Another sunrise broke the wilderness, but no one sleeping in the fathomless mountain deep, in the revolutionist headquarters of Pogtopia, saw it.

Tommy slept in as usual. But once he awoke, there was no going back. Here was a new day to further the rebellion. If Technoblade's faultless sense of time was indeed faultless, today would be October 9th, two days since they had won the Battle of the Burning Tower and lost their slave. They'd spent a week-and-and-half like this: three grubby men and a dog hunkered in a cave, living off the land and Popeye's sponsorships. It was awesome.

Tommy threw his ratty tunic over his shirt. The frayed border stopped just before the hem of his khaki shorts. In this cavernous cold, the revolutionist trousers would have been more practical instead of the shorts–even if he had worn through the knees–but they were tight. True freedom was meant to be felt and breathed–especially through one's own spindly legs. This ruled out the uniform boots as well (Tommy had started growing out of those anyway), so Techno helped him fashion a crude pair of leather ankle boots. Finally, he strapped on his bow and quiver, both concealed beneath his tunic. L'Dog lay about a meter inside his cave, wagging his tail while he waited for Tommy to finish getting ready.

Tommy blew a kiss to "Cat," displayed prominently on the rock shelf above his bed, then bounded out of his two-cave room with L'Dog, down the precarious little path to the main cavern. It was abandoned. Technoblade, the early riser, had left breakfast on the fire pit. Tommy piled a bowl of the unidentifiable potato concoction and gobbled it up. After a second bowl, he declared himself finished.

"It's time!" he announced to no one but himself. "I fancy it's time to take a lit'le 'oliday to L'Manberg and see wot's going on. That's right, today, Tommy Innit is a reconnaissance-er."

Reconnaissance-ers required parental consent. This meant popping into Technoblade's cave, blabbing about his plans for the day, pinching one or two potions, and leaving. It did not mean ensuring Techno had heard him over his own hammering upon the anvil in the room, or even acknowledged Tommy's presence. No matter. Whether or not Techno knew Tommy's plans, Tommy was marching out of Pogtopia and nothing could stop him.

But I ought to tell Will. Even if 'e does hate me.

So before he left for the day, Tommy poked his head through the mangy curtain guarding the entrance to Wilbur's cave. Wilbur stood in the middle of his room, back to Tommy. He was shirtless, working on removing the bandages around his torso. Tommy didn't speak immediately, but watched. What were those marks on Wilbur's back? The two grotesque scars twisting down his shoulder blades. Tommy had assisted Technoblade in performing all the surgeries, but only by stoking fires or soaking rags. He had made sure not to look too closely at Techno's gruesome work on removing the arrowhead from Wilbur's shoulder, but if he had, surely he would've noticed these scars–far, far older than the arrow wounds. How were the arrow wounds doing? Tommy couldn't see much of the one in the shoulder, but when Wilbur twisted around to unpeel the last scrap of gauze, Tommy spied the punctures in his abdomen. Tommy hadn't laid eyes upon them in more than a week. Last he remembered, the flesh had been mending on the double–under the influence of Techno's healing potions. But Technoblade had refrained from offering the injured man any more spiked tea for the past few days, despite Wilbur's requests. Now the exposed injuries had healed over almost completely.

Wilbur didn't replace the dressings. He covered his strange, scarred body with his old jumper, then his trench coat, and lastly a dark-colored scarf Tommy didn't remember him having before.

"Well I'm off to check out Manberg," Tommy honked. Wilbur didn't turn; he threw the scarf around his shoulders. "Toob told me Schlatt's gonna make a big announcement today. I'm gonna see wot all the fuss is about."

Had Wilbur heard him? Why wouldn't he? A thought struck Tommy. Spontaneous deafness? No, Wilbur was probably still mad at him from the row in the bunker and didn't want to talk. Which was fine because Tommy didn't want to talk to him either. He hadn't even told his dubious compatriot about the Battle of the Burning Tower, or at least all the details. He'd told Wilbur about the renaming of L'Manberg, but he hadn't told him about Henry.

As Tommy crossed the final bridge to the entrance tunnel, Wilbur's voice found its way over to him. Tommy glanced behind him, but there was no one there–just the whispered voice and the soft, simple melody it carried. Tommy thought it sounded sad.

"Let the sun shine down,

Let it shine on me.

Let you sing my song,

Let my land be free.

Come you down in sorrow,

As ashes water earth,

In eventide and morning,

To trade away your mirth."

Tommy emerged from the tunnel and greeted the late morning. The sun didn't shine down, though; it was actually rather overcast. Tommy scampered across the wilderness flaming with brilliant shades of fire and sunset, keeping a fierce eye out for bounty hunters and the like who might take his head at any given moment. Surely only the rebels' undeniable mastery in the art of stealth (especially Tommy's) had protected them thus long. Besides, after all of his training with Technoblade in their fighting pit, everyone should beware of Tommy Innit now. What could mercenaries do in the face of their mighty rebellion?

Tommy almost sauntered right into Manberg, when he remembered his mastery in the art of stealth, and misted an invisibility potion over himself. Trying not to cough, he paraded up to Eret's eastern tower, right under the nose of Punz–who, for all his mercenary renown, didn't suspect a thing. Tommy already had a rather low view of the other mercenary, Purpled, and this just reinforced his notion that mercenaries were not all that awesome. It took Tommy forever to unlatch and open the door, on account of him being unable to see his own hand, but after two minutes of stubbing his fingers on the wood, he managed to get inside.

Tommy scuttled up the ladders, when a series of bizarre and annoying sounds reverberated along the tower walls–sounds which he could only blame upon Manberg's temperamental speaker system. The announcement was at hand. Tommy scuttled faster.

"Good mo–or–ing, Ma–berg." Schlatt's voice popped in and out of the speaker. "I kno–it's–yo–ob to–ix it."

By the time Tommy topped the second tier and crouched behind a battlement on the wall walk, the broadcast had ironed out. He could see the whole lay of Manberg from here, the podium and the plaza filled with citizens closest to him, all the people the size of dolls. That's when he noticed the wanted posters on every wall and building, some plastered with Wilbur's face, others with Tommy's, though he couldn't pick out details. He felt a little panicked upon seeing the posters for Wilbur–didn't everyone think he was dead? Had they figured it out? Had their slave told them all?

"Look at that flag," said Schlatt dreamily, indicating the new black-and-red flag flapping over the country. Tommy looked at it–and then stuck his tongue out. "That is such a nice flag. It just screams power, I love it. That's why I'm promoting Fundy to Vice Viceroy Baron Chairman. Because of this beautiful flag he made for me."

From what Tommy could see, out of the whole audience, only Bad and Skeppy clapped. The cat-eared boy, the Pogtopians' old slave, did too–slowly. Look at that cat-boy, down there with those two bandits. Ungrateful, that's wot 'e is. Fundy looked thrilled at the promotion, but the nervous swiveling of his ears spoke otherwise. Tommy knew that, because Tommy knew everything.

Fundy might've joined the others on the great podium, but Schlatt gave him no such direction, so he remained in the plaza. Only Tubbo and Quackity shared this special place next to the president, where they stood stiff as statues. Tubbo, matching the other two in their fancy suits, wore his own little tuxedo, cut to fit his stature–which he didn't have much of.

"And like Fundy got us this flag, and like how all the rest of the citizens have been working so hard on all these new buildings," said the president, "I'm gonna do something that people will remember and appreciate. Something like a festival! Yeah, that's what I'm here to announce. We're gonna throw a good party and have a good time!" Bad and Skeppy led the standing ovation. Schlatt leaned close to the mic, now speaking softer, and Tommy knew this was the important part. "I want to drive home the idea that this celebration will be about Manberg. A celebration of democracy, of law, and of the new era of peace that has been brought forth by my administration. It's time to celebrate. There's going to be games and food and–oh, oh! Lots and lots of lettuce! That's the best part. And, you know, everyone's invited. We're gonna get that Ernie guy, you know? We'll get, uh, I dunno. Who even lives here? We'll invite Dream Cakes and maybe he'll show up. There's my good friend, Technoblade." Tommy accidentally stepped on his own finger. "And then, of course, Rapunzel. He's a funny guy, and a wonderful guard, might I add?"

Tommy smothered his laughter in his hand so the wonderful guard wouldn't hear him.

Schlatt continued, oblivious. "So yeah, we're gettin' people from all corners of the Dream SMP, except for that one which will not be named. And we will enjoy Manberg's independence." Schlatt stopped, allowing room for the stunted applause.

"Yay. Our leader," Fundy droned.

"Woo! Go Schlatt!" Tubbo hurrahed, fake of course, but Quackity's cheers didn't sound much better.

It was enough to please Schlatt, though. He got back on the microphone. "When do you reckon we hold this thing, fellas? Maybe in a week's time? Fondue, do you think that's long enough to send out invitations, get everything set up?" Before Fundy could respond, Schlatt shouted, "One last round of applause for Manberg! I love this place!"

Tommy wished he could throw up–something he hadn't wished since he first met Dream. The rotter! Not even inviting Tommy Innit to 'is shtupid festival. Then an idea bloomed in Tommy's mind. It seemed imprudent, even for him. By now his invisibility had faded, but he was Stealth-Master Tommy Innit, and no one would see him before it was too late. Also, the battlement provided good coverage. Eyes fixed on the podium, Tommy removed his bow from under his tunic. He notched an arrow in the string and lined it up with the arrow rest. Then slowly, he slid it through the slit in the battlement and drew the string, aiming directly at President J. Schlatt.

Just before Tommy made his kill, the air tightened, dissipating into a single spoken word.

"Tommy."

Tommy started. The voice was gentle, but firm. Tommy knew he should turn, but he didn't want to. All he wanted right now was for his arrow to fly down to the stage and pierce the life out of that pretender of a president.

A hand fell upon his shoulder. Tommy knew it was Wilbur. He tried to shrug him off, but the man's wisplike fingers only tightened around the folds of his tunic. "Let me go," Tommy fussed, forgetting to keep quiet, aim wobbling. "I can do it, Will, I can do it, I can end it all–"

"Tommy."

"Get off me, Will! They're gonna see you!" Tommy wrestled from Wilbur's grip. But when he looked back at Schlatt, he could swear the emperor of Manberg was staring back at him. And Schlatt smiled. Tommy scrambled away from the parapet until he backed against the closest wall, breathing faster than he could keep up.

"Let's go, Tommy," said Wilbur, standing beside him.

Tommy glowered and sank into his oversized tunic. He didn't want to stay, but he didn't want to leave either. What if Wilbur scolded him again like he did in the bunker? Tommy didn't know if he felt more or less inclined to comply with his leader after that incident. So he waited until Wilbur took his arm and hauled him into the inner tower room to the ladder. They said nothing, each one plodding down the ladder rungs. Before they exited the tower, Tommy misted them both with his remaining invisibility potion. It barely stretched between them, leaving patches of visible skin and clothing, but with luck, they managed to steal away from Manberg unnoticed.

They walked at a steady pace through the woodlands under a cloudy noonday sky. Tommy found himself lagging behind Wilbur's brisk, long-legged stride, but did his best to keep up.

Then Wilbur sang–soft, haunting singing which climbed and echoed throughout the forest.

"Innocents draw blood

Upon my hallowed stones,

With lullabies of cursing,

Play with their parents' bones."

"Child of the morning,

Child of the dark–

What end will you come to?

Where will you place your mark?"

Wilbur stopped singing, and silence itched between them.

"Wilbur," Tommy said at length, mouth dry, "I could've done it. I could've taken the shot and Schlatt would've been–'e would 'ave–"

Wilbur whipped around, forcing Tommy to an abrupt stop. "Tommy, killing Schlatt wouldn't do anything." He sounded exasperated, but Tommy didn't know if he was angry at him or Manberg in general. "Killing Schlatt wouldn't fix a single thing, because then Quackity would just become president, and who knows if that would be worse." He started walking again, hand motions punctuating his frustration. "We kill Quackity, and George would be president–if George is still part of the cabinet, I don't know. It means nothing, Tommy. It wouldn't have mattered if you killed him or not." Wilbur almost marched straight past Pogtopia, but he caught himself in time. The two located the entrance in its hiding place beneath the cliffs, and started down the tunnel. It sloped at a tedious angle into the deep, lit by the occasional lantern.

"Tommy, I have a question for you."

Tommy, shamelessly sporting a pouty face, didn't want to continue the conversation, but obliged his leader. "Yes?"

Wilbur kept trudging down the passage. He didn't speak right away, but when he did, he sounded different–hesitant, almost embarrassed. "This festival…this doesn't seem like a bad idea. This doesn't seem…evil."

Tommy made himself nod, though Wilbur didn't see him, of course.

"It seems like a nice, friendly thing Schlatt's doing. What did we do when we were in charge? We just kind of made ourselves the leaders. And then we had a vote, and he won in a coalition government which was completely legal, and now we're trying to overthrow him." Wilbur paused his monologue, and stopped walking. Tommy stopped too, waiting. Then Wilbur turned, his eyes wide upon Tommy, almost stunned. Lantern light danced across those hazel eyes like scared little ghosts. What was wrong with him? Was he afraid? "Tommy," he said, "am I a villain in this story?"

Tommy didn't react. He didn't know how to. "No," he decided. He shouldered past Wilbur.

"Why not?"

"Cause we–" Tommy huffed, faced Wilbur again, and explained, though he shouldn't have to. "We started L'Manberg. And we should've won that vote. Schlatt's the villain. Dream's the villain."

"But the people decided we shouldn't have won the vote." It was like Wilbur was trying to pinpoint some wrongdoing of theirs.

"No, the people didn't decide it. The endorsement did. Not the endorsement–the coalition. The coalition decided it."

"On that day, they told us they were going to make a coalition, and our arrogance got ahead of us. We said yes, coalition governments are allowed because we almost did the very same thing."

His argument didn't convince Tommy, but the child had no reply besides his rigid frown.

Wilbur came up to him, looking a little more relaxed and less interrogatory. "Okay, me and you, we both agree we're right. The second revolution, reclaiming L'Manberg–we're in the right here."

Still rigid: "I mean, yeah, I'm always in the right, so–"

Wilbur grinned, all the fright still lingering in his eyes mutating into something frightening of its own. "Then let's be the bad guys." He no sooner whispered than the silence intruded once again. Tommy didn't know what to say, so he flouted Wilbur and continued down the path.

"Tommy, why not?" Wilbur ran up behind Tommy. "Our nation's far gone, Tommy. Let's blow them to smithereens."

He said it like it was the most logical next step. Tommy shivered. "Wilbur, are you…thinking straight? You're not sick again, are you?"

"Tommy–I say, if we can't have L'Manberg, no one–!" he bellowed, suddenly livid "–no one can have L'Manberg!"

Tommy walked faster, panicked. "No, Wilbur, I think–I think we can take it back 'cause we lost it, but I think you're going at it the wrong way."

Now Wilbur laughed. "This is a new era! We burn the place to the ground. I want no crops to grow there ever again. Blow up the entire place."

"Wilbur, our friends–"

"Everyone who's claimed to be on our side, they're lying to us." Why did he sound happy about it? "Tubbo's lying to you! He would drop us the second he realizes we're unable to deliver on everything."

Tommy glanced back at the grinning man behind him and glared. "Wilbur, you're being a moron. You're being insane. Tubbo wouldn't–"

"I want them all gone. I want it all gone! Don't you get it, Tommy? There's nothing left for us!"

Tommy shook his head. "Can I 'ave a minute to think, Will? 'Cause I've never–"

Wilbur caught up with Tommy and wrenched him around. Their eyes met, and in that moment, Tommy didn't recognize Wilbur. It lasted only a second–that desperate, bloodshot frenzy, before it gave way to a harsh expression of urgency. "Think about what? Tommy, you've had a minute. You've had days, weeks to think about what we should do."

"Wilbur! I need a minute!" Tommy twisted out of his hold. Then he ran. Wilbur kept walking, kept talking and laughing, but Tommy just ran, feeling chased in his own home.

Was the tunnel always this long?

Am I running the wrong way?

Where am I?

Where was Wilbur? Tommy didn't know, though the man could only be behind him, still plodding down the tunnel. So why did Tommy fear that every tunnel bend would bring him face-to-face with those crazed eyes? He didn't dare look back; he could already hear the voice. The singing again, but it had changed. Like it was taunting him–a knife stroking the back of his neck, daring him to scream.

"In silence and in laughter,

You'll bring them to their knees,

Thinking you have conquered

While you kiss the feet of these."

Shut up! The tunnel ended. Pogtopia opened before Tommy, unfurling beyond the corners of his peripheral vision. He was almost to his room. It was just on the other side of the overpass, on the other side–Tommy tripped. His feet betrayed him and he fell headlong, closed his eyes, stretched out his child's hands.

And everything stopped except the singing, rising and rising–

"Scourging every heart,

You'd kill them all for love.

Every look a traitor,

From burning skies above."

Tommy lay collapsed upon the splintery wood of the bridge spanning the cavern. Only Wilbur's song, Wilbur's footsteps, made him get up. Could Technoblade hear it from his cave? Tommy forced himself up, ignoring the pain stinging in his scraped elbows and knees. Then he continued on as before. How Tommy wished he'd stop shaking. How he wished for child rails.

Tommy made it to his cave, fleeing into the farthest parts of the second chamber. He threw himself upon the bedcovers rumpled across the ground. There he buried his head, trying to shut out the singing, trying to make it not real. But what he couldn't hear with his ears, repeated in his mind in endless loops, real and imaginary, everything swirling together in a confusing mass:

"They're lying to us."

"Let's be the bad guys."

"This is a new era!"

"Blow them to smithereens."

The man who had protested against Tommy assassinating the president wanted to demolish his entire country. It didn't make sense.

Tommy didn't know how long he stayed there.

I 'ave to go out there.

Tommy excavated his head from the blankets. He didn't hear anything now. His stomach told him he had missed lunch, if Technoblade showed up to make it at all. Tommy peered out the little hole of a window overlooking the chasm, finding all the visible walkways deserted. But when Tommy crept into his adjacent cave, he saw none other than Wilbur silhouetted behind the curtained entrance. A chill darted up Tommy's spine. It took all his might to walk up to the shadowed figure and draw back the curtain.

Wilbur looked normal now, passively puffing on a cigarette. He didn't look at Tommy; rather, his gaze climbed the side of the archway. L'Dog sat beside him, but then the hound stood and padded over to Tommy.

Tommy stroked the dog's head. "Wilbur," he whispered. "It's not too far gone, all right? There's a reason that I gave up my discs. We can restore L'Manberg. Bring it back to its former glory."

Wilbur spat out a breath of smoke. "What's the point? It's already expanding and becoming more glorious than it ever was under us. We're just trying to make ourselves feel better if we suppose ourselves heroes. That's not going to fly. We'd only be the illegitimate rulers of a nation."

"No, Wilbur. The reason we made L'Manberg in the first place was to get away from rulers like that. Because we needed that freedom. We needed L'Manberg. And if there isn't L'Manberg, then you tell me–wot's the point?"

The forbidding smile returned on Wilbur's face. "I know why you're doing this, Tommy." Tommy hated his patronizing tone. "I know, I see it in your eyes. I can hear it in your voice. Tommy Innit, you're scared. You're trying to sound like you know what you're doing so that you can prove me wrong." He leaned down and whispered in the boy's ear. "Tommy, none of us know what we're doing. Whether we take back L'Manberg or not, we've lost. I understand you're scared. And it is scary, but you know what?" He drew back. "In a time like this, when a man has nothing to lose, you know what that means?"

"What does it mean?"

"It means we can do what we want!" Elation filled Wilbur's face. "Back in our war for independence, Dream rigged our nation with TNT. We can do the same to L'Manberg! We can rig this festival with TNT! We can kill them all, Tommy, and keep L'Manberg free. We can–"

"Stop it!" Tommy's fist flew, and he struck Wilbur across his cheekbone. Wilbur staggered backwards, one hand held to his face. L'Dog jumped to his feet and growled, not at Tommy, but at Wilbur. Wilbur didn't retaliate, didn't yell at Tommy, just stood stunned. Tommy dropped his fist, seething. "Wilbur, you're being reckless. You're not being the man that came in as president. What's the point in doing anything if you've lost all hope?"

Wilbur's mouth moved, but nothing came out at first. A second later he murmured, shamefully, "Sometimes, in order to feel comfortable and safe you have to be ready to give up the things you are worried you might lose. And in this case, I think I already lost it." Wilbur paused, face unreadable, then blinked hard. A tiny babbling voice wafted up to them from below, and for a moment, Tommy froze, unsure if he was hearing a ghost, or Wilbur was able to send his voice somewhere else without moving his lips. But Wilbur said, "I think that's Tubbo." He lingered awkwardly in the threshold of Tommy's cave before going down to meet their visitor.

"We're going to reclaim L'Manberg, all right?" Tommy yelled, but Wilbur provided no acknowledgement. Tommy tagged after him. L'Dog followed. Down below, they met up with the bee boi in the main cavern. Tubbo stood by the tunnel leading to the bunker and Manberg. Tommy figured he hadn't used the entrance under the pond, seeing how he wasn't wet, but rather the exit in the woods where Eret had stumbled upon him and Wilbur, that day everything went wrong.

Tubbo waved, bubbling with excitement. "Hey, guys! Schlatt made an announcement this morning." L'Dog bounded up to greet him, jumping and slobbering all over the seventeen-year-old's face. Tubbo laughed and managed to calm the animal by letting it gnaw on his fingers.

"We 'eard," muttered Tommy. His gaze flicked to Wilbur. What would he do? Tommy's stomach growled, and he glanced over at the fire pit, but no leftovers sat there waiting for him.

Wilbur glared down his cigarette at the bee boi in his trim little suit. "What's the plan of the festival?" he said, very loudly. "What will you be doing, Tubbo?"

Tubbo quivered, taken aback by Wilbur's callousness. "I–I don't know. I mean, I think there's gonna be games and stuff, and probably some really good food, but I don't know all the details. I really just came here to tell the news–about the Manberg Festival."

"Yes, and we already know. Really, Tubbo, you're supposed to be gathering intel, and that's all you have for me? I think you should go."

Tubbo shrank, if that were possible. "I just–already?"

"No, it's fine. It's fine, it's fine, Tubbs," Tommy shuffled to Tubbo's side, patting him furiously on the back. "Wilbur 'asn't been feeling very good as of late. Come on, let's walk back together." Tubbo nodded, still small and sad as Tommy snatched his arm. "Later, Will," Tommy called without looking at the older man. "I'll be back for dinner." After giving L'Dog firm instructions to stay put, they started up the cavern tunnel leading to the bunker.

The song kept playing, even after Tommy could no longer see Wilbur, faint and not quite real:

"Cower under feathers,

As gold beguiles wood.

Hiding all that doubts there

From every place you've stood.

What happened to your sorrow?

The words you'd never say.

Thought I'd give you all,

But someone has to pay."

"Tubbo," said Tommy when they had gone far enough, meaning Tommy couldn't hear the haunting song anymore. "Wilbur's…I think Wilbur's lost it."

"What makes you say that?"

"Tubbo, the festival's not going to be a good day. 'E wants to get rid of L'Manberg. Like–completely."

"Why would he do that? The festival's gonna be great." Tubbo continued eagerly, "Do you know how much lettuce there's going to be?"

Tommy's stomach rumbled. "Tubbo, it's not gonna be great. 'Cause 'e's lost it. Tubbo. 'E doesn't believe that you're 'ere to help. 'E doesn't even think I'm 'ere to help. 'E just wants–'e thinks it's too far gone. 'E's lost hope, that's what's 'appened."

"Are you sure this isn't just a phase? Maybe he had a bad night."

"Maybe. Probably. 'E 'ardly ever gets a good wink." They reached the end of the tunnel, where it attached to the bunker. Tubbo pushed the shelf blocking the opening, but Tommy stopped him. "Remember this, Tubbo. Tread lightly. We 'ave to be so, so careful right now."

Tubbo bobbed a nod. "Yeah, I'm not that heavy, so that's not a problem."

"Yeah, neither am I. Except for all this muscle mass."

"To be fair, though, I've put on quite a lot of weight since the election. I've eaten so many sweet rolls."

"That's–we're 'aving a moment 'ere, Tubbo."

"Right, sorry."

"We'll get it back, all right? Wilbur might snap out of it, but right now, Tubbo, we 'ave to trust each other, all right? 'Cause I don't know what's 'appening, man." They heaved their bodies against the barricade; it screeched aside, revealing Tubbo's bunker. The friends meandered through its cracked passages, loathe to hasten the moment when they would have to part once more. They climbed over bits of wrecked furniture, toured the musty chambers, before winding up in the barren library.

Tommy eyed the bookshelf skewed at an unusual angle in the corner where he and Wilbur had hidden themselves last time. Where they had had their fight. "Are you ever gonna finish this place, Tubbs?" he said. A voice whispered his way into his ear, but he decided it was just the singing coming to haunt him again, and he paid it no heed.

"Oh, I don't think so." Tubbo looked at it all, his expression bittersweet. "I think this bunker's served its best purpose."

Tommy dusted off the single chest in the library room, then heaved the massive lid open. It contained a meter of nothing except a tiny dead spider. He sighed. "Remember, don't give up on 'im. Don't give up on Wilbur."

"Of course not. He's our president."

" 'E–"

Then Emperor Schlatt's voice rang through the corridor, followed by Fundy's shrill laugh. Tommy almost screamed. His brain had been so discombobulated all day, voices flittering in his mind, real and unreal, that he hadn't noticed until now. And Tubbo was too dull to notice what Tommy couldn't. No, there were definitely voices echoing inside the bunker. And footsteps.

They're coming 'ere!

Tommy almost darted out of the chamber for the exit down the hall, but the unwelcome guests sounded far too close. Leaving now would most certainly reveal his location. And he didn't trust his luck to hide behind that bookshelf a second time, especially not with Fundy around. Then Tommy remembered they hadn't blocked off the tunnel–the one leading straight to Pogtopia. "We didn't move the barricade back!" Tommy hissed to Tubbo. "It's too late now. Oh no, they're gonna find everything. Pogtopia, Wilbur–" He rubbed his hand over his face, imagining the absolute worst. "They're gonna kill us. They're gonna take our 'eads and put them on stakes, that's wot they're gonna do. Centuries from now their childrens will 'ear the shameful tale of L'Manberg, but especially Tommy Danger Kraken–"

Tubbo idled in the middle of the room. "No, they won't. I'm going to provide a distraction."

"Tubbo–" There was no time to say anything. Tommy entered hysteria, then hopped into the empty chest, the lid slamming shut over him.

Just in time. Tommy peered through the keyhole, spying the three Manbergians enter the library. And they were the worst Manbergians of all: President J. Schlatt and his carnival freaks–Vice President Quackity and Vice Chairman Baron-something Fundy–all drenched and looking kinda deflated. The three lacked their jackets and coats, and so their white shirts plastered unattractively against their skin. Tommy hoped his grouchy stomach wouldn't betray his hiding place.

"Tubbo!" saluted a grinning Schlatt, the hollows under his eyes a blood-like red, making him look zombie-ish. Water dripped from his horns. "So, you're here after all. I thought I heard your little voice."

Tommy wondered if Fundy had heard him as well, and Tommy cringed. If that was the case, the fox-boy knew everything, and it would only be matter of time before the childrens heard the sad, sad story of Tommy Trusty Kraken–

"Yeah! It seems you've found my plans for the great library!" Tubbo blabbed. "What do you think?" Tommy couldn't see his face, but he imagined the stupidly innocent smile pinned between the bee boi's rosy cheeks.

Schlatt surveyed the toppled furniture, ruptured walls, bloodstained floor. He frowned, nodding politely. "I mean, it looks like a major work-in-progress." He faced Tubbo. "Forgive me for caring about this so much, but you're my right-hand man." Quackity made a weird giggling sound behind Schlatt. Schlatt ignored him. "I like to pay attention to what you're doing, Tubbo. And this seems like an awful strange thing for you to keep a secret."

"Well, this chap's got his hobbies. I had the idea to reveal it to you whenever I got around to completing it, but I'm afraid Fundy and Sapnap probably spoiled it to you, right?"

Tommy winced.

"Oh, they spoiled it all right, to me and no one else. Which begs the question," and Schlatt stepped forward, damp shoes squelching, "how did you know that they knew? Those two have kept that whole venture strictly confidential from even the uppity officials. It was actually Fondue who suggested you'd be here in this dugout. You know, after you so suddenly disappeared after my speech this morning." He gestured to Fundy, as if Tubbo had forgotten who he was. Fundy narrowed his eyes, then shook his head rapidly, much like a wet dog does. Water flew off his hair and ears, making them twice as poofy as before.

That must have given Tubbo an idea, because he said, "I, uh, noticed they–Fundy and Sap–were wet later that day–plus I found a tuft of fox fur down here."

Schlatt nodded again. Quackity giggled again. Fundy reddened and turned away.

The emperor's voice lolled on. "So, Tubbo, you've made this entirely for me?"

"I mean–not originally, but yeah."

Schlatt sighed. Except he couldn't be upset, because then he said, "Oh man, this is why I love this Tubbo kid. I don't normally say this, but, like, I'm so proud of what you've done. I really am. It's all really impressive."

"Oh, thank you, Schlatt. That means a lot."

Tommy's back ached in its curled position. Why couldn't they leave already? Actually Fundy looked ready to leave. He exited into the hall, but turned the wrong way, heading straight for the Pogtopia tunnel. Stakes, childrens, the shame. Tubbo bounced on his toes as he watched Fundy go, but he couldn't very well tear himself from the president right now.

Schlatt slung his arm over the boy's shoulder. Quackity flitted in the background for attention. "I'm a perfectionist, right?" said the president. "My events, everything I do–I hold to a certain standard, but after seeing this beautiful tunnel that you've made entirely for me, it just fills my heart with joy. And Tubbo, I'm tearing up, 'cause I just feel like I can finally trust someone, you know?"

"Aww, thank you, man."

Tommy rattled in the chest. Come on, Tubbo! Fundy's on 'is way. If 'e finds the tunnel, we're goners.

"Tubbo," Schlatt went on, "I want you to organize this event for me. The festival of Manberg. And I'm thinking I want you to give a speech."

"Oh, Schlatt, it would be an honor."

Tommy could take it no more. In a burst of courage and stupidity, he exploded out of the chest. " 'ANDS UP!" he belted, scaring Quackity out of his sunglasses. "All four of you, freeze where you are!"

"Oh, hey, it's Tommy," mused Schlatt.

Tommy marched past the three in the library into the corridor where Fundy had gone. "I said FREEZE!"

Fundy, just short of discovering the tunnel turning off onto the Pogtopia branch, had stopped in his tracks, fur bristling. Once he turned and saw Tommy with his own eyes, he notably relaxed. "Freeze?" he laughed. "You don't even have a weapon." Except for Tommy's concealed bow and ammunition, but the fox-boy didn't know that.

"How did he even get in here?" Quackity spluttered, collecting his aviators from the floor. Tommy noticed what looked like discolored streaks smudged down the bird-boy's cheeks, but they disappeared behind the sunglasses seconds later. "I mean, dude–what were you doing in a box?"

"The tunnel opens on the other side," Tubbo said carelessly. "Tommy must have been here the whole time and we had no idea." He sounded way too fake.

Tommy puffed out his chest, the whole Manberg cabinet (except maybe George) in his line of sight. "Listen to me right now. I've got an announcement."

Fundy groaned. "Oh no."

"I'm 'eading out of this bunker right now and I'm gonna–" Tommy ground his teeth together "–I'm gonna burn Manberg to the ground."

"No, don't you touch Manberg!" Quackity stalked up to Tommy. Tommy appraised him for a moment–his height, his build, his meaning in life. It was too easy. Tommy threw a flying punch, finishing Quackity in a single blow before he bolted for the bunker entrance.

But no one followed him.

"Oh man, he just creamed my vice president," observed Schlatt from the library, not sounding in the least concerned. "Anyways, Tubbo, about the festival–"

"LISTEN TO ME!" Tommy stopped ten meters away, fuming. "I'm gonna tear this place to the ground!"

"–this great festival that celebrates democracy and–oh man, he won't stop talking." Schlatt ignored Tommy. And the duck-boy-shaped carpet in the corridor for that matter.

"I 'ave TNT," Tommy growled. He thought of Wilbur. " 'Undreds of bombs buried beneath Manberg's surface. And if you don't stop me right now, I'm gonna go and blow the 'ole thing up."

Fundy finally started toward him, skirting Quackity's demise. "Buried where beneath Manberg? Definitely not here."

"I can't even take a British accent seriously, not gonna lie," came Schlatt. "His voice is like, so shrill."

"Like air raid sirens," Tubbo suggested.

Tommy remained firm. "I'm not kidding. I want all of you dead."

Schlatt finally poked his head out of the library cave and looked at him. "Shut up, Tommy. You woke up on the wrong side of the bed, all right?" He used his foot to nudge Quackity, who was trying to peel himself off the floor. "Look at this British kid. He wakes up in the morning, goes to his window and he's like–" Schlatt's voice jumped a couple octaves up, and now assumed a mocking British accent: " 'Oi, it's cloudy and rainin', and I'm 'ere eatin' biscuits!' "

Tubbo's bright little face poked out beside him. "Yeah, like Bourbons! They're great."

Not 'elping, Tubbo! "Listen! Are you gonna get over 'ere and stop me, or will I destroy the plaza and the stage?" Tommy's eyes bulged. "I'm gonna destroy the White 'Ouse!"

Schlatt scoffed. "Oh, you're so scary. The White House is ugly anyways. Really needs a renovation."

"C'mon," said Fundy. "Let's go watch him as he does it."

"Yeah, come watch!" Tommy sprinted up the passage, arriving at the round room with the pool. In he dove. He swam, traversed the rubble maze that used to be the walls, and broke the surface of the pond in the center of Manberg. Tommy coughed onto dry land, very much aware of every eye fixated upon him. He shuddered to his feet, feeling so exposed. No armor. No potions. Tommy stood virtually defenseless in the heart of enemy territory as afternoon colored to evening.

He forced himself to smile, even as his terror-stricken heart pounded against his ribs. He refrained from reaching for his bow under his tunic, instead choosing to wave." 'Ello, everyone!" His stomach growled.

Karl, busy piling dirt in the river confluence, craned his head around. "What the honk?"

Then Fundy surfaced the pond, shaking himself dry again. Quackity came next, fingers clawing at the bank, dragging himself out. He had almost made it when a single hand shot out of the pond and latched onto one of his wings. Quackity gasped, quickly slipping back into the water. "Not again," Fundy muttered. He hurried back into the pond, disappearing a moment before emerging a second time, half-dragging President Schlatt with him.

"Really," said the fox-boy, "you'd think that the captain of a ship would know how to swim."

Now ashore, Schlatt straightened and slicked back his hair as if nothing had happened. He wasn't gripping Quackity's wing anymore–just a clump of soggy feathers. "You're in a boat, not the water, idiot." Tommy couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "So, Tommy, you gonna blow it up or not?"

Tommy watched the settling pond water. He waited for Tubbo to surface, but he never did. 'E's staying down there and fixing up the tunnel like 'e should. I just 'ave to keep these goons distracted in the meantime.

He glanced around. Not that goons posed a threat to him at the moment. Fundy and Schlatt expectantly awaited for Tommy to do something dramatic; Quackity sat miserably in a patch of soaked grass. Across the plaza, Sapnap spied Tommy and drew his sword, but Schlatt signaled him to stay back. "Hold it, Subpoena." Sapnap looked a lot less like he was dying than the last time Tommy had seen him. As of yet, Punz was nowhere to be found.

"Just for the record," said Schlatt when Tommy didn't respond, "most of these old monuments are gonna be coming down. They were built under a tyrannical dictatorship. I mean, look at this beautiful area that we have here now." He strolled over to Karl and his stack of dirt. "Are you seeing this? This is being built under my administration. It is lovely." Tommy squinted at the stack of dirt, wondering if he and Schlatt were looking at the same thing.

"I'm gonna tribute this to Karl, 'cause he's the one making it," Quackity pointed out. "I'm pretty sure he made the flag too; not Fundy."

"Look where it's being built, and when it's being built. Put two and two together, Graham Quacker. Now, lookie here, Tommy. Compare that work of art with this junk over here." And Schlatt walked a circle around the Camarvan. "Why do we keep this around? Do us a social service, Tommy, and blow it up."

Tommy didn't move. He could see the wanted posters better from here. He rather liked how the artist (whoever he was) had drawn him holding a knife between his teeth. Wilbur's posters called for bringing evidence of his death, which made Tommy feel a little better, even if the picture of Wilbur made him look like some sort of madman. Tommy looked at the Camarvan, then the bee-striped kitchen, the land turning to autumn fire all around, and he realized it really was lovely. Even the scaffolding for that massive building beyond the river looked grand. He glanced back at the wanted posters. Why destroy it all, Wilbur?

"He's not doing anything," said Fundy with a glare. "We know you're bluffing, Tommy, and that you're really just here to infiltrate Manberg. Schlatt, can I keep looking around the bunker?"

Oh, no you don't!

Schlatt, still offended by the hot dog van, snapped his gaze over to the others. "Huh? Oh sure, Fondue. Bring me a postcard when you're done."

"IN THAT CASE!" Tommy caterwauled. He found he could expand the reach of his voice by expanding the width of his mouth. "I'm gonna tear down the flag!" Before anyone could stop him, Tommy tossed off his boots. Then he careened, crashed, and cartwheeled to the flag, where he suctioned himself to the pole with his bare hands and feet, still moist with pond water.

"There he goes." Like that, Fundy was no longer set on spelunking.

Schlatt gave Tommy a cheer. "He's almost doing it. Keep going!"

The metal numbed his skin. Tommy scrunched up his body, then pushed himself up with his feet, and so inch-wormed along the twenty-meter pole at a steady pace. It took all of Technoblade's training to keep him grinding up and not flop to the ground. Every citizen of Manberg watched open-mouthed.

Tommy was close now. The flag looked so much bigger, its heavy black mass snapping in the murderous rushes of late afternoon wind. Tommy, squinting against the torrents, reached out a hand. The flag swiped it aside. Tommy's grip faltered on the pole, he tottered backwards, but snatched hold of the metal again just in time.

So many jeered beneath him. "Don't you have school tomorrow?" came Quackity and all his obnoxity. "This is so cringe."

Tommy blocked them out, feeling like a trapeze artist forced to dance for a cruel audience. He glared at the flag, waving, mocking him like the others. His tunic billowed from his neck like his own tattered banner. Tommy wasn't just stalling for Tubbo now; he was going to do this. Tommy leapt. His hand grappled the end of the flag. Immediately his weight yanked him down, forcing his arm straight. The flag stretched. It twirled around its pole, Tommy dangling from the end. The halyard strained but didn't budge. Everyone stared in silence, waiting for the child to fall. All except the lullaby, Wilbur's song, still stewing around in his head, brought from the furthest parts of the landscape, as if Wilbur were there, too, still singing:

"Take you all my heart

And everything I breathe–

Stack them up on high

For everyone to see."

Tommy shook his head. It wasn't real.

Then a single, childlike voice rang out, because it couldn't help itself. "Oh, Tommy, be careful!"

Tubbo! 'E's back!

Tommy stared up at the black and red cloth. Time was up, his body throbbed, but he would not let go without trying. He released one hand, grabbed an arrow from his quiver, and lunged at the despicable flag with it. The tense fabric refused to be cut. His arrowpoint slid down; it took an unexpected nosedive, ultimately pricking Tommy's own hand. The flag won in the end, wrestling out of Tommy's fingers. And he fell, always watching the red and black. One hand subconsciously closed around the halyard, even as it scraped his palm. The pole burned against his legs, breaking his fall before he hit the ground. The impact jarred up his heels into his bones. He lost balance, falling flat in the grass.

They all waited until Tommy, now thoroughly air-dried, reeled to his feet. He found his bearings and scanned his onlookers. He singled out Tubbo dripping next to Schlatt. The bee boi gave him a tiny nod.

Tommy straightened, spine cracking for all to hear. "I'm just gonna say," he announced, "you all came 'ere. And I got exactly what I wanted." Everyone looked up at the flag, which was very much not torn-down. When they looked back at Tommy, he was already scurrying away, past the president, past the plaza, past the eastern tower, in the direction that definitely wasn't toward Pogtopia.

"Take it easy, Tommy," Schlatt called. "Please refrain from stepping on my property again until you get a VISA."

Quackity cackled next. "He fell off a flagpole and said, 'I got what I wanted!' Sorry, but that's just embarrassing."

The last thing Tommy heard was Fundy's jibing, following him deep into the lands of nothing while the sun dipped down: "Look at him go. He thought he did something."

Tommy wouldn't let the banter get to him. After all, he had successfully provided a diversion for Tubbo to close off the tunnel. Everyone had fallen for it. He'd been ridiculed in the past, but Tommy Innit was better than that.

He blinked the tears out of his eyes. Then why did he feel this way?

It wasn't just because he missed lunch. It was the thrill of the moment. Caught in the city of his enemies, climbing the sky, defying all odds.

"They could've taken my 'ead off," he mumbled to himself as he ran through the crimson and gold forest. Why hadn't they tried?

And then there was Wilbur.

" 'E's feeling bet'er now. Of course 'e is.

Tommy shivered, recalling their last conversation, the lilting lullaby, Wilbur's eyes…

He ran out of breath, settled for walking, all the while clutching his tunic around him. At last he came to the edge of the cliffs, Pogtopia below him, and he ran down the hill sloping beside them to the forest beneath. They were all strangers compared to the near-familiarity of Manberg, however changed it was under Schlatt's administration. Tommy avoided entering the hidden base, not wanting to confront Wilbur just yet, though Tommy wanted to ask him if he had been singing earlier, while Tommy had been in Manberg. But he wasn't eager to hear the answer, and so he wandered off into the forest in front of the cliffs, biding his time.

A shadow moved within the trees. Tommy stopped, suddenly fearful that the bounty hunters had finally found him–not to mention Pogtopia. He plastered himself against a trunk and peered around it.

A willowy figure of a man walked past Tommy and his hiding place, no more than a meter away, but he didn't notice the child. The flaps of his coat collar wavered on either side of him, obscuring his face. Tommy sighed and started from his hiding place. "Will–"

"Hello, Dream!" Wilbur shattered the wild silence with his own wild laughter. Tommy darted back behind the tree, wondering if he had heard right. Wilbur continued in a loud voice, oblivious of Tommy's presence: "Dream, I see you brought a lot of TNT! A lot of old trinitrotoluene like I asked, didn't you?"

Concealed by the trees beyond Wilbur, Dream spoke, stopping Tommy's heart. "I have a bit."

"You do! Let's do this, Dream. Let's rig the city, turn it to ashes." Wilbur spread his arms, his shadow blooming wings on each side. "You know what, Dream? I want to be your vassal."

"The first batch is right here."

Footsteps. A horse snorted. Hooves brushed the forest floor. Metal clicked, wood creaked, equipment rustled. Wilbur snickered.

Tommy's mind whirled as he tried to make sense of what was happening. When did 'e talk to Dream earlier?

"There you go," said Dream.

Tommy burst out into the open. "Wilbur!" he snapped. "Wilbur, you turn around and look at me!" Wilbur froze, turned, a suspicious crate at his feet. His eyes widened as he took in the sixteen-year-old. Tommy faced him, bow loaded, drawn, and aimed at his very own president. "Wilbur, 'and me that TNT."

Dream came from around Wilbur, positioning himself between the two of them. His mask turned on Tommy–a brusque, jaded gesture. "Tommy, I will have to step in."

Tommy nearly popped his bowstring. "No, Dream, you stay out of this for once. This 'as nothing to do with you. I don't even know 'ow you found this place. Will, did you bring 'im 'ere?"

Wilbur moved, but only shook his head. "He came here first."

"Listen, Tommy," said Dream. "You're living out here in the middle of nowhere, building your little resistance, thinking you are on top of everything else, but in reality, you are not. Sure you have the Blade, but he can't babysit you twenty-four-seven, and you know it. I am the only reason your bounty has not been cashed in yet."

"The bounty–" Tommy didn't know what Dream was getting at. "Nobody knows where we are, that's why. The mercenaries can search all they like, but–" Then Tommy's eyes focused upon Punz, standing further away in the dusk of the trees along with a horse-drawn cart laden with more crates. The mercenary raised his crossbow at Tommy, who regretted any bad things he might have thought toward Punz.

Dream smiled. "Punz has known the location of your headquarters since the very beginning. He knows every time you sneak into Manberg. I just pay him enough not to kill you."

"But–Punz is working for Manberg. 'Ow can 'e also work for you?" Tommy asked, even as he recalled how the mercenary hadn't touched him during the Battle of the Burning Tower, even as he recalled how Punz had fought alongside Dream then.

"There is so much you do not understand, Tommy," said Dream. "But stay in my dying graces, and you just might survive another day."

By now, the day itself didn't even feel real. Tommy lowered his weapon.

Someone chuckled, but it wasn't Dream. "Look. Dream," Wilbur said, "I appreciate it. Because the thing is," and he twisted around to look at the child, "Tommy, what you're not understanding is that Dream doesn't want us to win. But he doesn't want L'Manberg to win either!"

"Schlatt is ambitious," Dream explained. "He wants power, expansion, and he disregards anything I say. He needs to suffer."

"Exactly, so I'm going to help you out. Let's blow it up! Let's destroy it all! L'Manberg will be nothing more." He had that look in his eyes again, only it wouldn't go away.

"Just so long as neither side kills anyone," said Dream, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. "This is a deathless land after all."

"You could kill someone if you blow it away!" Tommy interjected. "You could kill all of us! Are you 'fine' with that, Dream?"

"You can blow it up if you want," said Dream passively. "I don't care about that. Some people may get caught in the crossfire." He shrugged. "It can't be helped."

Wilbur laughed, gleeful.

That makes no sense. Oh, I shouldn't 'ave left Will alone for so long.

"No," stammered Tommy. Punz began unloading the rest of the crates and bringing them to Wilbur. "No–NO! Will, this isn't right! We can win back L'Manberg. It can be what it once was! Blowing it up just isn't gonna solve anything."

Wilbur strode up to him, mocking him, like all the voices. "Tommy, you were never in charge of the situation. None of what you're saying really matters." The cart was empty, stacks of crates filling the clearing like a barricade. Wilbur looked one last time at Dream. "Thank you, Dream! I very much appreciate it, and I await the next delivery."

Dream nodded. "If you need any help, just let me know."

"Dream!" pleaded Tommy, unable to move, to do anything to stop the scene in front of him. "Don't do it!"

But Dream was already leaving. Before he and his mercenary departed, Wilbur spoke up. "One last thing, Dream." Dream stopped. "At this festival, which I presume you are invited to, you're going to want to keep on your toes, because at some point, that's when I'm going to detonate the whole place." A cackle shuddered through him. "So make sure you're not around for that one. That's all I need to say. Thank you again, Dream! I'll make you proud!"

Dream and Punz slipped into the night, leaving Tommy with the madman.

"Tommy," said Wilbur. The clouds wiped away from the waning moon, illuminating his smile as he gazed upon the boy. "I hope that you'll help me out in the long run."

"Will…"

Then Wilbur laughed out loud, welcoming all the darkness like circling black crows, crying for carrion. Wilbur burst into song, and what a dreadful song it was. A dead man's lullaby, beckoning all to join him:

"Then cast them down in laughter,

You drunkards and your bile,

Burning all the children,

Singing all the while.

You've stolen all my children,

And blackened every heart,

Gave them stones for bread,

And watched them fall apart.

Come down from your mountain,

Come down to the slaves,

Come down to the masses,

Who are digging up your grave."

Tommy's knees buckled under him. Teardrops fell upon his trembling fists, waiting for the nightmare to end.

"Let the sun shine down,

Let it shine on me.

Let my children sing,

Let them all be free."

Froggy: C'est drole. :D Apparemment, "Sapnap" en néerlandais est "coupe de jus".