Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You stare at a blank text box on a job application website. Light grey text reads: 'Please tell us what made you want to become a threshecutioner.'

Well.

It's a long story.

First of all, you don't think you deserved to crawl out of the brooding caverns alive. You are a weak, revolting mutant. Your conspicuous, obnoxiously red grub body only avoided being eaten because it was too tiny to be worth any predators' time or effort. You survived mostly because everyone else looked tastier than you, which was as much of an accomplishment as saying you won a Miss Alternia pageant because every other contestant suffered horrific facial burns. Winning felt like mocking all the poor trolls who were way more deserving. As you got older, you slowly realized just how little you should have made it to the top. If you could have gone back and eliminated yourself from the contest---made it more fair for everyone else---you would have. But that would require a time machine, so...

Eventually, you just accepted the fact that you were alive. You won. You weren't particularly happy about it, but the only thing that'd be worse than keeping your trophy was throwing it away. The ghosts of your former competitors would probably gawk. "I lost to THAT pathetic nook rat? And he didn't even care about winning?"

You tried to make the best out of your reward. You ate vegetables and did 100 push ups everyday. Unlike your friends, namely Captor, you molted into a strong pre-teen.

Around that time, drones ordered you to attend your first school feeding. You were nervous until you learned about your soon-to-be-idol, )(er Imperious Condescension.

She had conquered the brooding caverns with wits and physical finesse. She never survived by being 'too pathetic to kill'. In fact, she killed anything that was pathetic. After she claimed the throne, she kickstarted the extraterrestrial colonization program. So many planets wave the flag of Alternia nowadays that you feel like a small part in a greater whole. It's all thanks to her that your life has at least some meaning. And that meaning is to one day play a bigger part in the greater whole.

The perfect way to do this is by becoming a threshecutioner. They are strong, good-looking soldiers. They work directly for )(er Imperious Condescension and are beloved by all. 

They are basically everything you want to be.

But you have no idea how to fill out that box.

Mentioning your former patheticness, short stature, or blood mutation would be grounds for instant extermination though. You sigh waspishly.

Then you open trollian.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] has started trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

CG: CAPTOR, I NEED YOUR HELP.

TA: iif thii2 ii2 a codiing que2tiion, plea2e check 2tack exchange fiir2t. iim tiired of an2weriing pre-2chool level 2hiit liike 'what2 an iif/then statement?' 'how do ii run a command?' and my personal lea2t favoriite 'where2 the comma wiith the dot over iit on my keyboard?'

CG: I ONLY ASKED THAT LAST THING AS A JOKE.

TA: diidnt 2eem liike a joke.

CG: THAT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE SO FAR REMOVED FROM COMEDY, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT A JOKE IS.

TA: riiiiiight. iim 2o paiinfully unfunny that people iin comedy club2 2tart convul2iing the miinute ii walk in.

CG: HONESTLY I'M SURPRISED THEY DON'T.

CG: ANYWAY, THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH CODING. OR MY HISTORY OF FUNNY JOKES WHICH YOU, TRAGICALLY, HAVE FAILED TO COMPREHEND. I'M APPLYING TO BE A THRESHECUTIONER.

TA: what.

CG: LIKE, I'M WRITING AN ONLINE APPLICATION TO JOIN THEIR RANKS.

TA: ii know WHAT applyiing mean2.

TA: ii mean WHY are you applyiing.

TA: diid you get hiit by a falliing hu2ked tropiical fruiit?

CG: WHY WOULD THERE BE HUSKED TROPICAL FRUIT GROWING NEAR MY LAWNRING, MORON? AND NO. I'M OBVIOUSLY APPLYING BECAUSE I *WANT* TO BE A THRESHECUTIONER.

TA: yeah but.

TA: why.

CG: BECAUSE THEY'RE COOL AND EVERYBODY RESPECTS THEM AND THEY WORK FOR )(ER IMPERIOUS CONDESCENSION.

TA: how diid you do that.

CG: DO WHAT?

TA: type that la2t 2entence wiithout iimmediiately turniing up two the 2ky and 2hootiing vomiit iintwo the aiir liike a gro22 parody of a la2er breathiing kaiiju.

CG: ...WHAT?

CG: CAPTOR, YOU DON'T SUPPORT HER?

TA: uh

TA: fuck forget i said that, i support her

TA: it's just

CG: WHERE'D YOUR TYPING QUIRK GO?

TA: ii wa2 tryiing to type fa2t but nvm. we can go back to me takiing two miinute2 to wriite out one 2entence repliie2 2iince that2 what you 2eem to prefer 2mh.

CG: I JUST MEANT IN ALL THE SWEEPS THAT WE'VE KNOWN EACH OTHER, I'VE NEVER SEEN YOU DO THAT.

CG: YOU CAN TELL ME HONESTLY IF YOU DON'T LIKE HER. I WON'T JUDGE.

TA: are you fucking stupid just keep your mouth shut

TA: ii wa2 tryiing two make a godziilla JOKE, whiich i2 unbeliievable ye2 ii know.

TA: "WOW. SO CAPTOR *DOES* ATTEMPT COMEDY FROM TIME TO TIME. I'M IMPRESSED."

TA: but iit diidnt come out riight and iit ended up 2oundiing liike ii dont 2upport her even though ii do.

TA: ii wholeheartedly 2upport )(er.

CG: OH, OK? NO NEED TO GET SO DEFENSIVE, BRO. PERSONALLY, I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYBODY ELSE'S OPINIONS ARE. I JUST KNOW THAT *I* SUPPORT HER AND WANT TO BE PART OF HER ARMY TO EXPLORE THE CULTURES OF OTHER PLANETS OR MAYBE MEET A REAL ALIEN.

TA: huh.

TA: ii never wouldve gue22ed you fanta2iize about that kiinda thiing.

TA: well, actually, ii diid notiice you checked out 'Bulges & Bilabial Seedflaps: Finding Love on a Strange, Uncharted Planet' when ii 2tole your liibrary card la2t week but otherwii2e you never hiint at thii2 2orta 2tuff.

CG: YOU DID WHAT? UGH. YOU BETTER NOT CREATE ANY OVERDUE CHARGES ON MY ACCOUNT AND RUIN MY PERFECT RECORD, YOU LAZY BOTTOM FEEDER.

TA: dont worry, ii wont check out tantaliiziing erotiica unliike you and become 2o enamoured with the male character2 that ii hiide the book under my piillow forever to feel clo2er to them

CG: I DON'T DO THAT!

CG: NOW BACK TO THE ORIGINAL TOPIC! QUIT GETTING DISTRACTED. THERE'S A BOX ON THIS WEBSITE THAT ASKS 'WHAT MADE YOU WANT TO BECOME A THRESHECUTIONER?' AND I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO ANSWER IT IN A WAY THAT PRESERVES MY DIGNITY.

TA: wdym? ii2 your actual rea2on 2omethiing liike "iive alway2 been a 4 feet tall hopele22 romantiic who read2 novella2 wiith hot 2exy thre2hecutiioner2, and now that iim fiinally neariing eiight 2weep2, ii want to be one iinstead of ju2t rubbiing my globe2 to them."

CG: NO, YOU BLITHERING SNAKE TURD.

CG: I CAN'T TELL YOU MY ACTUAL REASON THOUGH....

TA: ii gue22ed correctly.

CG: NO YOU DIDN'T

TA: eheheh ii 2o diid.

CG: NO! THE REAL REASON IS DIFFERENT, BUT I CAN'T TELL YOU WHAT IT IS.

TA: ok ii re2pect that.

CG: THANK YOU.

TA: ii re2pect that you dont want two admiit ii am riight.

CG: LET ME MAKE THIS ABUNDANTLY CLEAR: YOUR GUESS WAS **WRONG.** CAPITAL W, CAPITAL R, CAPITAL O-N-G. I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT IF MY TYPING QUIRK WAS WRITING IN ALL LOWERCASE, THAT WORD WOULD BE THE SOLELY THING CAPITALIZED TO EMPHASIZE HOW WRONG YOU ARE.

CG: BUT, LIKE I SAID, I CAN'T TELL YOU THE REAL REASON... YOU'RE JUST GONNA HAVE TO BELIEVE ME. 

TA: ok ok ii do beliieve you, ii wa2 ju2t tea2iing

CG: THANKS.

CG: ...

CG: WHERE'S YOUR SNARKY COMEBACK?

TA: ii 2aiid ii beliieve you, no need to be iin2ecure.

TA: what diid you need?

CG: HELP WRITING A SHORT PARAGRAPH TO ANSWER THE QUESTION ON THE WEBSITE. I WANT TO MAKE UP SOMETHING THAT SOUNDS COOL SO I DEFINITELY GET HIRED LIKE "MY ANCESTOR LED A THRESECUTIONER SQUADRON TO VICTORY IN THE BATTLE OF PROXIMA CENTAURI B."

CG: EXCEPT THAT'S RIDICULOUS BECAUSE THEY KNOW I'M A RUSTBLOOD WHOSE ANCESTOR WAS PROBABLY A FARMER OR A SLAVE.

TA: got iit.

TA: one paragraph wriitten by Karkat Vanta22 comiing up.

TA: "ever 2iince ii wa2 a grub, ii had alway2 wondered how ii could 2upport my totally faiir and equal natiion. when ii attended my fiir2t 2chool-feediing, ii wa2 taught about the thre2hecutiioner2: an eliite ta2kforce of hot troll2 who diid ju2t that, 2upported theiir natiion. ii iimmediiately fell 2ummiit lump over heel2 for them. ii 2tarted traiiniing to be one, honiing my abiiliity to u2e a 2iickle by 2wiingiing iit around iin the aiir liike an iidiiot. eventually, ii got half way decent at iit. ii 2topped acciidentally cuttiing my2elf and can proudly niick my target2 at lea2t once every two-hundred 2wiing2 now. ii am well-adept (plu2 well-endowed!) and beliieve i have what iit take2 two be a thre2hecutiioner. y'know, 2trength, dii2ciipliine, and all that bull2hiit. so that ii2 why ii want two 2leep wiith- ii mean joiin you guy2."

CG: WOW. SARCASM ASIDE, THIS COULD WORK.

CG: THANKS FOR SOMEWHAT HELPING DESPITE DEVOTING EVERY SENTENCE TO SOUNDING LIKE A TOTAL JACK ASS.

TA: np.

TA: al2o can ii a2k you 2omethiing?

CG: YEAH?

TA: don't you thiink you're kiinda too weak to be gettiing iintwo thii2 me22? no offen2e.

CG: FUCK. YOU.

You close out of your DMs, huffing, and retype a less terrible version of what Captor wrote into the box.

After that, you submit it.

The message that appears on your screen is instantaneous.

Thank you for showing determination to serve alongside the bravest battalion in the universe,

KARKAT VANTAS (not you? click here)

Your application will be reviewed to see if you are worthy of moving on to the next step: completing three trials. Thank you.

Chapter Text

For the next few days and nights, you either lay in your recuperacoon unable to sleep or linger in front of your computer, anxiously waiting. Your screen constantly displays your email inbox and nothing else. No side windows open to Trollian, Goregle, etc. The only thing you can focus on, no matter how hard you try not to, is an imaginary room full of recruiterrorists reading your application.

In your head, they raise their eyebrows at your decision to use a hemo anonymous grey text color. It's mostly associated with robots, nonfiction books, and instruction manuals---anything that people don't typically want to give a personality. Just like you would do if you were judging yourself, they assume you're trying too hard to act tough and snicker. Soon, they reach that one question with the answer you copied from Captor. Immediately, they can tell it's some disingenuous garbage that wasn't written by a real rust farmer-

WAIT, did you even MENTION the very real farm that you grew up on before moving to a middle class lawnring? Oh God, if you didn't, then the recruiterrorists will find it suspicious that you never participated in the same kind of work as other rust bloods. They'll assume you're lazy instead of just a recluse who rarely ever leaves your hive, which, actually, that's 10× worse. Fuck. 

If they're smart enough, they'll add up the fact that you had an abnormal 'rust' childhood with the fact that you prefer hemo anonimity and realize... the disgusting horrible thing that you are.

Upon doing the math, a gleeful recruiterrorist might laugh and exclaim to his buddies, "Wow! A dumb fucking *mutant* from an olive blood suburb wants to become a Threshecutioner! Can y'all believe that?" Everyone in his office will suddenly laugh alongside him and bang their desks like tickled chimps. When the chaos dies down, someone else will pull up your address on your application.

"Send in-" His post hilarity-induced-breakdown giggles will almost stop him from getting the words out. "Send in a drone strike!"

You shudder as you refresh the page.

When it comes back into view, a bright red dot appears alongside a new message to your horror.

This is it.

After taking a deep breath, you click the message that will determine your entire future.

Dear Karkat Vantas,

The story you wrote about yourself in your application was simple and unremarkable. It did not tell an applause worthy narrative, impart any incredible feats, nor arouse sympathy unlike other submissions. As a recruiterrorist, I am used to seeing more emotional, magnificent stories. Yours simply boiled down to "I learned what a Threshecutioner is, then I wanted to be one." You did not mention a single turning point---a pivotal moment in your life---in which you became determined to serve your nation. Y ou just always wanted to do it.

In all my sweeps of reviewing applicants' essays, that is, by far, the most admirable sentiment I have ever read. Thusly, I am approving you to move on to step two: completing the trials.

Your heart pounds as if you've just ridden the craziest, most death defying rollercoaster in all of Alternia. That email had so many ups and downs, twists and turns, you're worried even the 'conclusion' could secretly be the start of another drop.

You keep reading.

The first trial is a speed/endurance test. A location approximately 12 kilometers away from your hive has been selected as you can see on the map here.

...Is he seriously asking you to go to Caprio? As in, the town full of intoxicated murder clowns where Makara lives?

You must arrive there at 18:00, but you cannot leave your hive until 17:00. To make sure you don't try to get a head start, a special wrist watch is being sent through your transportalizer. It will monitor your location/heart rate.

You only get an hour? And worse, it starts at *17:00*? The sun is barely down by then- 'Stay calm,' you tell yourself.

Trying to suppress your nerves, you recall what you've learned from all your sweeps of school-feeding. Threshecutioners are the strongest, fastest, most fearless warriors in the galaxy. Of course they expect anyone who wants to become one to be able to run 12 kilometers to a creepy place in the Alternian heat---that's practically their evening routine!

As you let go of your hair, which you didn't even notice you were pulling, you realize something.

12 kilometers is probably less than half of what a real Threshecutioner travels per night.

Caprio probably looks like a safe haven compared to extraterrestrial towns where no one trusts trolls.

And the Alternian heat might be cold compared to some planets.

Basically, this trial is watered down to be easy for wrigglers.

Even YOU should be able to pass it!

Right?

You gulp and turn to the transportalizer on the side of your desk. It's a crumbling old pedestal that you haven't touched in ages. Nepeta, the weird cat girl with a crush on you, sent you a dead mouse that she had 'slain in your honor' once and that was the straw that made you change your settings to block everyone's 'friendly' little gifts. You can still tell whenever someone is trying to send you something though. A blinking green light, like there is now, appears.

You roll your computer chair closer to the bulky machine and press a couple buttons. As soon as the light goes away, it begins to rumble awake like a transformer crawling up from a nap. After some crusty gears churn, it projects a blinding white beam into the air. As it shoots higher and higher, almost reaching your ceiling, a small wrist watch shaped object materializes in the center.

You click the machine off and pick up the watch. It seems like a stylish new thing that a teal blood would wear because of its sleek digital screen. You wonder if it has apps like a palmhusk or something, but, unfortunately, it's turned off. You mash the buttons, desperately trying to turn it on to no avail.

After getting frustrated, you scroll through your email to find instructions.

When you receive the watch, be careful. It is a bomb.

Your face turns pale and you chuck it into the furthest room away from you. Suddenly realizing that might trigger the explosion even faster (shit) you duck under your desk for cover.

After two minutes, it seems like nothing is going to happen.

There's no explosion, just silence.

After waiting another minute just to be sure your hive won't become obliterated, you rise up and cautiously read more of the email. You probably should have finished it instead of reading it bit by bit to begin with. Especially since this insane recruiterrorist ALREADY made you feel like you were on a rollercoaster. But you'll just finish it now for your safety and the safety of everyone else in your quiet neighborhood.

Fortunately, it only explodes when the user steps outside their hive before 17:00 as intended. Well, there have been "reports" of ""malfunctions"", but I assure you they are few and far between.

It also explodes if it detects the presence of transportation vehicles while the user is meant to be running. Using wheeled devices such as bikes, roller skates, and wheelchairs (although I don't know where anyone could find that last thing on Alternia) is strictly prohibited.

Ensure to arrive at the Pier of Caprio with your watch to start the next trial.

Good luck.

After making sure that's the end of the message, you glance at your clock and see that you have 23 hours left til the trial begins. It's enough time to prep and still get a full day's rest. For the first time all week, a wave of relief washes over you.

Luckily, since you've traveled to Makara's hive before (only once, sure, but it was quite memorable), you don't need to familiarise yourself with the route. It's pretty tame---just a beaten path through arid, rural fields---so you'll simply need water bottles, energy bars, and a sickle.

After stuffing a backpack to the brim, you eat dawn meal and attempt to set a record for the most sleep you've ever gotten. Despite some initial tossing and turning, you fall into a deep slumber some time around who-knows-when, and your brain rewards you with a dream about )(er Imperious Condescension bestowing you a medal.

The next evening, you grab your backpack and wrap a grey cloak around your summit region before heading out.

The key to this trial is avoiding sun burns. As well as pacing.

You only have 5 minutes to run each kilometer, which is possible despite causing excruciating pain. As your stomach throbs from constant motion, you try to think of happy things like how you're going to meet your one true love on a luscious green planet, and how he'll place a flower in your hair before your first kiss, and how---ow---he'll---ow ow OW!

You chug water in a desperate attempt to unfuck your stomach. When you start running again, clutching it like a grub, you can't be bothered to stay on beat. Instead, you sprint like a mad-man toward Caprio.

The smell of salted fish on a skewer hits your sniff barrels as soon as you enter the run down carnival/boardwalk that is literally the entire town. It's a small place, and you spot the pier almost immediately. There's a couple trolls your age standing on the edge, waiting.

Determined to find your alien boyfriend, you suck in a deep breath and burst toward them

The final moments tick down.

Three...

Two...

O-

You hurl yourself past the finish line like Superman.

Then you vomit. Your watery- ugh you don't even want to describe it. It rolls down your cloak as you push yourself off the creaky wooden floor, too weak to care. Your breaths are shallow and your cheeks are swollen. If the definition of 'exhausted' had a picture in the dictionary, it'd be you.

You scan the other trainees, expecting them to look just as bad, but somehow they're all perfectly fine. A bronze blood even raises his eyebrow at you as if YOU'RE the weird one?

Before you can shout "HOW", heavy boots rattle the pier as if Godzilla has climbed out of the water. A surly indigo stomps back and forth to access all the newbies.

"Looks like some of you made it," he says grimly.

You glance down at your explosive watch and gulp, really hoping nobody...

"Vantas, Right?" He snaps you away from your thoughts. 

"Righ- I mean: Sir, yes, sir," you croak, wiping your mouth.

"Clean your clothes."

His tone is flat, emotionless, and terrifying.

Without questioning him, you unwrap your cloak (it's dark now, thank God) and use it as a towel to wipe your face. When all the puke is gone, you tuck it in your backpack's auxiliary pocket so it doesn't touch your food. You would have rather tied it around your waist---keep it away from the snacks entirely---but something tells you this instructorturer hates anything other than plain, normal clothes.

You stare at him after doing what he asks, expecting... a slight nod at least?

He hardly acknowledges you, just moves on to giving an unnervingly monotone speech. 

"Now that you're here, we will begin the second trial. It will test your underwater swimming ability. Before I hear any complaining, the seadwellers in your age group are taking a land based trial elsewhere."

He punctuates his paragraph by sharply turning and pacing the other way.

"Your goal is to swim to the bottom of the ocean to collect a golden ring. There's more than enough for each of you so don't bother fighting each other. You'll only be wasting your breath, which reminds me... No scuba gear will be provided."

Somehow, this manages to sound even worse than the last trial. Scorching hot bile rises up your throat, but you scarf it down, afraid you'll ruin the only shirt you have left.

As if he notices your queasiness, he steps up to you. He places a hand on your chest and, in a cold intimidating voice, declares, "30 minutes starts now." You're pushed into the water with a splash.

"WHAT THE-" You scream as you plunge into icy darkness. Several meters under, you open your bright yellow eyes---which don't sting due to all trolls evolving from seadwellers---and glimpse in every direction as fast as you can. Bubbles rise wherever you turn, blocking your vision. You can vaguely make out blobby black fish in the background, then, far, far, *far* below that, there's a mysterious glow. It must be the rings!

As you start swimming toward them, the water turns darker and darker, and the sound of blood or maybe the ocean rushes past your aural nubs. You try to block it out. You try to keep swimming. Nevermind that the noises are getting louder and louder, you need to-

Your throat forcibly opens and you inhale a lung full of saltwater on accident. You grab your neck, choking. For a moment, you try to decide where to go next. The surface is closer, but the rings---the rings that will lead to you achieving your goals---are only a football field away. You reach your hand out desperately, but your body recoils. Another coughing fit sends you upwards, where you spit out water and start gasping for air.

Past some waves, you see the same bronze blood as before, looking dry, happy, and already holding a ring. How did he- what?

Suddenly, a wild bottlenose beast jumps beside him and high-fives him with its flipper. As it disappears back into the ocean, your eyes widen as if a shocking mystery has been revealed.

"That's-" before you can say 'cheating', a wave sprays disgusting water into your mouth.

Suddenly you notice another bronze blood hopping off the fastest swimming mammal in the ocean like they've just ridden it; a gold blood, bending the water around herself to make a submersible of sorts; and a rust blood who copies the other psion.

That's not fair!

You can't do any of that.

You turn your head up to the staggering pier and squint at the instructorturer who is standing impartially. He can see everything... yet he doesn't seem to care? Then you realize...

They're not in violation of any rules.

On the website, there is an actual quote by one of your idols saying, "Use whatever you can to win. Threshecutioners are as strong as they are resourceful."

Resourceful. The word rings in your pan as you survey your surroundings for anything you could use.

Although, unless the ocean magically turns into a pile of tools, there's absolutely nothing out here for a powerless troll like you. As you start to groan, a wave knocks you against a pillar of the pier. Dizzily, you look up at a tall, wooden pole. It could be carved into a tool, perhaps...

You sling your sopping wet backpack in front of yourself and fish out your favorite sickle, made from razor-sharp steel. Using it as an axe, you hack off a long strip of wood.

Or try to.

The first time, the strip is too short and thin. When it falls onto the water, it floats like a piece of paper, then slowly gets torn to shreds. You grunt before adjusting your angle. When you think you might yield a sturdy, long stick of wood, you swing your weapon to cut it out of the support pole.

At last, a crack shoots nearly all the way to the bottom. You pry it with your fingers, ignoring splinters, and manage to pull out a stick that could possibly reach the ocean floor. Luckily, it's thin enough that the pier still has the majority of its structural integrity, but thick enough that it doesn't shred.

You take a deep breath before swimming a little ways underwater. There, you find the faintly glowing, faraway rings again. Instead of almost drowning to get to them, this time you pull your stick out and prod it at your target. Despite the unrelenting sluggishness of its movement, you manage to hook a singular ring and lift it back up to you.

When it's in your clutches, you feel so happy you can taste your alien boyfriend's lips!

Having completed the trial, you follow the rust psion (who just resurfaced with her own ring) to the shore. Your instructorturer makes his way over there, nodding.

"You've all passed," he states. "The third trial should be no problem at all in this case. It's a simple fighting match."

He leads his troop up a sandy hill back to the decaying boardwalk. As you step foot on the greyish wood, you shudder at how easily it can be cut with a sickle, but avert your attention, trying to appear brave. There are carousels and knock-the-bottle games everywhere, operated by chuckling clowns. No one in this village ISN'T a purple blood. There's probably some historical reason for that, but they don't teach you it in school feeding.

As you wonder how they perceive you---a weak lowblood passing through their territory---you accidentally bump into your teammate.

"Sorry-"

"Sorry!" She says back, her soft country accent becoming apparent.

"Vantas and Pendai, pay attention." Your instructorturer points to a large black and red tent a few meters away. He announces that's where the fighting will be held before going in. 

After you follow him to a circular row of seats, an empty battlefield in the middle peaks your interest. Are they going to bring out carnivorous beasts from cages or-

The words "The first battle will consist of Karkat Vantas and Lloukh Pendai" echoes throughout the room. It's as if there's a PA system, but after turning around, you realize it's just the instructorturer standing on a mounted platform, shouting.

Pendai flashes a sad frown as she climbs over the colorful barrier to the battlefield. A sickle sheens across her back. After she lifts it out of the straps holding it in place, she brandishes it nervously, yet readily.

You grip yours, bumbling to the starting position.

"Don't worry," she whispers, "This'll just be a friendly little spar, right?"

"Right," you pray.

"Quit chatting," the instructorturer glares at how neither you nor she have started to fight yet. "In the real world, chatting will give your enemies enough time to kill you... but you're young so I'll forgive your ignorance. Without further ado, may the best troll win."

In less than a second, a pointy sickle comes flying at your face. You dodge like you've practiced a million times before and perform a sweep kick. She thuds on the ground, but picks herself up without even wiping away the dirt. Her first instinct is to try another running attack, raising her sickle even higher.

If that lands on you, it's going to slice open your skin like a kitchen knife versus a tomato. A friendly little spar on Alternia could still end with you bleeding... revealing your horrible secret to everyone here. Panicking, you raise your arm with the wrist watch to block her.

It spiderwebs as soon as she hits it.

She lets out a terrified shriek, and suddenly remembering it's a fucking *bomb*, so do you

Nothing happens though.

As she backs away, she babbles, "You- you actually tried to kill me. You actually tried to kill both of us! I mean- everyone here could've died! What the heck is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry!" At a loss for words, you brush broken pieces of the watch's screen away, leaving only the band part behind.

"Mr. Vantas actually made a smart move," your instructorturer states matter-of-factly. "In the field, it is better to sacrifice oneself in order to kill the enemy than to be maimed by the enemy. This is how Alternians maintain the facade of impenetrability; we never let our enemies see us in a state of weakness."

She glares at him, then at you. Her horns crackle with electricity.

"So you're saying it's okay to kill someone if they try to hurt you, right?" she mutters.

He nods.

You-

You need to get the fuck out of here.

"I QUIT!" You yell while running like you're being chased by a drone out the tent, out the boardwalk area, out to beneath a palm tree.

Your stomach throbs agonizingly, and you grasp the tree trunk for support. You can't make it back home. Even if you weren't in pain, your nutritional supplies are ruined. The only thing you can do is sit under some thin leaves, hoping they provide enough shelter until you can muster the energy to leave.

Or, uh, you could go to Makara's, right?

His creepy shack terrifies you to no end, but it's the best option around. You groan as you follow hazy directions in your memory to his front yard.

Like the last time you came here, it's full of dead grass and mud. If he lived in your lawnring, the HOA (Hive Owner's Association) would publicly execute him via firing squad. But he's lucky to live in a secluded part of Caprio where his yard doesn't bother anyone... other than you, of course. You tiptoe across the stones leading to his front door, trying to keep your soaked shoes clean, and knock.

Your dubious "moirail" leans out the crooked window over his porch and waves at you.

"What is up my invertebrother?" He asks with an accent that can only be described as annoying.

You sigh, really needing his help. "Hey, could you let me in please?"

"No problem- wait :o( I can't leave the kitchen while my food is cooking. Can you come in a different way?"

The smell of burnt sopor rises from his window and you swear to )(IC he better not be frying that shit like pancakes. Of course, he definitely is. Despite knowing the layout of his hive, you ask, "Do you have a kitchen door?"

"No."

"Then how would you like me to come in?"

He ponders this ponderously.

"Chimney, window? Take your pick."

You crawl through his window, hating yourself for not being blown to pieces back at the last trial, and slump down at his table. His eating block and cooking block are conveniently connected. After he flips his questionably edible sopor pancakes, he walks toward you with the sizzling frying pan and asks if you want any.

"No-" you stop yourself from calling him a moron. He's sweet, he's just... ugh, you want to get so many things off your chest, but half of them would make him sad and the other half would confuse him (like how you're not mad at him. You're just mad at the world.)

You passed the first two trials using your wits and physical finesse. Everyone else cheated. While you were pushing yourself to the limit, running 12 consecutive kilometers in under an hour, they were cruising with psionics or animal powers or whatever. While you were trying to swim to the bottom of the ocean, they hardly got wet at all. Yet somehow you still managed to keep up with them. You weren't weaker. You were just as strong, if not stronger. Had your blood been any other color, you wouldn't have panicked so badly during the last trial and lost. 

This is usually when you'd write a rant in your notes, reread it, become embarrassed, then delete it.

But tonight you want to try something different...

Talking.

"Gamzee?" you say. You're too miserable to even call him by his last name- that's what cool sergeants in action movies do. And you're barely fit enough to be the Imperial Navy's latrine scrubber.

"Yeah, brother? :o)" His voice doesn't change (because why would it?)

Your gut twists before you find the courage to speak.

"Can I rant to you about something kinda serious? It's okay if you say no-"

"Yep!"

You rub your burning red eyes and breathe in. "I failed the trials-"

"What trials?"

"The ones to get the job I want so I can leave the planet-"

"Why would you want to leave the planet?"

"It's legally required when all trolls turn 8 sweeps-"

"Who legally requires it?"

"The government that is capable of drone striking us??" You all but scream. How can someone have survived THIS long without knowing about the post brooding cavern trials? "Makara, do you even know what you want to be in the future?"

Because you've raised your voice at him, he asks, "Happy? :o("

"I-" you tug your hair and slam your sponge container against his table. If you weren't so tired, you'd trudge back to your hive, weeping like the truly alone asswipe that you are.

"Can I invite Captor over...?" you ask. Instantly feeling like a bulge weed for considering venting to another friend while you are at your moirail's hive, you add, "It's okay if not. We can, um, all watch a movie together or something."

His demeanor perks up again. "That's a bitchin' idea, brother! The more the merrier!"

With a sigh of relief, you pull out your waterproof palmhusk from your backpack and text your one mildly smart friend.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] has started trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

CG: CAN YOU COME TO CAPRIO?

TA: why don't ii ju2t 2ave my2elf the triip and ba2h my 2kull iin wiith a juggliing piin whiile yelliing "take that you fiilthy pii22blood!" here?

CG: I DON'T MEAN FOR A NIGHT ON THE TOWN DAMMIT.

CG: I MEAN SO I CAN TALK TO YOU ABOUT STUFF THAT IS EFFECTING ME EMOTIONALLY IN WAYS I CAN'T PUT INTO WRITING.

CG: AT MAKARA'S PLACE.

TA: are you okay?

CG: HARDLY.

TA: be riight over, kk.

Although most of your conversations with him turn into seeing who can mass produce the most quips, that one goes rather smoothly. You pinch yourself while waiting. Meanwhile, Makara whips up a stack of the grossest pancakes in the galaxy and offers you them as if you're a trash eating hoofclopper. You politely decline.

An hour of watching him shove his dusk meal down his esophageal sphincter later, there's a two distinct knocks at the door.

You get up from your chair and start running to the lounge block. "Coming-" 

"It's unlocked. Is it alright if I just come in?" Captor's nasal voice blares through the walls.

"Sure! You're always welcome here, city slicker!" Makara calls.

'Wait, it was unlocked the whole time!?' You face palm. Sometimes you're not sure if Captor is "the mildly smart one" in your friend group or if you and everybody else are just so stupid that he seems that way by comparison.

He lets himself in without his crotch rubbing against a windowsill like yours did.

"Uh, hi," he waves, then he scrunches his nose. "Jesus, what is that smell?"

"Pancakes-"

"Don't blame this all on the chef, KK. Why are you covered in vomit?"

You look down at your pants and see discolored yellow stains that somehow didn't wash away in the ocean.

Ew.

"Finally you noticed, little brother! I wanted to say something, but thought it might hurt your feelings." The purpleblood who doesn't know his own strength pats your back, almost breaking it.

"So that means... you've just been sitting here in your own- ugh, fluids? for however long it took me to fly all the way from Teknyo...?" Captor's eyebrows knit together with concern. "Wow, um, let me- like- help you to the ablution block or something."

"I don't need help!" you retort as you stand up and subsequently fall from a lack of blood flow.

"Uh-huh." He catches you in a net of psionics and lifts you into the air like a freshly caught fish. It's so easy for him despite how fast his skinny ass would drop you if he had to pick you up for real.

Your hands curl into fists and you grit your teeth as you think about all the psions at the trial. None of them would have been able to complete the challenges for real either.

Before you can- yell? or something? you don't even know what you want to do- he asks Makara where the ablution block is.

"Down the hall and to the left! :o)"

"Thanks." He starts strolling there, dragging you along with him.

After floating you through the door to the filthy gas station bathroom that somehow resides in a highblood's hive, he sets you down gently on the rim of the tub. You flip him off because, gentle or not, he knows you hate being pushed around. Sneering, he grabs what-seems-like a clean towel and hands it to you.

"So..." he says, waiting until you wipe your pants off. "Did you still want to talk to me? I know it's kind of an awkward time, but-"

"Sure," you grit. 

Ever since your epic failure, anger has been simmering inside you, growing hotter and hotter. Now it is boiling. You can barely remember the way that bronze blood raised his eyebrow at you as if YOU were the weird one without anger overflowing. It's about ready to burst past your lid.

You explode, "It's not fair! I *PASSED* all the trials and they DIDN'T!"

He reels back, confused. "Who didn't?"

"The other people taking the test!" You throw your arms in the air as if it's obvious.

"...wait, you actually passed?" He asks.

You- you seethe and start ripping your hair out in clumps. "Yes, moron! I've only been training longer than I've known you!"

"Ok, jeesh. I'm just surprised, that's all." He rolls his eyes disbelievingly. Then he uses psionics to peel your grubby little hands away from your hair as if you're a useless, weak, powerless fuckpod. After all that, he has the audacity to ask if you're okay again. 

You punch him.

You don't know what comes over you.

"Sorry-" you cup your mouth as soon as it happens. As he grasps his face, you whisper in a panic. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!"

"What the fuck was that for?" When he moves his hands away, his bi colored glasses fall to the ground in pieces.

Y-y-you actually broke them? "Sollux, I'm so sorry," you cry again and again. "I just got angry and..."

"It's alright," he sighs. As soon as he takes the hanging bits of his frames off, he stares at a droplet on them that's bright, candy red.

For a moment, your dumbass thinks it's *his* blood. Then you feel something warm run down your fingers tips, where a shard of glass has obviously sliced through them. Oh no... You survived three of the toughest trials on the planet, but this- this is where your skin decides to bleed? It's a cruel, cruel joke, and you stare at him scaredly.

"What the...?" he mutters, his heightened gaze landing on you.

You shrink away from the taller troll like a mouse and tuck yourself into the corner. You should've moved toward the door instead- fuck. You already regretted punching him to the fullest extent that anyone could regret anything, but now you somehow regret it even more. What if he realizes you're so far beneath him you're not even on the hemospectrum? What if he realizes he could take revenge and legally get off scot free? 

"Don't hurt me," you plead but it comes out as a barely audible squeak.

His expression morphs from shock to terror. "Jesus, KK! I'm not gonna hurt you! You're my best friend, moron!"

You blink as if it would have been more understandable for him to shoot you with a laser blast.

He helps you stand up and sighs. "I'm really sorry I made you upset- I didn't mean to. Not that that matters. I just- I- I could've been a bit more sensitive, I guess? Dammit, I'm not good at these kinds of things-"

"Sollux, don't apologize," you say just as frantically. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I hit you afterall."

Despite his reassurance, you can't get over the fear he'll exact revenge someday.

"Please don't tell anybody about what you saw," you blurt.

"I won't." He turns on the sink and sticks the jumbled remains of his frames under the water, washing away the few drops of blood. When he's done, he motions for you to wash your fingers as well. 

For some reason, while you're scrubbing, curiosity overtakes his caringness and he asks a rather personal question.

"So... is your mutant blood the reason you didn't get to be a threshecutioner?"

"Kinda." Although you try to hold it in, a well of tears forms at the bottom of your eyes.

Luckily, he doesn't push the topic any further. Instead, he shuffles out of the ablution block to give you space. When you finally have a moment to yourself, you let your tears fall just to get them out of the way. A minute later, you rub your cheeks dry with the towel and check your pants in the mirror. Everything now looks just as clean as when you left your hive. Well, almost everything. You pry off the broken band still hanging around your wrist, which you guarantee never had any explosives. It seems you have received a dud from the factory fittingly. Even your gadgets are defective like you. You toss it in the trash where it belongs, then prepare yourself to head back home.

You'll need to pack up if you want to survive as an adult on this planet for child soldiers.

Sollux's POV

After learning, after all these sweeps, why Karkat has always acted so weird, your pan implodes. You can't imagine being a mutant---an actual, legitimate mutant unlike you who just has a weird duality/enlarged teeth thing going on. His type of mutation is actually one that the government is hellbent on destroying. If you were him, you would've thrown yourself off the top of your hivestem sweeps ago to avoid an inevitable culling fork. 

But he hasn't.

He has kept himself alive for 8 sweeps.

That's why his hive has a million security check points that you need to go through whenever you visit him. That's why he wears extra layers in the humid months. That's why he types in all grey. It's all to protect himself, to stay alive.

He must really want to do something---become somebody---unlike you. Otherwise he wouldn't have taken so many precautions to reach maturity, the time when every young troll can try to become who they want to be.

He wants to be a Threshecutioner.

And, despite all the bullshit he's gone through to get here, the government said 'no.'

'It's not fair' is the understatement of the century. If fairness is the light green grass on a golf course, the golfer in this metaphor has shot the ball into the atmosphere, sending it soaring past both moons; then past the ort cloud surrounding the solar system; then past a hundred other solar systems; then past Proxima Centauri B; then, finally, onto an uncharted planet somewhere far far farway.

Wishing life was fairer to him, you pull out your phone with a batshit insane idea.

twinArmageddons [TA] has started trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]

TA: ii need you two do me a damn huge favor.

CA: wwhy wwould i do any favvors for you pissblood

TA: becau2e ii a2ked niicely.

CA: you said "i need you to do me a damn huge favvor." howw is that askin nicely

TA: iit2 niicer than what ii oriigiinally wa2 goiing to type, but 2iince iim 2o niice, ii wont tell you what that wa2.

CA: im gonna go back ta' ignorin you, asshole

caligulasAquarium [CA] has gone offline!

TA: wait

TA: seriously wait please

TA: ill give you something in return

CA: no quirk? you must really be desperate

CA: wwhat do you wwant

TA: ii know that youre becomiing captaiin of your own 2hiiney new 2pace2hiip becau2e your ance2tor wa2 a famou2 murderer or whatever. make karkat a thre2hecutiioner plea2e.

CA: first of all the orphaner is not a murderer

TA: really? cau2e hii2 name liiterally mean2 "guy who kiill2 wriiggler2' lu2iiii"

CA: second of all i never had any problems wwith kar so sure

CA: although i wwonder wwhy youre askin me to help him

CA: theres not somethin seriously wwrong wwith him is there

TA: nah.

TA: 2o ii gue22 iit2 2ettled.

twinArmageddons [TA] has gone offline!

CA: wwait a glubbin minute, wwhat are you gonna givve me in return

TA: you 2aiid you'd do iit becau2e you liike kk.

CA: i like him but id hardly consider him to be on my creww if you hadnt asked. hes not exactly the tallest or the bravvest ya know, and wwe havent talked in a wwhile

CA: wwhich means youll havve to givve me an incredibly good reason to keep him

TA: fiine.

TA: iill giive you a miilliion dollar2.

CA: you have nothing

TA: iill giive you a p2iioniic bulge job.

CA: no

TA: free art commii22iion.

CA: no

TA: iill be your kii22me22ii22.

TA: ki22i22im22e2?

TA: however you 2pell that word.

CA: you dont actually wwanna be my kismesis. you're just sayin that so it doesnt count

TA: ugh, fiine. forget ii even offered.

TA: waiit ii got iit.

TA: iill 2top talkiing to every woman youve deluded your2elf iintwo thiinkiing ii2 your girlfriiend liike feferii.

CA: you wwouldnt

TA: ii would.

CA: wwell it doesnt matter because thats a sexist thing to wwant anywway. i dont care wwho feferi talks to evven if she for some ungodly reason chooses to talk to you

TA: fuck when diid you learn about women'2 riight2.

TA: ii'll

TA: be your helm2man?

CA: deal