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President Schlatt leaned back in his chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand, and a cigarette in the other.
It was a Tuesday, he believed. It felt like a Tuesday. He hadn’t showered in days, and he could feel the scruff on his neck starting to itch. Quackity had convinced him to shave off his facial hair, and he regretted it the second the razor hit his skin.
He took a sip of the whiskey, and chased it with a puff of smoke.
“Schlatt-”
“President Schlatt,” Schlatt interrupted Quackity, continuing to stare out the window of his office as he breathed out the remnants of his smoke.
“President Schlatt, we believe we may have information on Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit’s location.”
Schlatt slowly turned, his feet still up on his desk, and faced Quackity. Fundy stood behind him, almost cowering.
“And? What are you waiting for? Send someone to exterminate them.” Schlatt took a long inhale on his cigarette.
“There’s a slight problem… Technoblade is on their side.”
Schlatt choked, coughing roughly for a moment. It went on longer than usual, and Quackity looked concerned for a moment. He stood quickly, and slammed his glass on the desk, noting Fundy’s flinch.
“I thought he was dead,” Schlatt hissed, glaring at Quackity, the cigarette ash falling and singing a couple papers. He brushed it away, ignoring the harsh sting.
“Technoblade was seemingly undercover for a few years,” Fundy chirped up, now taking the brunt of Schlatt’s glare. “He only came out of hiding after Wilbur and Tommy were exiled.”
Schlatt froze for a moment, before laughing haughtily. He let the laughs bellow out of him, not finding the situation funny at all.
“You mean to tell me, the Technoblade- killer of orphans and so-called ‘Blood God’- teamed up with a pair as lowly as Wilbur and Tommy? Fucking hilarious!”
Quackity hesitated before stepping forward. “Schlatt, maybe it’s time to stop drinking-”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Schlatt roared, faintly noting the spots in his vision. “I am the president!”
“I’m just worried, Schlatt. We all are-”
“Who’s we? The citizens?” Schlatt laughed again, before rubbing his free hand down his face. “They don’t give a shit about me! Not since I raised the taxes…”
Quackity stepped forward again. “Maybe if we comply with Technobl-”
A resounding slap echoed through the room.
Schlatt internally felt shame. He felt fear at the fact he was becoming what he hated most. He was the worst president- the worst person alive.
Externally, he curled his lip and hissed at his vice president. “Don’t tell me how to run my country, Quackity. Technoblade will bend to me, if it’s the last thing I do. Got it?”
Quackity reached a hand up to rub his cheek. He sighed heavily before turning his gaze to meet Schlatt’s. “Yes, President Schlatt. It will not happen again.”
“It better not,” Schlatt grunted. He turned back to his desk, stubbing out his cigarette, and downing the rest of his whiskey. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He noted the steps away from his office, and the door closing.
He glanced back, seeing the room empty, and let his shoulders fall. He sighed heavily, and moved to sit in his chair again.
In one of the drawers, hidden beneath tax returns, lay a series of photographs. The first of which depicted a baby boy, little horns just barely pushing out of his skull. The second was the same boy as a toddler, playing with Schlatt’s old G. I. Joe figures. The third picture was burnt on the edges, from nights long ago. It was dark, only showing the silhouette of a figure with small wings in front of a gas station, smoking effortlessly.
The pictures stayed hidden. They remained where they should- buried with the memories.
Schlatt took a glance at the drawer, and sighed. He would need to be drunker than this to forget those memories.
+ + +
The war had been brought to a halt by the enemy party, declaring what Pogtopian’s had been waiting for.
“Be quiet,” Dream shouted over the cacophony of questions. The Pogtopia militia calmed, quieting quickly in hopes of ending the war.
“But only if my enemy insists,” Technoblade muttered, gaining a couple scattered laughs.
“We would like to surrender, because Schlatt is an idiot,” Dream sighed, before continuing. “I have to show you something. Follow me.”
The group slowly gathered at the white house, Quackity soon growing worried as he noticed they were being led right to Schlatt’s office.
Schlatt himself was sitting in his office chair, slouched and smoking. His eyes displayed confusion and- miraculously- joy when they stumbled across the group. “Is this a- a surprise birthday party?”
Wilbur took one glance at the man, and sighed. “Are you drinking?” He spat, letting the words hit like daggers.
Schlatt rolled his head around slowly, staring at the ceiling while he smoked.
“He’s really fallen off,” Tubbo muttered.
Schlatt brough his gaze back down to look at his son. Tubbo had grown so much since he’d last seen him, horns curling under his ears just like Schlatt’s.
Schlatt ignored the stab that resounded throughout his chest.
“Is this your leader, Dream?” Tommy mocked.
“This is not my leader,” Dream monotoned, staring at Schlatt, who had gone back to surveying the crowd.
Quackity pushed forward, standing at the front of the group. “He smells of- He stinks of alcohol!”
Schlatt, now getting a better viewing point at the center of the group, stood up unsteadily. “Fundy! Fundy, wh- what are you doing here?”
Fundy stepped forward, watching Schlatt struggle to stay standing.
“Come here! Come here, you bitch!” Schlatt hissed, raising a fist that in any other circumstance would be threatening.
“Listen- Listen, Schlatt-”
“Who’s gonna lift dumbbells with me, man?!’
“Schlatt, you fucked up the country!” Fundy cried, almost missing the flash of regret on Schlatt’s face. “You fucked up everything! You had a dream and I followed you, but you brought it downhill. You ruined everything. I thought you were something-”
“Yeah, I am something. I’m what you’re not.”
“And what is that? What am I not?”
“I’m a man,” Schlatt hissed, grinning all the while.
A gasp echoed through the crowd, before Wilbur rushed forward. “No, that’s it. Dream, I don’t care what you have to say. Schlatt, are you ready to die?”
Schlatt reached under his desk, before stumbling towards Wilbur with a bottle of whiskey in hand.
“Put the fucking bottle down,” Quackity shouted, causing Schlatt to pause.
“Tommy, do you still have a crossbow?” Wilbur asked.
“I do,” Tommy replied, looking terrified and full of adrenaline.
“I want you to put it between his eyes.”
Tommy complied, his hands shaking the most miniscule amount.
“If I die, this country goes down with me,” Schlatt uttered.
“No, it doesn’t, Schlatt,” Tommy was confidant. Even if his hands shook, and the sweat rolled off him in waves. This was the one thing he was sure of.
Schlatt laughed the way he always did, loud and echoing. “Oh, you don’t even want to know, Tommy Innit,” he spat, almost as if he was mocking the boy.
Quackity pushed forward again, raising his voice. “You could have had it, Schlatt. You could have had it all.”
“Everybody turned out for me!” Schlatt exclaimed, ignoring Quackity. “In my time of need, everybody left.”
Tommy shifted his grip, and it was like a light switch was flicked.
“Don’t kill me,” Schlatt mumbled, suddenly sounding weak and docile. “Don’t kill me, I’m scared of death, Toby.”
Tubbo glared at the ram hybrid, despising the fact that he knew Tubbo’s birth name.
Schlatt didn’t see Tommy. He saw his son aiming a bow at him, ready to kill him. It was fair, honestly. Eye for an eye, or whatever. But actually having it happen to him was what he never expected. He felt the same way he did at the festival.
Quackity was still talking.
“We could have done something good to this country! But this- this is all on you,” Quackity hissed.
He should have been president, Schlatt thought, he would have been so much better at it than I was.
“Enough!” Wilbur snapped, tired of the arguing. “Schlatt, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Schlatt slammed back into his body, coughing and choking. He stumbled backwards, putting a hand on his desk to keep himself steady. The bottle in his other hand was raised, as if to take a sip, before it slipped and fell to the ground. He wished it had shattered, just to show he was still alive.
He wanted to be alive.
“Do you smell… toast?” He gasped between wheezes and coughs, barely able to get his words past his chapped and bloodied lips.
“Toast?” Wilbur uttered incredulously. “Just give us your last words.”
Tommy raised his crossbow slightly, pointing it at the president’s forehead. “It’s time to die, Schlatt. Your reign of terror comes to an end.”
“What are your last words?” Wilbur asked again, growing concerned as Schlatt suddenly quieted.
Schlatt stared out at the crowd, smiling for the last time. “Tubbo…”
The crowd watched as Schlatt collapsed, crashing to the floor. His eyes stared at nothing, and the smile fell.
Quackity was the first to react. He was torn between staying where he was, and running far away. So he did what he could, and rushed to feel for a pulse. He tried everywhere he could think, before turning to the Pogtopians.
“He’s dead.” The words were spoken breathily, and he had no idea how he meant them. Whether he was relieved, or heartbroken.
Wilbur and Tommy turned and grasped each other in a bone-breaking hug.
Fundy smiled in relief, sinking against the wall.
“I say, it’s time for a party,” Eret grinned.
Quackity stared down at the dead president, and recalled his initial statement, a surprise birthday party? “Count me in.”
+ + +
Schlatt knew he was a religious man. He believed in a God, an almighty being. He believed that when he died he would go to heaven, or Hell. But this- this was a purgatory meant only to torment.
After he had died, he woke up in a gym. No timer, no clock, no windows. He had no way to tell the time, so he did what anyone would in that situation. He started working out.
Just when he thought he should rest, sit back and think about how he had lived his life, he passed out. This time, he woke up in his office, flat on his back.
Schlatt rose to his feet, glancing around the room. It was exactly as he had left it, except cobwebs had appeared in every corner, and a thin layer of dust coated the surfaces.
“Jesus, how long was I out?” Schlatt muttered, rubbing his forehead. When he was in the gym, he seemingly had no physical issues, and infinite stamina. Now, a pounding resounded throughout his head, almost as if he was eternally hung over.
Pushing his concerns aside, Schlatt adjusted his tie to sit looser around his throat, before starting his adventure.
As he passed the vice president’s office, he started to realize the place was abandoned. Quackity’s office was entirely untouched, the weights still on his desk.
(”Why can’t you just lift them?” Schlatt laughed.
“I just can’t, okay, Schlatt?! They’re too heavy for me,” Quackity hissed, obviously taking the joke the wrong way.
Schlatt felt his mood sour, and tossed the dumbbell at the desk, ignoring Quackity’s wince at the sharp noise. “Fine then, pussy.”)
Schlatt continued on, pausing at Fundy’s office. It was the only one that had changed. Before, it was the neatest room in the White House. Fundy had taken care to clean up every day, and file his papers twice a day. It was just the way he was.
Now, papers were stacked upon every surface. There was a portion on his desk that stood higher than the other, and Schlatt stepped slowly to grab the top paper.
It was blank.
Schlatt felt an eerie chill crawl up his spine as he shuffled through the papers.
(Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. They were all fucking blank.)
Schlatt stumbled away, knocking over another pile of blank papers. He raced out of the office, following the corridor all the way out the front doors. In front of him sat the biggest hole he had ever seen.
He whipped around, trying to go back to where he knew it was safe, and found the White House had disappeared completely.
“This is just a bad dream, Schlatt,” he whispered to himself. “This isn’t happening. You’re going to wake up, and you’re going to see Quackity, and-”
The memories came rushing back, and Schlatt held back tears. He needed a fucking drink.
+ + +
Schlatt had been wandering the land, trying to find a single place to get a drink. He wasn’t sure what day it was, or how much time had passed since his death. The one thing he was certain of, is that nobody could see him.
He had tried getting Philza’s attention, as he had been repairing the hole, but to no avail. He assumed he was a ghost of some sort, and this was God’s version of hell.
(”In my time of need, everybody left.”)
He moved through the motions, walking for days on end. He still had a seemingly infinite stamina, but the headache stayed.
When he stumbled upon a desert, he almost lost all hope, until he spotted a neon sign proclaiming “The Fabulous Las Nevadas”.
“They’ve gotta have some fucking whiskey,” Schlatt grumbled. “And maybe a gym…”
He continued through the desert, heading for the highest point, which happened to be a large building. He started up the stairs, his feet dragging as with every step his headache seemed to get worse.
“Just one more step,” he muttered to himself after every step, trying to keep himself sane.
He wasn’t sure it was working.
Eventually, he stepped onto the final platform, seeing a face far too familiar.
Quackity sat at a table, his head in one hand, and the other hand twirling what seemed to be a poker chip. He wore the same beanie that he did at the White House, but everything else had changed. Now, a large scar cut through his lip and eye, leaving his skin torn back and his eye seemingly blind. His wings, once on full display, were now hidden beneath a button up shirt and suspenders.
“Quackity?” Schlatt whispered, knowing there would be no response. He almost glided towards the ex-vice president, in awe of how much he had matured.
“Quackity of Las Nevadas!” A voice called out, capturing Quackity’s attention.
“What is it, Slime?” Quackity called back, already moving towards the voice.
A green, slimy creature bounced into the room. He was dressed similarly to Quackity, though his outfit was white and green, rather than white and blue.
“I have a gift for you!” So-called “Slime” brought the gift from behind his back, and thrust it toward Quackity.
Quackity’s curious expression softened instantly. “This is a cactus, Slime.”
“Yes!”
“They’re everywhere.”
“This one's for you, Quackity of Las Nevadas!”
Quackity smiled, taking the cactus very carefully. “Thank you, Slime. I’ll put it in a pot later.”
“Okay! Why is he here?”
“Nobody else is here, Slime.” Quackity shot an inquisitive glance over his shoulder as he moved to set the cactus on his table.
Slime looked directly at Schlatt. “Hello, Schlatt from Manberg!”
Quackity froze, before turning slowly, cactus still in hand. “What?”
Schlatt looked at Slime, terrified and intrigued. “Hello?”
“Hello, Schlatt from Manberg!”
“No, I heard you- What do you mean? He’s not here,” Quackity started to sound panicked.
(”Are you cheating on me, Quackity?” Schlatt hissed, waving a half-empty bottle of vodka.
“No, Schlatt, I would never,” Quackity was terrified, and it reflected in his speech.
“Are you sure? You know what would happen if I had proof-”
“Nobody else is here, Schlatt,” Quackity stated, confidence lacing his stern tone.)
“Slime, was it? Can you tell Quackity I said sorry?” Schlatt muttered, half hoping he didn’t hear.
“Schlatt from Manberg said he’s sorry,” Slime reiterated.
All color drained from Quackity’s face.
“No- no, this can’t be happening-” Quackity collapsed into the chair at the table, the cactus still resting in his hands.
Schlatt stared back at Slime, already knowing this would be a long conversation.