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The new HEP base was not quite what they’d expected.
As a Moo-Pop factory converted into a vault and headquarters to store all the Mycelium on the server, the place was still fully functional- or at least, it looked fully functional.
“You know this place used to make a thousand Moo-Pop a day?” Etho called out from the control panel, lent back against one side of the large u-shaped desk, with a book in his hand. The front cover said ‘Moo-Pop History’. He’d taken off his Bdubs head- no doubt so he could actually see (Grian was regretting making it part of the heist uniform), as he flicked through the pages.
“Are you reading about Moo-Pop? Now?” Grian asked- a little appalled, glancing over to where Impulse was currently on fire.
Needless to say the new HEP base was also a lot more secure than they had expected.
They’d inched though the smoke stack chimneys at the top and woven their way downstairs, though the ‘chop-chop room’ (no doubt Scar’s naming) and down to the ground level- Grian’s elytra had jammed and he’d lost a good chunk of his health hitting the ground floor. They’d all laughed.
The Factory floor was a big open room, with conveyor belts and metal pipes running the length of it- up to the ceiling and along the walls, with minecarts zipping back and forth. Most were empty, but some were filled with mushrooms and one that kept dipping under the floor filled with water each time it came back up.
The door was just as imposing from the inside as it was from the outside, but notably, were two little note blocks set in the floor. Etho had pried the top open of one of them gently and after a few moments of inspection, declared that a tune had to be played for the doors to open, Then smacked to top of one of them. The doors had chugged open, slime and honey blocks exploding raw redstone.
It might have given the three of them some false confidence, as Impulse skipped around the factory-turned-headquarters with a smile in his voice- and on his face because void, the Bdubs grin was as wide as ever. The plan had been to get in, steal back their seventy-four shulker boxes of mycelium and get out. But who could blame them for being a little curious, poking about the place, looking for anything else that may have been of use.
Impulse had been fiddling with some machine in the corner labelled as a ‘Moo-Pop carbonator’, flicking the leavers on the side and clicking a few buttons, with Etho up at the control panel, poking about the redstone under the desk in an attempt to see where exactly each unlabeled switch went to when the first dispenser had clicked.
“Careful!” Grian had called into the air as he leant over to inspect what looked to be a barrel full of Moo-Pop, the carbonated mushroom drink so unfortunately named he’d genuinely thought it was fizzy milk until they’d broken in. “We don’t know if they’ve trapped this place.”
“Uh, well, I’d say the control panel is rigged.” Etho had answered, voice steady but slightly higher pitched than normal. Grian had glanced over, confused, only to see Etho fenced in on all sides by lingering potions. The gas had settled on the floor, surrounding the entire panel. “Poison and instant damage- I’d take a wide berth until it clears up.”
Then the shudder of a piston. Impulse had yelped, and both Grian and Etho had swivelled to watch another arrow thud into his shoulder, tongues of flames licking at his skin. Another arrow, from a skeleton archer that had been hidden in the carbonator. Perhaps triggered by the control panel, or Impulse’s fidgeting.
The skeleton had been in full diamond, enchanted and everything- arguably better dressed than all of them who had forgone the recognizable and clunky armour they practically lived in for the value of stealth (save for Etho and the boots he refused to part with). Which was beginning to feel like a mistake.
Impulse’s totem popped and he battled with a few measly blocks of dirt to block the skeleton’s view, while Etho flipped through the pages of a stupid history book.
An unsettling feeling rolled through Grian’s stomach. They should have waited for the rest of the Resistance. Foolishly they had thought that less people was better- a stealth mission. How stupid to think they would be walking into an unprotected base.
Grian’s totem popped in his hand, and he yelped as the deep red smoke from the control panel seeped across the floor and around his ankles, backing up hastily and crashing into one of the many converter belts, bracing himself on it as he caught his breath. Still low from his elytra jamming, the instant damage had done just enough damage to knock out his totem.
Etho laughed and Grian let his gaze flick up with a stare.
He didn’t really know Etho- at least, not well enough to know by instinct if it was something light or mocking and the mask certainly didn’t help, but there’s a crinkle beside his eyes and his posture is relaxed despite the trap he’d stumbled into. Grian’s glare lost a little bit of that heat.
The first resistance base was not flashy, not like this big dumb and heavily booby-trapped factory. Really it was just an unsanitary pit of mushrooms, jammed underground, between Grian’s barge and the Decked out dungeon that clicked and whirred every night. Really it was mostly just for like minded people- a place for them to discover that there were others who wanted to preserve the shopping district's natural environment. It was also to annoy Scar, causing a bit of chaos and conflict in the new mayor’s reign. A messy cave of mycelium, just enough for it to spread under the imported grass that was slowly coating the shopping district.
Grian remembered ducking into the water when no one was looking, heading down into the base and seeing a name on the board. The first name, scratched into a Jungle wood sign, was the messy name of black ink. Etho.
It made his eyebrows scrunch and lips turn downwards. Grian didn’t really know Etho- not enough to understand why he’d try and join a resistance or government revolt. Last season, some members of the nHo as people called it (Grian also had no idea what that was), went missing. Lost in the void people said.
What Grian did understand was that last season, everyone spoke fondly of their missing hermits, and when they appeared on the tiny spawn island at the beginning of this season, there were tears- mostly from Bdubs.
All he knew at that point was Etho was somewhat of a renowned redstoner, attributed by all who know him to having taught them at least something about the mysterious red dust that no matter how many attempts he makes, Grian simply could not manage. He knew that there was a shop somewhere in the district that sold note block songs, that Etho was quiet and reserved, a hard worker according to those who hold him in high regard and that he lived somewhere in the jungle.
It wasn’t much knowledge, certainly not enough for the two of them to plot a rebelion together. Grian remembers making a list and resolving to do some research- a recon mission of sorts. He’d written down everything he knew and ended up with a remarkably short list.
Redstone.
That much had always been obvious from the sheer reputation the man held. Grian was not someone of redstone prowess, in fact- he had the unrivalled ability to break every redstone contraption he encountered. The burning red dust eluded him, sure Grian sported the smallest of burn scars– reminding him of the dangers redstone posed, all players did, but he was not a redstoner. In his mind, masters of redstone, like Mumbo or Doc, deserved the utmost admiration, because when using a material that sparks with heat and magic, one so dangerous it leaves permanent scars, and still managing to master it? That was dedication.
And Grian had listened to muttered curses in meetings last season, of Iskall and Mumbo wishing Etho had been around to lend them a hand, well then what was he supposed to think? If the greatest redstoners he knew looked to Etho for advice, where would that rank him? With scribbled ink, Grian corrected his list.
Best redstoner? (Ask Mumbo)
And he did. When Grian flew back to the mansion, and spotted the glowing lights of his best friend's base, he couldn’t help but stop in, listening to the rhythmic heartbeat echo across a silent jungle. Mumbo was there of course, head buried down in some new contraption, the kind that Grian would no doubt break in the future.
“Mumbo,” he had started slowly, sprawled across the floor on his stomach, watching curiously, wings giving puff as the cold breeze hit them, cutting through an open section of wall. “You know Etho right?”
“I mean- yeah? He’s been on the server almost as long as I have.” Mumbo answered, pulling the string of a dispenser taunt as he placed it down. “Why?”
“Just a little group project- he said he’d help out.” A simple little lie, just to avoid the inevitable conversation about the resistance, about Grian poking people and pressing buttons that he shouldn’t.
Mumbo turned, sitting back for a moment as he looked at Grian curiously before opening his inventory.“Guess you’ve never really met the man.”
“I saw him once, in the shopping district.” Grian recalled, watching Etho step out of his snow shop. “He full on vanished and then showed up behind me.”
That had just made Mumbo chuckle, like he knew exactly the feeling. “Yeah he liked to believe he’s a ninja. Although, he is very good with ender pearls so maybe he deserves the title.”
“He does redstone right?”
Mumbo snorted, like Grian had just asked to have his moustache- or if he’d asked if he could borrow something. He snorted like Grian had just asked the stupidest question ever. “He doesn’t do redstone, he invented redstone.”
Grian frowned, confused. “But it’s a natural resource.”
“Well yeah, but he pretty much wrote the book on it- hell, he has written books on it.” Mumbo shook his head, placing down his redstone shulker box.
“Oh.”
“You know how to make a hopper clock? Pretty sure I taught you that.” It had been an exhausting afternoon that gave Grian exactly four of the five redstone burns he had and left Mumbo out of pocket a fair bit of dust that had been haphazardly spilt.
“You did.”
“It’s an Etho hopper clock. He invented it. He was one of the first players to actually put his head down and figure out what to do with the stupid red dust that most people avoided.” Mumbo rambled, digging though his red shulker. “He wrote books and journals and tutorials for the World hub library. I have copies here.”
Grian thought back to his list. So maybe he should have written ‘first redstoner’. “I didn’t know that.”
“Well you aren’t exactly redstone focused now, are you?” Mumbo teased. Grian sat bolt upright. “I can do redstone!”
“Sure. I'm just glad Etho’s on this project of yours, he can handle just about any redstone request you throw at him. I think he used to do that actually, take requests. Maybe.”
Filing all that information away, Grian had considered what Etho would be bringing to the resistance- a good old redstone door, maybe an automated mycelium farm?
As it turns out, Etho did bring redstone insight to the team, but also occasional jokes, his Decked out shulker box more often than not and an impressive shovel.
He didn’t come to meetings all that often, but came when called- such as when they ‘stole’ the Diamond throne in the most legally grey way ever. And when they showed up to another mooshroom island and purged the mycelium Etho had arrived, flying in from the portal with a travel cup of coffee and that max-enchant shovel of his, ready to demolish a small landscape. He made an emergency meeting button when Grian asked, and even tried to teach him exactly how it worked.
There had been days where Grian had been in the shopping district, following the faint markings of Etho’s name tag as it moved underground, no doubt in Decked Out again- there’s even one time Grian pressed the emergency meeting button and Etho hand crashed into his seat with a key and compass in hand.
So it should be no surprise that when he put the call out for resistance members to break into the new HEP headquarters, Etho had been the first to arrive. He’d flown in, dropping through the shulker box door that he had proposed and gliding down to land on the meeting table, his shiny netherite boots clicking as he did so.
It might just be those netherite boots saving Etho from the ground-cover cloud of poison that’s settling around him, leaning there as if everything was fine, a book dangling from his grip. There’s an itch, deep in Grian’s mind to understand him, to know what makes a proclaimed redstone inventor tick, why he had chosen to join Grian’s silly little resistance when, clearly, he was indifferent to the cause.
“Okay guys- no more pushing buttons or flicking leavers!” he decided.
“But that’s all I’ve been doing!” Impulse called back, ducking another flame-tipped arrow.
Grian pushed himself up- back onto his feet properly, gripping his pick tightly. It would not be much of a weapon against the skeleton or the lingering potions, but it was better than nothing. His left hand feels a little empty- no shield, no totem and his fingers curl together around nothing. “Anything in that stupid book about where they’re keeping our mycelium?”
“Uuhhh,” Etho flicked through a few more pages. “Something about a vault. It says we need a key though.”
From the entrance, Impulse called out, “Guys! I fixed the skeleton problem.”
“Did you kill him?” Grian asked, glancing up, only to see three very strategically placed dirt blocks.
Etho laughed, deep and rumbling, like it came right from his chest. “Nice work Impulse!”
With the skeleton gone, the lingering potions were their only problem, and even those were starting to dissipate. Only the poison was left, annoyingly in the entryway to the control panel, but Grian just lent over the desk, growing at what he saw. “You said you needed a key?”
Etho hummed, still reading. Grian reached out and grabbed it- a big ornate skeleton key, with a tag tied to the end- HEP Vault Key. “Like this one?”
It took him a second, but Etho glanced up, seeing the key dangling from Grian’s thumb, blinking a few times. “That would be it. Chuck it in the barrel.”
Shoved between a lectern where presumably the history had been, and a panel of iron with far too many buttons and leavers on it to be Grian-safe. But he dropped the Key in the barrel, as the bottom fell out and the key clunked down into a hopper somewhere.
The door to the vault- or well, the big ugly plain wall that had to be the vault, drops down. And for a moment- they were victorious, they cheered, and Grian ran around the panel to stand at the vault and Etho leapt over the control panel, netherite boots still clicking. Impulse listens as the redstone whirrs, mentally mapping out the pistons and repeaters underground.
It felt like a victory- like when they’d lead HEP to the fake base, or bought half the shopping district- it felt like they'd done it.
Then more pistons sounded and the ceiling opened up. It fell slowly- potion effects no doubt, grunting at them when it caught sight of the three of them standing there, grins wiped clean off their faces.
A Ravager.
Impulse was the first one to break away, not quite as shell shocked as the other two, chanting a series of no no no’s, as he scrambled to get out of range. Grian backed away, steady steps like if he moved too quickly he’d spook the mob into landing faster. Etho doesn't move until the first hit comes, it slammed into his chest with the fury of a Dungeon losing its artefact, it’s a force he knows well. Well enough to spring his body into movement without a thought.
“Come on- Deck out is supposed to be over man!” Etho whined, vaulting a conveyor belt with his palm. It becomes very clear that slowfalling was not the only potion effect on the ravager, because when it stalked after him, it was not slow and dopey like the ones he’d dealt with before. The sweet smell of nether wart and sugar clung to it as the beast chased Etho in circles though the factory.
“Aren’t you like, the Decked Out King?” Impulse called from the other side of the Factory, over by the door.
“Those ravagers didn’t have speed two!” He shouted back, tripping over some of the dirt left behind by Impulse’s attempts to close off the skeleton archer. Etho ducked to slide under a pipe, but the collar of his coat snagged and he couldn't quite rip it free. He tugged the sleeves off, wiggling himself out from under the copper- but the ravager had gotten close.
The hit knocked him free, but it also popped his totem, exploring in a burst of sparks in his hand as he hissed and shook the heat off his fingerless gloves. “Guys! He’s coming!”
Grian and Impulse just watch in horror as Etho weaved, ducking and jumping the obstacles in his path, the ravager just bulldozing over all of it behind him. But no amount of manoeuvring can outrun pure speed pots. And the ravager gets Etho one more time, tusks driving into him and he too, pops, turning to nothing more than a cloud of smoke into the air, as his inventory spills, pick, golden carrots and netherite boots clattering to the floor.
Grian swallowed thickly. He had not played much Decked Out, but Etho had. And if the winner of the game couldn’t avoid the ravager, then there was no hope for Grian.
His death message slides into chat.
Etho was slain by HEP Security.
And well, HEP Security was not stopping at one kill. It barreled towards Impulse who’d been standing atop a conveyor belt, ramming him and tossing him a good five blocks into the air. And without those oh so important netherite boots, he doesn't survive the drop back to the floor.
Impulse was slain by HEP Security.
Tango: I feel secure.
Grian felt his chest tighten as the beast fixed its eyes on him. He fired off a rocket, but he’s not really thinking- no he’s panicking and crashed into a wall, then into some kind of machine. It crashed down with him and he stumbled back to his feet, bolting to try and get some distance between him and the ravager, but he’d always been a flyer, not a runner.
“You need nine hearts to survive a hit!” Etho called out from above. Grian stumbled in surprise, hardly catching himself in time to avoid a headbutt.
“Etho?” He called out, looking around, not spotting him before having to drag his attention back to the obstacles in front of him. “I thought you died!”
“I did! I set my spawn earlier!”
“Why?” Grian whined. None of them had thought it would be so rigged- and if he knew something was coming the least Etho could have done was warn his team mates.
“It was night!” He replied simply, as if that answered everything, and honestly? It kind of did. Grian groaned. “God, you really are just like Bdubs!”
“He’s not online- someone had to sleep!” He’s shouting from the upper level, where they’d come in from the smoke stacks. Grian would take the ladder up but he had a feeling the HEP Security hot on his heels wouldn’t give him the pleasure of taking his time to climb a bloody ladder. So he let off a rocket instead.
It still flung him around, into the ceiling and then into the railing of the ‘chop-chop room’. His shoulder hits the metal and it slams his elytra harness. The buckles break with the impact and the wings he depended on so heavily slipped from his back. Grian clawed, scrambling to grab something as he slipped, trying desperately to get a good grasp on the railing, but it was too thick, and he couldn’t wrap his hand around it properly, the soft fabric of his sweater slipping against it.
And his chest was tight, too tight, so tight he could hardly breathe. Maybe he’d been winded, or he was just out of breath from running, but he’s panting.
Grian was panting and he was panicking and he was slipping.
Then there’s a hand in his, the smooth, soft texture of black leather and Etho gripping one of his hands firm and steady as his other slid under Grian’s arm, hauling him up and over by the belt.
Together they lay on the floor, side by side, staring at the ceiling, catching their breath. Still panting, but not quite panicking anymore.
“I hate those things.” Grian whispers, words lost to the air of the factory. But Etho heard him, because, as Grian had learnt in meetings, Etho heard everything.
He laughed. “Better not visit my base then.”
“Why would anyone want ravagers at their base?”
“Just the one. It’s my trophy. For winning Decked Out.”
“Yeah well a lot of good that trophy did you. The ravager killed you first.”
“Never said I deserved the trophy.”
Grian’s head fell to the side, taking in the sight of Etho. He looked like shit. No longer was he the calm and collected man he always seems to appear as, who only spoke when he had something to say, who watched and noticed and heard everything. This was just Etho, whose white hair was messy from respawn, missing his coat and sweating from his brow.
He was human.
And Grian didn’t know why he never saw Etho as such, but it’s comforting to know that there is someone human there, who is not perfect, who can’t outrun a ravager or detect undetectable traps. It makes him feel better, for leading his friends into a death trap, for failing to save them from dying to the stupid HEP Security system.
Etho sighed, a little breathlessly, no doubt still feeling the impact of his death from the quick respawn. He sat up, and then gave Grian’s stomach two quick pats. “Okay, time to get this security sorted out before Impulse gets back. No need to have him dying at the door.”
“Well you’re the ravager expert.” Grian groaned, pushing himself up to his feet. “What’s the plan?”
Leant over the balcony, Etho surveyed the scene, then let out a stained sort of hiss, biting his bottom lip as he considered his options. Then he turned to Grian. “Got any blocks?”
“Only Gravel.”
“Perfect.” Etho grinned, and now Grian can tell, the way the edge of his mask clings to his cheeks, raising slightly as a smile breaks past his lips, the lines crinkling around the side of his sharp eyes. He’d never seen Etho without the mask, but he makes it easy to imagine the smile that played on his lips.
And it’s infections. Grian couldn’t help but to smile as they dropped piece by piece around the ravager until it’s penned in, riding the minecraft down the conveyor belt together to gather their belongs and Etho pulled on his coat and those beloved boots before helping Grian pull the straps of his elytra harness nice and tight.
Smiling as they open the door by knocking about the note blocks, Impulse greeted them both with an embrace, dragging each of them under an arm, congratulating them on containing the ravager and saving his shovel from despawning.
Grian grinned as he held out a Bdubs head to each of them. “Get your game faces back on boys! Mycelium is back on the menu!”
And this time it was a victory as the vault door opens and the HEP trap misfires, leaving a good seventy of the shulker boxes exposed and completely intact despite the explosions. The Ravager grunted lowly from the corner as the three of them fly off, back to the resistance, with their death counts a few ticks higher, but inventories full.