Chapter Text
Several thousand light years from earth sits a space station orbiting a blue and frozen planet. A plain gray color to the station with a red logo placed around it in deliberate spots. A sword rising through the center of a crown, surrounded by a circle, all colored in a fresh blood color. If you were to enter you’d see Aliens from across distant stars, one such creature sits at a desk, in a grand office. Pale peach colored skin, almost human looking. Hair long and well brushed, falling almost down to his waist and a dusty pink color. He sits in plain dark clothing, a loose black shirt with sleeves down to his wrists, dark gray pants that lead to black boots made of the leather of an animal unearth-like. To the untrained eye, one may assume him tired. One would be right.
I rest my chin in my hands, my fingers squishing my cheeks up slightly. My eyes hurt after looking at the yellow tinted screen in front of me for probably several hours. I long since stopped keeping track of the time. Pantheon was getting bold, moving a small station with several different fighter ships right on the border of Syndicate territory. To make matters worse, they are cloaking their ships, the only reason I knew about them was because of Niki. The spy was highly ranked on the Pantheon counsel. I tapped with a calloused finger on the schematics for the matching fighter ships for the second time in the past hour. Pantheon didn't know that I knew about the station but I still couldn’t understand their play here. The station was careful to stay out of Syndicate territory, so they weren't trying to provoke us into an attack. I had received no messages from them, or no ships under a diplomat symbol.
‘What is Herobrine playing?’ I thought to myself, knowing the man in charge of the empire hardly had time to plan all this himself, but it still must have gone across his desk.
Finally with a resigned sigh I double tapped the schematics for all the ships to duplicate them and sent them to Philza to look over, and the Syndicates main station ship repair women Puffy. The Arctic Station orbits around planet Zeno (Mark 4). A wet and cold planet, with large icey plains, and frozen over oceans. The Arctic is hidden deep in Syndicate territory and is our main base of operation. If you’re a part of the Syndicate you’ll end up passing through here plenty. For the food, company, and supplies.
I’m clicking open the schematics from the station once again when my screen dings with a message. Dragging the message in front of the display.
(Philza: Doesn't look dangerous. What did Niki say?)
I type back my response.
(Technoblade: She doesn't know why this station was moved there. She doesnt think Eret does either.)
Eret is the child of Herobrine, both from the planet Fixaect. The species best known for the UV light their under skin emits, and the color changing over skin. I met Eret face to face twice, once when she promoted me to head general of Pantheon, and once when I came to discuss the Syndicates surrender. Both memories I don't let myself get sucked into.
(Philza: That's bizarre! Is it possible the station moved without permission?)
(Technoblade: I’ve already considered that, it seems far too intentional.)
(Philza: Ask Puffy about it?)
(Technoblade: Sent her the schematics and location for the ships already)
(Philza: Good! Let me know what she finds :) )
Then I saw it. Right over the smile. Quickly pushing the message out of the way to look at the room I just found. A room completely lined with lead and Titanium walls.
‘A prison cell, why is there a cell on this ship?’
Opening my map again, a blue dot showing the location of the Pantheon station. They aren't close to any Syndicate shipping lanes, nor any important planets. Doesn't look like they were trying to target a certain ship or planet for a prisoner. More dead ends. I send a copy of my screen to Philza to look at, and then lean my head back to stare at the plain gray ceiling. I wanted my office to be simple and not distracting, but I'm regretting the boring ceiling. I should hang something up, or paint it. The ceiling and walls are both the same boring metal, the floor dark tiles. All the furniture sleek metal in a deep gray except my desk, and my plush red chair that could be reasonably called a throne. A row of metal filing cabinets, which store information decks, undecorated at all. Two chairs against the wall on the other side, for company, and a large vine like plant climbing the wall. The large window behind me letting a glow over my now tilted back face.
I realized I need a break when my thoughts wander quickly, my joints ache from holding their position for so long so I decided to go for a walk. Pushing my chair back as it makes a small screech along the floor. Pushing a hand down on top of the digital display to minimize it back into its deck. I yawn, my ears popping, and stretch my arms above my head to a satisfying crack. A soft groan leaving my throat as the muscles untense, thankful for the movement.
It hasn't been a busy day at all but I’m exhausted already. It isn't even thirteen standard time and I’m considering a nap. Hooking my comm to my belt so it sits next to my book deck, and opposite my blaster; and finally stepping around my desk. The large desk is made of wood of the Agbya tree from Philzas home planet Amo. Technically an Agbya grown on a different planet very similar to Amo, since Amo is in several different pieces floating around. The desk was a gift last year, carved beautifully to bring out the swirls of oranges and reds and pinks in the gorgeous wood. The desk has a column in each corner and two next to the opening under the desk for my legs, each one a simple tuscan design. The columns smooth to show the unique swirls of color the trees boast. The panels in between showing a unique carving to each side.
I hovered my hand near the pad on the side of the door absentmindedly as I reached it and it slid open. Disappearing into its nook in the left wall. Freeing my path to walk from the formal office. Walking down the hall of the Arctic, shoes making slight thud noise against the dark tile of the flooring. The walls and ceiling are both a nice gray metal with a red stripe down the center of each wall. Doors all labeled with a sign on it in three different languages. Common big at the top, and smaller under it in Aclim, since it's the most popular second language, and Touch written below it. Touch made and standardized for species who can't see. All hallways are identical except for the door placement, and it's common to see new recruits or people that aren't here often wandering lost. That's why we offer maps on the walls, the large digital displays showing you how to get from where you are to your destination. During a shutdown, if the station were to ever get attacked, all maps are disabled.
Stopping at the fork to turn right, the left heading towards the large dorms, and baths. Dorms for people just stopping through briefly, and the people who live here. Right leads towards the rest of the ship, including a gym, offices, cafeteria, docking bay and everything else the Arctic Station can offer.
A warm drink sounds amazing for my dry throat right now and I guide my feet towards the cafeteria. It just got an upgraded machine that can create food from any planet, if it has the ingredients, and we’re careful to keep it always fully stocked.
As I enter through the large arched doorway, kept open unless there's a shutdown, I see one of my most chaotic smugglers and his husband.
‘Are they married? Not any of my business as it's not interfering with their work.’
Tubbo shoots past me, shiny bug wings flapping to carry him through the arch as Ranboo, tall and black skinned, runs after him. I heard a playful shout and a distressed puff. Laughing softly to myself as I stop to stand in front of the machine.
The digital display offers me a keyboard and a bar above it to see what I'm typing. I punch in my planet's name till it comes up on the list with a small picture of my planet. I click on it and it offers me the menu from my planet. Sliding the clicker over to drinks and looking at the three drink options it offers. The machine can't offer everything, but I made a mental note to ask my Abby for some Versu soup for my name day.
Looking back at my menu I selected Vènu, a warm drink made with cinnamon powder. Clicking the red done button and walking a few feet to the small flap door. The glass knob over the door blinks from red to green and conveys out my drink on the belt. Wrapping my scarred, calloused hand around the glass, and taking a tiny sip.
‘fuck that is amazing’ I thought with a deep sigh. Looking over the cafeteria as I take another slow sip. It's mostly empty in the large windowed room, two of the walls showing massive windows. A star seems to shoot past the windows,
‘odd we shouldn't have a meteor this time of year, i’ll mention it to Puffy.’
The tables in various heights, with various chairs mostly clear and empty of food and species. Zeno (Mark 4) has its usual thick white clouds with dark ice visible beneath it, as a few of the windows show. Distant stars blink at me from the darkness surrounding the blue planet, a memory threatening to swallow me. Laying on my much younger back, grass tickling my exposed face and legs, dark sky showing familiar bright stars.
Coughing to try and drag my mind back into the present, I get a look from the three people at the closest table. A three person team, compared to the normal two. Dream is a clever shapeshifter, George is a human metaphorically armed to the teeth, and Sapnap is fiery, both figuratively and literally. Dream seemed to stop mid joke to look at me, shooting me a thumbs up with a questioning look; He having gathered a lot of human habits from his partner. I return the gesture and he returns to his conversation.
Dream and I go way back, a joke rivalry back at Pantheon. He helped me organize and attack the empire, and fully supported my leadership of the Syndicate. Now he runs a smuggler ship with his two partners and I've never seen him happier.
It makes me miss when I first met Philza. Amos' destruction was being heard across the galaxy, news spreading fast down black market trade routes. I’d found the winged species crying, his home planet was now in chunks, Pantheon to blame. When I offered him a place on my ship he took it.
Now we’re both a lot busier. Me running the Syndicate, and Philza doing all the stuff I can't do. He still gets to run all over the galaxy, checking on stations and gathering news. I do paperwork and planning.
I try to shake off the bile taste of jealousy that rises in my stomach and turn my feet towards the door. I’ll take my drink to my office and start planning how to make my office look better. Maybe more plants, or a nice accent wall. Passing through the arch door, and farther down the hall. My mind wanders as I nod to Dream as he passes, but I barely get a look in response.
‘Wait, wasn't Dream in the cafeteria? How is he coming this way?’
Oh fuck. That wasn’t a meteor past the windows, as soon as i turn the corner i'm off running.
‘That was a shapeshifter in a small shuttle! That's not Dream!’
I'm in a breakaway sprint to my office, cup forgotten in my hand. Through the door and fumbling to open my deck before I even get around the desk.
“Arctic! Shut down! Pissing shut this place down!” I practically yell at the ship.
The robotic voice answers “Shutting down The Arctic. Would you like to send a distress signal?”
“No! No Distress signal” if i send a signal whatever bigger ship that shifter is from might know we found them out. “Shut off communication, except my lines”
“Blocking communication”
I set my drink down with a shaky breath, quickly sending a message to George.
(Technoblade: Is Sapnap and Dream still with you?)
(GeorgeNotFound: Yeah, why? What's happening?)
(Technoblade: Did Dream leave at all?)
(GeorgeNotFound: no he's been here the whole time, what's happening? Is the ship okay?)
(Technoblade: all of you stay together, come to my office, Arctic will let you)
“Arctic let George, Dream, and Sapnap to my office. Order numbers-” And I ramble off their team numbers, hoping I got them right off memory. Quickly dragging messages to the front of the display on my deck. Two messages from Puffy that I ignore for now, clicking onto Philzas profile and typing quickly.
(Technoblade: we have a shifter on the arctic, i shut it down. Dont panic im managing it)
Then closing the display back down as the Arctic makes a small chime and opens his office door. Dream walks in front, usual stark white full face mask on, and annoying green hoodie. George and Sapnap quick to follow and the Arctic chimes again as the door shuts.
“Do I have a burn scar on my left hand or my right? Is my last name Ridof? Where was my favorite vacation?” I shoot the questions glaring at Dream. He looks confused and stumbles to answer.
“Right, you got it when a deck blew up. You don't have a last name. On Disons biggest moon” he answers, looking between me and George.
I relaxed immediately, he got them all right. “There's a shifter on the station pretending to be you, and I don't know what to do. They could be anyone by now”
As George opens his mouth to reply a shock shakes the ship. All my furniture is bolted down except my throne which goes screeching to the left til the ship rights itself.
“Arctic! Status Report!” I yell at the ship as Dream grabs Sapnap and George's shirts. Digging his nails into the fabric on their backs as the ship tilts again, the shifter keeping them steady. I lean opposite the ship and use my hands braced on the table to keep me upright.
“The ship is being piloted. One conscious pilot in the bay. No order number found.” The robotic voice responds.
“Is he trying to drive to the station alone? It takes a minimum of three pilots to drive this thing!” George spits out in anger.
It's times like these I pray for Philza to be here, his quick clever solutions would be a blessing. Instead it's just me, again.
‘And my crew’ I try to remind myself.
“Dream, do you have a small fast animal shift?”
He tilts his head as if thinking and nods “i have a few, depends on how small i have to get”
“The vents, the ship has a complicated ventilation system that the Arctic can guide you through”
George cuts in, “you gave the ship control in the vents?!”
“Not exactly,” i reply, “Arctic is an AI, it gave itself control”
“Terrifying but yes I can do that trip. I have no idea what kind of shifts this shifter has though. What if they over power me? Or know I'm coming? And how do we know they didn't bring buddies?”
I bang a frustrated hand on my desk, George flinching slightly. “Arctic scan the station for unregistered bodies…. Arctic?” the ship doesn't reply. They must have turned off my AI’s power. Fuck. I just hope they didn't break anything expensive.
The station tilts towards the left again and I lose my grip and stumble a few steps left before the station rights itself. I have no ideas, no brilliant plan, not even a shitty plan. Just nothing, but a ship that is relying on a leader who hasn’t been himself in months.
The ship tilts violently towards the right and I'm not ready, my feet slip, my hands falter, and I slam into the filing cabinets. My shoulder makes a disgusting pop and I crumple to the floor.
“Ow” I say weakly and stand once I feel steady. Digging my fingers into the space above my tendon on the back of my arm and slamming the arm forward to relocate it. My vision whites for a moment and then clears. I roll my shoulder and I'm fine so I'm back to my desk immediately.
“You okay?!” George asks quickly.
“I'm fine, it happens sometimes. You know” Humans and my species have similar joints so I'm sure George understands.
Sapnap has been oddly quiet, just watching. Normally he's a lot louder, and why is he expanding? Im throwing something before i can process, honed battle instincts smarter than I. My book deck slamming into the fake Sapnaps face, Dream jumps back with a hiss as he processes what I processed moments before. Fake Sapnap is shifting into a.. Oh fuck. That's a hell hound.
We had a full class on the dangerous beast when I was in the academy. The serrated fangs made for ripping anything including, unluckily enough, metal apart. Bristled fur and a three hundred and sixty degree sight with its four eyes.
Now one stands in my office. It's not even full sized and it barely has room to stand. When they were brought to a small planet to try and help pest control they started breeding even faster, and so it only took six years for the entire planet to be uninhabitable.
My blaster will do nothing here, the only weapon available that may do a fraction of damage is George's rifle, which is unloaded and strapped to his back.
Hell hounds however are almost unkillable, since missing over half their bodies blood content it can still take down prey double its size.
Dream half shoves George behind him and starts shifting large spikes along his knuckles and crown of his skull. As he shifts more into a species I can't name, I'm already launching myself onto my desk.
Hand helping push me over the desk, as my feet push off. My shoes hit the desk as I pull out the obsidian knife I keep on my boot. George scrambles under my desk as Dream roars at the Hellhound, and I use its ear to pull myself onto its back.
It rears in an attempt to slam me into the ceiling. I slide down its back, using its oddly shaped skull to hold myself from falling off its back completely. Dream slides in low to slash at its front legs, the Hellhounds claws slamming into the shifter and sending him scattering back with a pained hiss.
The razor sharp obsidian digging into the back of its skull, at the base of its neck, via my hand. Trying to shove it as deep as possible and twist it around like crazy, attempting to do as much damage as possible before it can throw me.
I don't do enough as it manages to slam my back into the wall with a painful sounding thud. I don't let myself feel the inevitable pain, sliding down the wall. Waiting for one of those powerful back legs to crush me into a stain on the wall, but it doesn't come. In its place is the loudest bang I've heard since my hull collapsed halfway out of the atmosphere of Zeno (Mark 4).
The body slowly slumps down to the floor, gun still pointed up is George in front of it. He’d manage to load his rifle in his time under the desk and shoot an Earth bullet into the shifter's face.
George is still trembling with adrenaline as the rifle is slung back onto his back, strange how humans do that. Running around my desk back towards Dream.
The slash across his chest isn't bad, just weakly dripping red blood, and helped by the thicker skin he managed to shift. “Everyone still alive says I” I say shakily.
I get two “i’s” in response and I tilt my head back to thunk on the wall. I had to get saved by a human with a rifle. Not that George isn't a formidable enemy, but with my recent lack of confidence it's like a punch to the dick.
I simply chose to ignore that feeling as the pain on the back of my head makes itself known. Making a soft groan and resting a cold palm on the forming bruise. That's gonna hurt tomorrow.
Plus there's still the shifter loose around our bay, although the ship has not been tilting like crazy. George shoots me a worried glance “You alright? Head okay?”
“Just a bruise, I'll live. Good job with the gun” i steady myself on the wall to stand and am grateful when my head doesn't throb with a headache.
He smiles at me weakly and turns back to fussing over Dream who's already trying to push him away gently and stand. There's a click, and the intercom system starts up. That should be disabled, the intercom turns off during Shutdowns.
“Hi Everyone” It's Philzas soothing face, masked with pain.
‘He shouldn't be here! What is happening?’ Dream and George looked at me just as confused.
“I have horrible news” he starts again, a hiss of pain leaving his mouth. “I would like you to have an opportunity to message your loved ones a goodbye, i'm sorry I couldn't do more.”
An unknown timer starts ticking, Philza makes a strangled noise as he's presumably pulled away from the microphone, and the Arctic is still shut down. I'm back around my desk, opening my deck quickly, as the screaming starts.