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At sundown, Schlatt heads down the Prime Path alone, with no armour and no weapons. Maybe he should have intervened before now. They think he’s stupid, but he’s long known that there was a “secret” route to Pogtopia, and that Tubbo was helping to build it. It suited his purposes to let them continue. After all, if they were expending all their efforts on the underground road, then he could get on with his master plan, his vision of grand public works and the improvement of his great nation.
But now it was unavoidable. Everyone knew about the path and it was only a matter of time until Quackity came to him and his hand would be forced. Also, he’d seen the strain in Tommy first-hand, seen how Tubbo had tried to hide his tear stained cheeks. And their cover story was becoming increasingly outlandish. Gynaecologist? He’d be surprised if Tommy had seen another woman excepting his Mom and Queen Liz.
And so, it was way past time that Schlatt had a tête-à-tête with Wilbur.
After a few wrong turns and a little light cobblestone mining, Schlatt found himself in a natural cavern, dotted here and there with wooden gantries. He wondered if they mined most of this, or found it here? Probably found it, the lazy fuckers.
We sauntered into the cave as if he owned the place, which he probably technically did as it was connected to Manberg. He found himself a rock at a convenient height and sat his ass down. It was quiet, except for the gently dripping water. Reaching into his silk-lined pocket for a cigar, he peered around into the darkness. Slowly and deliberately, he lit the cigar and took a deep drag.
He could feel the pressure of invisible eyes watching him.
“Hey Wilbur”, he said cheerfully. There was a sound somewhere above him, and a loosening of earth and pebbles, which bounced and echoed from the cavern walls.
“Schlatt.”
The single word was rasped from a throat that sounded like it had been screaming for hours. Shit, Schlatt thought. Am I too late? Still, he couldn’t help himself poke the bear.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” he observed ironically. “All this fucking time you’ve been squirrelled away down here and I thought you’d have done something to make it more home-y. I mean, Christ.”
There was no response, but Schlatt could clearly hear footsteps on wood. Wilbur wasn’t even trying to be stealthy. Schlatt takes another long drag on his cigar, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before expelling it in an “O”-shaped puff. For the first time in a while, he was in no rush.
“Why are you here?” Wilbur barked abruptly from darkness. Schlatt definitely didn’t flinch and almost drop the cigar, oh no.
“I wanted to see if everything’s okay with you,” Schlatt replied, gesturing vaguely. “I’ve heard disturbing rumours. Tommy’s been getting up on the wrong side of the bed a lot more often. And I mean, its funny, don’t get me wrong. But I thought, we’ve not really had a chance talk lately.”
“Chance to talk?” Wilbur’s laughter had a nasty edge. “Yeah, talk’s what you are all about, right Schlatt?”
Wilbur sounded… off.. in general, but Schlatt decided to push his luck. It was like lancing a boil. They had to get it all out now. “What’s the matter, man? Is there trouble in paradise? You and Tommy had a falling out, huh?”
And then, out of nowhere, Wilbur landed heavily in front of him, and the sight of him cut Schlatt off, made his jaw clack shut.
He swallowed hard.
Because Wilbur did not look good. In fact, Wilbur looked terrible. His clothing was dishevelled, his hair limp and greasy, and he was hunched, his gangly frame bent crooked in the gloom. However, none of that was what gave Schlatt the chill that shivered through him. No, it was Wilbur’s face, his sunken cheeks, his eyes that glittered with madness. Schlatt gulped. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“A falling out,” Wilbur said dully, and raised a cross-bow, pointing it directly at Schlatt. However, he didn’t even seem to see him. “You… you took everything.”
There was that manic giggle again. It was jarring and sudden and faded just as quickly as it arrived.
“That’s ancient history,” Schlatt said nervously. “C’mon man, haven’t you got over that yet?”
“Over it?” Wilbur spat. “You took my country, my friends, everything I loved. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now?”
Schlatt stared him down, not speaking for a minute while he tried look gather his thoughts. “Look man, I don’t care what you do here in this hole – spelunking or whatever – I just need to know your intentions.”
“Intentions?” Willbur’s hand was shaking.
Schlatt wondered if he’d hit him even if he did fire. “Your intentions toward my country.”
Wilbur’s eyes went so white that they glowed white in the darkness. “You’re country? My intentions…” He sudden went still, all the shaking gone. “My intentions are scorched earth and utter devastation. My intentions are the thunderbolt from heaven, the cleansing fire.” His voice faded into a whisper. “Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare.” His lips continued to move but the words were so quiet, they were barely audible. Then he fell silent, and carefully, deliberately he fired the crossbow, hitting Schlatt right between the eyes.
--
Schlatt woke and sat straight up in bed. He searched his pockets. No cigar.
So it was real, not just a dream?
Fuck. Goddamn you, Wilbur.
He got up, out of bed, fixed his tie, and headed straight for the White House. He had work to do.
--
“Is this thing on?”
The tap-tap-tap from the presidential microphone echoed around Manberg. Standing beside Schlatt, Quackity looked nervous. He knew that this wasn’t a normal speech. Something was up.
“Now as you know, I love this great country of Manberg,” Schlatt’s voice boomed. “And all I’ve wanted was peace and safety for all its citizens.” Schaltt gave Quackity a pointed look and the other man quickly left the podium, moving away to sit with the rest of the crowd.
“Well to that end, today I’m announcing a very important decree. Probably the most important of my reign.”
“Sir yessir!” Quackity shouted loyally.
Schlatt nodded indulgently then took a deep breath. “Today, I am declaring Pogtopia a terrorist organisation!“
The crowd went insane, all shouting over each other. Schlatt gestured for quiet and waited for the hubbub to die down.
“Hear me out. Any member of that terrorist organisation will be arrested on sight,” there was more shouting but this time Schlatt just raised his voice to shout over it. “And then they will be put on trial. A public trial. Because we are a law-abiding nation, and that’s what the good guys do. These… criminals… will be caught, tried and justice will be seen to be done, by our new nation, for our new nation.”
The crowd went wild at that, and Schaltt was gratified that there were a lot more cheers this time.
“It will be upon you all, as citizens, to look out for these terrorists, and report them or capture them if you can. Believe me, it is for the greater good.”
Schlatt stepped back from the podium for a moment. He hasn’t heard a peep from Tommy or Wilbur although he knows they are listening to this. He steps forward again and raises both hands.
“And you should know, we’re still gonna have the festival. We’re not gonna let Wilbutsoot and Timmyinnit stop us from celebrating this great land we’ve built together. Let’s hear it for L’- let’s hear it for Manberg.” The crowd roared and clapped and stomped their feet.
Quackity was beside him in a hot minute, with Fundy not far behind him, and they both chattered excitedly. Schlatt tuned them out. All he can see is Will’s wide eyes in the cave. And his voice, soft and desperate like a child’s, whispering “Please stop me. Stop this. I don’t want to do this. Please.” Before he fired.
“I’ll stop you. I’ve got you buddy,” he thought. “I’ll help you, don’t you worry.”
Then he turned around to lieutenants. For now, he had a country to run.