Work Text:
Most passengers on the system shuttle were napping or focused on media as it started the scheduled descent to the Vault. Phil gathered his things and checked the viewport again. The prison hung in space outside the shuttle, a massive unmarked cube in the void. There was an irregular sparkle in the empty half-km around the construction, the laser deflection array sparking as it vaporized micro-meteorites that dared to come close. The shuttle proceeded on a careful descent down the narrow path for transit in and out of the station, bracketed on each side by the prison’s security defenses.
The station proper had a small population of people who worked in the Vault, but you didn’t come here to visit the staff. If someone was preparing to disembark now, it would be assumed to be for the obvious reasons. The tired woman and her child standing up in the back of the shuttle certainly had the look of people visiting a prisoner, from the overstuffed bag of gifts she was carrying to the way they avoided the curious eyes of people watching. And there were a few people bored enough with their media to be watching. The guy in the seat behind Phil still had the colourful haze in the air in front of himself of someone displaying something at close range, but he was staring through the light display at Phil, openly gawking at the spectacle of someone stopping at the prison. Phil gave him a toothy grin back and checked his bag again. Did he have everything?
Let that guy wonder who had brought him to the Vault, which high-security prisoner he was connected to. He wasn’t exactly visiting a prisoner, but to be fair, he wasn’t not visiting a prisoner either. He was just taking a simpler route than going through all the security checkpoints to get inside the building. Well, what he had planned wasn’t exactly simple. A different route.
A clunk rolled through the shuttle as docking clamps made contact, and Phil grabbed his cane and got to his feet. He’d been worrying about this visit for several months, and one way or another, it would be settled in an hour. He shuffled down the aisle to the exit, following the other duo as they exited the shuttle.
As he exited the stop-start, stop-start of the scanners on the station entrance, the people he’d been following were already halfway to station customs, footsteps ringing out on the cheap tiles in the hallway. He could see the older of the two already had both of their ID cards out in her hand. That actually worked great for his plans, that was a stroke of luck. Alright, time for the next stage in his plan. Phil ducked into the washroom, closed himself in his stall, and rummaged in his bag.
Individually, all of these items he was carrying were harmless enough to get past the scanners, but together they were going to get someone back who Phil missed very much. He clicked two strips of metal together into a bracelet, hooked the data chip off his back tooth and pushed it into place, and then looked up at the result.
A beefy man stood in the stall, gene-modded pink hair braided back and face cut with a record of many fights, legs halfway through the toilet. He was wearing a standard traveller’s jumpsuit with a shoulder bag, and he had a short pink beard. The man fidgeted in place, hand going to the emerald in his ear, and then he settled with a glance at Phil. Phil waved his hand, and the projection’s eyes followed the motion, head tilting just a little in curiosity. Phil grinned. So far so good. He headed out of the washroom stall with the figure following a half-step behind him.
He’d had to keep updating the visual as the timeline for this visit had stretched further and further into the future—permissions delayed, coding slow, required items difficult to find—but he was as certain as he could be that he had an accurate image of what his friend looked like after several months trapped here. Phil had combed through old records for the beard growth, found pictures of his friend after months with no sunlight—he was sure. He pushed the projection bracelet up his elbow so it was hidden under his sleeve and started towards customs.
The other duo was already exiting as Phil approached, which was good. The last thing he wanted was having some kid get too close to the projection and realizing it wasn’t real. He needed the Vault’s scanners to show two people arriving on the station, with nobody getting any ideas about one of the bodies being projected light and some sensor spoofing. The customs man was watching him without interest. Phil smiled politely in his direction as he made his way through the twisting path, projection fiddling with a loop of paper as it followed.
“Papers,” the customs officer said, most of his attention on the blur in the air in front of him indicating screens. He waved a hand at his counter.
“Sure,” Phil said. He shifted his cane to his other hand and pulled two ID cards out of his bag, putting them where the customs man had indicated.
The man drew the cards closer and swiped them through the machine, expression vaguely displeased as he looked at his screens. “Dave Tory and Cyberknife, is it?”
“Yep!” Phil nodded, fighting down the urge to say “that’s me”. He had worked very hard on those identities and their lack of connection to his real biometrics and their associated warrants out for his arrest, he needed to act chill. “Here for work.”
“Work, eh?” The customs officer looked through his projections at Phil. He was still wearing a displeased expression, but he was paying more attention. Which was exactly what Phil did not want him to do. “What’cha doin’?”
“Redstone engineers,” Phil told him. He opened his shoulder bag to show the tools inside. There was motion in his peripheral vision as the projection mirrored Phil’s actions. “We’re doin’ some repairs to the prisoner transport system.”
“That explains it,” the customs guy said under his breath. He glanced back at Phil. “Got your return ticket?” His eyes went to the figure over Phil’s shoulder.
Phil didn’t want to turn and look, but from what he could see the projection was fiddling with the loop of paper again. Which was the same behaviour loop that had been running when they had been walking up. The projection was supposed to flip randomly between preset behaviour loops, and it would be just horrible bad luck to have the same one happen twice in front of the same observer. Phil breathed out, trying not to sweat. “Got an open-ended ticket so we can leave any time in the next three days, dependin’ on how long it takes,” he said. He put two ticket buttons on the counter, and gave the officer a grin. “More expensive, but hey, I’m not the one payin’ for it this time.”
“Hmm.” The customs man glanced at the buttons and tapped at something on his control panel.
Phil made himself breathe steadily. If the customs man was able to check work orders at the Vault, this was about to go very bad. On the plus side, he’d probably be seeing his friend again soon, but on the negative side, it would be from the inside of a prison cell. The guard read something on his screen, and Phil focused on not fidgeting nervously. The projection was fiddling, but he’d been doing that since they’d walked up and that was also true to character, so he didn’t really see a way to avoid that.
“Looks good,” the customs officer said after an endless pause. He scooped up the ticket buttons and the IDs, handing them back to Phil. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Plan on it,” Phil told him, definitely not planning on it. The day he didn’t cause trouble for the sort of people who ran prisons was the day he checked his temperature for fever and then went to set a fire somewhere. He nodded to the customs guy and switched his cane back to his on hand, heading for the exit with the projection behind him. He only needed to make it out of the customs hall without anyone noticing—
He didn’t get a deep breath in until he was out of the hall and on the station concourse, and then his exhale rasped in his throat as he breathed again. The big hurdle was passed. Now there was just the final piece of the puzzle. The station had a small commercial area, with impressively beige residential hallways beyond it. There were a few people out doing grocery shopping or other errands, but this was mostly an empty hall decorated with a few plastic plants and buzzing overhead lights. Good, that worked out well too. Next step. He’d memorized the address, so all he had to do was find the empty storefront that belonged to Cartel Bookshop.
If this didn’t work he didn’t know what he’d do.
His friend had put this in place before he went to the prison, leaving him a message to say all he had to do was get to the bookshop and activate the final step of the plan. Like that was easy. Phil had come back from a trip to find this message, had had to try and put it into place, and that had not been a straightforward process. This was the bookshop, a narrow storefront with plastic film over the windows. Phil switched his cane and pressed his palm to the scanner. He was supposed to be on the shop’s security and—the door clicked open.
Almost there.
The front of the bookshop was abandoned, furniture covered with dust sheets. The message had been light on details about location, but if he had been putting an illegal machine in place the spot he’d choose for it would be the back. Phil worked his way past a white-draped counter, cane and footsteps sounding strangely loud in the quiet space. The door to the store room was unlocked.
And here, set on one wall, there was an almost-complete transport frame. Phil turned the projector bracelet off and rubbed his palm against his pant leg, hands suddenly sweating. The frame didn’t have the power core which would make it turn up on scanners, but what do you know, he had one in his bag.
It had been a long few months without his friend, and every time he’d had to delay his trip to the prison his heart had further twisted in his chest. You heard rumours about what happened inside the Vault, and even adjusted for exaggerations, it was bad. He trusted that his best friend could handle himself, he did, but still. Still. Knowing that he was stuck there had hurt. He needed to get him out, he needed him back.
The message that his friend had left him on their table back home had included instructions about how to dispose of his friend’s estate if this didn’t work, and Phil was determined that he would not be following those instructions. Not that it wasn’t pretty optimistic to assume that if this went wrong Phil wouldn’t be heading to the Vault himself, able to check on the veracity of the rumours personally. But that wasn’t going to happen if he had anything to say about it. He’d done all the research, he’d done all the prep, he’d made sure they had an exit, and he was going to be leaving this station with his friend really by his side this time.
Phil’s fingertips were cold as he pulled the last few items from his bag and slotted them into place on the transport frame.
The display on the side of it had the half-light glow of something running on the emergency batteries that lasted until the sun wore down. It was already locked onto one specific genetic signature, ready to go. All he needed to do was put the power core in.
Phil stood on his toes and pushed the last piece into place, the transport frame coming to life with that hum that always made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Purple ripples washed through the centre of the frame, meeting in a burst of white light that coalesced into a beefy figure, gene-modded pink hair braided back, face showing the track record of many fights. Technoblade staggered and then pitched forward into Phil’s arms.
“Oh my god,” Techno said, clinging to his shoulders. “Phil, you have no idea how good your timing just was.”
“Hey mate,” Phil said, a wobbly laugh in his voice. He was here, he’d made it out, Phil had his friend back. He pushed himself up on his toes again, white-knuckling his cane for balance and reaching for the power core again to pull it out. “Been a while.”
“Been a while?” Techno pushed an errant strand of pink hair off his face. His hands were shaking slightly, Phil noticed. “Phil, I thought it would be a couple days, a week. It’s been three months! Months , Phil!”
“You were tryin’ to get me to get you out of the fuckin’ Vault!” Phil protested. “You think that’s somethin’ I can do in a weekend?” He pulled a traveller’s jumpsuit out of his bag, pressing it into Techno’s chest. “Here, get into that, we’re on the third shift shuttle out of here.” He pressed a meal-replacement bar on top of the jumpsuit, at his friend. “Eat that, you look like you haven’t been eatin’. You okay?”
“I was in prison for three months, you think I’m okay, Phil?” Techno waved an arm wildly, then took the proffered items from Phil. A smile was starting to pull at his mouth. “I thought you’d forgotten me!”
Phil had been rummaging in his bag for tickets, and his head came up in horror at that, staring at Techno. “Really? You really thought I’d fuckin’ forgotten?”
“Well. I was considerin’ it,” Techno told him. “It could happen. Maybe.” He rolled his eyes, correcting himself with a wave of his hand. “Not really. I figured you’d been delayed by somethin’. I was worried about that.”
“Yeah, by the fuckin’ security on the fuckin’ Vault!” Phil waved his free arm back. “I wouldn’t forget, you just told me to break you out of the highest-security prison in the galaxy, and all I had to work with was a fuckin’ note you left me! I didn’t even have a map!”
“I knew you could do it,” Techno told him. “Even if it would take you three months .” He was definitely smiling now.
Phil huffed at him, pulling his ticket and ID out of his bag and holding it out to him. “Here’s your new ID, should get us through security. You know if you were gonna make a big fuss about it, maybe I wouldn’t have come and got you.”
“Really?” Techno raised his pink eyebrows at him. “You really wouldn’t have come and got me?”
Phil looked at him. “Nah,” he said. They had to make it out, but the hardest part was over. All he had to do was walk out of here, now, and he knew that his IDs passed the scans. It had worked. Phil grinned. “I’d have got you anyways.”
“That’s what I thought,” Techno said. His hand came up to fiddle with the emerald in his ear, a familiar gesture. “Good to see you, Phil.”
“Missed you, mate,” Phil said. He tipped his head to the side. “Do you want a hug?”
“Alright.” Techno stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him. “Missed you too.”
Techno smelled of cleaning chemicals and the prison jumpsuit he was in was rough against Phil’s cheek. He was so familiar, back after so long. “Sorry it took three months,” Phil said to Techno’s shoulder. “Wanted to make sure I didn’t make any mistakes.”
“Well,” Techno said, resting his cheek against Phil’s head. “You got me out eventually, so I guess I’ll forgive it.”
“Well, if I’m forgiven .” Phil stepped back from the hug and passed a hand over his eyes, adjusting his grip on his cane. “Alright. You said that my timin’ was good—was there somethin’ happenin’? Somethin’ I should know about?”
“Aw, I had it handled.” Techno crooked a smile at him. He really looked just like the projection Phil had made, down to the shadows under his eyes. “Just a little thing of the prison interrogator tryin’ to kill me. Happens every day.”
Phil stared at him. “Does that seriously happen every fuckin’ day?” His tone was going higher than it normally did. “For three months ?”
“Not every day, or that’d get really tiring,” Techno said, deadpan. “They need to take breaks for the interrogator’s health. But that guy definitely didn’t like me. S’why I’m glad to be out, you know.” He unfolded the traveller’s jumpsuit that Phil had given him and then put it on a box, hands going to his buttons.
“Jesus.” Phil shook his head slightly as he turned around to give his friend privacy. “And I was worried about the food in there, people were sayin’ that they didn’t feed you.”
“Actually the food was fine,” Techno said behind him. “Lots of potatoes, and that’s nutritionally complete, you know.”
“Techno,” Phil said, pained. “Not every potato is—did you really only eat potatoes?”
“No, Phil, that was a good thing, actually,” his friend said. “That’s goin’ on my prison review as a high point. Only fed us potatoes, that’s a five out of five.” Techno paused. “Maybe four out of five, sometimes I think they were raw.”
“I’ve got food at home, I’m makin’ you a complete meal,” Phil promised. He shifted his grip on his cane, staring at a blank wall in the back of this bookstore. “Vegetables and everythin’.”
“Potatoes are a vegetable if you think about it,” Techno suggested as fabric rustled.
“I don’t wanna hear it,” Phil told him. “You’re gonna be eatin’ a salad, or my name isn’t Philza Minecraft.” He paused. “I mean technically it’s Dave Tory right now, but, y’know.”
Techno chuckled, and then there was the sound of him unwrapping the meal bar. “Alright, I’m dressed. What, we fight our way out now?”
Phil turned back around to grin at his friend. “Nah, thanks to that ID, we are just walkin’ out.” He nodded at the card and ticket Techno had left on a box. “You bought a ticket in, came through security, and you’re goin’ back out again same fuckin’ way. As far as security knows, Technoblade disappeared into thin fuckin’ air.” He tipped his head towards the exit. “You ready to go?”
Techno stepped into place behind him, the same way he’d come in, but this time he was real. Phil could reach out and touch his friend, he had him back. “Lead on,” Techno said. He glanced in Phil’s direction as they started towards the door. “Thanks for gettin’ me out.”
“Course,” Phil said. “Let’s go.”