding it and dropping it on Techno’s stomach. Tommy darts away, like he did when giving Techno the bird.
Shifting, Techno gingerly picks up cloth, sparing one glance at Tommy before slowly unraveling it. He hoists his hurt leg up in silence, biting at his bottom limp at the sharp spikes nailing into his bone. The ankle is puffy, a sickeningly beautiful mural of purple, red, and blue bruising, and Techno tries not to think too deeply about the weird protruding bulge on the outside as he wraps his ankle tight even to be secure, but not too tight. There’s not much he can do about it besides trying, and most likely failing, to shove it back into place.
“Thank you,” he says after a moment, dipping his head at Tommy. “For that, and this.” Techno pulls out the bird, straightening its neck and fanning out its wings. “I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” Tommy chirps, fear gone as he bounces over to Techno and holds his hand out. “Let me fix the bird, please.”
Techno gives him the bird, watching with his eyebrow raised as Tommy does absolutely nothing while doing everything to that poor bird. Somehow the bird looks the exact same after Tommy refolded and re-creased the paper, but Techno says, “you made it better.”
“Yep! Since you crushed it in your pocket.”
“Yeah, I crushed it.” Techno sets it on the ground next to him, bringing both his legs into his body. He winces at his hurt leg, but ignores it to change the position he has been sitting in for so long. “Are you gonna leave yet?”
“Do you want me to leave?”
No. “Yes.”
Tommy smiles with perfectly white and straight teeth. “That sucks for you then.” He plops on the ground next to Techno, minding the paper bird, and sits with a hunched back and arms limp in his lap. “Can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” Techno murmurs, leaning his head against the stone. He hasn’t stood up in a couple of hours, and he’s feeling sore from it. Damn this broken leg; he would’ve escaped by now if he wasn’t immobile. He feels the weight of Tommy’s childish glare, and nods his head, a small smile on his face.
“Why are you here?”
Suddenly, Techno’s straightening, uncrossing his legs and reaching for the missing knife that’s supposed to be on his right side. Tommy leans backwards on one hand, ready for a quick getaway. Smart, since Techno is mentally clearing away the cobwebs dusting his mind and shifting into a more defensible stance. “Who sent you,” he says, voice low and dangerous. He doesn’t hurt kids, never has and never will, but Tommy surely doesn’t know that.
He’s too polished, clothes too rich in color for him to be anything but a noble’s son, and the suspicions climbing up Techno’s gut grows tenfold. “Nobody,” Tommy squeaks, voice cracking. “Nobody sent me.” His other hand falls on top of the paper bird. “Techno, I swear.”
Techno stumbles to his feet, rocking unsteadily when he can’t place the barest minimum of pressure on his left ankle. “Don’t lie to me. Tommy,” he spits, and Tommy flinches. Techno regrets it.
“I promise,” Tommy says, bottom lip threatening to wobble. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes, and it’s when the first one falls does Techno lower his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Tommy sniffles, wiping at his eyes. “I promise, Techno.”
He forgot that Tommy’s only a little kid, and he sits back on the ground, turning towards the wall when one of his chains catches painfully close to his ankle. “I’m sorry for yelling,” he says awkwardly. Techno never apologizes.
Tommy sniffles harshly, sounding very gross, actually. “It’s okay. I forgive you.” He picks up the hand that crushed the paper bird, face somehow becoming even more defeated. “I’ll have to make a new one,” Tommy decides. “Bye.” With a flash, Tommy’s gone, the jail door locked and solidly shut and no little footsteps ringing through the halls.
Techno stares at the stone floor, heavy breathing making his chest rise up and down almost painfully. Tommy’s forgiveness—a child’s skewed morals—feels insufficient in the way Techno feels alight on fire. He wouldn’t have hurt Tommy, no, but he was damn close to saying something he would regret, leaving him alone. Except, Techno is fine being alone, alone is normal. It’s why he feels no remorse about the crushed bird. Absolutely none.
Tommy’s eating a cookie when he speaks again, “you’re gettin’ ex’cuted real soon.” The cookie crumbles out of his mouth, slurring his words, but that’s not what Techno’s focused on.
He barely swallows his own cookie—a treat from Tommy who had said it was to celebrate four weeks in the cell–before saying, “What?”
“Mhmm,” Tommy nods, swallowing his cookie and taking a swig of the water he brought as well. He offers it to Techno like he didn’t just spill the beans on Techno’s death date. “Some old ladies were talking about it on my way here.”
“What the…” Techno says, grabbing the clean water and drinking some. “Do you know the exact day?”
Tommy opens his mouth, smiling like he knows the answer when a sudden loud noise comes from the top of the dungeon and his head jerks towards it. Quicker than a snake with its tail stepped on—Techno knows—Tommy’s grabbing the bundle of cookies, the near empty water bottle, and the pieces of paper he was folding into birds, and is running out of the cell. He locks it faster than Techno expected him to be able to, and he’s gone without so much of a goodbye.
Silence, and then footsteps. Not Tommy’s who are as light as a mouse, but heavier, and much more than one person. Emperor Philza must be coming, and Techno can’t blame him for leaving as soon as possible. Right before the footsteps get close to his cell, he tucks his left leg under his right, sitting cross-legged.
Emperor Philza strides into few with three guards covering him. He feels a glimmer of satisfaction at the increase of guards, but that quickly diminishes when he realizes it’s to keep the Emperor safe from him when he tells Techno his death sentence. Fair enough.
“What would you like for your final meal,” Emperor Philza says in lieu of a greeting. He looks bored, placing only a little bit of weight on the cane that stares directly into Techno’s soul.
“A knife?” Techno suggests, raising his eyebrows playfully.
“Only if you’ll allow it in your eye,” Emperor Philza says back, unimpressed. The guards next to him shift nervously, one of them having the balls to glance between Techno and the Emperor. Techno smiles brightly at them; if he’s going to go out at all, he’s giving as many people nightmares as he can. “But no,” the Emperor says, “you don’t answer, you get nothing. Your choice.”
He ponders for a moment. “Potatoes. Raw.”
“Raw potatoes?”
“Raw potatoes,” Techno says, nodding seriously. It’s a twitch of Emperor Philza’s eye, the light pulsing of a vein in his forehead that sends a small, wry smile on his face. It drops when the Emperor’s jaw locks, and his guards straighten. Based on his expression, Techno would almost bet he’s about to lose his head right now.
Emperor Philza strides up to Techno, and his guards stumble forward, halted only by the regal hands the Emperor holds up. He shoves his cane under Techno’s chin, forcing Techno to look at his cold blue eyes directly. “I do not care that you tried to murder me in my sleep, you are still a prisoner with the same rights as any citizen,” he says, low and dangerous, “but do not test me.” A moment of silence later, and the Emperor is wiping the crow’s head off on his long cape, like Techno had dirtied it from one touch. To be fair, he hasn’t showered since he was jailed.
“Tomorrow, at noon. Raw potatoes will be served a few hours before, and you’ll shower after,” he sniffs, loudly. “Goddess knows you need it.” The Emperor turns sharply on his heel, a sharp nod snapping his guards into motion as they step outside the jail cell. They leave just as fast as they came, and Techno huffs. Stupid, rich assholes. All he tried to do was assassinate the Emperor. Nothing too big.
He slumps against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His left ankle is tingling, aching every time Techno so much as breathes. He ignores it, pulling out the paper bird that looks worse than Techno at this point. Taking a deep breath, he straightens the wings out, crimping the beak so it doesn"t look like it ran headfirst into a wall, and sets it down in front of him. The water he was given by Tommy is near empty, but he drinks it anyways.
Techno doesn’t know what to do.
For the first time ever, he’s at a loss of ideas, torn between a reckless run on a broken ankle or laying down like an old dog for the Emperor. An uncountable amount of time passes when his cell door opens again, and he’s wondering for a split second if it’s already time for him to die when it’s the shiny blond head bobbing through the door.
“I folded another bird while waiting for d–the Emperor to leave,” Tommy says, unlocking the door and stepping in. He places the bird on Techno’s right knee, sitting in front of him and mirroring Techno’s crossed legs. “Do you like it?” He asks eagerly, smiling brightly.
Techno swallows thickly, feeling a chill permeate the air as he tries to find words to answer. It’s when Tommy’s smile starts to fade that he does. “Yes, I do,” he chokes out, eyes wide as he stares at the bird. He places the first bird, the one given to him forever ago, and places it on his other knee. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Tommy says, smiling softly. “I’m sorry you’re gonna die soon.”
Techno barks a sharp laugh, shaking his head. Tommy gives him a small smile, like he’s trying not to cry and laugh at the same time. “It’s fine, Tommy, it’s–it’s fine. You’re just a little kid–”
“I am not a little kid.”
“–a child, so you probably don’t understand, but,” Techno draws a deep breath. His hand wobbles as he picks up the new paper bird, holding it in front of their faces like he’s displaying it for the world to see. “I’ve done some bad things, hurt some bad people. Heh, I’ve killed some bad people, actually. And I don’t regret it.”
“I want to kill people too.”
“No you don’t, kid,” Techno sighs, shaking his head at Tommy, who only leans in closer. “But, I think I’ve accepted it. My time is due.” He blows at the paper bird, expecting it to flutter to the ground but it flops instead, unevenly made by a little kid. “Plus there’s nothin’ I can do with this dead weight,” he says, smacking his broken ankle. It hurts, but the theatrics were worth it.
Tommy’s eyebrows furrow, face pinched as if he’s thinking really hard. “Well that’s stupid. I dunno everything about you, but you don’t seem like the kind of badass to give up.”
“Well–”
“No, shut the fuck up.” Who taught a twelve year old these vulgar swears, Techno thinks briefly. “Here,” Tommy says, rummaging in his pocket before pulling out a dazzling emerald necklace. “Take this.”
“Why?” Techno says, tentatively taking the necklace. He struggles for a moment to latch it around his neck, but he does.
Tommy says with a secretive smile, “you’ll find out later.”
“There won’t be a later, Tommy,” Techno says dryly, “I’m dyin’ tomorrow.”
Tommy sniffs. “And you’re a pussy for rolling over like a dog. So, I don’t really care what you say, dumbass.”
Techno snorts, palming the necklace through his shirt. It’s warm, most likely from sitting in Tommy’s pocket. “I’m not rolling over, maybe I have some secret plan to blow shit up and escape.”
“Do you?” Tommy asks, an eyebrow raised.
There’s a long silence. “No.”
With a sigh more fit for a king weighed down by a crown, Tommy props his arms on his knees and leans in close. “Don’t give up, Techno. If not for yourself, for me?”
He looks at the paper birds, then touches the emerald dangling from his neck before looking Tommy square in the eye. “I promise.”
“Good, ‘cause I wanna make a giant bird one day,” Tommy says.
Techno leans his head against the icy wall, a content smile on his face. He’ll try to escape, for Tommy, but he can’t say he’ll be disappointed if he fails.
“The Blood God–” Emperor Philza’s voice booms, his stare piercing the top of Techno’s head. He was forced to kneel as he entered the throne room, head threatened down with a rough, gloved hand by one of the Emperor’s guards. Techno tunes out the Emperor, studying the large crowd formed to watch his beheading. It seems like anyone and everyone who was able to come, came, and the dark slither of satisfaction like that he was that influential to receive such an audience.
He’s hit in the back of the head, probably since his head has turned to the side. “Listen,” the soldier hisses through their teeth. “Or I’ll make you.” Techno glares at them, but does so. The citizens and nobles closest to them murmur amongst themselves, no doubt hearing the threat. There’s a final shove at the back of his head, but he’s gratefully allowed to raise his head. The Emperor either didn’t notice, or didn’t care about the rough treatment, continuing with his boring speech.
“–highest treason against the crown. His sentence is execution, by beheading.” Emperor Philza rises from his throne, dipping his head at the short, pink-haired knight that offers an encrusted sword to him. She bows deeply afterwards, before returning to attention.
The Emperor walks in a practiced form in a straight line from the throne, down the blood red carpet that currently pillows under Techno’s knees. His blood will blend in.
And so will the Emperor’s.
Techno lunges forwards, using his body to ram into Emperor Philza’s knees. The Emperor drops the jeweled sword. He doesn’t even pause as the crowd gasps, and the sharp ring of swords being drawn breaks in unison. No hesitation, and Techno abandons the stumbling, now fallen, Emperor and picks up the dropped sword, brandishing it in front of him with the tip six in inches from the Emperor’s head.
He breathes heavily, the loudest noise in the quiet room. The soldiers have stopped moving, frozen in place by the sword threatening their Emperor. The crowd is silent as well, like they’re holding their breath to see what Techno does.
His broken ankle throbs, semi healed from his time in the cell, but not near enough for it to be fully functional. Babying it, Techno jabs his sword forward, eyes stinging from salt dripping in his eyes. “Don’t–don’t move,” he threatens, rawness scratching his throat. “Or your Emperor dies.” His throat is trying to keep up with his chest, the guards are shifting uneasily, he’s not sure what to do anymore with pain clouding his senses, and most importantly, Techno doesn’t think he’s going to make it out alive.
A quiet murmur ruffles through the crowd, sun glinting through arching windows, a strange serenity compared to the chaos in the throne room. It parts randomly, people shoving to the side for whatever force of nature is barreling through.
“Wait!” Tommy’s voice snaps Techno’s–and the Emperor’s—head to the side, eyes widening at Tommy ducking under the barrier and sprinting towards the two of them. His eyes flicker briefly before he stops at Techno’s side, quivering like a leaf falling from a tree. “Wait, Techno, don’t.”
“Tommy, you can’t–”
“Tommy?” The Emperor is breathless, straightening before wilting when Techno waves his sword. The guards creep closer, the pink haired woman closest to Techno. He shakes the sword again, glaring. “Tommy, what are you doing?” The Emperor asks in a rushed voice, like a teacher scolding a student.
“Dad, I–”
“Dad?” Techno gapes, stuck on the guilty, silver-lined, blue eyes that are the equivalent to a hand caught in a candy jar. Or maybe it’s a cookie jar? Techno doesn’t have much time to ponder the world’s sayings recently. “What do you mean ‘dad?’ Tommy. Or is that even your real name?” The sword moves with his hands, and Tommy flinches. The guards and Emperor Philza jolt. The crowd gasps.
Tommy glances between them, before reaching into his pants pocket and pulling a bracelet studded with pearls and a coin sized emerald in the middle. A paper bird falls out, a crane with a broken wing falling to the earth and to its demise. “Take yours out, Techno,” Tommy says instead of answering Techno’s questions. He almost says something, but doesn’t, pulling out the emerald fastened by a chain. He’s not sure if it’s a necklace, or a collar. He wishes when it was all birds made from trees. “See, dad, he’s safe."
The Emperor’s mouth flaps like a fish, before one of his hands slowly reaches towards his ear—he eyes Techno’s sword the whole time—and Techno’s attention is brought to the dangling emerald.
Fuck.