This is another commission for a lovely person who let me tackle their AU. This is a four-chapter story so hope you look forward to the next part. A lot of things will be clarified as we go on so ;)

There was something Phil profoundly disliked about the offices run by the Witch Work Force.

He didn't have any personal or professional grudges against the organization as a whole. If he did, he wouldn't have accepted an offer to work on this assignment for them, obviously. And having connections within the WWF had helped him out more than once in his freelance career. No matter how you looked at it, a witch could not get far in life without having some run-ins with them - whether you choose to officially work for the force or not. They did important things and regulated the use of magic in a way Phil generally agreed with.

But the offices themselves always felt artificial to him.

Something about the too-clean tile floors and white wallpaper threw him off. Magic was dirty work. It was about connecting with nature and bending the energy that ran through everything at will. The Witch Work Force almost seemed in denial of this if their offices were anything to go by. Phil had to lift his feet more than he normally would to avoid his shoes squeaking unpleasantly against the pristine floors. And he was very aware of his casual clothes standing out in comparison with the more formal attire of the local pencil pushers. As he sat in a chair to wait for them to call him in, he couldn't help but notice even the clock that hung against the wall felt unnecessarily sterile. The numbers were a pasty off-white, nearly indistinguishable from the background.

"Philza Craft?"

Phil stood up, nodding at the secretary who had called on him. She smiled while opening to door for him, though she didn't quite meet his eyes.

The room Phil stepped into was a bit more homey in comparison to the rest of the office building, but maybe that was only because it was more posh. The walls had been decorated with paintings and photographs and a smidge of color was actually present. The woman behind the desk gestured for him to sit down absently, preoccupied with the papers in front of her. Phil took the offered seat.

The uncomfortable silence between them lasted for about ten seconds. Then she finally raised her chin to look at him. "Thank you for coming in, this is a bit of a delicate situation."

"Sure," Phil said. He had no idea what exactly he was there for, so he wouldn't know about delicacies. He was drawn in by the paycheck first and foremost.

"We're usually reluctant to work with freelancers," the woman told him. "Frankly, they can be hard to manage. No offense."

Phil smirked a little. "None taken."

"For the current mission, we have little choice though. The person in question is more than familiar with our organization and he would notice one of our own from a mile away."

"You're asking me to spy on somebody?" Phil asked. That was the most logical conclusion going by what she had said.

"Oh, my apologies. I thought you were aware of what exactly this job entailed?" She stood suddenly, a bit flustered, and started going through her files more rapidly. "My superiors should have briefed you."

"I didn't read the document they sent me," Phil said with a chuckle. "Too much text, I like to get the shorthand version in person."

"Oh," the woman repeated. The surprise on her face was priceless, but she recovered quickly. "Well, I assume you're familiar with a man named Technoblade?"

Phil couldn't help the intrigue from filtering through in his voice when he responded. "Vaguely," he said. "I know he's employed by the Witch Work Force and his ranking is pretty high."

Phil also knew Technoblade was rumored to be one of the strongest and most skilled witches the world had ever seen. His raw power was only outshone by his dedication to hone his craft and his matching ambition to never stop improving. His exploits often made national news and despite not being much engaged with what went on outside his direct circle, Phil had heard the name numerous times.

Last Phil heard the man got temporarily banished to the human realm for claiming a majority of territory in the Witch lands as a flex. Apparently, the WWF had taken offense to this.

"He's on probation after his little stunt of last week," the woman clarified.

Phil chose not to comment on this. He honestly thought it was a bit silly, considering the Witch lands were basically just a wild no-mans land. An alternate dimension witches could go to for mining raw materials and trading goods. Nobody actually lived there, so it's not like Technoblade had harmed anybody in his quest for world domination - especially since it was most likely a joke to him.

Then again, the Witch Work Force was technically in charge of said dimension. It probably pissed them off to have their own land yoinked from right under their feet.

"If he's been banished as punishment, what do you need me for?" he asked.

"This is the Ender Heart," the woman said. She turned around one of the papers in front of her and Phil had to bend over to see properly what she was trying to show him. It seemed to be a photograph of some sort of crystal, the relative size of an apple. Or a heart, fittingly enough. "It's a magical artifact we at the force safeguard. It was stolen from us last week."

"Around the time Technoblade was banished," Phil concluded out loud. He could see where this was going.

"At this moment we have no evidence to suggest he was involved in its disappearance, but the timing feels off. So we need somebody to covertly keep an eye on him and try to determine if he has anything to do with it." She sat down again. "Is this something you'd be able to take on, Mister Craft?"

"Sounds simple enough," Phil said. "What's the catch?"

Her eyebrows drew together, perfectly painted lips pulling down in a frown. "Catch?"

"Like, is this artifact really fucking dangerous or something? You admitted you have no proof that Technoblade was the one who took it, why pay so much money on a hunch?"

"Who else could it be?" she said, sounding slightly affronted. "The artifact is virtually useless, but if Technoblade has taken it we want it back." Once again Phil decided to hold his tongue. In his opinion, there wasn't much of a connection. But if they wanted to pay him to investigate a non-issue, then so be it. Whether they were right or wrong wouldn't affect his reward.

"I'd be glad to look into it," he said as he got up. "You know where to deposit my payment?"

The woman nodded, walking around the desk so she could open the door for him. Her manicured nails gripped the handle. They were the same off-white color as the wallpaper. "If you get us the intel we need, you will see your money."

That was good enough for Phil. With another courtesy nod, he headed out.

The smell of smoke pulled Technoblade from his work, eyes blinking tiredly at the screen. They felt grainy and a bit painful, to be honest. He should have gone to bed hours ago. But once he got into the editing zone it was hard for him to stop. And thus he didn't know if he could sleep before he finished this assignment.

This inability to stop fixating on something was also why his cabin was currently three seconds away from catching on fire.

Techno hopped over the back of his couch to get to his kitchen in time to pull the pot from the fire, looking around for a way to dispose of it without causing more damage. There wasn't really any, none that would work without the use of magic anyway. And Techno would like to avoid that at all costs. Using any kind of magic would set off the ankle monitor he was wearing and while he wouldn't be in violation of his banishment he'd rather not have to explain to somebody from the Witch Work Force that he set the damn thing off because he completely ruined his food.

Dejected, he threw the pot into the sink instead and turned the faucet. Techno coughed as more black smoke rose from the health hazard he had created, before walking over to the window and opening it. For a moment, he stared at the full moon clearly visible through a thicket of trees. It must be close to three or four am.

Did it even matter if he got the job done tonight? Absolutely not. The client didn't expect revisions before next week and Techno knew it. But he'd taken on his new gig as a freelance editor for a publishing business with the same zeal he had anything else in his life. And with a lack of grinding to distract himself, he didn't really have anything to do aside from throwing himself completely into that. Maybe he was pushing himself too hard.

Maybe, but Techno was really salty that he didn't manage to finish the manuscript already.

He walked past the smoking pot in his sink and back to his living room, picking up his phone from his desk. The charred remains of his failed cooking attempt were also the only food he had left in his fridge. He doubted there would be any grocery stores or restaurants nearby that were open at this hour, but Techno was starving. He needed to get his hands on something to eat. Then he could finish editing and go to bed. Yup, that definitely made as much sense as sleeping until the morning and going out for breakfast…

In Techno's defense, the Witch lands did not have the same day and night cycle as the human world did and he had spent the past weeks almost exclusively in that realm to complete his little pet project. His circadian rhythm was completely screwed.

While he closed his laptop with one hand, Techno pulled up the map app and looked for a solution to his hunger problem. There was probably some type of 24/7 store in the city, though that would be quite a drive. Techno could only blame himself for choosing to sit out his banishment in a cabin in the woods. Then again, he disliked interacting with people much more than he disliked starving by himself. Both had a likelihood to end in him dying, but only one presented the horror of social interaction.

Much to his surprise however, a more readily available fix presented itself.

"Hot Bitches in Buns," Techno read out loud. It was an… odd name for a fast food place. Was it even a fast food place at all? The map would presume so, but maybe it had been marked wrong. The fact that it was open in the middle of the night combined with the rather imaginative double innuendo would make Techno suspect it was a different sort of establishment. One he would prefer not to go into.

His stomach was starting to hurt from how hungry he was. Thinking back on it, Techno realized he probably was so fixated on the work he had skipped lunch and dinner too.

He glanced at his phone again. This fast food joint was quicker to get to, it was located in the small town that Techno's cabin was also technically part of. If it turned out to be a mistake, he could always turn the car around.

After putting on his coat Techno stepped onto the porch. The night air was warm but pleasant, not as sweltering as the Witch lands usually were. Floof was lying in the hammock Techno had strung up for him. He gave the stray a few pets and checked his bowls to make sure the dog would have food and water if he needed them. Techno didn't know if Floof belonged to whoever had previously owned this cabin and was abandoned when the humans living there moved or if he'd already been a stray and knew the cabin was a good spot to beg for scraps. Whichever the case, Techno was glad to offer him a place to sleep protected from the rain.

Techno had tried taking Floof into the cabin a few times but the dog would always refuse or get cagey and nervous if Techno closed the door. He must have no interest in becoming a pet. Techno could respect that, he was a man that valued his own freedom above anything else too.

The drive into town only took about ten minutes. Hot Bitches in Buns was not only located in the suburbs (something told Techno this increased the odds of it being a strip club or whatever), but the building was also deceptively bland. If Techno hadn't looked at the map, he'd be sure it was an abandoned warehouse or something. It was a cube, plain and simple. The front had a series of windows and a glass door, and above it a sign that declared the name in a simple font.

Techno had half a mind to drive away. He was already in hot water with the WWF, he didn't need to get in trouble with human law enforcement as well.

But then his empty stomach rumbled again and Techno got out of the car, resigning himself to his fate.

Before entering he at least looked through the window, just in case the place was as sus as it sounded. But aside from a collection of normal tables and a counter against the opposite wall, there wasn't anything of note. No bouncers either which probably meant they weren't doing anything illegal. Probably.

His hope was dwindling but Techno could force himself to be an optimist when he needed to.

His training by the Witch Work Force had prepared him well for the horror of going into unknown and possibly hostile territory. Techno would consider himself to be fearless, if only on the basis that he didn't have much to be afraid of. Spells used for self-defense were definitely exempt from his probation. If they weren't, he'd be very upset.

A short jingle rang out through the restaurant as Techno entered. There was no bell above the door so it must have been a motion sensor of some kind. Techno walked up to the counter, not seeing anybody yet. Maybe the staff was out back? They might not expect any customers this late at night.

Above the counter was a crudely handwritten menu that somebody had attempted to nail to the wall with a nail gun. They hadn't done a very good job. Techno tilted his head in an attempt to read the crooked handwriting but he couldn't really make heads or tails from it. The only thing he could decipher was that this place sold hotdogs.

Hot Bitches in Buns.

If Techno wasn't so hungry he might have walked out just because of that insult to the English language.

"Can I help you?"

He blinked and looked down. Somebody had appeared behind the counter - a blond teenager. Maybe. Techno wasn't too good with ages.

"Uh, yeah. I'd like to order-"

"No," the boy said.

"No?"

"We're closed."

"Your door was unlocked," Techno said lamely. He even looked over his shoulder, as if the door itself would agree with him. "Also isn't this a 24/7 type place?"

"Normally yeah, but we're closed tonight."

Completely dumbstruck and unable to really grasp what was happening, Techno could only stare in vague bewilderment. He wasn't sure what to say, really. But the boy decided for him.

"I suppose you want to speak with the fucking manager now, yeah?" He rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Not really," Techno said. Honestly, as insulted as he was over their strangely antagonistic treatment of him right out of the gate, he'd likely be pushed to leave with little prompting. Social anxiety and all that.

But that didn't stop the boy from clicking his tongue with a dramatic sigh and calling out to the ajar door that must lead to the kitchen. "Wilbur! This bitch wants to speak with the manager."

"I really don't," Techno reiterated. The boy did not acknowledge him.

Techno looked around just to check if he hadn't accidentally tripped into an alternate dimension. Maybe another witch had accidentally opened up a portal and Techno had stumbled into it unnoticed.

He kind of hoped that was the case. It would make things a lot less awkward.

"Tommy, can't you just-" The guy who had come from the back was taller and older, mid-twenties probably. He had curly brown hair and was wearing glasses. "Oh, you're not joking."

"Why the fuck would I be joking?" The teen - Tommy - asked.

"Why do you do anything," the other one who must be Wilbur replied. He walked up to the counter, shoving Tommy to the side a bit with a small smirk. "Hi, welcome to-"

"Yes, I know," Techno said. "Hotdogs and stuff, right?"

Wilbur frowned. "Hot Bitches in Buns."

"That's not very PG," Techno replied.

"So?"

Techno shrugged. "Just an observation."

"How about you observe this!" Tommy said and Techno didn't need to look to know exactly what finger he was showing him.

"I take it he came up with the name," he said.

"Sadly," Wilbur answered. "Anyway, can I help you?"

With all the strangeness going on, Techno had almost forgotten his original goal in coming there. "Yeah, I would like to get one hotdog meal with-"

"We're out," Wilbur said.

Close to either laughing or crying, Techno stared at him. "What?"

"We're all out of hotdogs. Sorry."

"So you're not closed but you're out of hotdogs?"

"I'm so glad you managed to put that together." Wilbur's smile felt a lot less sincere then. Techno really wished he didn't have the ankle monitor, but there was no way he could spin this as self-defense. It would certainly feel good though.

"Look, I drove all the way out here for some food in the middle of the night. I came in despite the terrible name-" He ignored Tommy almost leaping over the counter to strangle him only held back by Wilbur grabbing his shirt. "-There's gotta be something to eat."

"I think we have some sandwiches in the back," Wilbur said.

"Can I have one?"

"No!" Tommy yelled at the same that Wilbur nodded. "Those are literally supposed to be our breakfast?"

"It's fine, Tommy. Get the man a sandwich and he'll leave, right?"

Techno cleared his throat. "Sure."

Tommy stomped away to fetch the sandwiches. Wilbur leaned on the counter and spent the several minutes that passed staring at Techno very intently, in a way that made him shift on his feet uncomfortably. The ankle monitor was magical and thus concealed, which was a good thing. But Wilbur seemed to be looking for something else. Whatever it was he hoped to find (or maybe hoped not to find) Techno had no idea, though after a few more moments Wilbur leaned back.

"Have you guys been open for very long?" Techno asked. Not because he was such a fan of small talk but because the awkward silence was going to choke him out.

"We opened last week," Wilbur said.

"And you're already so successful you're selling out of stock?" Techno raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."

"Oh no, not at all. We don't really see any people here, you're probably like our third ever customer."

Feeling thoroughly lost after this exchange (and halfway convinced that what he had stumbled into was some kind of criminal cover or money laundering scheme), Techno decided to keep his mouth shut. The less he knew, the better. Plausible deniability could be his best friend. Tommy finally came back with a pre-cut sandwich wrapped in tin foil and a lukewarm can of soda.

"There!" He slammed them on the counter aggressively. "Now you can't complain anymore."

"I feel like I have even more reason to complain now than before," Techno said half-heartedly. It was a joke but also not a joke at all. Tommy glared at him for it but he wasn't faced. Pulling out ten bucks from his pocket, he put it on the counter. "Keep the change, I guess."

"At least you're a decent tipper," Tommy said as he picked up the money.

"Come again soon!" Wilbur told him with a smile. He waved as Techno left the shop, knowing full well he would never show his face there again.

What a weird experience.

The sandwich tasted like crap and the soda had somehow lost its flavor despite definitely being unopened when he got it. Techno threw away the half eaten food and drove home, disillusioned and disappointed. It would keep him going until he was done with the editing though. And then he'd reward himself with a proper meal at a proper restaurant that wasn't run by two escaped asylum convicts. Or whatever those guys' problem was.

"Heh?!"

Techno pulled up to his cabin very, very slowly.

There had not been a mobile home next to his driveway when he left…

Aside from the obvious question of who the heck would move at four am, Techno wasn't sure why this person had picked this specific spot to settle down. The woods were pretty big, did they have to come live within twenty feet of his front door?

As if his thoughts were loud enough to overhear, the person inside the mobile home came out. It was a man, middle-aged and definitely a fellow witch. Aside from Techno literally being able to sense the magic on him, no sane human would wear long green robes and a striped bucket hat. Something was deeply wrong with this guy.

"Hi, I was hoping I would catch you." The man started speaking at him through his rolled-down car window before Techno even had a chance to kill the engine. Driving away crossed his mind but where the heck would Techno even go? The only place nearby that was still open was that freaky hotdog joint.

Reluctantly, he twisted the keys and got out of his car.

"My name is Phil, I'm your new neighbor. I know it's a bit sudden, hope you don't mind." Something about the man's unwavering smile told Techno he didn't really care whether he minded or not.

"Technoblade," he said and gave in to a handshake after Phil stuck out his arm. "The cabin isn't mine, I'm only renting it."

This meant the land surrounding the cabin wasn't Techno's either. It wasn't his prerogative to say if others could or couldn't randomly park their trailers on it. Techno had picked this specific cabin because it was so remote and he was keen on having some peace and quiet though.

"Cool! Would you like to come in?" Phil asked. "It'd be good to get to know each other if I'm basically going to be living in your backyard. I got snacks."

"Are you trying to bribe me?" With how hungry Techno was it would definitely work.

"I'd consider it more of a peace offering," Phil said.

"Good enough for me."

Techno wasn't going to complain. He'd had one of the weirdest nights of his life, free food was exactly what he needed to make up for it. And if Phil wanted to be his neighbor for some unfathomable reason, it would be good to be familiar with him.

If nothing else, Techno wouldn't have to worry about who would feed Floof once his banishment was over and he'd return to the Witch lands more often.