Archive of Our Own ^beta

There's this odd moment that exists somewhere between life and death. The one that consists of a final breath, of last words, of the knowledge that you're going to die soon enough- and there's nothing you can do about it. Not everyone experiences it, dying during comas or at some point in the night, barely or not aware of what's going on. 

But for some, for the tortured and slaughtered, this 'moment' could last a lifetime. Minutes, hours, all full of screams and misery because of whatever pain was inflicted on them. It's inhumane, really. 

There's a reason why this moment exists, though, and why the power to stretch it out was even available. Even though they knew what they were doing was technically terrible, by all accounts, they liked to think that inhumane, horrible practices should be used against inhumane, horrible people. 

Because that's what Karma is, isn't it? The universe returning whatever you put out into the world? 

And if the universe isn't doing a good enough job, somebody has to step in. 

"Should we just do it while he's sleeping and get out of here quicker?" the man knew he was being paranoid as his eyes darted around the building they occupied. 

The pink haired young man looked to his father, giving him a stare that easily read as 'are you insane?'. Most of his hair, the defining trait he had assigned to himself, was tucked under a hat, but a few strands hung around his face, slightly curled in their light shade of pink. He scoffed lightly, shaking his head, "No way. That's too merciful for a homophobic child-abuser." he said the last few words as if reminding the other man why they were doing this. 

The dirty blinde, older figure nodded, refocusing on their target. The devil was tied up to supporting marble beam in their towns biggest church, the one that was left mostly unguarded when it was closed (for whatever reason), with a combination of silky red and black ribbon. He was sat down, with his legs splayed out beneath him. He was slumped too, his head lazily propped the surface of the beam, still asleep from being drugged inside his own home, just a few doors down from this building.

Sure, it'd be easier to kill him in his bedroom, but there was something poetic about him dying in the same public place he made little kids feel terrible about themselves. 

Moonlight beamed in through the stained glass windows that hung on the higher parts of the wall, but nobody peeked in, or even walked by. It was pretty late in the night for that. "You watch him, I'll get everything ready." the blonde one whispered, going over to the bench where they had their equipment hiding. 

They already wore their gloves, masks, and hats, just to avoid any evidence left behind, but there was more to getting away with (and profiting from) murder than that. He double checked that their high-tech cooler was ready for the dissection process. His connection told him that livers and leg muscles were highly requested at the minute, so those body parts were the priority. 

"Don't harm the legs too much, whatever you do. Gentle cuts on the skin are fine, but nothing deep." he reminded, gently, as if this was just a family activity he was more experienced in. Like fishing, or a game of chess. 

"I want to slice his chest in half, down the middle." the pink haired one breathed out, sounding nearly...excited. He lived for this, just like his father. Even more so, at points. It was nearly terrifying. "Not deep enough to immediately cut into his lungs or puncture his heart, though. I want him to be alive and breathing and in pain." 

Okay, so maybe it was terrifying. But only to their targets, which was perfectly acceptable. He was just good at his job. 

"Make sure you gag him, then." his father replied, pulling a thick paintbrush out of one of their duffel bags before standing once more, lifting up a silver briefcase. He set it down flat closer to his son and the devil and opened it, revealing a plethora of different gadgets, weapons, and surgical tools. His son plucked a thick piece of fabric out without any remorse or question, going over to the soon-to-be corpse and rigging it up as something to muffle his eventual screams. 

Then, he came back over and leaned down to inspect the torture options inside the case. His gloved hand lingered over a long, rocking-blade katana. That was Wilbur's favorite weapon, his mind screamed at him. He sighed, he couldn't use his axe for what he wanted to do, so he settled on a curved dagger. 

The handle was originally a white marble with dips to create a tight grip (one that fit his right hand perfectly), but it was now stained in this oddly beautiful shade of washed-up rosy pink. He smiled as a few memories flashed through his mind. His first killing, when Technoblade was freshly 18, when Phil handed him that knife and asked what he wanted to do to some manipulative business man who did nothing but ruin lives. 

His fifth murder, when he snatched up this blade and just kept slicing until the target's vision faded and his went red. His seventh murder, when he sawed off a rapist's fingers, one by one, utilizing this very blade. He could almost laugh at how quickly he got used to it, how quickly he began to love this. He was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the sounds of panicked and muffled confusion coming from the base of the support beam. 

"Oh! Hello there!" he greeted, all smiley and terrifying. Phil grabbed another piece of ribbon out of the case and handed it to Techno, glancing at the man's legs. 'Tie him up before you do anything', the look said. He nodded gently, taking it before making his way over to the devil in disguise of some holy man. He bent down, clicking his tongue, "We gotta take care of this, now don't we? Wouldn't want you causing to much trouble while we do this." 

The man obviously kicked his feet and trashed, with some obvious struggle because Phil was good at tying up his hands. Eventually, though, his legs were bound together at the ankles. He could thrash a little, but his useless kicks didn't do much. The terrified and mumbled sounds of a man asking too many questions continued on. 

"Let me guess," Phil chimed in, sitting casually on one of the church pews a few feet away, as if he was witnessing a football game, or something. "'What's going on? This must be a mistake! Please, don't kill me, I have a wife and kids!'" he put on a stupid mocking voice, smiling near devilishly as he tilted his head. The man nodded eagerly. 'Let me go, I've done nothing wrong!' went unsaid but was noted as a protest. 

"Thanks for the input, but this business doesn't take customer reviews to heart," Techno lifted his dagger so that it hit a moon beam and shimmered in this was specific way that was eerily beautiful. He sighed, licking his lips as if he just couldn't wait for this. "We prefer just doing what we think is right, really." 

He lowered the blade, standing over the man's legs and bending over. He pointed the tip of the blade just under his chin, locking eyes with him, giving him a stare that said 'you deserve this, and I deserve to enjoy it'. "Y'know, we're gonna chop up your legs and use your blood to paint our little logo on this beam," he told him, dragging the knife down in such a delicate motion, creating a thin, red line, "And those kids you hurt, they're gonna come in for church tomorrow and someone's gonna tell them that you're gone." 

He dug it in deeper, rocking the blade a bit once he hit his chest. Muffled screams and runny blood seemed to be the fuel that kept the killer going. Techno crouched down so that he was straddling him, pinning his legs down and placing his other hand on the handle. "And I think that they're gonna be happy, somewhere deep down. Or thankful, at least. That the devil in their hometown was slaughtered." 

He make a soft and downward stabbing motion on the last word, suddenly, watching the blood pool on his stomach and trail downwards. Techno knew he was getting blood all over himself, but he didn't care. He laughed, pulling the blade out and earning a breathy gasp. He continued the delicate trail down his stomach. "You're gonna die here, tied up like a witch on a stake. Like some sinner being executed, and I'm gonna watch." 

Techno paused as he lifted the knife away with a gentle gasp, as if suddenly realizing something, looking back to his father. Phil still sat on the wooden bench, looking amused as he pulled out the tools he'd need for dissection. He had pulled the case closer to him, at some point. The younger of the two still had murder pooled in his eyes, dripping off his face like a poison designed specifically for people like the man tied up. The pink haired killer held out the bloody knife with a tilted head, offering it to his dad with kindness. 

"Did you want a turn?" 

Phil laughed. He loved his son. 

--

There's a moment somewhere in the early hours of the morning, when you're supposed to be sleeping and you know that, but you're hungry and not tired and there's leftover cake downstairs in the fridge. So, like any smart person, you stop uselessly attempting to rest (because tomorrow is Sunday anyways, and you don't need to wake up early) and sneak down to the kitchen. 

It didn't sound like anyone was home when Tommy did this. His father would often run off to help with newspaper business late in the night in order to stuff the paper with the newest stories just in time for it to be delivered on every doorstep in their town by 8:30 am the next day. And his brothers attended community college, had friends, and were in clubs- there were lots of reasons to disappear in the middle of the night on the weekend. 

Even it was for something as lame as Techno's literature club meetings or Wilbur's late-night band rehearsals (Tommy was pretty sure both of those were half-lie covers to get drunk and party with friends, but he wasn't gonna ask because frankly, he was just glad his brothers didn't move away for college like they had originally planned). He knew they'd all be back by breakfast, maybe lunch, the next day, ready to greet him with kind and sleepy smiles on their faces. 

For now, he just wanted a piece of the chocolate cake Wilbur helped him make earlier that day. There had been a reason, something stupid like 'we have eggs that're gonna go bad', when they did it, but he couldn't it remember now. He laughed a bit at the absurdity of taking over the kitchen to bake for no real reason. He loved his brother. His whole family, really. 

He couldn't imagine how his life would've ended up if his biological mother kept him, or if he was adopted by anyone else. 

He cut himself his small slice of the baked treat, before sliding the rest back into the fridge. He poured himself a glass of water over ice he'd stolen from the dispenser on the fridge. The kid remembered when they still had the white one that came with the house, with the freezer that didn't work and no water filter. Phil always swore he'd get a new one, but he couldn't afford it until the blonde was about ten, when the man got a 'sudden raise'. 

When that had happened, it was like everything in their life was suddenly a bit more... excessive. They had been fine before, sure, but they struggled and stretched at points. Now they had the fancy fridge and a bigger tv and two cars in their garage. Tommy wasn't sure exactly how much his dad was getting paid, but it was definitely more than enough for their little family. 

Speaking of the television, the boy shut it on as he sunk into the couch, making sure to keep it at a low volume. He just wanted something simple that he could doze off to, something to get him sleepy enough to stumble back up to his bedroom and pass out. 

As if the world was gifting him the perfect solution to his problem, the news channel was on. They were recapping the big basketball game, pitting the team from the South side of town against the North side's one. Tommy hadn't gone to this game, mostly because he didn't really care for the hype behind the seemingly meaningless event, so he turned his brain off and let himself get lost in it. 

He finished his cake in a few minutes, licking the fork clean before dropping it, along with the now-dirtied plate, into the kitchen sink. He'd clean them after he had a few more hours of sleep, he decided. On his way out of the kitchen, he lifted his hand to shut the light off, but he froze in place before doing so. 

Layered over the sound of the still-running television was something coming from just outside the front door. The entrance to the house opened up into the living room, so he was headed in that direction anyways. He listened closer for a moment, curiosity and anxiety piping up momentarily, as if a serial killer was waiting behind the door for him. The sounds of jingly keys and panicked whispering came in from the porch. It sounded like his dad and one of his brothers, he figured out, and they sounded worried. 

So, it wasn't a serial killer. That's good.

Still, why were Phil and one of his siblings out together in the middle of the night? He brushed off the question and left the kitchen light on, shaking off whatever came over him that made him briefly scared. He figured they'd get in, just fine, on their own, so he didn't bother unlocking the door, instead moving to switch the living room light on. 

The newscast was still running in the background, but the blonde was paying no mind to it, ready to playfully grill his family with questions of where they had been since an hour or two after dinner. He knew they had probably just pulled up at the same time or something, but he thought it'd be funny. 

Before whoever was on the door step could get in, another voice came running down the stairs. "Tommy! Shouldn't you be asleep by now?" Wilbur asked, sounding panicked as he recognized the tell-tale sound of keys attempting to unlock the door. "C'mon, let's go upstairs!" he hurriedly suggested. 

"I'm not that tired, actually. I was just watchin' the tv," Tommy replied, a little confused by his behavior. His brother had obviously not slept yet, still dressed in a baggy t-shirt and jeans, but his hair was messy like he had dozed off on his desk for a few minutes. "Do you need me to turn it down or something?" 

"No, I just think we should go upstairs." he emphasized the words, as if begging him to do so. His eyes were practically pleading him, too. "You have a computer in your room, pull up something there." 

The blonde rolled his eyes and ignored him, turning to the door as it was finally pushed open. "Oh my god, you finally got in! You've been at that door tryin' to figure out how a key works for hours," Tommy dramatically teased them as a greeting, turning around with his dorky little-brother smile, one of which quickly faded as his eyes darted over their clothes. "Holy shit, is that blood?" 

Both Phil and Techno had red stains splattered across their clothes. Fresh red stains, they were still half-wet, but quickly drying. His dad had smaller streaks across the fabric he adorned, like he had been splashed with blood that squirted out of thin cuts, while his brother's shirt was soaked near the bottom. Like he sat directly on top of someone's deadly wound.

"I- um? Wil?" Techno looked to his twin brother with panicked eyes, as if saying 'this was your job'. Wilbur threw back a look that was the facial equivalent to a shrug. Phil sighed,

"It's about time we tell him, don't you think?"

"Tell me what?" Tommy wondered what they were all in on, whatever provided a reasonable explanation for whatever was happening. The other three seemingly spoke with their eyes, giving each other scared, confused, and debating looks the blonde couldn't comprehend. "Hello? Why have you two come home soaked in blood at- what? Nearly four am?"

"It's almost six am, Tommy." Wilbur corrected, speaking for the first time in a few moments. The blonde tilted his head at that, he thought it hadn't been that long since he checked the time. "Why are you even awake?"

"I think the bloody clothes question is a bit more relevant!" The kid shouted, snapping out his brief confusion-induced daze. "Can someone talk to me?" He asked, trying not to panic as another moment passed with no explanation. He felt the urge to run, but he stayed right there, waiting for something that'd make this all make sense. It was clear his family wasn't hurt, but the idea that they might've hurt someone else wasn't out of the question. 

And that idea was terrifying. 

Before anyone said anything, the basketball recap on the TV switched to a sudden and invasive  'breaking news' broadcast.

"Less than an hour ago, the corpse of local priest, Stephen Crochel, was discovered by his wife in the church on Chestnut Road." The voice of some clearly-tired lady who had been called up early to get the first coverage of this incident took over. Tommy's attention was stolen from his family as he watched the television, looking at the pictures that displayed themselves across the screen.

The photos of the corpse were blurred, but the news lady described it in detail. "He was found with his legs completely mangled, entire muscles missing and dissected perfectly, according to local surgeons. His chest was sliced down the middle, and the incision on his stomach indicates the extraction of the appendix or liver."

"He was tied up in red and black ribbon to a support beam in the building, and his blood was used to paint the well-known bloody crown mark of the Karma Court just above his head. Until further notice, the church will be shut down..."

The sound of the news cast faded out as Tommy's mind jumped to conclusions. He looked from the television to his blood-covered dad and brother. "Where were you?" He tried asking, crossing his arms as he faced them.

"Not at the church on Chestnut Road?" Techno tried, sounding unconfident in his own words. Tommy could be oblivious, sure, but once something clicked for him, it was hard to convince him otherwise.

"There's blood on your shirt and someone just died, which is too crazy of a coincidence, in my opinion." The blonde looked between them, and Wilbur too, waiting for an explanation of some sort.

He just wanted an explanation. Was that too much to ask for?

He thought over all the times his family disappeared, all of the late night whispers and conversations that 'didn't concern him'. All of the laundry his dad was constantly doing, the way some of his white shirts came out of the wash pink because they were 'washed with reds' even though they didn't own a lot of red clothes. The way his brothers suddenly knew how to use weapons and became much more athletic when they turned 18. The way they switched from impressive colleges to a local community one, right when the Karma Court picked up their murderous pace.

"We can explain, I swear." Wilbur jumped in, putting his hand on his shoulder and trying to lead him to sit on the couch. Tommy jerked away from him.

"You guys joined the organization of local serial killers?" He locked eyes with his brunette brother, questioning and angry. He hated being left out of the loop.

"Actually," Phil cut in, "We founded the team of local serial killers. Well, I did, then your brothers joined me, and we recruited some others-"

"What the fuck?" Tommy couldn't understand what was going on for the life of him. Right when he understood something, even vaguely, more was thrown his way. "You started the Karma Court? That's been a thing since I was ten!"

Phil nodded gently, "The extra money was coming from somewhere, baby "

"You- you said you got a raise." He stuttered, switching between denial and determination to figure this out. "So you're like, a hitmen team?"

"Not quite, Toms." Techno shook his head. "Sometimes we get paid to kill specific people, but usually we pick targets, then we sell their organs and body parts."

"You went to med school." Tommy looked to his father in realization, "You were gonna be a doctor before you adopted Wil and Tech, then you dropped out and became a newspaper writer. You were supposed to be a surgeon."

His dad nodded. "You know your older cousin, Nick?" He asked, voice all gentle and careful like it was when he comforted the boy when he was young, when he was still afraid of the dark and every sound that rippled through the house at night, every creak and out-of-place footstep. Tommy nodded. "He has a bunch of connections in the black market, he helps with the selling part."

"Sapnap? Is everyone part of this murderous bullshit?" The blonde finally walked around the couch and sat down, trying to keep his breathing steady as he mentally processed all this. He heard the front door lock and the keys get abandoned on the hooks next to it.

"A lot of people you know are involved, yes." Techno confirmed, sitting next to him. It seemed all the blood was on his front, so it wasn't staining the fabric of their family couch. "It takes a village to-"

"Get away with murder?" Tommy bit back. "You guys have killed hundreds of people!"

"Hundreds of assholes." Wilbur corrected with a sigh, sitting on the other side of him. "Like the devil is disguise here," he motioned to the television. "He's a homophobe who abused queer kids in the church. Does he not deserve to die in the way he did?"

"How do you know all that?" Tommy's words stumbled out after a moment, "I've never heard anything about him being abusive."

"There's a research branch of the Karma Court, darling. Wilbur specializes in the stalking, he rarely participates in on-the-field work." Phil spoke as if this cleared everything up.

"On the field? As in, like, actual killing?"

"We have a lot of code words," Techno replied with a laugh, as if this was casual, amusing even. "We had to get around your nosy ass for almost seven years."

"My entire family are serial killers." Tommy muttered, hugging himself. "You're both covered in blood and you're the most wanted people in town."

"I guess we have to talk about that next." Phil spoke as if he just realized something, leaning forward. "You can't tell anyone about this, no one that's not already tied in. I know it's a lot of process, and you don't have to help at all if you don't want to. You just need to keep quiet and stay out of the way while we do our thing."

Tommy stared at the TV, shaking his head. "I don't have to help? You think I'd want to?" He looked back to his father. "You think I want to...kill people?"

"It sorta runs in the family, bub." Wilbur shrugged, wrapping an arm around him. "Trust me, you slit one rapist's throat and your perspective on murder changes a lot."

"I don't care if they're all assholes!" Tommy shouted, jumping up and facing his entire family again. "You're still ending someone's life! Isn't that impossible to deal with? Living knowing that you made sure someone else couldn't? Knowing that you made sure hundreds of others couldn't?"

"Not when they're like the people we choose to kill," Techno shrugged. "We exclusively murder people that objectively deserve it."

"'Objectively'," Tommy scoffed. "Who determines that?"

"We have a list of qualifiers, and when we're unsure about a target, we hold meetings to determine whether or not we'll shoot our arrows." Wilbur explained. "We debate and vote on it and add rules to our code when we see fit."

"Code? You have a code?"

"Of course we have a code." Phil told him firmly, finally cutting back in. "We're murderers, Toms. Not terrible people."

"Thus far in my life I've been under the impression that those are mutually exclusive descriptors," the blonde pointed out, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment. "I want to leave, I think. I need a few hours, or days."

He walked back around the couch, perfectly content on just walking out the house without even grabbing his phone.

"You have school on Monday." Phil pointed out. Tommy paused in his tracks.

"I just learn that my family are a bunch of serial killers and I'm still going to school? I don't even get a few days to try and understand?"

Techno and Wilbur gave their father a look that said 'he has a point'. "Take your phone, at least." The father sighed, grabbing the item off the coffee table and going to hand it to him. "And don't do anything too stupid."

"Says the murderer." Tommy took the item, "But okay." He agreed, almost instinctively hugging his dad. He shook his head and spun around, opening the door and storming out.

"Where do you think he's going?" Techno asked, glancing at his twin.

"Tubbo and Ranboo's, probably." Wilbur replied. "I'll call them. He's gonna freak when he finds out they're part of it, too."

"Totally," Phil clicked his tongue. "Welp. Let's get changed and then clean and restock our supply case." He said with a shrug, turning away from the door once locking it and looking to Techno. Even if nothing was normal, and they were tired, they had to clean up and follow their protocol. It was the only reason they hadn't been caught and were able to pull this off for so long.

And so, even though everything they knew about their life was thrown out the window and possibly shattered into pieces, the family of serial killers pretended this was all normal. 

--

Tommy didn't know whether to be outraged, terrified, or sad that he was left out. 

So, he was all three. 

He found himself running through his neighborhood, making all these turns and sucking in cold air as if it'd make everything make sense. He took in the moonlight as if it'd sort out his thoughts, and he basked in the fading darkness like it'd answer each and every question he had. His mind raced as he made his way to a home that felt nearly as safe as his usually did. 

How didn't he know? How could his family do this? How did they not get caught? 

His heart thumped in his chest, hard enough that it might just explode. He was nearing the light brown and brick cottage-like home that the youngest married couple in the town occupied. The kids appeared nearly two years ago, when Tommy was fifteen. Some loophole in the local government allowed for them, kids just a bit older than him, to get married. 

And so, they stayed there, finishing school and somehow affording their own house in what was practically their town's only suburb. 

The blonde pounded on the front door with his fist, "Tubbo? Ranboo?" he shouted, panting. "Fuck, I need water." he mumbled, wiping at his mouth. 

He was about to knock and yell again when the door flew open, revealing the taller of his two friends, Ranboo. They were dressed in a soft-looking t-shirt and sweatpants. "Tommy? It's six in the morning." he rubbed at his eyes, as if he had just been pulled out of bed.

"I know, but my life just fucking exploded." he said, inviting himself into the house and pushing past the other with no manners. "I need to stay here, at least for tonight. I can't go home, not now." 

Ranboo shut the door behind him, locking it, "What's going on?" they sounded wary, following the boy further into his house. The hallway and living room lights had been shut on already, but the blonde turned on every light he passed as if it meant everything. 

"Have you watched the news?" Tommy asked, instead of answering his question. He took them into the living room, throwing the blankets around to locate the remote. 

"Can't say I have. Mostly because, y'know, me and my husband were peacefully sleeping before you appeared on our doorstep," Ranboo groaned as he sat on the couch. "You can stay here, but can you please talk to me?" 

"I will, I just- fuck," he found the object, hitting the power button. The television came to life as he quickly switched to the news channel, which was still covering the slaughtering of Stephen Crochel. "Watch." he ordered, handing Ranboo the remote and disappearing into their kitchen. 

"Okay?" the other teenager tried to pretend the other didn't sound absurd, locking his eyes on the screen. He heard clattering and banging behind him as Tommy raided whatever he wanted from their kitchen. Ranboo spoke out after processing what was on the screen, "What does this have to do with anything? The Karma Court kills people all the time." 

The blonde re-entered the room, how sipping icy water from a mug he had bought for Tubbo. "That they do," he mumbled, sounding terrified. "How many is it now? A couple hundred?" 

"They've been doing their thing for seven years. The number is probably pretty high," Ranboo shrugged, as if this was nothing, even though they were usually the one who got anxious over everything. "I don't understand what's happening, man. Are you okay?" 

"Not particularly," Tommy admitted, slamming the mug down on the coffee table and running his hands through his hair. "Is Tubs up? I want him here, now." 

"Yes, I'm up." the shorter brunette appeared at the top of the stairs, wrapped up in a dark blue robe, holding his phone. He looked tired, and worried. "I just got a call from your brother." 

He shot a look to Ranboo as he made his way down the steps, one that he seemed to understand, one that earned a set of widened eyes. They were just like his family, talking with their eyes and shit. The kid gasped, backing away from the couch, 

"You know! You knew my entire family were killers and never fucking told me," he sounded like he was on the edge of a panic attack. He also sounded angry, "What the fuck?" 

He was hugging himself, his eyes unfocused and fearful. "I thought this was the best place to go, that it'd be safe here." He mumbled, "Fuck, fuck, I can't trust anyone-" 

"You are safe here, babe." Tubbo assured, voice careful and hesitant. "You were safe with your family, too." Tommy continued to back away as both of his friends tried to come closer. 

"No, no I wasn't. They're murderers," he spat out. "They- they kill people." 

"They kill bad people," Ranboo corrected. "They just play karma. We don't hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it."

"We?" Tommy's back finally hit the wall, causing him to jolt. "WE! You're actually part of it, then?" 

"Calm down, Tommy." Tubbo stopped closing in, standing a few feet away from him. "I know this is a lot, the only reason you weren't let in sooner is because your dad wanted you to have a normal childhood. Wilbur was meant to explain it to you, when you were eighteen. They've been saving this one target for you..." 

"You guys aren't eighteen, and you're in on it." he pointed out. He couldn't believe that they had a plan to this whole thing. They were saving a target for him? They had picked someone for him to kill? This was insane. 

"Yeah, I know." Ranboo replied with a sigh, "We run our true crime podcast, y'know? We came here to investigate and when we put things together, we joined in." 

"So the whole marriage story..."

"It wasn't a lie." Tubbo cut in, "We did want to get married, but we planned on leaving after we gathered all the information we could. We were hitting dead ends, then you led us right to your dad..." 

"You were using me for information?" Tommy slid down the wall, lowering himself into a sitting position. He pulled his knees to his chest, refusing to look up at the serial killers he considered his best friends.

"No! We really liked hanging out with you, and we didn't have any specific suspicions until after we came over for the first time," Ranboo assured, sitting next to him. 

"Oh," he hummed, "That's good." 

Tubbo laughed, coming to sit on the other side of him. "I'm sorry we never told you. We had this whole plan to recruit you after graduation." 

"I don't wanna kill people," the blonde insisted, sounding panicky. "You can- you guys can hunt down assholes, I guess. I can't stop you, and I don't want you guys to go to jail. But I'm not doing...I'm not-" he choked on his words, sniffling. 

He was crying now, and he didn't know why. He didn't understand any of this. He was wrapped in a hug, between his two closest friends. Between two murderers who he loved so much. 

He should be scared, he should be running. But he felt overwhelmed, and tired. And he needed this hug. Even if it was from two serial killers. 

"You don't have to do on the field stuff." Tubbo assured quickly. There's those code words again. "You can help in research, or communications, or just stay out of the way and keep quiet if that's all you can handle. That's perfectly fine." 

"You should shower, and then sleep," Ranboo told him, pulling away from the embrace. "You've have a hard night. We can talk more in the morning, okay?" 

Tommy wiped at his face and nodded. "Okay. But I have a lot of questions, and I'm asking every single one the moment I'm out of bed." 

Tubbo chuckled, pulling away from him as well. "We understand. I'm sure there's a lot for you to be confused about."

Ranboo helped them up from their spots on the floor. It was no more than ten minutes later that Tommy was sent off to their bathroom, with a towel and some clothes to change into, and the husbands set to work making sure that the couch was covered in plenty of blankets and pillows. The television was switched to some simple children's cartoon for the boy to fall asleep to, and all of the lights were shut off. 

With that, the house fell asleep again, unprepared for whatever was to come the following day.

--

When Tommy woke up again, it felt like he had been pushed into compression press and stretched back out, his bones forcefully being snapped back into place, and his muscles being clumsily glued back onto that fractured skeleton. He rolled over, a fluffy blanket tucked around him, and the sounds of some kid's show playing softly in the background. 

He also heard Tubbo's voice, urgent whispering muffled, coming from somewhere in the kitchen. Ranboo was there too, asking their husband questions. It sounded like someone was rustling through stacks of paper. 

It was after processing all these noises that Tommy remembered why he was there. How he got there, stumbling through their neighborhood to get away from his own house before the sun rose. His family were murderers, and so were his best friends. 

They were the Karma Court, and he still didn't know how to feel about that. 

He pulled himself off of the comfortable cushioning of the couch, finding his phone on the coffee table. His eyes widened at the time. It was almost 4 pm.

He ignored that as he went towards the kitchen, overhearing the conversation inside. 

"What time does this start?" Ranboo whispered, scribbling notes down on a piece of paper. Tubbo repeated the question into his phone, and a muffled but familiar tone replies. 

"9 pm. We can get her in the alley after the event ends, or sneak into the party and kill her there." The other replied after a moment of listening. 

"Sneaking in will be more fun, but it'll be harder to pull off." they mumbled in thought, "I don't feel like doing a stake-out in an alley for four hours, though. So we're gonna sneak in." 

"Sounds good to me," Tubbo agreed, casually, "We'll infiltrate the event. Can we get floor plans for the building? Oh, and back up, preferably." 

Tommy decided to just enter the room, instead of lingering outside. The other two looked to him, "Don't mind me, just getting coffee." he said, "Continue planning your murder." he insisted, waving them off in order to stop them from staring at him. 

Ranboo was sat at the dining table, writing things down, while Tubbo leaned against the counter behind him, talking into the little black device in his hands. It wasn't the phone he usually carried, but instead a flip phone you could get for cheap at any store. "Yeah, Wil, Tommy's here." the shortest of the three spoke into the device.

The blonde froze in the process of pouring himself a mug of black liquid, "You're talking to Wilbur?" he hadn't really checked his phone, but he was sure there was an insane amount of phone calls and texts waiting for him there. Tubbo nodded, 

"Do you wanna talk to him?" he asked, seemingly to him, and not his brother on the other end. Tommy set his mug and the coffee pot on the counter, nodding hesitantly. He was handed the device a moment later. He held it up to his ear and just waited. 

"Toms, are you there?" Wilbur's voice came though, sounding scared and overly protective. He never sounded like that. 

"Yeah, I'm here." The blonde laughed, "And I'm okay." he added. 

"I've been worried about you all night, bubs." the brunette sighed, "Are you gonna come home today?" 

"I- um...maybe?" Tommy replied, picking at his sweatshirt. "Tubbo and Ranboo said they'd explain some stuff to me today." 

"They just got assigned a kill. You should definitely come home," Wilbur insisted. "They'll be busy planning, anyways. We can explain everything to you." 

The kid thought for a moment, looking between his friends. "I want to come, on the assigned mission or whatever." he decided. "I don't want to hurt anyone, but I wanna be there. I want to know exactly what you do." 

Wilbur started to protest, and so did his friends, but he continued. "You guys were gonna recruit me anyways, right? I'm still freaked out, but I wanna understand why you guys do this. And I don't think I can unless I see one of these plans in action." 

"You haven't had any training, Tommy. You don't know how to not leave evidence or anything-" his brother tried, only to be cut off. 

"Consider this my training," the blonde shrugged, turning around to finish pouring his coffee. He heard shuffling on the other end of the call. "I'm going to be there, like it or not. I'm handing the phone back now!" 

Before Wilbur could say anything else, he shoved the phone back into Tubbo's hands and returned to making his coffee, spooning in sugar and pouring in creamer. He heard some debate between his family and friends as he sipped from his mug in the living room, switching back to the news channel. He scrolled through his phone, too. 

Eventually, it was seemingly decided that he could go, as if he wasn't tagging along either way. 

"So, who are we going after tonight?" Tommy questioned, once things were settled down and they were scattered across the living room, planning each step of what they were gonna do that night.

"A woman named Grace Yearns," Ranboo explained, "She's nearly thirty, dirty rich, and she's into a lot of bad business practices. Child labor, partnering with racist and homophobic organizations, having an entire village of people kicked out of their homes so that she could own the land." 

"And she's tied up in a trafficking ring," Tubbo added. "It's terrible. We've been stalking her for months and haven't been able to track down her address. But tonight, she's at a cocktail party for the rich, where she'll be drunk and most importantly, in the same place for hours." 

"And how are we getting in?" he asked next, leaning forward to see all the papers on the coffee table. 

"There's security at all the main entrances," Tubbo used a red pen to circle a few spots on the floor plan map, "However, there's plenty of low windows that we can reach if we sneak around from this back alley. This one leads to a storage room, which gives us an easy way into the building. But, since it's storage, it'll probably be locked from the outside..." 

Ranboo gasped suddenly, "I get to use my lock picking set?" he smiled. 

"You get to use your lock picking set," his husband sighed at his over enthusiasm, and the way they clapped their hands together. Of course literal criminals would get excited over something like that. "We'll lure her into the storage room. The guards will think it's still locked and everyone will be distracted in the lobby, that's where the bar is. And the bathrooms are over here, so we will have plenty of time before anyone thinks to check some random storage room."

"How will we get her in there, though?" The teen queried.  

"Glad you asked!" Tubbo shot him a sly smile, as if he was just so excited to explain this part of the plan. "Ranboo's gonna wear a suit, and actually sneak into the party. They'll be known as Trevor Lovine tonight, because he's a business man who owns a company Ms. Gracie wants to buy out." 

"I have to dress up and talk to people?" the other whined, "Why?" 

"Because you're the tallest and look the most like an adult," the shorter one bit back, "Grace has never met him in person, or seen any photos, according to the emails Wilbur breached-" 

"Wilbur can hack into emails?" Tommy gaped, sounding confused. He never realized how weirdly talented his family was. They had been getting away with murder for more than half a decade, at this point. 

"Yes? That's why he's the head of the research department," Ranboo replied, with a shrug, "He's good at using the internet against people." 

"Anyways," Tubbo continued, "Grace has been wanting to meet with Trevor and they made an agreement to speak at this party. However, due to an... unfortunate accident, the real Mr. Lovine wont make it."

"The Court's killing this other guy, too? What'd he do?" The youngest of them asked, completely thrown off by the reveal of a second murder. 

"He's a powerful business man who's known for harassing young interns and assistants. He deserves it," Ranboo explained, "I didn't realize we also had an opening for him, though. Who's been assigned that kill?" 

"Phil wanted it. He'll take care of that, and then he'll come in as back up." the brunette cleared up. "He's gonna do dissection for us, so we don't have to worry about that. We're also gonna display the body there, so we're just doing an in-and-out kill. It's the best, and easiest kind of murder." 

"Why do you guys leave the bodies?" Tommy blurted out, earning curious looks from his friends. "Sorry- just, like...wouldn't it be easier and less risky if you got rid of them?" 

"It's to make a point," Tubbo shook his head, "If people see missing persons cases on the news, they just hope they turn back up. If they see murder investigations on the news..." 

"They're fearful," he mumbled. 

"Yeah. It's meant to make people wonder what they did, why they were picked by us. We want people to be careful, and not assholes," Ranboo spoke up next. "Plus, displaying the bodies and painting with their blood is the funnest part of the process. Maybe that's just the artist in me, though." 

Tommy was genuinely worried for his friends, but he didn't say that out loud. 

"Oh, okay." he got out eventually. "You leave the bodies to make a point." 

"Yep," Tubbo confirmed. "We should go over the plan again. Then I need to teach you our protocols." 

"And the code!" Ranboo added. 

"And the code." He hummed, standing up and going over to the entertainment stand. He leaned down to open a case that held a bunch of video games and books. "Now, usually the founder- your dad, would teach you this stuff, but since you insisted on coming on a mission before going home, we'll do it..." 

He pushed the first row to the side, and pulled out a thick, leather bound notebook. "There's only a few copies of these lists, the protocols and the code, so be careful." Tubbo handed it to him, and sat by his side. "We need to go through this before we head out, and there's a lot to get through." 

"I'm ready." Tommy assured, opening the front cover. "I'm about to watch you kill a woman in a few hours. I can read about what you do to get away with it." 

And that's just what he did. 

--

It was a book, a meal, and lots of packing later that they were finally loading into a car, Tubbo not even bothering using GPS to get them there. It was like he had this whole town memorized, really, using all these back roads Tommy never knew about even though he'd been there his entire childhood. 

The blonde sat in the backseat, surrounded by a briefcase he knew was stocked with weapons and a duffel back stuffed with clothes, masks, gloves, and paintbrushes. He leaned over and pulled the zipper of the duffel bag open, pulling out gloves and a hat for himself. Even though he didn't plan on getting near the body, protocol said he should prevent evidence anyways. 

"Here," he said, passing gloves and a hat to the driver. He took them and set them in his lap, shooting a smile through the rear-view mirror. 

"You nervous, babe?" He questioned, taking a turn onto another street without stop lights and barely any street signs. Tommy shrugged, 

"A little, I guess," he mumbled. "Two people are gonna die tonight, both because of my family and closest friends. And I'm gonna be there when one of those deaths happens, it's weird to think about." 

"I know, Toms," Ranboo cut in, fidgeting with the cuffs of his dress shirt and blazer. "The first murder you're there for, the first one you're involved in, it's scary. And it might feel wrong, but you need to remember why they're being killed. You need to remind yourself that they were targeted under a code that your father has spent years perfecting." 

"Yeah," Tommy took in a deep breath, "My dad is smart, and the code is reasonable. And I know the targets are terrible people. But it's still murder, and I need time to get used to that. That's all." 

"Of course, that's understandable," Tubbo assured, turning into what seemed to be a forest hiking path, barely wide enough for a car, but definitely well hidden and out of sight. "You're very brave for even asking to come on a mission this early. It took me and Ranboo forever to actually join in when we found out. For a while we just...sat back, and let your family do their thing." 

"How are we killing this lady?" Ranboo asked suddenly. "What body parts need to be avoided?" 

"Phil said that this woman's left arm is the match for the amputee kid of a desperate rich man. Elbow down, that's all we need. Everything else is free reign," Tubbo sounded excited at that, turning the wheel to match the curves in the path. "I say we go for the artist's original, yeah?" 

"Oooh," the other hummed, "That's a fun one." 

"The artist's original?" Tommy questioned, looking out the window as they were spit back out onto a normal side road, behind a line up of buildings. They creeped along, taking a turn and parking between two, in a secret, thin little alley way he wouldn't of noticed. 

"We carve symbols and words into her skin, and after Phil takes her arm, we'll hang her upside down so that her blood drains from the cuts. It makes a nice point to the detectives wondering why someone was killed." Ranboo explained, checking the time on their burner flip phone. Tommy was given one of them a few hours ago, and told to shut his normal phone completely off until they got back to their neighborhood. "The party started half an hour ago, she's probably already inside." 

"Yeah, yeah. We're going," Tubbo assured, pulling on his hat and gloves. He double checked that he had the floor plan in his pocket before hopping out of the car. Ranboo did the same, and both of them opened the back doors at the same time. Tubbo took the duffel bag after zipping it up, and Ranboo stole the briefcase, helping him out of the truck. 

Tubbo said they needed to wear all black, since this mission involved sneaking around security. And it seemed to prove true as the trio blended into the shadows, lining the walls of buildings and sneaking through alleys. Ranboo gasped, stopping them and motioning up. The other two followed his line of sight with baited breath. 

Camera. 

Tommy panicked. His family and friends were going to jail and so was he and his life was over and they'd rot in some cell- 

His spiraling was stopped by Tubbo following a protocol that was taught to him just a few hours ago. 

The other boy pulled out his phone, typed something rapidly into the keypad, and then looked up towards the object that temporarily paused their mission. The red light went off after a moment. "Wilbur's getting faster every mission," he mumbled. "C'mon." 

They resumed their plan, eventually peeking around a brick wall and onto what seemed to be a well-hidden but nice street lined with mansions and nice business buildings. They were able to see the white marble mansion that was definitely never used as a home, instead stocked with memories of parties, meetings, and whatever gatherings shitty businesses needed to get away with their shitty practices. Tommy could see the guards, and all the cars lining the street. 

"How are we-" 

"Just watch." Ranboo ordered, pulling them back into and alley and taking a turn the blonde hadn't noticed. Straight ahead, he could see the white stone wall, peeking out behind a bunch of buildings and a long walk. 

They made their way forward, pausing between every building to check for people passing by, only having to stop once for some brunette twenty-something and the rich double-her-age man she was probably using for money. It was easy to pass them by once they were kissing against the wall. Tommy pretended to throw up once they were definitely out of earshot. 

Eventually, though (only after laughing as quietly as they could and cracking too many jokes about the situation), they made it to the mostly unguarded side of the building. They were still tucked on the edge of the alley, spying from behind a corner and hiding in the shadows. "We need to distract that guy, there." Ranboo said, pointing to the man in uniform, armed and ready to do his job. 

"Or drug him?" Tubbo offered, raising an eyebrow. "C'mon, we have gas grenades we've never used!" they whined, "It'll only hit him, and cause a distraction that'll give us enough time to get inside!" 

"That's not part of the plan," Ranboo groaned. 

"But it is a good idea!" the other fought back. "By the time anyone finds him, the gas will have dissipated and it'll seem like he passed out. It'll occupy the guards for a while in case there's any trouble breaking in." 

The other still sounded hesitant, but Tommy liked the idea. "I vote for the drug grenade." 

It wasn't long before the gadget was retrieved from the briefcase, which was snapped back shut, and Ranboo was teaching Tommy how to use the object. "So you pull the pin, and then toss it towards your target, it'll release some sleepy gas that will knock them out in seconds. I'd let you do it, but I'll have an easier time getting away with it." 

Before he could protest again, Ranboo was shoved out of the alley, holding the object behind his back and adjusting his suit with his free hand, casually making his way towards the guard and the front side of the building. As this was happening, all the cameras on that part of the building, any that'd show the boy, shut down. 

"Hello!" he greeted, "is this the cocktail party? I got lost on the way." he chuckled vaguely, motioning in the direction he came from as he stopped a few feet away from the man. The guard nodded, seeming just a bit hesitant. 

"Go towards around to the front, they have the guest list there." 

"I'm sure you couldn't of guessed this," Ranboo pulled the pin out of the object with one hand, casually tossing it towards the guard and laughing at his own word play. He covered his mouth as the gas released, watching as the man went to shout, and reach for his walkie-talkie, but passed out before he could. "Oh, bingo!" 

He waved one arm in front of him and retrieved the guard's walkie, holding it up proudly, like some sort of prize, motioning to his friends. They came creeping out, Tubbo now wearing the duffel bag across his bag so that he could look at the map, and Tommy lugging the briefcase with him. 

Ranboo traded the radio device for the case as Tubbo led them to the correct window. Right as Tommy went to ask how they were getting it open, the tall kid behind him swung the case, just over his head, and shattered it. "You could've hit me!" the blonde shrieked as the other two chuckled. 

Tubbo got the window to slide open, and Ranboo lifted him slightly by the waist so that he could climb inside. "Oh, you're fine, babes." the brunette told him, smiling through the broken-in window once he was settled onto his feet on the concrete floor. "Hand me the case before you two climb in." 

Eventually, the three of them, and all the supplies they'd need, were settled into the storage room. Tubbo found the light switch, which lit up the room, filled with shelves and stacks of boxes, bundles of papers, and abandoned furniture. 

"Oooh, look at this beam," Tubbo bit his lip, pointing to one of the support beams across the ceiling, "Hanging Ms. Gracie Yearns from this will be a pleasure." 

"We should probably get her in the room before we start fantasizing about her death," Ranboo pointed out, fidgeting with his phone and the walkie talkie, sitting on a dusty green chair near the door. Tommy retrieved his lock-picking kit from the duffel bag, setting it on his lap.

"I'm just brainstorming, baby." Tubbo stuck his tongue out, climbing onto a bench and reaching up to test how sturdy the beam was. Tommy chuckled and looked to Ranboo. The teenager's hair was slicked back neatly with gel, and they had used bronzer to add more shadows to his face, to make him look a bit older. Ranboo looked nice, honestly. 

But the reason why he was so dressed up was something the blonde was still processing and accepting.

"What're you doing?" he asked, sitting on the arm of the chair and observing whatever he was doing with the two devices. 

"Rigging up my phone to send the audio to this thing," the killer replied, bouncing his leg under him. "That way, you guys know when the to-be corpse is gonna be delivered." 

"Ah," Tommy nodded, as if this should've been obvious. "Have you always been so good at this tech-y stuff?" 

Behind them, Tubbo was hanging from the beam. He dropped to the floor, landing on his feet like the ex-gymnast he was, "We can hang her from it!" he confirmed with a thumbs-up, sounding so cheerful that Tommy wondered how much he enjoyed this. The short brunette opened the case to grab some rope. 

"Sorta, I liked taking things apart and building new stuff with those parts as a kid," Ranboo confirmed, "It all kinda lead me to the podcast, which led me to...this." 

He twisted the dial on the walkie and then tapped the spot where the speaker was on the phone. Feedback. His face broke out into a smile. 

"Hello?" he said aloud, hesitant but clearly excited.

"Hello?" the walkie echoed, just a bit static ridden. 

"That's so fucking cool," Tommy gaped, taking the walkie when it was handed to him. 

"Isn't it?" Ranboo dropped the phone into a secret pocket in his blazer. "I'll be able to feel the vibration if I get a message, so if there's anything urgent just text me and I'll check it as soon as possible." he told them, standing up and holding the lock-picking set. "My audio is on channel six, and the guard talk is on four. You should keep up with the security, too, just in case." 

"I'm ahead of you on that," Tubbo's voice cut back into the conversation. They looked toward him, he was holding what looked like a 3DS. No, it definitely was a 3DS. "I have the live security footage, and Wilbur's fucking with the cameras as we speak." he turned the device to show what he was talking about. There was really footage of men and women in nice suits and dresses, talking and sipping from glasses filled to the brim with alcohol almost as expensive as the mansion itself. 

"That's good," Ranboo hummed, crouching in front of the door. Distantly, Tommy could make out the sounds of chattering and light music. The one in the suit set to work on the door, as the blonde was set up on the chair, with the security DS and walkie talkie, given the job of 'lookout'. Tommy was pretty sure they made up the job to make him feel included. "Okay, I'm gonna head in. Get everything ready asap because I don't wanna stay in this party for long." 

He stood up straight and twisted the knob, hearing the click of it opening. He peeked out, and Tommy scrolled through the different camera feeds on what once was a gaming device. He saw Ranboo's head poking out on the camera, into an empty hallway. 

"You're good, there's no guards or anything." Tommy told him. 

Tubbo threw rope up and over the support beam, "Take the path we memorized to the nearest bathrooms and enter the party from there to avoid suspicion." he reminded, "Remember what she looks like." 

"Black hair, pale skin, and blue eyes that are almost green." Ranboo repeated, taking in a deep breath. "See you soon." 

And with that, he slipped out of the room and turned left. Like it was nothing, the footage was suddenly removed and set back to before he left the room, skipping to after he left the hallway. Wilbur's work. If everything went well, it'd be like they weren't even there. And when the police asked for suspects, everyone would name Trevor Lovine, who matched Ranboo's basic descriptions- who'd they'd find to also be dead. 

It was a genius plan, really. 

"I see her, on the cameras," Tommy said aloud, glancing up to Tubbo's preparation process. The case was left open, showcasing all these knives and swords and daggers, alongside a few drugs and other gadgets the blonde didn't recognize. There was also some strips of ribbon and fabric, which Tubbo pulled out, saying they'd need to tie her up. 

"Ranboo will find her, don't worry," Tubbo told him, clearing a spot for their lady to be tied up. There was a thick white pipe, just against the wall behind the bench and support beam where they'd hang her body up. "We should tie her standing up, not sitting down. She should be as uncomfortable as possible while she dies." 

Tommy awkwardly chuckled, trying to focus on his job. Minutes passed by, him eavesdropping on the guards and Ranboo as he snuck into the party and ordered some drink in order to blend in. He greeted a few people, using information he knew from Trevor's file to lead the conversations before he eventually made it to Grace. 

As this was happening, Wilbur was constantly deleting, replacing, and editing footage to get rid of evidence, and Tubbo was prepping the eventual murder scene. 

"He's coming!" Tommy realized after a while of them silently working, watching the cameras, causing Tubbo to tense up and come stand by the door. A bit ago, Ranboo had suggested they go talk in private about business manners, and Grace, all drunk and greedy within the first hour of this for-the-rich celebration, eagerly followed him into the depths of the building. Trusting him blindly. What a dumb mistake. He took her past the bathrooms, taking the more secretive and less guard-attracting route to the storage room. 

There were only a few guards in the building, but being careful never hurt. 

"Where are we going? Is this some well-hidden meeting room?" The lady's voice rang through the radio that sat on the arm of the chair, curious and oblivious. 

"You could say that, I suppose, madam." Ranboo chuckled, a sugar-coated polite little sound, "Ladies first." the door swung open, and the woman crept inside, her eyes widening as she looked around. Before she could really process anything, she was being grabbed by Tubbo from behind and Ranboo was shutting the door, trapping them inside.

"What's happening? What are you doing?" her voice sounded panicky as she trashed in the brunette's grip. Her eyes caught on the broken window, and she attempted to pull away. Tubbo kicked the back of her leg as he dragged her towards the pipe, causing her to scream louder. 

"No one can hear you, bitch." he told her, grabbing a cloth Tommy hadn't noticed and slapping it over her mouth and nose. Like it was nothing, she went limp in his arms. "She'll only be out for a few minutes, re-lock the door and then help me tie her up!" he told Ranboo, who nodded quickly. 

"I can't believe that actually worked," Tommy mumbled, watching in horror. "You tricked her." 

"I'm a indie-investigator turned murderer, I'm practically a self-trained teen spy." Ranboo joked, setting to work re-locking the door as requested, somehow using his lock-picking kit to do the opposite of it's job. Tommy switched the walkie talkie to the guard channel, since he didn't need the echo-y audio anymore. There wasn't any suspicion yet. The blonde laughed, 

"Basically, I guess." he agreed in a mumble.

He focused on the cameras, double and triple checking that no one was coming towards this room as the other two tied the woman up at her arms and legs, making sure she couldn't move from the pole. She was propped against the metal, leaning back instead of slumping forward. 

Ranboo put on gloves and went over her body with a lint roller, removing any hair they could've dropped (even though it was gelled back), pulling a hat on too. It seemed like Tubbo was set on being the one to kill her, but he definitely wanted to help in the process. 

Tommy could feel himself panicking as the couple discussed what weapons to use and exactly how to slaughter her. He was almost cool with this. He was so close to accepting that this is something his family was a part of. Something his family created. But he wasn't there, not yet. 

Ranboo was stuffing fabric at the crack of the door to avoid any sound leaking out, just in case someone came by, when the lady woke up, unable to move or run. 

"What's happening?" she asked, her eyes landing on the boy in the suit. "I thought you wanted to partner with me, Trevor?" 

Ranboo laughed, "'Trevor'," they mocked, going over to the case and plucking their weapon of choice from the array. A sharpened paint spatula, thin and pointy at the tip. "Trevor Lovine is probably already dead, darling. Just as you will be, soon enough." 

"I haven't done anything, though! If you want a share of my business, we can talk about it!" her eyes were tear filled already, and Tommy felt bad even though he knew everything this woman was a part of. He sort of regretted asking to come.

The tallest teen approached her, leaning over slightly so that he was face to face with the woman. She wore a deep red dress that fit tightly over her figure. It's color was almost prophetic. Tommy pulled his eyes away as his friend slit a heart shape into her cheek. She hissed, she screamed, she spat in Ranboo's face before he finished his cutesy symbol. The teenager wiped himself off and tightly gripped her chin, holding her head still as he did the last stroke.

"Do you want us to gag you, or would you like the dignity of getting some last words?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. She went quiet, whimpering under his hold. Her blood began to pool in Ranboo's palm, puddling instead of soaking into his glove. "That's what I thought, Miss. Now, would you prefer zig-zag lines or shapes on your hips?" 

"What?" she shook her head, pulling at her bindings with a sort of fear only someone that knew they were gonna die could hold. Tommy shut his eyes tightly, trying to steady his breath.

"Lines it is!" Ranboo cheered, dropping down and slashing said lines right where the curves in her hourglass figure sat. He made a hand print on her thigh with her own blood while he was crouched down. The spatula slit through her dress and created thin cuts in her skin, the dark red liquid barely visible on the fabric. 

"What did I do to you?" she asked once he stopped and backed away, motioning to Tubbo as if to say 'your turn, babe'. 

"You didn't do anything to me," Tubbo answered for him, holding a sharp dagger with engraved designs on the sharper edge of the blade. "Or my husband here." he added, coming closer. "But we know all about your tactics of using children for easy money, and it's really quite terrible, if you ask us." 

Tommy refused to look, but he heard a slash, a gasp, and the dying woman choking on her own words. "It's business, it's just how I do things." she tried to defend. The blonde halted, his eyes flying open at a speed that probably beat some record somewhere. 

She was defending child abuse. Literal fucking child abuse, because 'that's just business'. The boy knew he shouldn't of been shocked, but he was. He scoffed under his breath, or so he thought. 

Ranboo looked his way, tilting their head as Tubbo replied to the woman. Tommy shook his head and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair in order to calm himself. He felt more angry than scared now. 

"I know, but you're way of doing things hurts others for your own benefit." he told her, "Children, specifically. I mean, there's a reason we picked you above every other shitty business person in town." 

Tommy watched as he swiped his blade again, creating another cut in her lower stomach. She was bleeding from everywhere, her face pale and sickly, but she wasn't dead. Not quite, not yet. But she would be soon, one way or another.  

"Our doctor is nearly hereee," Ranboo announced, flashing his phone screen to his husband.. "How fun!" 

"Should we let her live to see her arm get cut off?" Tubbo asked tauntingly. Tommy almost said yes, even though that meant becoming part of literal human torture. Before he got the chance, though, the woman spoke up again, sparking a flame that'd kindle a fire the kid didn't even know was inside of him. 

"Come on, those kids will be fine! There's hundreds of them and only one of me! Let me go!" 

Tommy's eyes narrowed as the words settled in the air. This woman was scum. He knew that already, but her attempts at defending herself only proved it. 

It was like he blinked, and suddenly he was standing behind Tubbo, holding what he figured was a throwing knife, based off of everything Ranboo taught him in thirty minutes in their living room. He gripped it in his dominant hand, staring the woman down with a fury he's never felt before. And all he wanted was to let it go, to make sure this woman never got to say anything like that ever again. 

There was one way this ended, and Tommy's fast-paced panting told him what he wanted, even if the idea was terrifying. 

"Did you want a go?" Tubbo asked, his eyes wide. The blonde stared right ahead, steadying his breath as he lifted his arm and aimed, right at the she-devil's chest. His mind barely processed his friend's words, or the fact that he was speaking at all, his eyes seeming unfocused even though they were clearly locked on a target. It was like his head was underwater, and the only way to get to the surface was to fill the ocean with blood. 

Murder runs in the family, Wilbur had said. 

Tommy was starting to believe it, as he stood there, ready to attack despite his morals. Despite his previous opinion on murder, on killing, on ending someone else's life like you were a god who got to make that decision. He was making the decision now, and just like his brother said, his perspective was changing.

"I'm guessing that's a yes. Move back, babe." 

Someone was talking, but the blonde didn't care who in that very moment. The puddle of blood under the woman was growing. She'd die anyway if they just left her there for a minute or two. But he wanted to give the final blow.

He heard his friends drop their weapons and back away. He heard another voice enter the room as someone climbed through the window. He heard Grace Yearns say her final words, her last attempts at defending herself. He felt something click inside of him. 

He threw the knife. 

He blinked, he gasped, he heard the room go silent as if all sound was sucked out of it. Just for a moment though. After a split second that could've been hours, he couldn't tell you if you asked, someone was hugging him, laughing at if this was an accomplishment, "Oh, baby. You- I thought you didn't want to hurt anyone." 

Somebody stumbled over their words, holding him close and catching him when he collapsed and melted into their arms. Dad. 

"I didn't," Tommy mumbled, looking up at him. "But I did." 

He looked back at the woman. Her dead body, he should say. Her mouth hung open, and her head was slumped over. He had hit her square in the chest, and he had killed her. "Fuck." he buried his head in his fathers chest. "She was talkin' about those kids like they were nothing, Dad." he breathed out, "I didn't know what to do." 

"You did what we all do," Ranboo's voice cut in, somehow just as comforting as it usually was. "You gave her what she deserved, you acted as Karma." 

Tommy peeked up, looking to his friend. "Am I, like-" 

"Part of the Karma Court?" Phil finished for him, earning a nod. "Of course. If you want to be, that is." 

The blonde stuttered as he thought, not knowing what to say. He didn't know what he was feeling. "Think on it," his dad told him, pulling away from the hug and helping him steady himself. "First kills are hard to process. So help your friends clean up while I do the dissection, and we can talk about this later." 

And that's exactly what he did. In a daze of fading anger and murderous confusion, he put tools away and lazily swiped through the camera feeds. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Phil was setting a de-attached arm into some sort of cooler, and that Tubbo was hanging her body by her feet, and that Ranboo was painting the Karma Court crown on the wall, right next to where she died, but his mind was unfocused and hazy as one moment replayed in his mind. 

He had thrown the knife.

He killed that woman, the one that hung from the ceiling, gruesome and dead forever, as Ranboo added more detailed slices into her legs. Devil, greedy, abusive, bitch. Whatever words he could think of, whatever he wanted to say. Whatever he thought she deserved. 

Eventually, they were packing up, right as the guards seemed to catch wind of the woman disappearing. Tommy didn't carry anything as they left, the last to climb out of the window. He looked back at the body. The murder scene that'd be discovered in an hour at most. 

The room that held the memory of his first kill. 

He was pulled away with gentle whispers from his father, back through all the alleys, back to the truck, which now had one of their cars parked behind it, with Techno waiting inside. He processed some explanation of Wilbur still being at home, double checking all the remaining footage just in case. He remembered his friends insisting he should go home with his family. 

It all blurred together, the murmurs of 'I'm proud of you' and 'are you okay', the stopping at some random alley to deliver the arm to Sapnap, who patted him on the shoulder through the window, with a gentle smile, probably trying to seem kind. Somehow, he ended up in Wilbur's room, laying between his two older brothers, quiet as a mouse as he dozed off to sleep. One full of whatever existed between a dream and a nightmare, whatever described the reliving of that moment, where he felt relief and pleasure and anger and fear all at once. 

That day marked the start of a new era for the boy. A new life, really. 

The one of Tommy Simons-Watson, the murderer. 

It was hard to think some blood on some random t-shirts led to the uncovering of all this. 

--

One Month Later

"Turn left, Tommy." 

"Fuck off, Wil. I'm going."

The blonde trailed the walls of the office-like building, his brother's voice in his ear as he carried the duffel bag. Techno and Phil had the case and cooler, they were to meet in their target's office. 

"Go quicker, then!" the brunette pushed, "Dad and Tech are already there." 

"Fuck, fine!" he took a turn into the hallway that was way too open and well lit. He hated feeling so spotable, so target-able. 

"There's no cameras, and no guards. Just breath, bubs." Wilbur reminded him gently, "You just need to be quiet and quick." 

"Quiet and quick," he repeated, walking fast and ducking into another hall. "It's room 1-2-7, right?" he asked, just to be sure. 

"Yes. He's in the bathroom now, but you need to help them prep. Ranboo and Tubbo are knocking out his assistant as we speak." 

"They already got Karl?" Tommy questioned, "They're way too fast." 

"They're efficient. Unlike you and you're untrained-" Wilbur was cut off. 

"I am creative. And I don't get caught." he corrected, counting the doors he passed by until...124, 125, 126-

Bingo. 

"Finally!" all three of his family members said at the same time as he entered and shut the door behind him, Techno ushering him inside and handing him his throwing knife. The same one he used to kill that business woman just a few weeks ago. So much has changed since then that it felt like much longer, really. 

"He'll be back any minute," Phil said, handing him a drug-soaked cloth, "Knock him out when he comes in. We'll tie him up, like any other target." 

"And we'll spare his...?" Tommy trailed off curiously, dropping his duffel bag next to the desk and positioning himself by the door. 

"Heart." his dad replied. "We need to be quick with the dissection, clean-up, and transfer." he told them. 

The blonde hummed, "Of course. We can just slit his throat or something." he looked to Techno, who's eyes lit up. The pink-haired college student lunged to retrieve his axe. 

This was the kid's fifth mission with his family, and he was still considered to be 'in-training' despite how quickly he was catching on and learning. And just like his dad, just like his brothers, just like his best friends, he liked seeing bad people get what they deserve. He liked helping with it. He liked killing certain kinds of people. It didn't take him too long to move on from that first slaughter, the untrained and messy thing he did within 24 hours of learning about the whole organization. 

She was just the first step in a long line of many to come. 

Because Tommy was part of the Karma Court now. 

And he was a murderer. And somehow, he was okay with that. 

His brother nodded, double checking that his gloves were secure while their father prepped the ribbon and fabric to tie this Quackity to his chair. 

"Fuck, guys- Karl got out. He's hurt but he's definitely warning him," Wilbur's voice came through all their ear pieces, a new upgrade to their technology and protocols Tommy suggested when he was officially inducted. Before any of them could process anything, the door burst open, revealing two men. 

The black haired one, their target of choice, stood in the front, while a bloody and disheveled shorter man stood behind him. 

They both had weapons. 

This murder just became a battle, it seems. Tommy definitely wasn't trained for this, but he threw his knife and hoped for the best. 

It worked last time, didn't it?