Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

from eden, part I - idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player sits in a prison.

It’s a prison unlike any other in the world- a specialized redstone farm designed exclusively for its solitary occupant. Within a small glass chamber, he hangs suspended by chains and vines of wither roses. The deceptively beautiful flowers work to drain his very life essence, causing damage in pulsing waves that are countered by the regeneration potion fired from a dispenser every two minutes. The room is dark, lit only by the brief glow of the blaze rods that spawn into existence above his head and spin wildly for a second before they’re greedily sucked into hoppers, siphoned away, and then more spawn to replace them.

This is Tango Tek, a hybrid-powered automatic blaze rod farm. The only one of its kind in all of Hels.

Tango, the aforementioned hybrid, is starting to feel more mob than player these days. He isn’t sure where his identity begins outside the farm- the scientists who run this laboratory refer to them as one and the same.

As time goes on, his memories of the days before the farm are starting to fade. The monotonous, repetitive nature of his existence is all he knows. Everything in the farm runs automatically, on clockwork. Predictable, repeatable patterns he’s unconsciously memorized- even now, he’s absentmindedly counting down the seconds until the next potion is dispensed.

Tango’s ears prick involuntarily, in anticipation of the dispenser firing. He waits to hear the click and the ensuing smash of glass as the potion shatters at his feet. He waits to see purple-ish pink particles enter his field of vision in a flurry of bubbles. He waits to feel the regeneration take effect, for that surge of strength to cut through the withering and keep it at bay with every other heartbeat.

But nothing happens.

The dispenser doesn’t fire out a potion. The wither effect continues to drain Tango’s health. And the emotion that settles over him now isn’t fear, but rather the deep-seated dread that comes with recognizing the end of a well-traveled path with only one final destination.

Sometimes, the redstone mechanism responsible for dispensing potions of regeneration every two minutes has a malfunction, and fails to fire. What happens then is that Tango withers to death. It’s a slow, painful, horrible death. The only blessing is that it’s so slow, there’s usually only time for one before whatever glitch in the redstone corrects itself upon the next firing cycle, and the regeneration keeps him from dying again.

(Maybe that’s not a blessing. Maybe it’d be better if it were quick.)

In any case, it doesn’t happen often, but Tango dreads it whenever it does. The scientists are aware of the problem, but have yet to take the time out of their busy schedules to fix it (now that the farm’s up and running, they’ve become quite negligent). And with the respawn anchor in place, there isn’t any consequence to him dying. Not besides the actual dying. Which is hardly a consequence in their eyes.

(Early on, there was a massive glitch that prevented the dispenser from refilling. It happened late at night, when no one was awake. Tango must’ve died fifteen times in a row before morning came, and the malfunction was discovered and corrected. After that, his reflection showed that the tips of his ears had darkened- along with his feet and fingertips- and his wither-black tears left permanent stains under his eyes, persisting even after respawn. The head scientist laughed and said it was Tango’s “goth phase.”)

So the glitch remains, and Tango withers to death.

It’s an insidious thing. He’s spent so much time with the wither effect- grown accustomed to it, even- that he can’t tell right away when it’s starting to overcome him. His ears start to turn a little bit colder. His breaths start requiring a little more effort. His eyes start watering a little bit more, his tears turning a little bit blacker.

Until suddenly, his skin is freezing. Suddenly, he can’t breathe. Suddenly, his vision is obscured in darkness and his body feels like it’s made of lead and his tears are so cold they burn (he’s openly sobbing now, an involuntary reaction fueled by panic that seems rather counterintuitive in hindsight but is nevertheless beyond his control, like so many other things) and he still can’t breathe-

Until it’s over. Until he respawns back in the farm, so quickly it’s as if he never left it.

Tango exhales shakily and rests his forehead against the glass. The respawn restored him to full health, but the wither effect is already starting to set back in. It doesn’t matter, though- Tango counts the seconds, and right on cue, the next potion fires out of the dispenser.

The glitch has corrected itself. The regeneration starts balancing his health. The farm continues producing.

Just another day at Hels Tek.

Tango’s gaze drifts out beyond his enclosure, scanning the dark corners of a room he’s all but memorized. The sterility of the environment is almost enough to drive him mad. Blank walls, blank floor, blank ceiling. Nothing at all to distract his mind.

The nights are the loneliest. At least during the day, he’ll occasionally see scientists pass by. Some are more antagonistic than others but at least it’s something new. At night, all Tango’s left with is the rare visit from a certain mustached madman burning the midnight oil, and the constant gentle light from the respawn anchor at his side-

Wait.

Tango blinks. Then he squints out through the glass. Normally, he can see the warm yellow glow of the respawn anchor trailing across the floor in front of him. But right now, there’s nothing. The room beyond his enclosure is completely dark, the only light source from Tango’s own blaze rods briefly flitting above his head.

Tango stares for a few seconds, just to really make sure he’s seeing clearly, before the realization hits him all at once.

The respawn anchor’s light is out. That means the respawn anchor is out of charge. Sometime during his last several deaths over the last several weeks, the auto-recharging mechanism must’ve failed and gone unnoticed. His deaths have been draining the anchor of its charge. And a drained anchor is no longer functional, which means that the next time he dies, it won’t be able to force his respawn back inside the farm. The next time he dies, his respawn will default back to the world spawn.

The next time he dies, Tango will be free.

It’s like a shock of electricity to his system. His breathing picks up as his mind races frantically, suddenly swirling with new thoughts and emotions after spending so long in a dull haze of pain and exhaustion. He doesn’t know why the respawn anchor has failed to auto-recharge. He doesn’t know if or when it’ll spontaneously correct itself.

All Tango knows is that right now, he has a chance to escape that might never come again.

All he has to do is die.

His heart is absolutely pounding now as he quickly glances around his enclosure, pulling at his chains. There’s nothing he has access to that could kill him. The wither roses would do it if only he wasn’t being given regeneration- and that is still happening, as the next one fires out precisely on time. He could wait and hope for the dispenser to fail again, but it’s a rare occurrence that he can’t count on. Certainly not before morning comes, and the scientists discover the anchor’s malfunction. He can’t risk waiting, he’ll lose his chance. He has to do something, now.

Tango locks eyes with his own reflection- his wide, desperate eyes staring back at him from the glass.

Then he smashes his face against it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Reeling back, Tango catches his breath. Already, the regeneration is nudging his health back up, the pain in his skull starting to recede and dull beneath the wither effect. He doesn’t think he could damage himself fast enough to overcome it, even with the wither roses doing their part. Blunt trauma like this is equivalent to a punch from a player, and he’d have to repeat it way faster than he’s able to in his current state, restrained and weak.

But he doesn’t have to. There’s a steady stream of blood coming from his nose, now. It runs down his face in rivulets, dribbling into his open mouth as he pants, flooding his senses with the tang of iron. The wither effect has turned it cold- and tinged black, he suspects, if there was enough light to make it out.

None of that matters. It’s still a liquid; it’ll do.

Tango tips his head back and inhales deeply.

Blood flows down his throat, into his lungs. He coughs- because of course he does, it’s a natural instinct, completely involuntary- but he doesn’t let himself lean forward again. The blood trickles back down, overtaken by gravity despite his attempts to expel it. His coughing intensifies, the sound of it choked by that horrible bubbling as blood spills out the corners of his mouth. Panic is screaming through his mind now but he resists it, gritting his teeth and keeping his head tipped back.

More blood floods his lungs. His whole chest feels like its on fire, his body pleading for oxygen, his eyes watering as darkness chews at the corners of his vision. It goes against every basic survival instinct, but he refuses to look down. He fights it with every scrap of strength he has, every fiber of his being, every last remnant of willpower he’d thought was beaten out of him a long time ago. He fights it until he can start to feel himself slipping away, and with his last seconds of consciousness, he leans back against the wall of the farm to ensure he doesn’t fall forward.

Death comes swiftly, after that.

Tango respawns on his feet- and then immediately falls forward onto his hands and knees. He hasn’t fully supported his own weight in so long; even with completely respawned health, his limbs are shaky and it’s all he can do not to collapse entirely.

For a few precious moments, Tango simply stays put and breathes.

The blood is gone (he can still taste it). The wither roses are gone (he can still feel them). The chains- well, they seemed to have snapped when he respawned away from them, leaving just a few links attached to his shackles.

He isn’t withering anymore. He isn’t inside the farm anymore. He’s free.

Tango hasn’t had access to a communicator for a while, but he can imagine the death message that must’ve popped up: Tango drowned. He can imagine how baffled the scientists are gonna be come morning (amidst all the outrage, of course) and the thought actually makes him laugh. It’s a sharp, hoarse laugh, almost hysterical, as he carefully gathers himself to his feet and looks around.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen spawn, but it’s hardly changed. There’s a protective perimeter around it- no block placement, digging, or PVP within a certain radius- so it’s probably the only peaceful place in the whole world. For once in Tango’s life, he’s lucky; no spawn-campers that he can see. Just flaming netherrack and deposits of blackstone, with streams of lava trailing gently from the cavernous ceiling, obscured by blood-red fog.

Tango inhales deeply; he hadn’t realized he missed the smell of fire so much.

He can’t take the time to appreciate it, though. He doesn’t know how long he has until the scientists discover his escape, and he needs to put as much distance between himself and spawn as possible. Because even if they can’t physically harm him within the spawn chunk, they can certainly overpower him and drag him out of it.

And then there’ll be a lot of physical harming.

Taking a final quick look around, Tango picks a direction and starts walking. It’s a clumsy staggering, really, with one hand braced against the netherrack cliffs. His chains rattle with every shaky step. The exertion soon has him out of breath- he’s at full health, but his body is not used to this much activity, and it takes a lot of effort to keep moving. His mind is in overdrive, rapidly trying to sort out the next best course of action.

He can’t go back to his old base, because that’s the first place Hels Tek will look for him after they check spawn. Assuming he even remembers where it was (unlikely). Assuming that it hasn’t been griefed over the years (even more unlikely). He needs to start collecting resources- stone, wood, food. He needs to start gearing himself up- a sword, a pick, an axe. Armor, if at all possible.

Now that the adrenaline of Tango’s escape is starting to fade, it’s sinking in just how precarious his situation is.

If he gets killed by any of the hostile mobs or players roaming around, it’ll put him right back at spawn. He can’t be anywhere near spawn when morning comes, or Hels Tek will snatch him back up again (it’s a long distance, sure, but they’ve got flying machines). His first instinct is to dig himself into a cliff somewhere- that’ll require a pick- and hide until he’s more recovered. But it’s not a good idea to corner himself when he’s still so close to spawn (when Hels Tek comes looking, they’ll be thorough) and he’d probably starve to death and respawn, anyways. Plus, he really hates the thought of going back into an enclosed space.

He just needs to keep moving, and hope that he doesn’t cross paths with anyone or anything unpleasant-

Tango places his foot wrong on some gravel and suddenly, he’s on the ground. Pain and exhaustion sweep through his body. He grits his teeth and pushes through it, carefully picking himself up and forcing himself to get moving. Stupid legs. Get locked inside a redstone farm for a few months and they forget how to walk.

Only a couple more minutes pass before Tango has to stop to catch his breath. He glances over his shoulder and his heart sinks- he can still see spawn in the distance. He really isn’t making much ground. Not fast enough, anyways. It’s only a matter of time before he runs into someone and in his current state, he’s easy pickings. Doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have anything valuable on him to steal, people around here kill just for fun.

Dread is starting to creep up on him. He can’t go hide in any of the nearby cities- they’d sell him out to Hels Tek in a heartbeat, if they didn’t kill him on sight first. He can’t just hole up somewhere- there’s the starving thing and the high likelihood that he’d be found out. He can’t ask for help- he doesn’t know anyone who’d offer it even if he had a communicator to reach out with. What he really needs to do is flee to the outreaches- all the way to the fabled unloaded chunks, even- but in his current condition he won’t live long enough to make it there.

His escape was for nothing. Come morning, he’ll end up right back in the farm. He might as well just wait here and enjoy his last few hours of freedom best he can-

Tango’s ears prick at a sudden sound. He spins around to face it- nearly losing his balance in the process- teeth already bared in a snarl and claws at the ready. But it’s not a mob or a player he turns to see. No, it’s something far more unexpected than that.

Despite having never seen one in real life before, Tango knows instinctively that this is a portal.

He only knows about portals in theory. Some of the scientists at Hels Tek dedicated their research to try and make a working portal, and they’ve come close, but were never able to pull it off. Some people say it’s a glitch, woven into the code of the world itself. Others say it’s deliberate world design, a way to ensure no one in Hels can ever leave (though there are whispers of rare disappearances). In any case, there’s never been a functional portal in the entire documented history of Hels.

Yet somehow, there’s one before Tango now.

(If he didn’t know better, he’d call it fate.)

It’s a curious portal. The frame is made of standard four-by-five obsidian, but even as Tango stares at it, he can’t decide what color the light inside is. One second it’s green, then blue, then yellow, then red. Tie dye, checkerboard, rainbow. Haphazard streaks of gold and pearl appear before vanishing just as quickly. The multi-colored swirls are mesmerizing to watch, but Tango is painfully aware that he can’t linger.

Either he presses on, trying in vain to distance himself from spawn until he eventually starves, is killed, or is recaptured by Hels Tek, or… he goes through this random mysterious portal that’s spontaneously appeared before him without explanation.

Well. It’s not like Tango has much to lose. Wherever the portal leads, it has to be better than the alternative.

Before he can second-guess himself or waste any more time, Tango steps through the portal.

During Tango’s time at Hels Tek, he underwent quite a number of experiments. Lots of them were bizarre, and exposed him to bizarre sensations. But he’s not at all prepared for the feeling of teleportation. It’s not like a respawn, not at all. It’s like something is tugging at his soul, his very data itself, and stretching it like a rubber band while his body dissolves into particles. It’s not painful, not exactly, but he suspects it’s only because he doesn’t have the capacity for pain in this state.

And then, it’s over.

Tango stumbles out of the portal on the other side. He manages not to face-plant this time, bracing his hands on his knees as he recovers. Even without looking up, he can hear the portal behind him shatter- and then it disappears from his periphery. Apparently, this was a one-way trip. Better see where he ended up.

He inhales deeply- how odd, no scent of smoke, ash, or sulfur- before straightening up. Then his mouth falls open, because he suddenly knows exactly where he is.

The overworld.

Or rather, a overworld. Tango’s heard about them before- how every world besides Hels apparently has an overworld and a nether, based on Patho’s widely accepted Splice Theory of biome data analysis- but it’s another thing entirely to finally see it.

The sky is blue here, and filled with fluffy white clouds. The mountains in the distance are covered by brown soil and green grass. The area Tango’s spawned in has been somewhat developed- paved with gray stones with a gurgling fountain in the middle, lined by rows of lush bushes. There are wood and brick buildings a little way’s off, each one unique but complete and not griefed at all. There are torches meticulously placed around the area in a neat pattern- to think, there are people here who care about making things safe!

He’s definitely not in Hels anymore.

Tango’s eyes have barely adjusted to the light- how is this place so bright without any fire or lava anywhere?- when he hears footsteps. Whirling around with his heart in his throat, Tango sees a player approaching him.

The player is a man that stands just slightly taller than Tango. He’s heavily armored- some kind of dark green tactical armor, not a vanilla chestplate- and wearing a helmet. He doesn’t currently have any weapons equipped, just holding an open communicator. All Tango can make out of his face is the glint of two bright eyes behind the visor.

The man comes to a stop a few paces before Tango. “Ah, you must be the new player!” he says, in a voice that absolutely does not match his intimidating appearance. It’s cheery and earnest, and has a soft lilt to it- giving a rounded edge to all his consonants. It’s the same accent some of the scientists had, but gentler.

‘The new player,’ he’d said.

Tango’s mind races. For whatever reason, this player seems to have been expecting a new arrival to his world- without knowing exactly who it would be. Tango doesn’t think for a second that he was in any way supposed to come here- he’d never be that lucky. But he’ll certainly take advantage of the circumstances. If he just goes along with it, no one will think to question him. He just has to play along- pretend like he’s supposed to be here, and they’ll all believe it, too.

(What’s his other option? To say, “Uh, actually, I’m from a place called Hels and I think I’m here by mistake.” Yeah, right. He’d be sent back through a portal before he’d even finished his sentence.)

“Right, yeah, hey there!” Tango replies, trying his best to sound casual and not like he’d just escaped a torture facility by drowning himself in his own blood.

It must be good enough, because the man continues, “I’m Xisuma, the admin ‘round here. What’s your name?”

An admin. Hels hasn’t had an admin for a long time, but Tango’s heard the stories. Unconsciously, he straightens his back. “Tango Tek,” he says on reflex. Then he hastily adds, “But just Tango’s fine.”

(Just Tango. They’d tried to nametag him as Tango Tek™ once, but it hadn’t taken- perhaps proof that Tango is more player than mob. But that didn’t stop them from continuing to refer to him with the full title, and it seems even Tango has fallen into the habit.)

Xisuma nods. “Alright, Tango, good to meet ya,” he says amiably, holding out his hand.

Tango hesitates for only a second before reaching out to shake it. “Likewise,” he says, putting on a smile he hopes is convincing.

Xisuma’s handshake is a little firmer than Tango was prepared for, and he nearly loses his balance. Instantly, Xisuma’s other hand is on his arm, steadying him, and Tango has to wrestle back the urge to pull away.

“You alright?” Xisuma asks, sounding concerned.

“Yeah,” Tango breathes, “just a little motion sickness. Um, from the portal.” He forces a laugh. “I uh, I don’t travel much.”

Xisuma makes a sympathetic noise before summoning his inventory. “Here,” he says, pulling something out and offering it to Tango. “This should help, I’ve got plenty more if you get hungry later.”

Tango stares at the object in Xisuma’s hand. It’s some kind of plant, Tango thinks. Like a thick, roundish, pointy-ish root with little leaves on one end. The entire thing is gold in color. Gold is generally inedible. But clearly, Xisuma expects him to eat it.

Alright, then.

Tango takes the item and nibbles on the end of it. Surprisingly, his teeth don’t crack on hard metal. It is a plant- and it’s delicious. It’s been so long since Tango’s eaten food- the regeneration always kept him from starving to death, but his hunger was empty more often than not. Before he knows it, he’s devoured the entire thing. Immediately, his mind feels a little clearer, a little sharper. Despite the item’s small size his stomach is pleasantly full, and he doesn’t feel shaky anymore. The saturation on that thing must be insane.

“So,” Xisuma says, as if Tango hadn’t just reacted very strangely to his offer of foodstuffs, “I figured we could start with a tour if you want, then meet up with the others?”

Tango nods emphatically. “A tour, yeah, yeah that’d be great- uh, I’d love to have a look around uh… whaddya call it…” He taps his chin in an overexaggerated fashion to act as if he’s doing a bit, rather than genuinely not knowing what the world is called. Just in case he’s supposed to already know what it’s called.

Xisuma makes a little tsk-ing sound, smacking the side of his helmet. “Oh, right! Welcome to Hermitcraft. It’s a pretty private world we’ve got here; the universe decides when to bring new players to join us, so, you know. Here you are.” He shrugs. “Of course, people can leave whenever they want. So um, just say the word and-”

“No!” Tango says, a bit too desperately. He quickly softens it by adding, “No, no, I’m good, man. Hermitcraft, I love it!” He claps his hands together, wincing inwardly at the way his shackles jangle. “Let’s- let’s do it!”

If Xisuma is picking up on any of Tango’s anxiety, he’s not showing it. “Great! Follow me this way, then.” He waves a hand before turning to go. “We’ll start over here with Old Hermiton…”

Tango takes a final glance over his shoulder at where the portal was before following.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player emerges from a portal.

It vanishes as soon as he’s stepped out of it- quite literally vanishing from existence, frame and all. That makes him startle a bit. He’s never seen a portal do that before. And goodness, he’s never seen a nether hub like this before. At least, not in any respectable world that’s more than a few days old… he’d thought Hermitcraft had higher standards.

There’s also no one here to welcome him. He hates to be presumptuous, but… it’s a bit rude of them, honestly. Grumbling to himself, the player pulls out his communicator, opening the chat just in time to see the last message fade.

Bravo has joined the game.

~*~

Chapter Text

from eden, part II - innocence died screaming, honey ask me, i should know

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player emerges from a portal.

It vanishes as soon as he’s stepped out of it- quite literally vanishing from existence, frame and all. That makes him startle a bit. He’s never seen a portal do that before. And goodness, he’s never seen a nether hub like this before. At least, not in any respectable world that’s more than a few days old… he’d thought Hermitcraft had higher standards.

There’s also no one here to welcome him. He hates to be presumptuous, but… it’s a bit rude of them, honestly. Grumbling to himself, the player pulls out his communicator, opening the chat just in time to see the last message fade.

Bravo has joined the game.

This is Bravo Biz, an overworld player. Unbeknownst to him, he’s the only one of his kind in all of Hels.

Bravo, in terms of overworld players, is fairly standard. Blond haired and green eyed, he has no inhuman traits, attributes, or powers to speak of- except for, perhaps, his inhuman skill with redstone. His particular specialty is constructing complex mob farms that run with insane efficiency; an ability he presumes to have earned him an invitation to Hermitcraft.

When the strange portal appeared before him back on his homeworld, he’d quickly used his communicator to scan its origin. He’d been pleasantly surprised to find it had an ID tag from Hermitcraft; the private world was known throughout the multinet for its creativity and ingenuity. Clearly, they’d seen something in his farm designs that deemed him worthy of joining them, and he was more than happy to accept.

Now, though, he’s starting to have some doubts.

The portal seems to have dropped him off in their nether hub. If it can even be called that. It’s nothing more than a canyon carved out of netherrack, no sign of life or development anywhere. That’s unusual, for players of their caliber. In addition, he’d been expecting the portal to take him to their world spawn, as is standard with world-hopping, but evidently this isn’t the case.

Bravo cranes his head up, glancing around. Already, the smoke in the air is starting to make his eyes sting. He’s never been overly fond of the nether, and not even knowing why he’s here is only adding to his frustration. If they went through the trouble to invite him here, they could’ve at least been around when he showed up. It’s not as though he was expecting a parade.

Bravo pulls up his communicator again. There’s been nothing in the chat since his arrival- did they not even notice? Frowning, he types out a message.

Bravo: hello? can someone please come help me out?

He hits send and waits.

No response comes in the chat.

As the minutes stretch on, Bravo’s frustration starts to give way to concern. He’d checked the portal, he knows it came from Hermitcraft, but none of this seems right. Where is everyone? Why isn’t anyone responding to his question? He’s about to send another one when he hears the unmistakable clank of armor-plated boots, echoing somewhere above him.

Head whipping up, Bravo spots a figure scaling down the wall of the canyon towards him, navigating the sheer cliffside with ease. It’s moving so fast, Bravo can’t get a good look until it finally lands before him with a thump.

It’s a player, fully clad in scorched netherite armor, who seems to be entirely made of a glowing red gelatinous substance. Like a magma cube, except in the form of a humanoid player. There are hardly any features to distinguish a face- save for two burning embers where eyes normally are. Most disturbing, however, is the fact that half of their face has melted away to expose a charred black skeleton from within the magma, light burning in the solitary eye socket.

“Hey there, man,” the player says in a low, amused voice. The magma half of their face contorts in mimicry of a mouth as the skeletal jaw opens and closes. “Haven’t seen you round here before.”

Bravo straightens his back and offers a polite smile. “Well, I’m new, actually,” he explains, trying his best to keep his voice steady.

“Oh,” the player huffs with what might be a laugh, tilting their head, “then allow me to give you a proper welcome.”

Suddenly, there’s a sword in their hand.

The next thing Bravo knows, he’s respawned.

Gasping, Bravo steadies himself, one hand clutching his still-racing heart. Already the pain of his death is fading, nothing but the memory of a blade slicing through his neck, but the shock of respawn is quite unpleasant on its own. Even worse is the stunned disbelief ringing through his mind, leaving it spinning as it struggles to make sense of what just happened.

They killed him.

They killed him?

… why on earth did they kill him?!

Distress and indignation start to rise inside him- how could they just kill him like that?- but he pushes it all down. He needs to calm down and think. Jumping to conclusions isn’t going to help anything- and neither will losing his temper.

Catching his breath, Bravo straightens up and glances around. The world spawn- or at least, what he assumes is the world spawn- doesn’t look that different from where he portaled in. He’s still in the nether, which… doesn’t make sense. How can a world spawn be in the nether?

It’s a little more open here, some kind of large cavern with surrounding walls and cliffs of netherrack. The ceiling is out of render distance, obscured by red mist. There’s still no sign of development in Bravo’s immediate vicinity, not so much as a cobblestone block or crafting table out of place. The terrain looks completely natural, untouched… all netherrack, except for a few pits of gravel and veins of stone along the cliffs. Small patches of fire flicker here and there as lavafalls flow from the unseen above.

‘Bizarre’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Why would they leave their nether like this? Why did he respawn here? And why did the first person he meet decide to kill him? What is this, a UHC?

Exhaling slowly, Bravo runs a hand through his hair. He pulls up his communicator, wincing at his death message.

Bravo was slain by iHelvin.

He doesn’t recognize the name- though admittedly, he isn’t familiar with everyone on Hermitcraft. They’re such a private bunch; the only time other worlds really hear of them is when one of them has made some amazing breakthrough in redstone or building technique that they share via the multinet. Otherwise, all other players know of them is whispers and rumors.

But based on such aforementioned whispers and rumors, it wouldn’t be like them at all to kill a new player on sight. Unless Bravo is being pranked? As sort of a new member initiation? He quickly looks around to see if perhaps someone is watching him from the shadows, waiting to reveal the joke-

And then he nearly jumps out of his skin when he finds eyes watching from the cliffs.

The figure looking down at him is nothing more than a pair of eyes peeking out over a ridge of netherrack, unidentifiable as either mob or player. It’s a pretty good hiding place- Bravo wouldn’t have known there was even a cave up there because its netherrack walls and ceiling all blend together, distorting any sense of depth perception.

Then the figure moves, rising up over the ridge and- to Bravo’s alarm- diving over it, falling from the side of the cliff. It moves like a shadow, just a blur of darkness speeding towards the ground until it twists mid-air and expands, the shape unfurling into-

Wings. It has wings.

Swooping towards Bravo, the figure comes to an abrupt stop, landing just a few blocks away. Now that it’s still, Bravo can see that it’s not actually an it, but a he. A player, a man, with large black wings. Rather than fold them back up, he leaves the wings drooping behind him, uncaring as they drag on the ground- the feathers are dull and ragged, even patchy in some places. Clearly, he isn’t taking care of them.

He’d be much taller than Bravo if it weren’t for his posture; his shoulders are slouched, curled in on himself as if he’s afraid of taking up too much space. He’d likely be much broader as well if he weren’t so emaciated. The collarbones poking out from beneath a threadbare tank top look sharp enough to draw blood. His hands are held close to his chest as he fidgets with fingernails that are bitten raw. Ratty strands of thin black hair hang long in his face, almost like a curtain that his eyes peek through. They’re slightly sunken in and ringed with dark circles, which only serves to make them look bigger and more pitiful.

The player stares at Bravo for a moment before he licks his lips.

“Sorry. I… didn’t mean… to scare you.”

His voice is soft and hoarse, and he has a labored way of speaking. As if it takes immense effort to get each word out. It’s surprisingly grating- not even the melodic lilt of his accent can quite smooth it over.

“You didn’t,“ Bravo says, a bit too quickly. He clears his throat. “Just startled. What’s your name?”

The player’s face darkens. “Not Jimmy,” he says, in a tone that’s probably meant to be firm but comes out as more of a plea.

Bravo blinks, waiting for the player to follow up with his actual name, but no such thing happens. “… okay, Not-Jimmy,” he says, perturbed. Nevertheless, he holds out his hand; no need to be uncivilized. “I’m Bravo.”

“Mmm.” Not-Jimmy tilts his head, those sorrowful eyes flicking down to Bravo’s hand and back up to his face. He doesn’t reach for Bravo’s hand. “You seem… different… from most players… I see.”

Trying not to be annoyed, Bravo lets out a short laugh. “Well, based on the sort of player I’ve met so far, that’s a good thing.” He lowers his hand, folding his arms instead. “You seem like a sensible guy. Would you care to explain what’s going on? I was supposed to be coming to Hermitcraft. Is this the nether hub?”

Not-Jimmy blinks at him slowly.

“You’re in Hels,” he says. “It’s… not a nether. Not that anyone here… has ever… seen one. It’s nether… and overworld in one… one realm. No escape.” A faint glimmer of curiosity enters his voice. “How… did you get… here?”

Bravo makes an incredulous noise in the back of his throat. “Wh- I just stepped through a portal to Hermitcraft! It’s a pretty exclusive world, you know, and that’s how they invite new players. I- I even checked the portal’s origin before I went through!”

Not-Jimmy jerks his shoulders in a shrug. “Don’t know… what Hermitcraft is. But you’re in Hels now.”

Bravo exhales sharply. “What- why do you keep saying that like I should know what that means?” he demands. “And why did that player kill me straight away?”

“You asked… for help,” Not-Jimmy says simply. “In chat. Bad idea. No one… chats here. It calls attention… makes you a target…”

“This is ridiculous,” Bravo declares, throwing his hands up. “I- I’m not supposed to be here! Don’t you have access to multiverse travel? Where’s your admin?”

An unreadable emotion flickers across Not-Jimmy’s face. “We don’t… have one. Not anymore. I’m afraid… you’re as stuck as… the rest of us, mate.”

No admin? What kind of world is this? “Oh come on, that can’t be right,” Bravo scoffs, masking the cold prick of fear fizzling up his spine. “I’ll just find someone who actually knows what’s goin' on, alright, and be on my merry way-”

“You should stay here… with me.” Not-Jimmy’s soft voice has a sudden intensity to it, his gaze boring through Bravo’s skull. “It’s dangerous out there… for people like us. Here, it’s safe. It’s not so bad… once you get used… to the hunger.”

Bravo pauses, a knot forming in his stomach. “What, you don’t mean to tell me that you never leave spawn?” he asks doubtfully.

Not-Jimmy shakes his head. “Not anymore,” he whispers. “Starving to death… is better than… what’s out there.”

Suddenly, his hungry eyes send chills across Bravo’s skin. He fights the urge to take a step back- it’s not as if this bedraggled skeleton of a player is going to attack him or anything.

“… right,” he says uncertainly. “Um, okay, well- well good luck with that. I’m gonna go do something about this.”

Picking a random direction, Bravo turns away and starts walking. He can feel Not-Jimmy’s gaze still following as his somber voice calls after him.

“Don’t say… I didn’t warn you…”

~*~

As soon as Bravo leaves the spawn chunks, it’s immediately apparent there’s an anti-griefing radius around spawn, because the difference is like night and day.

The chunks outlying spawn look like a war zone. The terrain has been ripped up and dug down in moth-eaten holes as far as the eye can see. There are random blocks scattered around haphazardly, placed with absolutely no rhyme or reason. Cobblestone, wooden planks, sand- clearly, they have access to overworld resources here. Not-Jimmy’s statement about ‘two realms in one’ is starting to sound more plausible.

(As is his insistence that there’s no admin here. Bravo can’t imagine any admin that’d let spawn fall into such a state. That… doesn’t bode well for his chances of getting out of here quickly.)

Carefully easing himself off the ledge of untouched netherrack, Bravo lands lightly on a block of stone, wincing at the slight fall damage. He gazes out over the patchwork field, squinting into the horizon. He’d like to find that netherrack canyon he portaled into, because that area seemed untouched, but if it’s anywhere around here he can’t see it past the distant fog.

Picking a random direction, Bravo hops over to another block. But he misjudges the distance and comes just short of it, falling down a hole.

A very long hole, with lava waiting at the bottom.

Bravo tried to swim in lava.

Suddenly he’s back at spawn, his skin tingling with the memory of fire. Not-Jimmy is still there; he’s resting his head and arms over his folded knees, wings sagging behind him.

“Welcome back,” he greets Bravo despondently, looking not at all surprised to see him.

Bravo feels himself flush. “That- that was a fluke,” he insists, uncertain if the look in Not-Jimmy’s eyes is pitying or pitiful but hating it all the same. “I’ve totally got this, alright, I’m a professional.”

Not-Jimmy says nothing as Bravo takes his leave, which somehow feels even more damning.

~*~

Bravo’s more careful this time, as he makes his way from spawn.

Where he’s going, he doesn’t know. But as with any new world, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start getting geared up. Especially since the inhabitants so far seem less than friendly. It’s quite slow going, but after several hours Bravo finally makes it past the minefield of death pits and finds himself on more even terrain. There’s evidence of previous travel here- crude staircases carved up the side of netherrack cliffs, idle block stacks no one bothered to clean up, and wayward trails of torches leading to who knows where- but still not a single structure in sight.

He’s picked up a few things along the way; sticks crafted from wooden planks and stray bits of cobblestone to make a pickaxe and a sword. Now’s about the time he’d try to find a cave to mine in, but his hunger is starting to deplete quite rapidly. He hasn’t been that conservative with his sprinting, he realizes belatedly, and has yet to see any kind of food source.

If this ‘Hels’ is a combination of the overworld and the nether, then surely overworld mobs would spawn? But Bravo hasn’t seen head nor tail of cow, pig, sheep, or chicken. There also doesn’t seem to be any grass- at least, not in his current biome- that could produce seeds for him to start a farm with.

Stopping for a moment, Bravo leans against an outcropping of rock. His hunger’s only half down but already, he can feel it gnawing at him. He’s not used to letting his hunger get down more than a couple of haunches. How does Not-Jimmy stand it? Now more than ever, Bravo is certain he’s insane, because what kind of player can just accept starving all the time-

There’s a sizzle in Bravo’s ear.

Bravo was blown up by a Creeper.

He respawns with the explosion still ringing in his ears, heart racing. The reality of what just happened hits him a second later.

“No!” Bravo wails, smacking his hand to his forehead. “A creeper?! Oh, of all the noobish deaths- oh, this is less than good. This is- I can’t believe that, the ol’ ‘creeper from behind’ trick, gah! Stupid, so stupid!”

Not-Jimmy silently observes him rage for a moment. “Happens to… the best of us,” he says tentatively.

“Shut your face!” Bravo shouts without thinking. Then he exhales heavily, smoothing his hands over his face. “Sorry, sorry, lost my cool there,” he amends. Being upset is no reason to forget his common decency- he’s better than that.

Not-Jimmy just shrugs a shoulder, as if he’s used to being yelled at.

Bravo takes a minute to collect himself before setting off again.

~*~

This time, Bravo is determined that things are going to be different.

As soon as he finds the means to craft a pickaxe, and he makes it back to solid ground outside of the outer-spawn minefield, he digs a tunnel. No more messing around on the surface- he’ll just travel like this, until he finds a cave he can get resources from.

Evidently, he’s not the first player to have this idea. Beneath the surface is a virtual maze of tunnels that criss-cross with each other in an endless, tangled web.

But Bravo refuses to be discouraged. Picking one direction, he blocks off every side entrance he comes across, so as not to let anything creep up behind him. During his trek, he comes across a few shallow caves and notes that they seem to follow the same generation patterns of overworld caves. So, there’s a good chance he’ll be able to find things like coal and iron in addition to nether ores. But not here; they’ve been picked clean. He’ll probably have to go quite a distance to find anything of use.

So Bravo digs.

Hours and hours spent in a tiny dark tunnel, going through several stone pickaxes, desperately trying to conserve his hunger. Until he opens up into a cave and hits a stroke of luck; an old creeper hole with a few zombies trapped in it, the random blocks in clutched their undead hands preventing them from despawning. They make easy pickings from Bravo’s perch two blocks above them, and he ends up with some rotten flesh for his efforts.

Rotten flesh is always disgusting, but beggars can’t be choosers. Bravo has just sunk his teeth into his first bite when he hears the telltale clattering of bones.

The first arrow strikes him in the chest, followed quickly by another one between the eyes.

Bravo was shot by a Skeleton.

Bravo respawns choking on nothing and spitting curses. A skeleton, of all things! Just as he was finally getting somewhere! Well, at least his hunger isn’t a problem anymore.

This time, Not-Jimmy isn’t where Bravo left him. He’s back up in his cave, looking down at Bravo with a distinctly wary aura around him. Something must’ve spooked him in Bravo’s absence, because he casts a nervous look around before leaning forward.

“Better luck… next time,” he offers, managing to sound genuinely sympathetic despite having the exact intonation of a mourner.

“Thanks,” Bravo snarks, still fuming over his death but managing not to completely lose his temper. “You won’t be seeing me for a while, I can promise you that. I’m gonna get out of here, just you wait.”

With that, he takes his leave.

~*~

Bravo fell from a high place.

“Don’t even say it!” Bravo snaps, storming off from spawn before Not-Jimmy can say anything.

~*~

AnimosityGaming starved to death.

Bravo blinks at his communicator. It’s not the first death (besides his own, of course) that he’s seen come through the chat, but it’s the only one he’s seen by starvation. His first thought is of Not-Jimmy. Is that his actual gamertag?

Bravo supposes it doesn’t matter. It’d be rude to assume, or refer to Not-Jimmy as anything other than the name he’d offered.

Putting his communicator away, Bravo curls up inside the little hole he’s dug himself and closes his eyes, resolved to get what rest he can as he waits out the night.

The next time Bravo ends up at spawn (Bravo was slain by a Zombie), Not-Jimmy isn’t quite the same. He seems more alert than the last time Bravo saw him, and though his voice is still soft it doesn’t take as much effort to talk- looks like that really was his death- but otherwise his demeanor hasn’t changed.

“Sorry, mate,” he grimaces, as if he were somehow responsible for Bravo’s death. “We’ve got a real mob problem here, most places are dark enough to spawn them just by default.”

Bravo laughs without humor, the muscles in his shoulder twitching at the phantom sensation of zombie teeth. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

~*~

“Hey there, little fella!” a gleeful voice shrieks from above.

Bravo manages to raise his shield in time- he doesn’t regret the use of his only iron ingot- to block the first swipe of a sword. His assailant swoops back up, elytra flared out to catch the wind, before diving back down with pinpoint accuracy.

“You picked a bad time to get lost, pal!” the player cackles, bringing his sword around in a powerful slash. “This is my turf!”

The shield breaks into splinters in Bravo’s hand, and then the sword is buried in his stomach.

Bravo was slain by Largishlegumes.

“The heck was that?!” Bravo demands furiously, once again back at spawn. “Now I gotta start from scratch!”

Not-Jimmy winces. “Oh, yeah. That guy’s a jerk.”

“Is anyone here not a jerk?” Bravo huffs.

Not-Jimmy gives a helpless shrug.

~*~

Bravo triggers a tripwire, and the ground crumbles out from under him.

He falls through a curtain of lava, his body instantly alight with flames. Amidst the panic and searing pain, he has just enough time to read a sign at the bottom of the pit.

‘GET GOOD LOL.’

Bravo burned to death.

“Yeah, sorry.” Not-Jimmy rubs the back of his neck. “Forgot to mention, watch out for traps.”

~*~

A howl rings out in the night.

Bravo jolts awake in an instant, grabbing a stick out of his campfire and scrambling to his feet. Holding the makeshift torch out in front of him, he squints out into the forest. The trees in this biome are oak, but their leaves are dead and brown, their trunks gnarled and stunted- probably from the absence of a sun.

His eyes struggle to make out anything in the darkness, heart pounding in his ears. It sounded like a wolf, but much louder than he’s ever heard before. Deeper, too, like some guttural kind of howl filled with far more malice than one would expect for a wolf hunting a sheep-

A snarl hits Bravo’s ears.

He whirls around, the torch's flame flickering madly, and his blood runs cold. A hulking figure towers over him. It’s a wolf, but not- the forelimbs are too long and the chest too wide, clawed hands bigger than Bravo’s torso digging into the soil. Its fur is white as snow but matted and stained with blood, to match the blazing red eyes staring down at him, pinning him to the spot. The lips of its massive jaw curl back to show teeth that are thick as an arrowhead and just as sharp.

Bravo screams. The wolf lunges forward, slavering jaws widened to close around his skull-

Then Bravo’s at spawn.

He stumbles and falls onto his knees, gasping for breath. The fear and adrenaline of the death is still coursing through him, his head aching with the phantom pain of those giant fangs. His mind is reeling from the shock of the monster, trying to reconcile it with his knowledge of what wolves look like as he trembles, his skin breaking into a cold sweat.

It isn’t until Bravo sees the death message that he even realizes it was a player.

Bravo was slain by Rendthewolf.

“Sorry,” comes Not-Jimmy’s sorrowful voice. He cringes as he peeks out at Bravo from his cliffside nook. “Should’ve warned you about the wolf.”

“Now you tell me,” Bravo says, but his voice is missing its usual bite. He swallows, casting a wary glance at his surroundings. “You said it’s… safe here, at spawn?”

“Yeah.” Not-Jimmy’s voice sounds cautiously hopeful. “You can… spend the night, if you want…?”

Bravo wavers for a moment.

Then he picks himself up and dusts himself off. “No, no, I’m fine. I’ll just go another way,” he says shortly. “Hiding isn’t gonna solve anything.”

“Okay…” Somehow, Not-Jimmy’s voice sounds even more dejected and pitiful than normal, but Bravo refuses to let himself feel bad about it.

Bravo scans the horizon. He hasn’t had much luck with the way he’s been going so far, so he turns and points in a direction he hasn’t gone yet. “What’s that way?”

Not-Jimmy follows Bravo’s gaze. “A city.”

“Wh- there’s been a city nearby this whole time?” Bravo asks incredulously, putting his hands on his hips. “And you didn’t think to share that information?”

“Wouldn’t recommend,” Not-Jimmy says lowly. “Bad people there.”

“Yeah well, that seems to be pretty standard here,” Bravo points out, rolling his eyes. “At least it’s civilization.”

“Depends on your definition,” Not-Jimmy says, his expression grave. “It’s run by a guy called Papa Al… don’t trust him. If you catch his eye, you’re already doomed.”

Bravo raises his eyebrows. Creepy. “Uh, okay… anything else I should be aware of?” he asks plainly.

Not-Jimmy counts on his fingers. “Don’t buy beef from the butcher, his price is too steep. Don’t stay out past curfew, you’ll regret it. Don’t let the street babies get close, they’ll rob you blind. Don’t-”

“Wait, wait,” Bravo says, blinking, “babies? As in, recently-spawned players? You guys get new players spawned here?”

It’s not completely unheard of for a new player to spawn in on a public world, it’s just… not the standard. Most players, like Bravo, spawn into existence on their own private homeworlds. ‘Baby’ players are all about a block high, give or take, and already able to walk and speak, same as villagers. They grow slowly over several years, until the universe decides they’re old enough to connect with the greater multiverse and they gain the ability to world-hop (generally around the teenage stage).

When new players do spawn on public servers, they’re usually minigame hubs, and any respectable hub has infrastructure in place to look after babies until they’re older. After all, no one wants to fight a baby player in a UHC- even if some of the little rascals seem determined to get in.

Bravo can’t imagine a player growing up in a world like Hels.

“Of course,” Not-Jimmy says, his brows creasing together. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t spawn and grow up here. Well… except you.”

“Oh.” A knot forms in Bravo’s stomach. “I see.”

No wonder everyone here is so messed up.

“Anyway, I- I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Bravo says, turning away. “If they’re got a functioning city, they must be capable of cooperation and common decency. I’ll just reason with them.”

“Right.” Not-Jimmy doesn’t sound convinced. “Good luck, mate…”

~*~

“You lost, friend?”

Bravo jolts at the unexpected voice.

After hours of travel, he’d just spotted the city in the distance- structures, civilization, he could actually weep!- only to find a player in his way. The player is well armed and muscular, quite good looking, actually, with piercing teal eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He offers Bravo a pleasant smile, showing off straight white teeth.

“Oh, hello!” Bravo greets him, offering back a hesitant smile. “I uh, I was just headed to the city, actually, if that’s alright?”

The player’s eyes light up. “Aw yeah, man, it’s just this way,” he says amiably. “Here, I can show you.”

Bravo breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh good, yes, that’d be fantastic,” he says gratefully. “Thank you.”

So much for ‘bad people.’ Take that, Not-Jimmy! See, all it took was some basic civility. Just because most players around here resort to acting like complete brutes doesn’t mean all of them do, and it doesn’t mean Bravo has to stoop to their level. Simple decency and good manners can go a long way-

“I just need you to pay the toll, first.”

Bravo’s mind comes screeching to a halt. “Toll?” he repeats.

The player nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, to get into the city.” His smile grows wider, somehow looking less kind. “Papa Al’s gotta keep the place running somehow, right?”

Bravo’s heart jolts. “I uh, I’m afraid I don’t have much on me,” he says with a faint laugh. “See, I just respawned not long ago, all I’ve got is some stone tools, some extra planks, uh…” He quickly rifles through his inventory. “... two mushrooms?”

“Oh man,” the player tuts, “that’s not gonna be enough.”

Desperation rises up inside Bravo. “Listen, you- you can take everything I’ve got, alright, I just can’t keep wandering around this wasteland-”

“Too bad,” the player chuckles, equipping a sword. “I think Papa Al would’ve liked you.”

Bravo was slain by bXMiner.

Back to spawn.

Not-Jimmy must sense Bravo isn’t in the mood to talk about it, because he doesn’t say anything.

~*~

“What’s this?” a distorted voice chitters from the unseen shadows above. “A new player in my cave?”

The light of Bravo’s torch illuminates the figure for only a second- a giant, multi-legged player with fuzzy wings and antennae- before a horrible screech fills his ears.

Bravo was slain by OpalescentMoth.

~*~

“I’m sorry,” Bravo says hesitantly, “but no deal.”

“Oh, come on,” the player croons, “it’s a great deal, a wonderful deal! I get all your stuff, and in return, you get the best bodyguard in all of Hels protecting you.”

Bravo eyes the gray-skinned man. “What if you just take all my stuff and then leave?” he asks warily.

“Ohoho, what if, indeed?” the player smirks, drawing an enchanted bow.

Bravo was shot by BadTimesWithScar.

~*~

Bravo carefully disables the tripwire; another hidden trap he’d nearly stumbled into. He barely has a second to feel proud of himself before he hears the click of an observer updating, and the ground is retracted out from under him.

The pit isn’t very far down, but unfortunately, it’s filled with cactus.

“Why?!” Bravo screams as his skin is torn to shreds.

Bravo was pricked to death.

~*~

Bravo pauses to catch his breath, wiping away the sweat that’s beaded on his forehead.

The terrain is starting to slope uphill now, and he wants to conserve his hunger as best he can; there are only two bowls of mushroom stew left in his inventory, and then he’ll have to eat rotten flesh. He’s several days out from spawn- the farthest he’s ever gotten, actually- following alongside a lava river. The light it puts off is enough to keep mobs from spawning nearby, and at least this way, he’s less likely to get lost.

Bravo took the same route he’s taken before to get away from spawn, so the resource availability is still slim pickings. Mining hadn’t been very profitable. This time, he used what little iron he found to craft a sword. It’s already helped him fend off the wandering zombies, and just having the weapon in his hand makes him feel less helpless.

He’s got a good supply of wood and plenty of stone from mining, enough to make a full set of tools. He’s picked up a few things that are pretty useful, like skeleton bones (if he ever meets an untamed wolf) and enough string to make a bow (even though he only has a couple arrows). And he even got a leather chestplate from a zombie that’s only lost half its durability.

This time, Bravo’s managed to completely avoid any near-death situations. He hasn’t even lost any health, taking extra care when navigating the terrain so as not to take any fall damage. He’s got a little food stocked up, unpalatable though it may be, and he’s finally on his way to making real progress. And for the first time in a long time, he’s actually feeling hopeful about his prospects.

Then two figures come over the horizon.

The players are both quite a lot bigger than Bravo, but their appearances are very different from each other. One of them is some kind of cat hybrid, with rounded ears and a long tail covered in dark spots. The other is a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man with ghastly green skin. They’re both fully armored and holding swords.

Bravo freezes, his stomach dropping. There isn’t anywhere he can hide; he’s got the lava river on one side and a nether waste on the other. If he makes a break for it, a couple good shots with a bow will quickly send him back to spawn, forcing him to start from scratch again. Maybe if he doesn’t move, they won’t notice him-

“Hey!”

Oh, hell.

The players are walking towards him now, wearing matching grins. They look curious, at least, and not outright hostile, but Bravo’s been wrong before.

Well, no avoiding them now. Better try diplomacy.

“Oh, hey there,” Bravo calls, trying to make his voice casual. “How you folks doin’?”

The players come to a stop before Bravo, looking him up and down. Up close, they’re even more imposing, and Bravo’s heart sinks. He takes a step back, but there’s nowhere else to go- his boot’s only inches away from the edge of the lava river.

“What’cha think, Claw?” the man says to his partner.

“I dunno, Z,” the cat person, Claw, muses, pulling up their communicator. “He doesn’t have the best track record.”

Bravo blinks, taken aback. “Uh, excuse me?”

“The Arena needs fodder, don’t it?” the man, Z, continues to Claw, as if Bravo hadn’t even spoken. “Something to warm up the real fighters?”

Claw snorts. “Thought that was your job.”

“Listen,” Bravo interjects, “there’s- there’s no need to talk about me like I’m not here, you know. If you guys need something, I’ll be happy to help-”

“Aw, he wants to help,” Z laughs, elbowing Claw in their side. “How cute.”

Bravo’s blood starts to boil. Whatever plan these two players and their ‘arena’ have for him, they seem perfectly content to discuss it as if he has no say at all. As if there’s nothing he could possibly say or do to change it.

Bravo makes a decision. “Get out of my way,” he snaps, tightening his grip on his sword. “I’m leaving.”

Claw’s green eyes light up with humor. “Ooh, look, still got some fire in him,” they snicker, lips curling back to show off large, curved fangs. “Let’s see how he does against our champion.”

Bravo knows he should be afraid. But all he can feel is rage.

He’s sick of being hunted. He’s sick of being killed. He’s sick of barely scraping by and struggling to survive. He’s sick of not knowing where he is or where he’s going. He’s sick of being treated like a punching bag, like some pathetic weakling who can’t stand up for himself. And most of all, he’s sick of ending up back at spawn and seeing those big sad eyes over and over and over again, that hoarse whisper of a voice asking him to give up, to give in and accept defeat, to waste away into nothing because that’s better than the alternative, what other choice does he have?-

“It’s dangerous out there… for people like us.”

Bravo was slain by-

-the cold metal of a blade cutting into his neck-

“Then allow me to give you a proper welcome.”

Bravo was slain by-

-sharp teeth closing down around his skull, piercing through skin and flesh and bone with a sickening crunch-

“Don’t say… I didn’t warn you…”

Bravo was slain by-

-an arrow pierces through his ribcage, puncturing a lung. He chokes on his blood until another arrow lands between his eyes-

“You picked a bad time to get lost, pal!”

Bravo was slain by-

-the horrible smell of burning flesh reaches his nose as flames lick across his skin-

“Oh man, that’s not gonna be enough.”

Bravo was slain by-

Bravo was slain-

Bravo was slain-

He’s so fucking sick of it.

“Aw, look,” Claw purrs, their tail lashing back and forth with amusement. “He’s mad, so scary.”

Z chuckles. “Save it for the Arena, pal,” he says, summoning a pair of shackles from his inventory.

Bravo sees red.

~*~

Claw was slain by Bravo.

Z tried to swim in lava to escape Bravo.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, Timmy watches from his hidden perch in the cliffside as two figures appear at spawn.

They’re big, and they’re angry. Timmy can’t make out everything from this distance, but he thinks he might recognize them- they like to prowl around spawn every now and then to capture new players for the Arena. They pondered taking Timmy once, before deciding he wouldn’t put up enough of a fight to be entertaining.

(‘Not even good enough to be crow bait,’ they’d said, not even recognizing the irony in that statement.)

They’re formidable players. Not easily overpowered. And prior to their respawn, they were likely well-geared up. Enchanted diamond at a minimum, if not netherite (the Arena is quite a lucrative business). Last time Timmy saw Bravo, only days ago, he had nothing.

And yet somehow, Bravo’s killed them.

“Oh…” Timmy murmurs to himself sadly. “I guess… I was wrong about him.”

His communicator beeps as a message flashes through the chat.

Bravo: nevermind. i figured it out.

~*~

Chapter Text

from eden, part III - babe, there’s something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don’t you agree?

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player respawns in a tree.

He’s disoriented, an explosion still ringing in his ears as he blinks against the sudden sunlight. Leaves tickle his face- he jerks back instinctively, then his stomach lurches as he almost loses his balance, yelping in surprise. His mind is racing, rational thought struggling to surface against residual panic and adrenaline. Only a second ago, he’d been deep inside a cave fighting off a horde of mobs, and the next-

Clinging to a tree branch with one hand, he uses the other to pull up his communicator.

Tango was blown up by Creeper.

SolidarityGaming died.

The memory comes rushing back; fending off mobs, backing up beneath an overpass, the sudden appearance of a creeper in front of him as the air filled with the sound of hissing-

“No!” Tango wails, the drawn-out cry devolving into hysterical laughter as realization sinks in.

He’s just gotten himself- and his soulmate, because oh right, soulmates are a thing here- killed by a creeper. The first deaths of the newly generated world, in which the goal is to be the last pair standing. And it was a creeper, a stupid creeper of all things! Oh, what a horrible start.

Tango feels the flames of rage licking at him- the blaze rods around his head burning with fire- and forces himself to take a deep, calming breath before he sets the whole forest ablaze. He exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Well-”

“What happened, Tango?”

Tango’s ears prick at the sudden voice. Startled, he whips his head around- and nearly falls out of the tree in the process. He recognizes the voice, though he isn’t as familiar with its owner as he is with some of the other players in this world.

SolidarityGaming. Also known as Jimmy. Also known, now, as Tango’s soulmate.

And the guy Tango just got killed.

There’s something almost familiar about this. Their first real meeting, back on Third Life, involved Jimmy losing his life to Tango’s game of risk. They’d hardly spoken before that, and have hardly spoken since. And here they are now, reeling from the revelation that they’re soulbound and fresh off a death that Tango caused.

The universe just loves messing with Tango, doesn’t it?

“Oh, hi! Hi!” Tango stammers out, disbelief still coursing through him.

“Um…” Jimmy sounds like he’s in shock, too. His voice isn’t far off. “Wait, where are you?”

Tango glances around. “Are you- are you here?”

“Yeah…”

Peering through the leaves, Tango’s gaze falls on a figure standing just across from the tree; a man with large golden wings. His wide brown eyes scan the little mountaintop forest, one hand raking through his dirty blond hair.

Tango carefully pulls himself up into a sturdier perch, poking his head out from the canopy. “How- what are the chances of that? I die, and now we’re linked, and now I- oh, 'cause you died too, I’m so sorry…” His shoulders creep up by his ears as guilt sweeps through him, his voice climbing a couple octaves. “I’m so sorry.”

Jimmy blinks up at him, looking stunned. And surprisingly, not angry. “How- take me through it,” he says, holding out a hand. “What’s- what’s happened there?”

“Uh, there was some caving…” Tango explains sheepishly, feeling his face heat up. “And then there might have been… about seven zombies and a spider, and a-”

Pain suddenly jabs Tango in the side; Jimmy’s just been rammed by a goat.

“You’re being butted!” Tango exclaims, scrambling down from the tree.

“Yeah, lemme…” Jimmy is already backing away from the goat, eyebrows raised as one hand absently rubs his side. The goat, for its part, seems to have made its point and trots off into the forest. Shaking his head, Jimmy turns away from it.

Tango, standing in front of his soulmate for the first time, feels his stomach lurch with nerves. Jimmy’s a few inches taller, though his broad shoulders and well-built arms make him feel a lot bigger- as do the wings poking up behind him.

What an introduction.

Belatedly, Tango realizes they’ve both lost everything, and covers his face with his hands. “Oh no…” he groans. Oh, Jimmy must hate him already-

“So,” Jimmy continues, his voice still neutral even as he starts pacing around the clearing, “you just… you got blown up by caving?”

Tango nods vigorously, rushing to explain. “And then- and then I was focusing on the army approaching me from one direction, and uh… yeah. The ol’ ‘creeper from behind’ trick.”

“Oh… my gosh,” Jimmy breathes, his wings ruffling behind him as he paces.

“I am so sorry,” Tango murmurs anxiously. He scans Jimmy’s face for any indication of anger, but it’s still markedly absent. In fact, his expression is almost reminiscent of a smile- that same incredulous humor Tango was feeling, where all he can do is laugh at the situation.

“Right,” Jimmy says, stopping to face Tango. He sounds like his mind is going a mile a minute. “Let’s meet up in a bit- I need to go get my stuff before it- before it despawns.”

And just like that, they’re straight to business.

Jimmy’s surprisingly easy to talk to. They discuss how to proceed with getting geared up again- with only minimal scrambling and panic (which they even end up laughing about). Jimmy thinks he knows where he died, while Tango is, of course, clueless (should’ve been paying more attention, stupid). Jimmy doesn’t admonish Tango for killing them, brushing off his apologies and self-deprecating comments about it (“No, no, it’s gonna happen all the time today.”), gently redirecting whenever Tango’s frustration seeps through. And the only time Tango sees him truly upset is at the revelation that Tango’s lost his goat horn.

Which, all things considered, is a stupidly endearing reason to be upset.

By the time they split up to gather resources, most of Tango’s frustration has ebbed. He’s still mad at himself for being so reckless with their lives, and he isn’t looking forward to starting from scratch again, but he’s… cautiously optimistic.

Sure, they haven’t gotten off to the best start, and they don’t really know each other all that well. But nevertheless, it doesn’t feel like he and Jimmy will have any problem getting along.

And in a game like this, that makes all the difference.

~*~

“Should we…” Tango hesitates, looking down at Jimmy as he crouches by their furnace. “Should we- I mean, given that we’re linked… should we maybe make a little happy house together somewhere, and call it base?”

The light from the furnace’s flame flickers warmly across Jimmy’s face. “I think so,” he replies thoughtfully, tossing Tango an iron sword and a pickaxe.

~*~

“I’m not good with building at all, Tango,” Jimmy warns him, “so um-”

Tango pauses, crafting table in hand. “Oh, I was hoping you would say you were!” he exclaims, spinning around to look at Jimmy. “You’re not the builder?” For some reason, he’d just assumed Jimmy would know more about building than him.

“Wh- wait, you’re not the builder?” Jimmy repeats, a bemused grin spreading across his face as he realizes they both seem to have made the same assumption.

“I’m not a builder, no!” Tango laughs, smacking his forehead. “Oh, well. We live in a dirt hut.”

Jimmy’s laughing, too. “We might be in trouble, here…”

~*~

Tango pauses in the middle of the cave’s passage. “You don’t- you don’t have any piece- you don’t have anything, do you?” he murmurs, a sudden pang of guilt seizing him.

“No, no, I’m bare bones,” Jimmy says good-naturedly, stopping to glance back over his shoulder.

Despite the utter lack of accusation in Jimmy’s tone, Tango winces. “Here,” he tosses Jimmy his iron boots, “here, here, take some boots, at least. Because if you die, I die, so...”

Jimmy scoops them up, quickly pulling them on. “Thank you, thank you,” he murmurs gratefully.

“We’ll share whatever we’ve got,” Tango says, following Jimmy as he leads the way out of the cave. “It’s pitiful, but…”

Jimmy’s wings ruffle as if in silent agreement, scattering a trail of golden feathers behind him.

~*~

“My man said he couldn’t build!”

Jimmy’s sudden voice is filled with pure, undisguised admiration. Tango immediately feels himself flush at the compliment- plus the denotation of ‘my man’- and quickly laughs it off. “It’s a box, it’s a box, alright,” he says dismissively, dropping down from the wall- then sheepishly ducking his head when Jimmy yelps at the damage. “It’s not much…”

“This is good!” Jimmy says earnestly, patting him on the shoulder as he passes.

Tango huffs a laugh. At least Jimmy has a good sense of humor. “Thank you!” he says with mock pride.

“Crafting table for the step, look at this!” Jimmy excitedly hops up into the threshold of the house, his wings fluttering behind him.

Tango chuckles to himself as he follows Jimmy inside. “Oh, I know,” he drawls, putting on airs. “Super fancy, right? Look at this- multi block usage… I know, I know.” As if this silly little wood and cobblestone shack could even hold a candle to what the other people in this world are capable of building-

“It’s looking great, dude,” Jimmy says softly, his voice completely genuine as he stands back to look at the house. “It’s looking amazing.”

Tango rubs the back of his neck, his laugh suddenly a bit nervous as he realizes Jimmy is being sincere. “Feel free to uh… help out,” he says, pulling a face. “It’s a little bit uh, you know…” He trails off into some incoherent noises that more or less reflect his feelings about the current state of the build.

Jimmy just smiles and shakes his head. He hops back off the front step and pulls something from his inventory. “Look at my hand,” he says, watching Tango eagerly. “I got it.”

It takes Tango a second. “What’d you- oh! Look at you!” he exclaims; Jimmy’s returned from his travels with a bucket of water, which they need for farming. Tango breaks into a grin, putting his hands on his hips. “You go out on a mission, and you come back with goods. This is what I like to see, this is what I like in a partner. Well done.”

Jimmy looks rather pleased, ducking his head. “Thank you.”

Warmth blooms in Tango’s chest, reflecting the heat from his blaze rods. This day isn’t turning out half bad, after all.

~*~

“Tango?”

Tango’s ears prick at the sound of Jimmy’s voice, straining to make it out above all the clucking. “Yes?” he calls, starting to climb out of what he’s affectionately dubbed ‘the chicken hole.’

“Um…” Jimmy doesn’t sound too far off.

“How’s it goin’?” Tango prompts, climbing the ladder back up to the main floor of their house. He thinks he might see the top of Jimmy’s head through the door’s tiny window.

“Where are you?” Jimmy asks, his voice humming with anticipation.

“I’m in the house…?” Tango finally reaches the door and pulls it open. Then he gasps.

Jimmy is standing outside with four cows.

“Oh! You’re amazing!” Tango cries excitedly, jumping down from the front stoop as Jimmy starts laughing. “Oh, you are so- look at you! You have a beef army- look at this!”

“I have a family!” Jimmy beams, patting the nearest cow on the nose as it starts sniffing after the wheat in his other hand. “Welcome to the family!”

Together, they start the process of moving the cows inside- since they don’t have any kind of barn or paddock to put them in just yet. Tango eagerly informs Jimmy of his success with the chicken operation, which Jimmy is delighted by.

“We’re just raising animals now,” Tango laughs. That combined with the budding farm outside almost makes this feel like a normal survival world, like they’re just taking care of all the early game things rather than preparing for a death game.

“We’re good for something,” Jimmy jokes. “We’re good for something…”

“Ranchers,” Tango agrees. “Team rancher.”

He rather likes the sound of that.

~*~

By the end of the day, Tango can safely say he’s happy with their progress.

They’ve got a respectable wheat farm growing outside, right next to their mineshaft entrance. The cows have been moved to a little enclosure next to the ranch that Jimmy built, and the automatic chicken farm is chugging away collecting eggs.

They haven’t had any more mishaps, aside from Joel coming by to antagonize them and incidentally taking them down to two hearts. Jimmy was unsuccessful in his bid to get a goat horn from Grian, but Tango has promised they’ll work on that tomorrow. The chorus of horns going off every ten minutes is a potent motivator- Jimmy gets more and more distressed every time it happens because he can’t join in. Privately, Tango wonders if that’s an avian thing or just Jimmy’s dislike for being left out.

But it isn’t until the sun sets and they’re both standing inside the ranch, bidding each other good night, that Tango realizes there’s one very important thing they’ve neglected.

They have only one bed.

In all their travels during the day, neither of them happened to pick up enough wool to make a second bed, too preoccupied with cows and chickens and begging for resources to think about finding sheep. The single white bed pushed up against the wall suddenly looks blatantly, painfully small.

There’s an awkward pause as the realization settles over both of them.

Tango clears his throat. “Uh, I’ll just-”

“You should take it,” Jimmy says, at the same time.

They both stop talking, looking at each other expectantly, then letting out sheepish laughs.

“No, no,” Tango says, waving his hand, “go ahead and take the bed tonight, I’ll just- I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Uh, no, it’s okay,” Jimmy insists, “I’ll take the floor. You spent all day building this house, it’s the least I can do-”

“Nuh uh,” Tango cuts in firmly. “Look, I don’t really get cold, alright?” He gestures absently at the blaze rods floating around his head. “Just take the bed, okay, we’ll find some sheep tomorrow.”

Jimmy hesitates for a moment, clearly wanting to argue, but Tango’s expression must deter him. “Alright,” he relents finally. He glances away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, thank you.”

“No problem,” Tango replies, relieved to have convinced him otherwise. He already cost Jimmy a life today; it’d feel wrong to rob him of a warm bed, too. Besides, Tango is more than used to going without one.

Jimmy flutters about the house, blowing out their torches as Tango gets settled in a corner. “Good night, then,” Jimmy offers, climbing into the bed.

“Night,” Tango says, folding his arms and tucking his chin to his chest.

The ranch lapses into silence- aside from the near constant mooing and clucking, of course. Tango figures he’ll learn to tune it out eventually- that is, assuming they stay here a while. This is a death game, he reminds himself. Even if things go well, they might not be here all that long.

In spite of the mild discomfort of Tango’s position, he feels himself nodding off fairly quickly, his blaze rods starting to dim. It’s been a long day of hard work, and he’ll need all the rest he can get for whatever tomorrow brings…

A creaking sound reaches Tango’s ears.

Tango’s fully awake in an instant, eyes flying open. His vision rapidly adjusts to the dark- a perk of being part nether mob- and he can just make out the shape of Jimmy, tossing and turning in bed. His wings are fanned out and tucked tightly against his body, like a massive blanket. Beneath the rustling sound, Tango can hear what sounds suspiciously like shivering.

“Jimmy?” he whispers.

The shuffling stops. Jimmy’s sheepish voice comes after a moment.

“... yes?”

“Are you cold?” Tango asks, sitting up.

Another pause. “... no?” Jimmy says, unconvincingly.

Tango frowns. The bed is against the wall that’s right next to the fence of their cow enclosure- and as a result, not fully sealed against the outside. Even the cows are huddled together in the corner, keeping each other warm with their shared body heat as wind blows through the holes in the outer walls.

Tango feels a cold prick in his own chest, the sensation taking him by surprise. Is he feeling Jimmy’s coldness through their soulbond?

“Uh, okay,” Tango says, knitting his brows together, “it’s just, you seem kinda cold.”

“I’m fine,” Jimmy says meekly. “Sorry to keep you up, I’ll be quiet-”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Tango reassures him. “I’m just wondering how we’re gonna stop you from turning into a popsicle overnight.”

Jimmy huffs a soft laugh. “Really, Tango, it’s- it’s alright. I’ll just suck it up.”

Tango chews on his lip, hesitating. “You know, I uh… I happen to function as a portable heater, myself,” he ventures, trying for a joking tone. “If you are in need of such a service, I mean…”

“Oh no, no, I don’t wanna impose,” Jimmy says quickly, sounding flustered.

Inexplicably, Tango feels himself blush. “Hey, it’s- it’s no problem,” he laughs, hoping to brush off the awkwardness of the situation. “I mean, it’d be more of an imposition if I woke up in the middle of the night taking damage from hypothermia, right? We’re soulbound, after all.”

“We are soulbound,” Jimmy murmurs, wavering.

“It’s not a big deal,” Tango insists. “Plus, neither of us will get any rest if you’re over there shivering all night. I can uh, I can sort of feel the chill, through our soulbond.”

“Oh.” Jimmy sounds taken aback. “Well, um, alright then-”

“Only if you want!” Tango adds hastily, not wanting Jimmy to feel pressured. “I just- you know, there’s no need for you to be freezing when I’m basically part furnace.”

That gets another chuckle out of Jimmy. “Yeah no, it’s alright, I…yes, that’d be nice, thank you.”

“Cool.” Tango rises to his feet and wanders over to the bed, fighting back a wave of awkwardness. “Um, hi. So- so how do we…?”

“Uh, here.” Jimmy shifts over to one side of the bed, tucking his wings close against his back. “Um… come on in? Oh- oh my gosh, sorry, that’s weird.”

Tango lets out a nervous laugh. “Right, here I come.” Then he immediately cringes.

What is wrong with him? They’re just two players, sharing a bed for warmth. And they’re soulmates, no less. They already share hearts, hunger, and actual lives- what’s a bed, compared to that? It’s fine, it’s nothing.

With that final thought of encouragement, Tango eases himself onto the bed. His knee bumps against Jimmy almost immediately, which leads to mutual whispered apologies and further readjusting, the bed creaking under their combined weight. As Tango moves to turn onto his side, he accidentally elbows Jimmy in the ribs- they both freeze and inhale sharply at the shared pain.

After what feels like an eternity, they finally get settled, laying back to back. The feathers of Jimmy’s wings tickle the back of Tango’s neck.

“Well, g’night,” he breathes.

“Night,” comes Jimmy’s soft reply.

They fall into silence.

Tango stares at the opposite wall. Where only minutes ago he’d been half asleep, now he’s wide awake- hyper aware of Jimmy breathing next to him, not daring to move. Jimmy seems to have stopped shivering, at least, which is good. That was the whole point, right?

The minutes pass like this, in silent stillness, until Tango’s exhaustion starts to win out over his nerves. His eyelids droop, blaze rods fizzling out and settling on the pillow. They tend to extinguish when he’s asleep, so he usually doesn’t have to worry about starting fires in the middle of the night- except for when he has nightmares.

But Tango has a feeling that won’t be a problem tonight. He just hopes Jimmy is able to get some rest, too, as he finally drifts off to sleep.

~*~

Morning comes soon enough, rousing Tango from a deep, dreamless sleep.

The animals are already clamoring to be fed and there’s light behind Tango’s closed eyelids, but he isn’t quite ready to get up yet. He’s pleasantly warm and well-rested, and surprisingly comfortable. For a moment he simply lays where he is, letting awareness slowly trickle back to him, soothed by the steady rise and fall of his pillow-

Wait. His pillow is breathing?

Tango cracks an eye open, and then he stops breathing.

Somehow, at some point during the night, he’d ended up curled against Jimmy, resting his head on the other’s chest. Jimmy’s wings have come up to cradle them, one arm awkwardly pinned under Tango’s shoulders while the other one is splayed above his head, across the pillow- and his hand is curled loosely around one of Tango’s blaze rods. He looks to still be sleeping deeply, his expression smooth and peaceful, eyelashes casting shadows across his cheeks.

Oh, they are way too close.

A million different thoughts and emotions rush through Tango, culminating in a feeling like an alarm going off in his skull. This is- how did this happen?! Oh, how embarrassing- when Jimmy agreed to share the bed he probably hadn’t anticipated cuddling. Tango can’t think of a time he’s ever been this close to another player, much less someone he doesn’t know very well. Soulmate or no, it’s not- he shouldn’t-

His distress must be reflected in his blaze rods’ temperature, because Jimmy’s hand suddenly twitches. He lets out a soft groan, eyelids fluttering- he’s waking up.

Panic seizes Tango. He quickly closes his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath through the nose as he wills his blaze rods to dim, so as not to give him away. He manages to keep his breathing steady, despite how madly his heart is pounding, and desperately hopes none of his current anxiety is visible in his expression.

Tango feels the moment Jimmy finally stirs. He starts to roll onto his side and then freezes- his chin must be right above Tango’s head, because he actually hears Jimmy gulp. A shiver runs through his wings before they slowly lift away from the bed. Jimmy shifts in place, carefully slipping his arm out from under Tango at a snail’s pace.

Tango, for his part, pretends to be dead to the world. He does not want to confront the awkwardness of this situation if he can help it.

After a couple painstaking minutes, Jimmy manages to free himself. The bed creaks as he moves to get up- which makes him freeze, breath catching- before he finally gets a leg up and over the side. Tango feels the moment his weight leaves the bed, and then soft footsteps wander around the ranch. The cows start mooing with renewed insistence.

“Shh,” Jimmy whispers, his voice coming from over by the cow pen. The mooing stops as the air fills with the sound of munching. With the cows satiated for the moment, Jimmy’s footsteps move over towards the wall of chests. The slow creak of a chest opening and closing echoes through the room, before Jimmy’s footsteps disappear down the ladder to the chicken farm.

Relief sweeps through Tango. Well, he pulled it off. And if they don’t have to confront what happened, then it’s like it never happened at all.

He waits until Jimmy comes back upstairs and has been rummaging around for a few minutes to finally turn over in bed, sluggishly stretching his arms out. He makes a big show of yawning as he sits up, rubbing his eyes before looking around.

“Mornin’,” he greets Jimmy with a perfectly casual smile. “Sleep alright?”

Jimmy’s face reddens. “Yup,” he says stiffly, turning back to the chest he was sorting through.

Tango hums his assent, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. There’s an uncomfortable tension in the room, but that’s to be expected. Once they get going and start the day, he’s sure things will go back to normal.

A familiar sound rings out in the distance, making Tango groan. “And already, the horns- with the mocking- continues, as always,” he sighs, tossing the covers off.

Jimmy pauses for a moment, his shoulders hitching up, before he makes a noncommittal noise and goes back to his business.

Tango blinks. “So uh- whaddaya say we make that the quest for today, then?” he prompts lightly, sliding out of bed and onto his feet. “Acquire some horns?”

“Um- actually,” Jimmy says, without turning around, “I was thinking- I figured we could use some more iron, you know? So I was gonna do some caving.”

“Oh.” Tango feels his smile drop off his face- and quickly summons it again. “Uh- right, yeah, no worries. Just uh, hey- watch out for creepers,” he jokes, crossing the small distance to Jimmy’s side.

“Alri- agh!” Jimmy yelps when he turns to find Tango right beside him, feathers flying through the air as his wings flare out in surprise. He quickly tries to cover up his reaction with a laugh that sounds incredibly forced, sidestepping around Tango towards the door. “Right, right, yeah- I’ll be careful. Um, back in a little while, then.”

The door closes behind him with a jarring sense of finality, leaving Tango in abrupt silence.

Exhaling slowly, Tango pries open a chest to find himself some breakfast. This is fine. Jimmy’s probably just a little embarrassed about what happened last night, and needs some space. As long as Tango doesn’t bring it up, it’s sure to pass, and they can get back to business.

After all, he reminds himself, they’ve got a death game to win.

~*~

In Jimmy’s absence, Tango decides to make himself useful.

The ranch is in dire need of an upgrade. He starts construction on a second floor- a wonky watch tower hardly deserving of the name- and extends the wall past the cow’s pen a little more, to help with the draft. Dipping below ground for a bit, he gathers up enough cobblestone to build a perimeter around the ranch, carrying it right towards the edge of the cliff overlooking the ravine. And finally, he ventures out into the forest and searches until he finds a sheep.

(The second bed goes against the opposite wall from the first one.)

All the while, he stays on top of their wheat farm, making small but frequent harvests. He breeds enough cows to start harvesting beef and leather- which he uses to fashion himself a leather chestplate and a pair of boots to go with his iron leggings. Deciding to run with the ‘poor’ look, he stashes a secret barrel underneath their wall of chests to keep the majority of their resources in, leaving the chests quite barren for anyone who happens to come by to snoop.

And once he’s at a loss for anything more to do, he takes an axe out to the neighboring birch forest and collects some logs- without straying too far from the ranch, of course. He’s got a feeling the cows are going to be a target- most of the lifers spend the first day slaughtering any animals they come across- and with Jimmy in the mine, it’s up to Tango to protect their livelihood.

He’s about to put a sign up on their main gate when a new voice reaches his ears, a low muttering not far away.

“Although there is no-”

“Hello?” Tango calls, whirling around.

“... hello?” comes Ren’s hesitant voice.

“Hello, good sir!” Tango says brightly, scanning the surrounding fields.

There’s a big exhale. “Scared the living heck outta me…” Ren’s head finally pops up over the hillside, breaking into a wide, fanged grin. “Tango! Hey man! What’s happenin’ baby, what’s happenin’?”

“How are you?” Tango greets him, waving a hand. “Welcome to Team Rancher!”

“Oh, hi!” In just a few strides of his long digitigrade legs, Ren’s come to stand beside Tango- towering over him, as usual. His ears perk up as he takes in the ranch. “Ooh…”

“I’m just- I’m just putting up the sign right now,” Tango says, scrawling ‘Team Rancher’ on the birch sign.

Ren hums, glancing back towards the forest. “Have you explored all these caves around here?”

“No, I haven’t.” Tango snorts. “I mean, just- does it look like I have explored caves? Just look at me.” He does a little spin to show off his mostly leather armor.

Ren laughs, ducking his head. “No, no, yeah…”

“That’s actually where Jimmy is right now,” Tango says, smoothing over his chestplate. Hopefully Jimmy will have found enough iron to get properly geared up-

“Oh, oh, alright, I see.” Ren tilts his head to the side. “Uh- you didn’t go with him?”

“... no?” Tango raises an eyebrow, forcing a laugh. “What, it takes two players to mine for some iron now? What’s- what do you mean?”

Ren holds his hands up. “I’m just sayin’, caves are dangerous, man. Though, I guess you’d know that better than anyone.”

Even though his tone was light and teasing, Tango bristles. “Oh, yeah? Well- well where’s your partner, huh?” he demands, putting his hands on his hips.

Ren gives him an odd look. “Bigb is back at Box, perfectly safe, thank you,” he replies. “You alright, man?”

“I’m fine,” Tango says shortly. “Why don’t you just run back to your soulmate, then? If everything’s so wonderful.”

“Um…” Ren blinks. “Okay, I’m gonna level with you, my dude. I came here to see if I could get ahold of some cows but clearly, there’s somethin’ else going on here that’s a bit more urgent.”

Tango squints at him suspiciously. “Wh- what?”

Ren gives him a knowing look, peering over the brim of his shades. “You havin’ soulmate troubles, dude?”

Tango isn’t proud of the squeaking noise he makes. “What? No!” he insists quickly. “No, no, not at all!”

“Really?” Ren asks, dubious. “'Cause it really seems like you are.”

Tango exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. “It’s- it’s nothing, alright? I’m sorry I snapped,” he says, his voice calmer. “Look, if you wanna trade for some cows, I think we can arrange something.”

Ren hesitates. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I…” A sudden thought hits Tango. “Actually, do you have any goats?”

That redirects Ren’s attention. “Uh, there’s some goats hangin’ out near Box, yeah?” he says, looking taken aback.

“Oh! Oh, good!” Tango exclaims, clapping his hands together. “Okay, uh, how about- how about two cows for two goats?”

“Yeah? You mean it?” Ren asks excitedly, his tail swishing side-to-side. “That’d be amazing, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do it.” Tango waves for Ren to follow him as he turns back towards the ranch. “Right this way, sir.”

If this doesn’t cheer Jimmy up, Tango doesn’t know what will.

~*~

Once Tango brings the goats back to the ranch and gets them settled in a new enclosure, the rest of the day is fairly uneventful.

Martyn wanders by at some point, lamenting his and Pearl’s rejection by their soulmates, Cleo and Scott. He asks where Jimmy is- probably looking to antagonize him- so Tango just shrugs and says, “Out.” That earns him a look with far too much sympathy in it for his taste, so he tells Martyn to take a hike.

Scar rides in on a beautiful dapple grey horse, inquiring about leather. He claims some kind of debt that Jimmy owes him, which Tango conveniently can’t confirm nor deny. Ultimately, Tango gives the leather to Scar just to make him leave, because he knows by now that Scar and chaos go hand-in-hand, and it’s not like they can’t spare it.

Then Pearl, inexplicably red despite having yet to lose a life, comes across the ranch to see if Tango knows where a dog is. He doesn’t, but she spots his goats and offers to tell him how to get horns in exchange for food of the cooked beef variety- of which he now has plenty. He agrees, and she informs him he needs to make the goats ram stone.

Tango files that information away for later and bids Pearl farewell. The horns still go off frequently, tempting him to try and get one of his own, but he restrains himself. It’ll be better to do it when Jimmy’s back.

It’s nearly dark when Tango finally hears footsteps coming up the mineshaft. He drops what he’s doing and rushes outside, jumping around the corner of the house.

“Heya, partner!”

Jimmy lets out a high-pitched shriek, sending up a spray of feathers. “Oh my gosh!” He clutches his heart, face flushed. “You- you scared me.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tango chuckles. He bounces on his toes. “So, how was the mining? Did you get all the good stuff and things?”

“Uh, well…” A bit shyly, Jimmy pulls his inventory up. “Only… a stack and fifteen iron ore.”

“Woah!” Tango gasps. “Oh, that’s amazing! Look at you!”

“Thank you, thank you,” Jimmy says, bowing his head. Then he takes a look around, his eyes widening. “Oh wow, look at you, you’ve been busy!” He cranes his head up at the ranch. “You even added a tower!”

“It’s not pretty,” Tango admits, “but hey, it’s something.”

“And does this wall go ‘round the whole perimeter?” Jimmy asks, raising his eyebrows.

Tango nods eagerly. “Uh huh, uh huh- and that’s not even the best part.” He grabs Jimmy by the wrist, tugging him around to the front of the ranch. “C’mere, c’mere!”

Jimmy laughs as Tango pulls him along, then they come to a stop in front of the goat pen. He blinks at it in confusion before a goat happens to spring into the air, high above the wall. His mouth falls open. “Oh… my gosh.”

“Mmhmmm!” Tango hums, quite pleased by the reaction.

Jimmy gives him a shocked look. “No-”

“Oh, yes,” Tango grins.

“You got goats!” Jimmy exclaims, clapping a hand to his forehead.

“I got goats!” Tango agrees proudly. “We’ve got goat technology!”

Jimmy rushes over to the front gate of the pen, wings flapping excitedly. “Oh my gosh, look at them! There’s a whole family!”

“Pearl came by earlier and explained the process to me,” Tango says, walking up next to Jimmy. “We’ve gotta get them to charge at us and then jump out of the way, so they hit that stone wall back there. And then- and then we’ve got horns.”

Jimmy pauses, giving him a sidelong look. “You- wait, you haven’t got one yet?” he asks, knitting his brows together.

“No, no, I waited for you!” Tango assures him. He sweeps out an arm. “Would you like to do the honors, sir?”

Jimmy stares at him for a moment, an unreadable expression flashing across his face as his cheeks turn red. “Um… actually, I- I’m kind of beat, you know?” he says, his tone far more stilted than it just was. He takes a step back from Tango, glancing away. “I was thinking about just… turning in for the night.”

The abrupt change in demeanor throws Tango for a moment.

Guess they haven’t moved past the bed incident.

“Oh.” He shakes himself, forcing his tone to stay upbeat. “Oh, yeah, sure! Sure thing. You’ve been mining all day, I bet you’re exhausted…”

He follows Jimmy into the ranch- though he keeps his distance. Jimmy pauses, his gaze falling on the second bed almost immediately.

“Ah, you got another bed,” he says, his voice a bit wooden.

Tango shrugs as he carefully steps past him. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “I said I would.”

“Right. Good.” Jimmy hesitates, fidgeting with his hands for a moment, before he seems to make a decision. “Um, Tango-”

“There’s food in the barrel under the chest,” Tango says as quickly as he can while still remaining casual, pretending not to have heard Jimmy. “If you’re hungry.”

He has a sneaking suspicion that Jimmy was going to tell him about the bed thing- which, unbeknownst to him, Tango is already fully aware of. So really, there’s no point in discussing it. The longer they pretend it didn’t happen, the faster they can just move on.

“Oh.” Jimmy sounds taken aback, glancing over at the chests. “Alright, great. That’s- that’s pretty clever.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Tango says, turning towards his bed. Normally, the compliment would’ve made him quite pleased, but right now he just feels empty. “Well, g’night.”

“Night,” Jimmy echoes.

~*~

Tango doesn’t sleep much that night.

Jimmy’s the first to rise in the morning- which is starting to look like a habit of his- while Tango remains stubbornly lying in bed for a while longer. He has one arm flung across his face to block out the sunlight, listening to Jimmy’s quiet footsteps as he shuffles around the ranch, taking care of the animals.

Eventually his guilt wins out over his stubbornness- it’s not fair for Jimmy to do all the work around the ranch. But just as Tango sits up, his communicator goes off, an identical beep ringing out from Jimmy’s comm.

Grian: hey everyone, group meeting at spawn?

Renthedog: Feels kinda sus…

Grian: no tricks

Grian: time out ok?

impulseSV: Everything alright?

Grian: yeah yeah don’t worry

Grian: just need to talk about some things

Huh. That’s interesting.

Tango clears his throat, looking over at where Jimmy is smelting up the iron from yesterday’s haul. “You seein’ this?” he asks.

Jimmy doesn’t completely startle this time, though he still jumps a bit under Tango’s gaze. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “weird…”

“What do you think, should we- should we go?” Tango asks, shifting to sit at the edge of his bed. “Could be a trap.”

Jimmy shrugs a shoulder. “Well, he said time out, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Tango sighs, rising to his feet. “So uh, shall we get going?”

Jimmy nods, strapping a freshly made shield to his arm. “Yeah, let’s go.”

~*~

It’s an uneasy walk to spawn.

Tango is already on edge from the possibility of an attack, and Jimmy’s cold shoulder doesn’t help. His senses are on high alert as they make their way through the mountaintop forest, coming to a stop at the peak.

They aren’t the first players here- Grian and Scar, of course, are waiting expectantly, speaking to each other in low tones. Impulse and Bdubs are also present; they’re holding hands and laughing about something, Impulse’s forked tail curled loosely around Bdubs’ waist. Impulse catches Tango’s eye and lifts a hand in greeting, which Tango returns with a nod.

They settle in to wait. Tango leans against the nearest tree, folding his arms across his chest, as Jimmy stands awkwardly beside him. Being at spawn is bringing back memories of their death- something Tango might’ve looked back on with fond humor if Jimmy didn’t seem so uncomfortable.

The rest of the players trickle in over the next few minutes. Scott and Cleo don’t seem particularly enthused to be here- nor are they pleased by the way Pearl slinks after them, a dog at her side. She keeps her distance, but her gaze keeps drifting towards them, clear yearning in her eyes.

Etho and Joel splash down in the middle of the clearing, leaping from the treetops to land the silly little water bucket trick they’re so fond of. Bdubs immediately brightens at their arrival and strikes up conversation with Etho, which Impulse contributes to good-naturedly as Joel eyes them suspiciously.

Ren and Bigb are the last to arrive, their base being the furthest from spawn, with Martyn having tagged along with them at some point. He seems content to remain on Ren’s other side, though he casts a not-so-subtle glance in Cleo’s direction.

“Alright, we all here?” Grian starts, scanning the little circle they’ve formed. “Okay. I guess we’ll get started. Uh, thank you all for coming on such short notice-”

“What’s this about, Grian?” Joel asks bluntly.

Grian gives him a look. “Right, we’ll get into it straight away,” he huffs. “So, I’ve noticed over the last several days that uh, bloodthirstiness seems to be at an all-time low. Now, I know it sometimes takes a while for these things to get started, but the general consensus I’m getting is that… most of us are pretty happy where we are.”

Martyn makes an outraged noise. “Well, that’s easy for you to say!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up. “You got paired with Scar, and I’m over here soulmate-less!”

“Who’s fault is that, Martyn?” Cleo calls pointedly.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” Grian chides them. “My point is that this season doesn’t feel like the other ones. The only deaths we’ve had have been from mobs- and we didn’t even have any at all yesterday. Theft and sabotage are way down, and I have yet to see a single trap being constructed.”

Bdubs makes an incredulous noise. “Wh- hey, is this- is this just a lecture about us not killing each other fast enough?” he demands, crossing his arms. “'Cause uh- I mean, you better be careful what you wish for! I can- I’ll go nuts, if you want,” he threatens, his expression darkening.

The effect is somewhat diluted by Impulse chuckling and putting an arm around Bdubs’ shoulders. “Oh, he will,” he says, voice full of affection, “gotta watch out for this one.”

“It’s not a lecture,” Grian insists, exasperated. “I was just thinking that maybe we should change things up.”

“Wh- so you mean like a restart?” Pearl asks, not quite able to mask the hopeful note in her voice. Tango can see why that would be particularly appealing to her, as someone who had a falling out with her soulmate. It’d be a second chance, a chance to start again and not mess up this time.

Tango can relate.

“I would welcome that, actually,” Etho says, his motivation obvious as one of the only other yellow names.

But Grian shakes his head. “No, more like a rebranding,” he explains. “I propose that we end the death game. No more trying to kill each other.”

The group is silent for a moment.

Tango isn’t even sure what he’s feeling. “So… what would we be doing here, exactly?” he asks, frowning.

“Whatever we want,” Grian says with a grin. “For starters, I’d take down the world border. We could build wherever we want, make farms, go to the End. And most importantly, all our lives would go back to being infinite. No one gets eliminated.” His expression softens. “We just… live. Like it’s any other world.”

Scar subtly nudges Grian in the ribs, and Grian sighs.

“I’ll also unlock the enchanting table recipe,” he says, rolling his eyes. “So we don’t have to go to the Ancient City anymore.”

The clearing fills with chatter as pairs murmur to each other. Tango’s mind is spinning- he’s always loved a good death game, and was quite looking forward to this. But with the current state of things between him and Jimmy, he’s not sure it’d be worth it.

Jimmy leans forward, half-raising a hand. “Would our damage still be linked?” he asks, brows pinched together with concern.

Tango manages not to flinch. Of course Jimmy would want to know that, being stuck with the guy who got blown up by a creeper on day one.

Grian nods. “Yeah, it comes with the soulbond. I can give us back infinite lives, but we’ll all still be linked with our partners.”

“I dunno,” Etho drawls, his mismatched eyes utterly unreadable. “All the deception and murdering is pretty fun… and I’ve already got a survival world back home.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Grian says, holding up his hands, “if we did all agree to end the death game, no one would have to stay. We’d all be free to leave whenever we wanted, and travel back and forth between worlds. The bond only exists when you’re here.” He shrugs. “So leave if you want, I’ll ring you up when the next game comes. But don’t you think it’d be nice for us all to share a world without trying to kill each other for once?”

Cleo snorts. “Who are you,” she demands, folding their arms, “and what’ve you done with Grian?”

“Domestic life has changed you, Grian,” Scott drawls, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Grian’s wings flare out in what might be embarrassment. “Wh- oh come on, I know I’m not the only one who feels this way!” he protests, his voice a bit higher than it just was. “Scar, back me up, here.”

Scar’s eyes light up. “Yes! Yes, I think it’d be a wonderful opportunity to get to know each other better,” he says, clapping his hands together. “You know, us Hermitcraft people don’t really know the rest of you that well outside of trying to kill each other.”

“That’s a good point, actually,” Ren chimes in tentatively, scratching the back of his head as he exchanges a look with Bigb.

Bdubs clears his throat. “Uh, I, for one, would love to spend more time on this world, with my beloved,” he says, glancing up at Impulse with a broad smile. “I’m buildin’ a swimmin’ pool, and we’re gonna host a lovely party at our beautiful house!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m all for staying!” Impulse agrees readily, gazing back down at Bdubs with a similar fondness. “I think it’d be nice.”

Etho makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Oh come on, don’t ask the newlyweds,” he complains, his voice dancing across that line between teasing and actual annoyance. “Of course they’ll wanna stay.”

“You don’t, Etho?” Joel asks, sounding affronted.

“Look, we don’t have to decide right away,” Grian cuts in swiftly. He spreads his hands. “Take a couple days, talk it over with your partners, and then we’ll take a vote, alright?”

Mumbles of agreement filter through the group as they slowly start to disperse, going their separate ways. Tango catches Jimmy’s eye, only for the other to quickly turn away.

Well. This is gonna be a fun conversation.

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, two soulmates walk in silence.

Tango can tell Jimmy’s thinking a lot about what just happened- his wings ruffle unconsciously every minute and he’s picking at his fingernails. He’s probably trying to think of a nice way to tell Tango he doesn’t want to stay and be soulmates with him, because he’s a nice guy.

Tango supposes it wouldn’t be so bad to just go back to Hermitcraft. Focus on his builds for a bit. Another season will come along soon enough, once the rest of these lovestruck fools get tired of playing house. It’s not like he’s lost anything more than a couple day’s time.

So why does the idea of leaving sit so wrong with him?

When they make it back to the ranch, Jimmy stops in front of the door. “Um, Tango-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tango says, managing a tired smile. “I suppose we should discuss-”

“Can we talk about this later?” Jimmy asks, his voice pleading. “I just- I need some time to uh, think about some things.”

Tango’s voice dies in his throat.

This is torture. Why can’t they just get it over with? Clearly, Jimmy doesn’t want to be around him anymore. Whatever day one warm fuzzies he might’ve harbored have obviously faded. They should just rip the band-aid off now, instead of prolonging the inevitable-

His communicator beeps.

impulseSV whispered to you: Hey, can you come chat for a minute?

Tango puts his communicator away, exhaling slowly. “Yeah, no, no problem,” he tells Jimmy. “Take all the time you need. I’ll just uh, I’ll give you some space.”

He leaves without another word, and Jimmy doesn’t call after him.

~*~

Chapter Text

from eden, part IV - babe, there’s something lonesome about you, something so wholesome about you, get closer to me

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player approaches a house.

Impulse and Bdubs’ house is, for a world that’s only two days old, very impressive. Mid-century modern, Tango thinks it’s called. Smooth white walls with clean lines and geometric angles, contrasting against dark oak. A perfect compromise of their two preferred build styles- Impulse’s industrial modernism with Bdubs’ cozy charm. He comes to a stop at the front door, rapping his fist against it.

“Impulse?” he calls. “Hello, hello?”

“Tango, that you, buddy?” Impulse’s voice comes from within.

“Indeed it is,” Tango replies, drumming his fingers against his leg.

After a second, the door swings open. “Hey!” Impulse greets him, with a smile that shows off his pointed canines. “Come on in. Bdubs is outside working on the pool.”

Tango gives a sage nod. “Ah yes, of course.” He follows Impulse inside, craning his head around to take in the room. “Oh wow, this place is coming along nicely! Lookit- you’ve even got paintings!”

Impulse rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, it’s getting there,” he says amiably.

It’s mostly unfurnished, but the foundations are far nicer than what Tango cobbled together at the ranch. A stairwell leads to the second floor while the other half of the room is sunken down a step, carrying through that mid-century modern style from the exterior. His gaze falls on the pair of beds against the far wall, pushed right up against each other.

“So,” he says, if only to stall because he knows what Impulse really wants to talk about, “I hear you and Bdubs are married now?”

Immediately, a happy smile spread across Impulse’s face. “Yup, sealed the deal yesterday.”

Tango makes an incredulous noise. “Can’t believe I wasn’t invited, you jerk!” he scoffs, playfully elbowing Impulse in the side. “Does a near decade of friendship mean nothing anymore?”

(Even as he says it, he has to force down a wave of guilt- he’s kept a far greater secret from Impulse for that long.)

Impulse rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “We didn’t have a ceremony or anything!” he defends. “I gave him a clock.”

Instantly, Tango’s humor vanishes. He’d already been eliminated from Third Life when it happened, but he’d heard the story. Bdubs had betrayed Impulse over a clock. Stabbed his ally in the back with no warning. In retrospect, Tango shouldn’t have been so surprised when it happened to him in Last Life.

It cut him deeply, and had taken almost an entire season of Hermitcraft for him to forgive Bdubs for it. Yet here Impulse was, not only forgiving Bdubs but in love with him, willing to be married to him. Tango can’t understand it.

“How?” he asks hoarsely.

Impulse shrugs. “Well, I got pretty lucky with the redstone, it was the gold that took a while ‘cause I still don’t have a fortune pick-”

“No, not that.” Tango swallows, sitting down on the step. He wraps his arms around himself. “How… how did you know? I mean, what if…”

Realization flares in Impulse’s eyes. “It’s just the soulbond making us feel this way?” he finishes, sitting down next to him.

Tango nods mutely.

“Yeah, I asked Grian about that,” Impulse says, leaning forward on his knees. “He said the soulbonds can’t just magically make two random people fall in love. It works with what its got, amplifying feelings that are already there, making them more known, starting up a two-way conversation. So we can decide what to do with it.” He tilts his head. “And you know, it’s not always romantic. Scott and Cleo made that pretty clear.”

“Huh. I guess so,” Tango muses. He gives Impulse a sidelong look. “I uh, I didn’t know you felt that way, about Bdubs.”

Impulse nods. “It came as a bit of a surprise to me, too,” he admits. “I didn’t realize my ‘man crush’ had any real substance to it. But you know, I’ve been good friends with him for a while, so it just felt… natural.” That lovesick smile is back, and it looks right at home on his face. “I mean, you know Bdubs, he was all in right away. He’s got a big heart, and he’s never had a problem loving more than one person at a time.”

Tango quirks an eyebrow. “Someone else part of the equation?”

“Oh, not officially, no,” Impulse says, scratching his chin. “But even though he’s happy with me, he’s still pining after Etho.”

“Ah.” Tango isn’t surprised, though he’s slightly taken aback by the casual manner with which Impulse spoke. “And you’re… alright with that?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve always known he loved Etho,” Impulse says easily, “and that started long before I was even in the picture. I just want my soulmate to be completely happy, even if that means sharing him with someone else.” Now a bit of hesitancy enters his voice as his cheeks darken. “And uh, personally, I… wouldn’t mind seeing more of Etho. I’ve always kinda admired him, you know?”

“Oh,” Tango drawls, his eyebrows shooting up with realization. A grin splits across his face. “Well then, I hope that works out for you, my friend.”

Impulse ducks his head, but he’s smiling, too. “Thanks. He’s gonna talk to Etho about it soon, he’s just trying to get a read on Joel. I mean, as much as we’ve joked about being homewreckers, we don’t actually wanna impose on anyone’s relationship or anything.”

“Oh yeah, no, for sure,” Tango agrees. “You think they’re a thing?”

Impulse waves a hand. “Hard to say? Joel seems pretty enthusiastic, but come on, it’s Etho. I feel like almost everyone’s had a crush on him at one point or another,” he laughs. “Etho’s harder to read, of course. He and Joel don’t know each other that well, but who knows?”

Tango’s throat tightens. “Right, yeah…”

Impulse gives him a confused look before the realization hits. “Oh! No, no, I didn’t mean-”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Tango says, shrugging. “It’s true. I mean, Grian was sort of the bridge between us and the Empires crew, right, most of us hadn’t even spoken to each other before Third Life.”

Impulse is quiet for a moment. “... how is it going, with Jimmy?” he prompts tentatively.

There it is.

Tango makes a noncommittal noise, arms flailing. “It’s… confusing? Awkward? I don’t know! We were getting along just fine at the start, but there was this incident with a shared bed and now he seems… nervous? Or like, on edge. He’s avoiding me, he gets flustered easily- like if I bump into him or get too close, he gets all red and there’s feathers everywhere…” He swallows. “I’m uh. I’m kinda worried he hates me?”

Impulse blinks. “... uh-huh,” he says slowly. “You’re worried… that Jimmy hates you.”

“Yeah,” Tango frets, and oh boy, now the dam has burst, “I mean, we barely know each other and our first real meeting was when I tricked him into dying in Third Life- that’s not exactly the best first impression! Not to mention this whole situation,” he adds, frantically gesturing towards the blaze rods floating around his head. “Not every player is cool with mob hybrids or monster players, you know that.”

(Impulse’s curved horns and forked tail are almost an afterthought these days, his personality so different from the demonic creature Tango initially figured him as.)

“Tango, buddy,” Impulse says gently, “I don’t think he hates you.”

Tango knits his brows together. “You don’t?”

“I don’t,” Impulse affirms, inclining his head. “I don’t think he cares that you got him killed in Third Life, that’s just the game.” He chuckles. “I mean, I’m over here married to the guy who stabbed me in the back, right?”

“Well, that’s different,” Tango argues. “You’re- you’re a likable guy, alright? You get along with pretty much everyone, and you don’t hold grudges.”

“You think Jimmy does?” Impulse asks.

“No,” Tango replies instantly. Then he flushes. “I mean, I dunno! I wouldn’t blame him! If I were him, I’d be mad at me.”

The look in Impulse’s eye is a little sad, now. “You don’t think you should be forgiven for that?”

Tango opens his mouth, and then closes it again with a click, glancing away. There are a lot of things he shouldn’t be forgiven for. His obsession with tricking players into dying has never been just a game to him. If Impulse knew the truth, he’d feel differently.

Impulse sighs. “Well, I don’t think he dislikes that you’re part mob, either,” he says patiently. A smile pulls at his mouth. “He’s got a giant pair of wings, he’s not exactly a completely human player, either.”

“I mean, there are layers,” Tango protests, despite appreciating the change in conversation. “There’s nuance, and- and complexities to the situation! There’s internalized junk, right, and species prejudices, and mob instincts- I mean, the dynamics between hostile and peaceful mobs alone-”

“I don’t think that’s what’s going on,” Impulse cuts in, putting a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “I actually think he likes you.”

Tango’s mind comes screeching to a halt.

Jimmy… liking him? What in the world would Jimmy like him for? His absolutely abysmal survival skills? His utter inability to build anything even resembling a house? His habit of getting so worked up all his words get jumbled into incoherent spluttering? Or the fact that he’s always one moment away from setting something on fire?

When Tango speaks again, his voice is suddenly three octaves higher. “What?”

“What you described to me doesn’t sound like secret hatred,” Impulse explains, holding his gaze steadily, “it sounds like a crush.”

Tango’s eyes widen. “No, no, no, that can’t be it,” he says quickly, jumping to his feet. He tries for a laugh. “Trust me, that’s not- I didn’t explain it right, okay, there’s no way-”

“Tango, my friend,” Impulse says with a knowing look in his eye, “I think you like him, too.”

Oh.

Tango tries to protest but the words die in his throat, fizzling out into an embarrassing whine. His chest feels tight, his skin prickling unpleasantly with heat. He starts pacing almost unconsciously, raking his hands through his hair.

Him, liking Jimmy. Him, a creature of Hels- of fire, of darkness, of hatred- falling for one of the most kind, genuine players he’s ever met, with feathers the color of sunshine. Oh, the universe has a sick sense of irony, doesn’t it? He didn’t know it’d be like this, when he agreed to play the game.

Stupid heart, stupid feelings-

“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Impulse says softly, rising to his feet. “But the way I see it, this world has given us an amazing opportunity.” He puts a hand on his chest. “I mean, I can’t even describe what it’s like, feeling someone else’s love for you through a soulbond. It can be an incredible gift, if you want it.”

“If you want it, yeah,” Tango echoes, his thoughts drifting to Scott and Cleo, and Pearl and Martyn.

What must that rejection feel like, from someone who shares your hearts, your very life essence? Tango fears it would destroy him.

“Okay,” Impulse says, folding his arms, “um, let’s get into it, then. What are you afraid of?”

Tango gives a dry laugh. “Only all of it,” he replies helplessly. “I’ve never- I mean, this would be totally new territory for me. I’m… I’m no good at this kind of thing, alright? And- and I got us killed on the first day! If that’s not a bad omen, I don’t know what is.”

Impulse hums thoughtfully. “You know, most people around here would say that Jimmy’s the bad omen.”

Even Tango is surprised by the outraged squawk that escapes him. “Well, most people are stupid!” he retorts, his blaze rods roaring with fire before he wrestles his emotions back under control. He exhales sharply through his nose. “I mean, that’s stupid, he’s not a curse. That’s not even- it’s just bad luck, okay? It’s not his fault, he…” He trails off, flushing under Impulse’s deliberate look. “What?”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t worry so much,” Impulse says simply, an amused glint in his eye.

The fire leaves Tango as quickly as it had come.

Oh, he’s got it bad, doesn’t he?

Impulse must see it written on Tango’s face, because he sighs. “Look, I know it can be scary to open up your heart to people. And I’d never be one to think that no life is complete without romance. But just having a connection with other players, letting them be close to you… it can really enrich your life.” His voice fills with warmth. “My months with Boatem were some of the happiest I’ve ever had, in any world.”

Tango risks a glance up. “I… didn’t know Boatem was like that.”

“Well, me and Pearl weren’t involved the same way Grian, Scar, and Mumbo were, but still.” Impulse’s expression softens. “And I just… I want that happiness for you, Tango. You’ve come a long way in the time I’ve known you, but I feel like there’s still a distance there, you know?”

If it were almost anyone else, Tango would immediately be on the defensive. He has his walls up for a good reason, thank you very much, and he doesn’t take kindly to having that pointed out. Would he be happier if he just threw his trust around all willy-nilly? Maybe. But he’d also probably be back in Hels by now.

If they knew what kind of player he really was, they never would’ve let him stay.

(Tango still isn’t quite sure how they didn’t figure it out. That first season he spent on Hermitcraft, he wasn’t careful. The shock of adjusting was hard on him, but after that, he’d almost let his rage consume him. How was it fair that he’d been spawned in a world without a sun, trapped in a prison of endless pain and suffering, while everyone else in the universe enjoyed limitless freedom? He’d wanted to hurt them so badly- to make someone, anyone, hurt like he had.

Imagine his surprise, when his attacks and traps were taken as lighthearted pranks. When he was constantly faced with endless kindness and patience and generosity. When his redstone knowledge was sought after with genuine curiosity and appreciation. When they considered him a friend even though he was really a wolf among sheep, a fox in the henhouse, a snake in the garden.

Imagine his surprise, at discovering a world filled with people who couldn’t even fathom those around them having bad intentions.)

But this is Impulse, one of his oldest friends. He knows firsthand how fiercely Tango protects his heart (even if he doesn’t know why) and he’s always been honest with Tango (even if Tango hasn’t returned the favor). Tango has no doubt Impulse believes in what he’s saying- believes that Tango is worthy and deserving of love.

But deep down, Tango’s always known that good things aren’t meant for him.

“Maybe,” Tango says finally. He exhales heavily. “So I take it you and Bdubs are staying.”

Impulse nods. “Yup. I mean, we’ll still go back and forth with Hermitcraft, of course. And you know, I’ve got my world with Skizz, and my solo hardcore world… but we agreed it’d be nice to have this world to come back to.” He raises an eyebrow. “What about you and Jimmy?”

“I don’t know.” Tango’s throat tightens. “I mean, we barely know each other- is there even any point? It feels- it’s too much, too fast.”

Impulse tilts his head. “Well, you’ve got what seems like a mutual attraction, and have spent the last couple days working together, supporting each other. I think that’s enough to start building on.” He shrugs. “I mean, if it doesn’t work out, you guys can just leave, go your separate ways. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Tango can immediately think of a few things.

Scenario one: he bares his heart to Jimmy, and Jimmy doesn’t feel the same, and even though he’s gone this long perfectly fine without love in his life, the rejection is devastating and he gives up on love forever. He could probably be alright with that, but it would make any later death games unbearably uncomfortable, and that’d be a real shame.

Scenario two: he’s not meant for love, and he messes up so badly that Jimmy hates him forever, and that hate spreads to the rest of his friends because despite how they tease Jimmy they all care a lot about him, and it irreparably damages Tango’s relationship with the Hermits. Maybe even enough for them to cut ties with him altogether, kick him out of Hermitcraft.

Scenario three: he gets the hang of this love business, but he falls too deep and reveals his secret to Jimmy, and he might be rejected after that, and Jimmy could tell everyone else and irreparably damage Tango’s relationship with the Hermits. He might even get sent back to Hels, if they figure out a way to do that (it’s definitely possible; if Tango himself isn’t proof, there was that thing with Helsknight a while back).

Or, scenario four: he and Jimmy are happy together, but it’s built on a lie. Tango keeps his past and true nature hidden, with Jimmy none the wiser. It’s bad enough keeping that secret from his friends. Does he have the right to keep that from a soulmate? Is that deception worth it, to find such happiness?

It’s a selfish thought. But Tango’s always been a selfish creature.

“It’s up to you,” Impulse continues. “But personally, I think you should stay, see where it goes. Even if it turns out to just be a simple crush that doesn’t lead to anything, Jimmy’s a good guy.”

Tango gives a hollow laugh. “Yeah, I know.”

The problem is, Tango’s not.

~*~

Branches crunch beneath Tango’s boots as he makes his way through the forest.

He’d been hoping his conversation with Impulse would help clear his mind, but he’s more confused than ever. It’s undeniable now that he feels… something for Jimmy. But what’s he supposed to do with it? There are so many scenarios where this ends badly. Is it even worth it, to try and pursue this? He shoves his hands in his pockets with a sigh, kicking a stray rock out of his path.

“Hi, Tango!”

The sudden voice makes Tango jump a foot in the air, with a very undignified shout. He whirls around to see a figure cloaked in red.

“Oh! Oh hi, Pearl!” Tango greets her, catching his breath.

“Hi.” Pearl’s red eyes burn from beneath her hood. Her fuzzy antennae and wings are hidden under the fabric, giving her the overall impression of a standard human player- who happens to be quite red. In the context of the game, it’s an intimidating look.

Tango clears his throat. “I uh, I see you found your dog,” he says, nodding towards the tamed wolf at her side. He keeps his distance- dogs don’t generally like him (maybe he smells too much like a blaze?) and this one is already sniffing at him suspiciously.

“Yeah!” Pearl beams, glancing down at her dog. “Yeah, I’ve got my Tilly back now, and everythin’s good.”

“Good, good,” Tango says amiably. “At least there’s that.”

Pearl takes a step forward, pulling up her inventory. “Here, I’ve got somethin’ for ya.”

“Oh?” Tango tilts his head, watching her movements closely. “I- I like gifts, as long as they don’t end in death.”

Pearl chuckles. “No, no death, silly, we’re on a pause. Here.” She holds something out to him- a bucket filled with powdered snow. “You redstone people can do science with that, yeah?”

Tango blinks. “Oh, uh, sure! Yeah, I- I can think of a few uses, maybe down the line, yeah.” He studies her for a moment. “To what do I owe such a kind gesture?”

“Just take it,” Pearl says, her tone suddenly wooden. She bites her lip. “I don’t wanna have it anymore, I… I shouldn’t have it.”

Tango carefully takes the bucket. “And why is that?”

Pearl hums noncommittally, stroking her dog’s head. “Well, the thing is, Tango, I would use it to torture my soulbound, Scott.”

Tango’s heart jolts, and he nearly drops the bucket. “Oh. That’s-”

“Just a little bit!” Pearl says quickly. “I’d- I’d get in there until we were good and freezin’, and then slowly let our health go down. Just to make him sweat a little, y’know?” Her voice grows softer but somehow more raw, aching with longing. “I just… wanted him to hurt, just a little. Like he hurt me. You know?”

Tango does know. He knows a little too well.

But he flinches back from her, stammering, “I- I don’t-”

“But- but the thing is, Tango,” Pearl cuts in, putting a hand out, “I realized- it wasn’t makin’ me feel better. I was just hurtin’ myself. And I don’t mean the literal damage, alright? I mean… I wasn’t fixin’ anything. I wasn’t changin’ anything. And I realized, how- how could I tell him to trust me, to take me back, if I was hurtin’ him all the time?”

“Right.” Tango hesitates. He isn’t familiar with all the complexities regarding the Pearl-Scott-Cleo-Martyn situation, but there’s one thing he knows for sure. “You know, Scott, uh-”

“Doesn’t like girls?” Pearl gives him an exasperated look. “I know. I was paired with him in Last Life, I know. I don’t want him to like me that way. But we’re soulmates, that should count for somethin’, right?”

Tango laughs without humor, putting the bucket away. “You’d think it would, yeah.”

“All I did was go to the nether,” Pearl murmurs. Her gaze is slightly unfocused now, as if she’s talking to herself. “I took a lot of damage, yeah, but I was eatin’, too! I was bein’ careful- as careful as you can be in the nether, anyhow. I was bein’ good! I was good.” She takes a shaky breath before meeting Tango’s gaze again. “But that didn’t matter to him.”

Tango’s throat tightens. “Yeah, well,” he says, folding his arms, “some people- for some people, they’re always gonna see the worst in you, no matter what you do.”

Pearl is quiet for a moment. “I think he’s right, though,” she says, lowering herself to sit on an outcropping of stone. “To be mad at me.”

“Oh?” Tango raises his eyebrows, sitting across from her. “How’s that?”

Pearl wraps her arms around herself. “I didn’t go to the nether for him- or, whoever I thought my soulbound would be,” she confesses. “We- Martyn and I- we wanted to get the good resources, yeah, but that shouldn’t have taken priority over keepin’ our health intact. I didn’t consider what it’d be like, for my soulbound. I didn’t even try to find them before I went! I was so determined to do it, to do this big, grand thing, but… I should’ve realized it would’ve been enough if I’d just shown up.” She tips her head back, blinking rapidly. “I would’ve been enough, on my own. Just me. But I didn’t, and now…”

Her dog, Tilly, lets out a soft whine and licks Pearl’s hand. That makes Pearl look over with a smile- albeit one that’s sad at the corners- and scratch Tilly between the ears.

Tango’s heart twists. He admittedly hasn’t known Pearl for very long, but he can tell how awful she feels about the whole situation. It’s a jarring contrast to her usual upbeat, goofy self.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he tells her, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I… I take it you won’t be hanging around, then, if we stop the game?”

Pearl looks at him in surprise. “No, no, I’m stayin’ either way,” she assures him.

Now it’s Tango’s turn to be surprised. “What? Really?” He furrows his brows. “... why? Why would you hang around for someone that doesn’t want you? Why- why would you put yourself through that?”

Pearl sighs. “Because… if there’s even a chance that things could get better, between Scott and I- just a small chance that he could forgive me, that I could be happy someday… it’s worth it to me to take it. To stay and fight for it.” She tilts her head. “Y’know what I mean?”

Well, isn’t that quite the question. Is happiness worth fighting for… Tango knows what he’d tell anyone else, if they asked him. Yes, of course, absolutely, go fight for your happiness! You deserve to be happy- he’d tell any of his friends that in a heartbeat. But when it comes to himself, it’s not such an easy answer.

“I… think I might, yeah,” Tango says softly. “But what if… aren’t you worried that he won’t forgive you? That maybe- maybe you don’t deserve to be forgiven?”

“Oh, ‘course I am,” Pearl answers matter-of-factly. “Terrified, even. But the way I see it, whether I’m deservin’ or not… it’s not up to me. That’s somethin’ for the other person to decide. You can think yourself the most worthy, deservin’ person of someone’s love, but that doesn’t mean they have to give it.” Her voice softens. “And I’ve come to find that not thinking yourself worthy won’t stop someone from givin’ it to ya, either. At least, not when it’s real.”

“That’s… quite profound, Pearl,” Tango says, taken aback.

Pearl shrugs. “You get a lotta time to think, when you’re on your own.”

Tango huffs a laugh. “Don’t I know it.”

“Mmm.” Pearl gives him a considering look, a smile playing on her lips. “You got those goat horns, yet?”

Despite himself, Tango grins. “Not yet, no.”

“Well, good luck,” Pearl says, a knowing glint in her eye as she straightens up.

“Thanks,” Tango says, rising to his feet. “You too.”

“C’mon, Tilly.” Pearl turns away, her cloak swishing around her ankles. “We’ve got someplace else to be, and I think Tango does, too.”

Player and dog disappear into the trees. For a moment, Tango stands alone in the forest, Pearl’s words echoing in his head. All the years he’s spent playing this game, and it seems he’s still got new things to learn.

Tango starts walking.

~*~

Tango returns to the ranch with renewed determination.

Uncomfortable or not, he and Jimmy need to talk. If Impulse’s hunch is right, then Tango needs to do something before their chronic misunderstanding ruins any chance of them having a good relationship. But even if Impulse’s hunch isn’t right, and Jimmy does actually hate him, he’d rather know sooner than later.

He finds Jimmy inside the ranch, staring intently at his communicator. Jimmy yelps in surprise at Tango’s entrance, scattering feathers through the air.

“Tango!” he gasps. “You scared me!”

“Sorry.” Tango cringes, gently closing the door behind him. He really needs to stop doing that. “Listen, I-”

“No, no, there’s something I’ve gotta tell you,” Jimmy says, standing up. He still seems nervous, but there’s a hard line to his jaw and his back is straight, meeting Tango’s eyes in a rare display of boldness.

Oh, okay, change of plans. Tango nods hesitantly, bracing himself.

Jimmy takes a deep breath. “That night we shared a bed? I woke up, and- and we were cuddling.”

Tango blinks. That… is not what he was expecting. “Uh-”

“I know!” Jimmy starts pacing the length of the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know how- I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what to do- I just got up without waking you, but then I thought I ought to tell you but it just felt so awkward, I couldn’t figure out how to bring it up but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, either. So- so that’s why I decided to go mining, I thought some time to clear my head would help but I still didn’t know what to say.” He finally turns to face Tango, wincing. “I’m sorry.”

Tango stares at Jimmy in amazement.

So that’s what all the stilted conversations were about- Jimmy was feeling guilty, not upset with Tango. To think someone could be that concerned about crossing Tango’s boundaries- even accidentally! Oh, it all makes so much sense, now. Of course Jimmy doesn’t hate him- Tango doesn’t think Jimmy’s capable of hating anyone, not really.

“Lemme get this straight,” Tango says slowly, holding out a hand. “You wake up to find me cuddling you, and you feel guilty about it?”

Jimmy blinks. “I- wait. How did you-”

“I haven’t been totally honest, either,” Tango admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… actually woke up before you did that morning, I just pretended to be asleep. It was an awkward situation, okay, and I didn’t wanna make it a whole thing- which uh, seems to have backfired into a failure of epic proportions, now.”

“Oh… my gosh,” Jimmy breathes, his eyes widening.

“So, yeah.” Tango breaks into a sheepish grin. “It’s- it’s not a big deal, right? I mean, what’s a little cuddling between soulmates?”

Jimmy runs a hand through his hair, still looking stunned. “You’re not mad?” he asks tentatively.

“'Course I’m not mad!” Tango exclaims, disbelieving. He was arguably the more dishonest party here, and Jimmy isn’t even upset- and in fact, is worried about Tango being upset with him. How is that possible? “Are you- you’ve been an amazing soulmate, alright?”

Jimmy blushes- and oh, now Tango sees it.

“Well- well, good,” Jimmy says, a shy grin spreading across his face. “Um- well, I feel a bit silly, now.”

Tango laughs- a real, genuine laugh from his gut, and it feels good. “Hey, hey, you and me both!” he says ruefully. “Oh wow, we both really over-thought this whole thing, didn’t we?”

“Guess we did,” Jimmy chuckles. “Guess we’re perfect for each other.”

Warmth swells in Tango’s chest. “Guess so.”

It’s not everything Tango knows he should say. But for right now, it’s enough.

~*~

They finally get their goat horns.

After a lot of hilarious scrambling and many head-butts to the ribs, they get their goats to produce two horns. The horns play the same tune; one that no one else in the world has, aptly named ‘Sing.’ It’s a lighter, more playful song than the other horns. Tango listens to the cacophony that results when Jimmy gets a response to his call, and watches fondly as Jimmy shrieks with utter delight at finally being heard, flapping excitedly around the pen as goats bleat at him and paw the grass.

PearlescentMoon: Congrats! :D

Tango’s horn earns a permanent spot in his hotbar.

~*~

“Tango, watch out!”

“Eeep!” Tango shrieks in alarm as Jimmy swoops over, slashing at the creeper that’s snuck up behind him. The blow knocks the creeper back, but not quite far enough as it flashes white. Jimmy sweeps Tango behind him with his wings and pulls his shield up-

BOOM.

The explosion knocks them back a little, but they take no damage- which is fortunate, because they’ve just come back from a mining session with inventories full of valuables. Their front lawn, however, now has a new crater in it.

“Oh my gosh, that was close,” Jimmy breathes, turning to face Tango. “You okay?”

Tango makes an incredulous noise; it takes a few tries for him to get actual words out. “Uh- yeah! That was incredible!” he gushes. “With the- with the swoop and the bam and the- oh, what a hero!”

“It was nothing,” Jimmy says lightly, but he can’t quite hide his pleased grin. He hops down into the hole and starts filling it in with the stray bits of dirt lying around. “Man, we really need to light this place up better.”

“First order of business tomorrow, yeah,” Tango agrees, offering Jimmy his hand as he climbs back out of the hole. They fall back into step as they walk up to the house. “Now, are you- are you sure you wanna be stuck with me? I mean, there might be quite a few creeper deaths in the future,” he warns, only half joking.

Jimmy stops, turning to give Tango a surprised look. “Yeah, yeah, of course!” he assures him. “I’m honestly surprised that you wanna stick with me. I mean, I do have sort of a reputation… for uh, always being the first out.” He glances away, rubbing the back of his neck. “And- and I guess that won’t matter now, if we aren’t continuing the game, but still-”

“No, no, hey- I don’t care about that,” Tango tells him firmly, putting a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “What, you think I’m scared of a little death? Come on, now! Besides, I’ve seen Impulse and Bdubs’ place and we cannot let the ranch stay in this sorry state, alright? We’ve got some work to do, that tower is horrendous.”

Jimmy glances up at the tower, making a noncommittal noise. “It’s not that bad…” he says, generously.

Tango snorts, shaking his head. “No, no, no, it’s bad. You can say it. It looks like a foot.”

That startles a laugh out of Jimmy before he can clap a hand over his mouth.

“Right?” Tango presses, a grin spreading across his face. “Doesn’t it? You can’t unsee that, now.”

“Oh my gosh, it does,” Jimmy says with a chuckle.

“That’ll be the first thing to go,” Tango promises, opening the door for Jimmy. “We’ll get this place looking at least adequate, alright, I figure between the two of us, we- we should amount to one builder, right?”

“Hopefully,” Jimmy hums. “We can chip away at it- we’ve got time, right?”

“Yeah,” Tango says warmly, “we’ve got time.”

~*~

The vote happens the next day.

By unanimous decision, all the Double Life members agree to end the death game and continue living in the world peacefully. Even Martyn and Pearl, it seems, are holding onto the hope of a happy ending.

~*~

Impulse and Bdubs throw a party at their place, to celebrate Grian taking the world border down.

Everyone actually shows up- probably because there’s no longer the fear of it being a trap, and they’ve got nothing else really going on. The house isn’t that different from when Tango saw it last, though the backyard seems to have gotten some work. The hillside swimming pool is paved with copper blocks and surrounded by neatly trimmed shrubs, flanked by a little patio area with deck chairs and umbrellas.

Impulse is cooking steaks on the grill as players chat and splash around in the pool, ‘Otherside’ playing from a jukebox in the background. Tango is abstaining from the pool, because even though water doesn’t damage him like it does to blaze, he avoids it when he can- especially if its cold. Cleo, who isn’t keen to accidentally turn into a drowned, has joined him on the deck chairs to watch the other players’ antics.

Their soulmates (chosen, in Cleo’s case) are sitting on the edge of the pool, idly kicking their legs in the water as they catch up. Pearl is running around the yard with her dogs (yes, plural- since Tango saw her last, she’s acquired several more). Grian and Scar have challenged Bigb and Ren to a game of chicken- which isn’t really a contest, with Ren’s huge size difference, but Martyn is doing a riveting job of commentating, anyways, even though its to an only somewhat attentive audience.

“Oh, excellent job with the copper, Bdubs,” Etho drawls, gazing out over the pool as Grian is toppled from Scar’s shoulders with a shriek. His voice is filled with mirth, as if he’s smiling behind his mask. “I love the combination, unoxidized and oxidized together…”

“Very freaking funny!” Bdubs huffs, stomping his foot. “You- you know how long that stuff takes to oxidize?”

Joel snickers. “But aren’t you- aren’t you supposed to spread it out to let it oxidize first?” he asks, quirking a brow. “Before actually putting it in your build? It’s faster if they’re farther apart-”

“Well I had to pave the pool with somethin’!” Bdubs exclaims, throwing his hands up. “If I- what, am I supposed to have a- a cobblestone pool? A dirt pool?! Then- that’d just be a pond! And you- and you jokers would’ve laughed me off the world!”

It’s sort of a moot point, as they all break into laughter anyways.

“You know, dudes,” Ren muses, hoisting himself up to sit on the pool’s ledge, “this would’ve been a perfect place to set a trap. Bubblevate up through the swimming pool, you know?”

Cleo and Etho exchange an amused look.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Bdubs scowls, crossing his arms. “Ruin my perfect swimmin’ pool…”

“Game’s over, man,” Bigb chuckles, patting Ren on the arm as he leans against the pool’s rim. “You can relax.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Ren says sheepishly. Then he shakes himself off, immediately making everyone yelp and recoil from the splatter. “Oh- sorry! Sorry!”

One of Tango’s blaze rods extinguishes with a hiss, only to quickly reignite as he laughs at Cleo’s expression. “So much for staying dry,” he jokes.

Cleo sighs. “We really ought to know better by now.”

“Steaks will be done in another couple minutes!” Impulse calls over his shoulder. Pleased murmurs filter through the group- before Grian and Scar team up to dunk Ren back into the pool, and the splashing and laughter begins anew.

Tango sits up. “Be right back,” he says to Cleo, “I’m gonna go tell Impulse to burn mine.”

Cleo snorts. “I don’t know how you can eat it like that, it’s basically coal.”

Tango pretends to be offended. “C’mon, it’s all about the smokiness!” he insists, hopping to his feet. “If- if you want, I can tell him to make one for you to try-”

“God no,” Cleo laughs, waving him off, “I’ve already had him save a raw one for me.”

“Spoken like a true zombie,” Tango teases as he turns away. He makes his way over to the grill, side-stepping around the Etho-Bdubs-Joel group as they debate about some block palette builder nonsense.

“Don’t worry,” Impulse says, without even turning around. “I’ve set yours aside til it’s nice and charred.”

Tango grins- he should’ve known Impulse remembered how he likes his steaks. “Thank you, thank you,” he hums, leaning against the side of the grill to enjoy the warm metal against his skin and the scent of fire. He lets out a contented sigh, letting his eyes shut for a moment.

“So,” Impulse ventures casually, “are you and Jimmy…?”

Tango’s eyes flutter open. “Not yet,” he says, amused, “but we’re sticking around. Gonna see how it goes.”

“Good, good.” Impulse nods, a pleased smile curling his mouth. “I’m glad you two worked it out.”

Tango glances out towards the pool, where Jimmy is sitting with Scott. He has a peaceful expression on his face as he talks, his wings occasionally ruffling against sprays of water as his gaze travels across the pool. Then Jimmy happens to meet Tango’s eyes. He pauses mid-sentence, mouth slightly parted, before he offers a shy smile and lifts a hand in greeting. Tango feels his heart skip a beat as he waves back.

“Me too,” he says softly.

~*~

They start renovation on the ranch.

Tango’s janky perimeter wall comes down, to be expanded around the neighboring plains biome with a more tasteful fence. They plot out where they’re going to move the cattle- because all the mooing and the smell is getting hard to tolerate- as well as paddocks for sheep and pigs (once they’ve been acquired, of course). Maybe even a barn for horses, like a proper ranch.

The building itself gets bumped out a little, increasing the floor plan’s square footage enough to have actual separate rooms- an entry hall with a staircase, a living room, and a kitchen. The tower is completely torn down so construction on the second floor can begin properly, which is where they put their bedroom.

Bedroom, singular. Only because they need the rest of the space to put in a big storage room and bathroom. There’s still plenty of room in it for their beds to go against opposite walls (though, if Tango’s not mistaken, Jimmy seemed a little disappointed at that).

They chip away at the ranch as the days pass. Grian and Scar drop by to trade sugarcane for leather, evidently not concerned with holding the monopoly anymore, now that the death game has concluded. They end up helping out with the ranch’s block palette and landscaping, planting big oak trees in strategic places to break up the flat terrain.

Bdubs and Impulse come over to drop off a couple spare horses from their attempts to get Etho and Joel good mounts; they’re pretty slow and only half decent jumpers, but Jimmy is thrilled just to have them. Bdubs is offended by their mostly empty house and helps Jimmy put together interiors as Tango and Impulse install a sugarcane farm in the basement.

Their wheat farm expands to cover the rolling hills on either side of the ranch, split by a winding cobblestone path leading up to the front door. The staircase down to their mine gets a proper entrance, a little wooden lean-to adorned with lanterns and barrels. Over time, the ranch starts to feel lived in, with stray golden feathers littering the floor and occasional scorch marks from blaze rods burned into the furniture.

Little by little, it starts to feel like home.

“It’s getting there,” Tango concludes with a nod, dusting his hands off from a long day’s work.

“It is, look at it!” Jimmy says proudly, hands on his hips as he surveys the build. “Home sweet home.”

“Home sweet home,” Tango agrees, though he’s looking at Jimmy when he says it.

~*~

It happens on an unassuming day.

Business as usual around the ranch. Tango and Jimmy are running around like headless chickens, trying to relocate a herd of cattle that seem to lose interest in wheat every five seconds. It’s hardly a glamorous job, leaving them hot and sweaty and smelling very unpleasant, but they’re laughing and having fun anyways.

Jimmy finally scoops up the last wayward calf, easily carrying the small bovine in his arms, and flies it over the fence to its mother. He sets the calf down with the utmost care, giving it a gentle pat on the nose, before jogging back over to Tango and hopping the fence.

“Looks like we’ve finally got the hang’a this rancher thing,” Jimmy says with a grin and a bad country accent, and there’s stray stalks of wheat in his hair and the midday sunlight is reflecting so perfectly in his deep brown eyes, and the next thing Tango knows, he’s grabbed Jimmy by the shirt to pull him into a kiss.

It only lasts a second before Tango’s mind catches up with him, and he breaks away. Reality crashes over him like a bucket of icy cold water- oh my god, why did he just do that?!

Jimmy stares at him, eyes blown wide and mouth slightly parted. “Um…”

“I- I’m so sorry,” Tango stammers, feeling his face burn, “I should’ve asked-”

“No, no, no, don’t- don’t be sorry,” Jimmy says breathlessly, his wings fluttering. “I… oh my gosh, I was so- I- I wasn’t sure if you liked me that way, but I was hoping-”

“Oh?” Tango’s heart skips a beat. “Oh, so you were-”

“Yep.”

“And I…?”

“Uh huh.”

“So we both-”

“Seems that way.”

“Well, alright then.” Tango gives a curt nod. “Good. So how- how do we feel about the uh, the whole kissing thing?”

“Uh- yes,” Jimmy says quickly, his whole face flushed. “Very much yes, please.”

“Are- are you sure?” Tango asks, managing to keep his tone light despite the way his stomach is turning somersaults. “Even though I’m all sweaty and gross? I mean, are you sure you really want to date this mess?”

“Now wait a second, Tango,” Jimmy says sternly, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re an amazing guy, alright, and an amazing soulmate. I’ve always thought you were attractive- even before we were soulbound- so now that we’re both finally on the same page, would you stop second-guessing yourself and kiss me already?”

Tango grins. “Happy to oblige,” he says, leaning back in.

~*~

Somehow, word travels around.

InTheLittleWood: It finally happened!!

Grian: what??

Grian: WAIT NO

InTheLittleWood: GRIAN YOU OWE ME TEN DIAMONDS

Grian: NOOOOOO I HAD THREE MORE DAYS

impulseSV: About time, you two! :D

ZombieCleo: what is happening

Smallishbeans: our little timmy has finally grown up!

Smajor1995: i give it a week lol

GoodTimeWithScar: Congrats to the happy couple! May I just remind everyone that the Panda Sanctaury is open for visitors! Lovely couples retreat, very romantic

Tango: i hate all of you

~*~

“Oh… my gosh,” Jimmy breathes, his eyes wide.

Tango can barely contain his glee. “What- what am I looking at, here?” he asks, raking his hands through his hair.

Dwelling within Scar’s lush bamboo sanctuary are giant, round, fluffy white-and-grey pandas that look suspiciously like a certain familiar feline. They chitter and chatter to each other, gnawing on bamboo and turning somersaults and just being generally ridiculous.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Scar asks, fondly scratching one under the chin. “These are my one-of-a-kind Jellie Pandas.”

Tango stares at them in awe. “They’re so… fluffy.”

Scar nods sagely. “They are, they are. Fluffiest pandas in all the land.”

“This is amazing!” Jimmy exclaims with a broad smile, gently petting one of the pandas. He’s drawn a small crowd of them, sniffing and snuffling at his soft wings and then sneezing adorably. It’s a stupidly adorable sight. An adora-double-whammy.

“I’m so glad you think so!” Scar says, putting a hand over his heart. “Grian wouldn’t let me bring them in the house-”

“I’m not having a bunch of smelly pandas shedding fur all over our house, Scar!” Grian’s head suddenly appears above the sanctuary’s wall, poking out from the window of the building next to it.

Scar gasps. “Grian! Take that back!” he pouts, putting his hands on his hips. “The Jellie Pandas aren’t smelly-”

“I’m- I’m slaving away building over here, making a lovely home-”

“It is a lovely home, but wouldn’t it be lovelier with a Jellie Panda in it? What about just one?”

“Scar, I can’t have this conversation again-”

“What about just a baby one?”

“Babies don’t stay small forever, Scar!”

Tango exchanges an amused look with Jimmy. Perhaps they aren’t the ones in need of a ‘couple’s retreat,’ here.

~*~

“Hey, um, Tango?”

Tango pauses as he’s about to climb into bed, glancing over his shoulder at Jimmy. “Yes?”

Jimmy’s already in his bed, covers pulled up to his chin. He won’t quite meet Tango’s gaze, his cheeks pink. “Could you… uh, do you wanna… maybe… put your bed a bit closer?” he asks tentatively. “It’s just- you’re so warm, and I know I said before that I wasn’t cold but- well, that might not’ve been completely true. You know, it’s just- we’re right up against a spruce biome and those forests can get quite chilly at night-”

“Oh!” Tango blinks before breaking into a grin. “Oh, I see.”

Jimmy flushes even more. “I mean, if that’s alright with you-”

“Yeah, yeah of course!” Tango hooks his fingers under the bed frame and starts dragging it across the floor. “I mean, why- why wouldn’t it be? We’re just two soulmates, huddling up for warmth-”

“Tango,” Jimmy groans, embarrassed.

“Here.” Tango pushes his bed until its flush with Jimmy’s, giving him an expectant look. “Is this- is this alright?”

“... yes,” Jimmy says shyly, though he’s grinning. “Go on then, get in here. As if you don’t wanna cuddle. Need I remind you what happened last time?”

Now it’s Tango’s turn to blush. “I can’t help it, you’re very cuddly!” he defends, climbing into bed.

Jimmy chuckles. “Right, come here, then.” He sweeps Tango closer with his wing before hooking an arm around him, their faces only inches apart. “Is this- are you okay with this? Are you comfortable?”

Tango leans forward to give Jimmy a peck on the nose. “Very,” he says, snuggling up against Jimmy.

~*~

They quickly find they both sleep much better when sharing a bed. Even the other players notice a difference, which leads to more than a couple jokes about ‘sleeping well’ that Jimmy tolerates with slight mortification and Tango responds to with a lot of flustered spluttering.

~*~

“Honey, I’m home!” Tango calls, drawing out the words in an exaggerated fashion as he closes the ranch’s door behind him.

Jimmy pokes his head out of the kitchen. “Oh, great! You’re just in time for dinner.”

“Oh, perfect.” Tango wanders over to the kitchen, inhaling deeply. “Mmm, it smells amazing!”

“Well, you’re real easy to cook for,” Jimmy says humbly, dishing up the plates. “All I’ve gotta do is burn it.”

“True,” Tango chuckles, stopping to give Jimmy a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling out his chair. “Still, though. Thanks.”

Jimmy hums, setting their plates down and taking his seat. “Also… I know you were just joking around, but uh… I- I wouldn’t mind if you called me that.”

Tango blinks. “What, honey?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy clears his throat, busying himself with his food. “I mean, if- if you want.”

A fond smile spreads across Tango’s face. “Sure thing, honey.”

~*~

Tango is running through a field of wither roses.

It’s endless, the black flowers stretching far beyond the blood-red horizon. They drag at him, their icy toxin coursing through his veins, stealing his breath. There might as well be iron blocks strapped to his feet- he has to fight for every step, fueled solely by panic and desperation to get away from the figure pursuing him.

The man is familiar, his pitch black lab coat silhouetted against the red sky. He walks at a leisurely pace, arms folded neatly behind his back, completely unbothered by the wither roses.

“It’s time to go home, Mr. Tango,” he calls, almost sounding amused. “We’ve got work to do.”

“No!” Tango’s legs finally give out on him, and he stumbles to the ground. Thorns bite into his skin, snagging on the chains dangling from his wrists- he claws through them, trying in vain to drag himself away from the inevitable, breath fogging in the air as frigid tears prick his eyes.

“It’s only a matter of time before I catch you,” the man says, now looming over Tango. “And then you’ll be back where you belong.”

“Stay back!” Tango bares his teeth in a snarl.

Dr. Atlas peers down at him over his shades, a grin splitting across his face. “You’ve always known this couldn’t last forever, haven’t you?”

A growl starts up in Tango’s throat, monstrous and foreign. “I said, stay back!”

He reaches inwardly for his fire, blaze rods igniting and whirling around him. The wither roses burst into flame, filling the air with thick smoke. The tears streaking down Tango’s face feel like lava now, and the roar echoing in his skull seems to be coming from his very core, some hidden depth inside him.

His vision turns red and his nose fills with the scent of burning-

“Tango!”

Tango jolts awake, gasping for breath. There’s a hard floor beneath him, a distinct singed smell in the air. His chest feels too tight, as if the wither roses are still robbing him of oxygen, and his entire body is shaking violently. He twists to right himself, and then recoils when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, it’s me.” Jimmy’s voice comes from somewhere above him. “You’re alright, Tango.”

The rush of panic leaves Tango as quickly as it came. He reaches blindly for Jimmy, for something to ground himself.

“Tango, hey, hey, look at me,” Jimmy says quietly. “You’re alright, just breathe.”

Tango struggles to catch his breath, head whipping around. Jimmy’s face swims into focus, filled with concern. It takes a second for Tango to find his voice. “Where…?”

“You’re at the ranch. You’re safe,” Jimmy soothes him. “You had a nightmare.”

Tango’s heart rate gradually slows as he looks around. He’s on the floor of their bedroom, next to their beds. The covers are tangled and thrown aside, flecked with patches of what looks suspiciously like burned fabric. It’s still dark outside their window, the room lit only by the glow of Tango’s blaze rods.

The memory of the nightmare is still fresh in Tango’s mind. He exhales shakily. “I… I- I didn’t…”

“You don’t have to talk about it, alright?” Jimmy murmurs. “I’m here.”

Gratefully, Tango slumps against Jimmy, still trembling. He doesn’t think he’d be able to talk about it right now even if he wanted to.

Maybe someday. But not today.

As awareness slowly comes back to Tango, he realizes that his hands are stinging. He pulls away from Jimmy, blinking down at his hands in confusion. He’s still got his gloves on, nothing seems to have happened to his hands, why would they hurt-

Oh.

“Did I burn you?” Tango asks suddenly.

Alarm flashes in Jimmy’s eyes. “Tango, it’s fine-”

“Did I burn you?” Tango repeats.

Jimmy hesitates. “... a little,” he admits, wincing. He quickly rushes to explain, “It’s really not that bad, though, and- and I know you didn’t mean to. Your skin was just really hot, I was trying to wake you up and-”

“Let me see?” Tango asks, his voice hoarse.

Jimmy sighs, relenting, and shows Tango his hands. His palms are red and angry, though luckily don’t seem to have blistered. But that doesn’t stop a wave of guilt from crashing over Tango anyway.

Tango’s throat tightens. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry-”

“I’m okay!” Jimmy insists, almost pleading. “I promise, I’m okay, it’s just a little burn.”

Tango makes an unhappy noise, his brows furrowing. “Here. Here, here, take these.” He starts to pull his gloves off, working them through the cuffs around his wrists. “They’ll protect against any other accidents.”

Jimmy looks taken aback. “Oh. Um, alright, if you’re sure…” He trails off, eyes widening.

Tango gives him a confused look before it hits him. Right, he forgot- Jimmy hasn’t seen him without his gloves on. He’s never seen Tango’s claws- the ugly, sharp, blackened points. It must be a jarring sight.

He quickly shoves the gloves at Jimmy, moving to get up. “I’ll uh, I’ll get another pair tomorrow-”

Jimmy lightly catches him by the arm. “No, no, it’s okay,” he says, his voice soft. “Can I…?”

Tango swallows, settling back onto the floor. Wordlessly, he lets Jimmy’s grip shift towards his hand, gently pulling it towards him. He studies Tango’s claws with careful interest, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the back of Tango’s hand. Then Jimmy slowly lifts Tango’s hand to his lips, and-

And he kisses it.

Tango blinks. Then he blinks again, his vision rapidly becoming blurred with tears. Just like that, he’s full-on sobbing again, collapsed against Jimmy’s chest. And Jimmy lets him, simply holding him as he cries, wings curled around them as if to block out the rest of the world. As if for this moment, they’re the only two players in existence.

And for this moment, Tango believes it.

~*~

When they visit the newly developing shopping district the next day, Jimmy holds Tango’s hand the entire time, clawed fingers fitting snugly in his gloved grip.

~*~

“Hey, Jimmy,” Tango calls, knocking on their bedroom door before opening it- a new habit to cut back on how much scaring he does. “Are you- oh, hi.”

Jimmy is sitting cross-legged on their double beds, wings flared out around him. He isn’t wearing Tango’s gloves at the moment- they’re sitting beside him on the bed, leaving his hands bare as they gingerly rifle through his feathers. There are already quite a few scattered on the bedspread around him.

“Sorry,” Tango says, realizing Jimmy’s looking at him expectantly, “am I interrupting something?”

“No, it’s okay, I’m just preening,” Jimmy assures him, though he can’t seem to help blushing a little. “It’s, uh- it’s an avian thing.”

“Oh, right.” Tango nods. He’s seen Grian picking at his wings before. “Sorry, I’ll leave you to it-”

“Actually, um-” Jimmy coughs into his fist. “There’s… there’s some itchy feathers in a spot back here that I can’t really reach. Would you mind…?”

Tango jolts in surprise. “Oh! Oh, sure. Should I- should I uh, you know…” He nods at the gloves, miming putting them on. It means a lot for Jimmy to ask for his help with this, and he doesn’t want to screw it up.

Jimmy shakes his head. “Actually, I think your claws will be perfect for this.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah, if- if you’re sure.” Hesitantly, Tango sits down on the bed behind Jimmy. “I uh, what- what do I do?”

Jimmy tilts his head. “Just kinda… comb your fingers through, to dislodge the old feathers. They should come out pretty easily. Then it’s just a matter of uh, settling all the others back into place.”

“Okay. Right.” Tango swallows. “And… and you’re sure this isn’t gonna hurt you?”

“I’m sure,” Jimmy reassures him.

“Okay.” Tango takes a breath. “Here goes.”

Carefully, he starts to comb through Jimmy’s wings. His claws glide easily through the soft feathers, and sure enough, it doesn’t take long for some of them to start coming loose.

Jimmy lets out a contented sigh. “Thank you, those have been bugging me for days.”

“No problem, hun.” Tango relaxes, falling into a rhythm. “How- how often do you have to do this?”

Jimmy makes a noncommittal noise. “Depends on how active I am with them, how much time I spend outside, the weather, molting- all sorts. But I try to do it pretty regularly, so they don’t get gross.”

Tango hums. “Well, if you ever need help in the future, it seems I’m pretty much an expert preener already.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jimmy chuckles.

~*~

Tango slowly cracks an eye open.

They’re well into the morning, if the amount of sunlight coming in through the window is any indication, and yet Jimmy is actually still in bed for once. He’s laying on his side next to Tango, propped up by one elbow with his chin in his hand, watching Tango with what Tango would normally call a stupidly lovesick expression on his face.

“Mornin’,” Tango greets him somewhat bemusedly, his morning voice still a little rough. “What’re you doin’?”

Jimmy’s smile grows even wider. “Just taking in the view,” he says simply.

Tango feels the tips of his ears burn. “Oh, well aren’t you sweet!” he hums, reaching out to cradle the back of Jimmy’s head. “C’mere, honey.”

Jimmy leans into the kiss, shifting to lay more comfortably on his side. One of his hands comes up to cup Tango’s face, holding him in an embrace that’s impossibly gentle. Tango’s heart is so full he feels like it’s going to burst, and he thinks he could happily stay like this forever.

Then a particularly loud neigh echoes from outside, and Jimmy finally pulls away with a sigh. “Tango, we oughta get up. The animals-”

“The animals can wait,” Tango murmurs, leaning in again.

He feels Jimmy smile against his lips.

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player blows a horn.

Tango is quick to respond, switching out his axe for his own horn. His heart swells when he hears the familiar tune fill the air, knowing that Jimmy will hear it and know Tango’s close. It hasn’t taken long for him to think of it as their song; they’re the only ones in this world with the horns that play it. No one else responds to it, but that’s perfectly fine with Tango.

As fun as death games are, he likes this peaceful life. He likes the comparatively slow pace they’re taking with this world, the cozy houses everyone’s building instead of giant megabases. He’s got a soulmate who loves him waiting at home, whose light is always enough to chase the nightmares away.

A small part of Tango, deep down, knows that this happiness can’t last forever, that he’s living off borrowed time.

But he’ll take it for as long as he can, as long as Jimmy will have him.

~*~

Chapter Text

from eden, part V - to the strand, a picnic plan for you and me

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player just woke up to very bad news.

“Drowned?” Dr. Atlas Syn, head scientist of Hels Tek Laboratories, demands furiously as he leaps out of bed. “How could he have possibly drowned?!”

(An addendum: he’s not leaping out of his actual bed. Rather, he sleeps on a two-by-two pad of moss, the softest substitute for wool available. His real bed is hidden deep beneath his feet, within an obsidian safe room that’s fully stocked with armor, weapons, food, and whatever other resources he might need in the event of his untimely demise.

Owning a bed is a prestigious thing. Not all players are well-off or well-connected enough to obtain a bed from the scarce wool merchants in Hels, all of whom guard their rare sheep fiercely. Instead, most players utilize respawn anchors to set their spawns, as the materials required to craft one are far easier to come by than wool.

The only players who are aware of the bed’s existence are Atlas himself and the man who gave it to him, and that’s how Atlas likes to keep it. If certain enemies or rivals of his were to discover his bed, them breaking it is the least of his concerns.

It’s a privilege to own a bed, allowing him to bypass the thousands of blocks of treacherous terrain he’d have to travel if he died, but it’s also a great risk. Setting one’s spawn via bed or anchor doesn’t allow for the same protection as afforded by the default world spawn and its anti-griefing perimeter. Knowing the location of a player’s spawn allows for the deployment of traps- the longest death loop Atlas has ever seen lasted a solid month, and only ended because someone got fed up enough with the constant death messages to free the poor chump.

Anyways, this is all besides the point. Atlas leaps out of ‘bed.’)

“We aren’t sure, sir,” the player cowering in front of him says. Some new intern, Atlas thinks, which is probably why he was the one chosen to inform Atlas of this unpleasant development. “But there appear to be bloodstains on the inside of the farm-”

“Where is he now?” Atlas cuts him off, pulling up his communicator. It takes a bit of scrolling through all the usual random death messages to find it: Tango drowned.

He curses himself for having his notifications silenced. But really, who doesn’t? Death messages are so numerous in Hels, the constant beeping would be intolerable. Not to mention it would be a dead giveaway- pun intended- in any situation that required stealth or discretion.

“We don’t know, sir,” the intern says with a wince.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“We don’t know, sir.”

“Who last checked the respawn anchor?”

“We don’t-”

“Okay, let’s try this,” Atlas says, pinching the bridge of his nose even as a grin splits across his face. “How about you tell me what you do know, and we stop wasting time?”

The intern straightens his back. “The incident was discovered when myself and Drs. Riposte, Ironclad, and Heligan arrived this morning. There’s no evidence of a break-in, everything outside the farm is completely intact. The only damage to the enclosure itself is the chains, they’ve been snapped near the shackles- probably due to respawn. No one was awake when it happened, but the last person to clock out last night was Dr. Clear Cut, at 0200.”

Of course. Atlas isn’t surprised; Clear doesn’t know the meaning of a twelve-hour work day. What’s more surprising is that the mad doctor actually remembered to clock out this time. “Has anyone questioned him yet?” Atlas asks, grabbing his lab coat off its hook.

“No, sir,” the intern says. “But security is fetching him now, they’re bringing him to the farm.”

“Very good.” Atlas gives a short nod, pulling his lab coat on before swiftly exiting the room. The intern jogs to catch up, falling into step beside him. “Assemble the rest of the staff in conference room A1,” Atlas orders. “I’ll be in to speak with them once I’ve finished with Dr. Clear.”

“Yes, sir.”

Atlas abruptly stops walking, whirling around to loom over the intern. “And this probably goes without saying, but I do not want word of this escaping the premises,” he says, his tone dangerously light, a smile through gritted teeth. “Do you understand?”

The intern nods frantically. “Yes sir, Dr. Atlas.”

“Very good.” Atlas turns away. “Thank you, that will be all.”

The intern’s rapid footsteps fade off down the hallway, allowing Atlas to continue alone.

It’s a short walk to the lab. Atlas is once again thankful that he decided to have employee housing built so close to the actual laboratory.

(Every now and then, new hires complain about having to live on the premises, reluctant to leave their own bases behind. But it saves so much time, and he placates them by allowing them to decorate their rooms however they see fit- within reason, of course- and by giving them ample time-off to make trips away from the premises- which he gradually decreases over a matter of months.

Eventually, they accept that they don’t have time for a life outside of Hels Tek, and then things run much more smoothly.)

Atlas comes to a stop in front of the lab’s main entrance, pressing the button that opens the iron doors. He enters into a short hallway that leads to a piston door, casting a quick glance around himself before entering in the combination to open it.

(The laboratory’s design is quite clever, if he does say so himself. All the outer walls of the facility are four blocks thick- the exterior and interior decorative blocks, and then two blocks of cobblestone in the middle. They’re part of an anti-break-in system; an infinite piston tape and cobblestone generator combo that will replace any block that’s mined away, faster than even the best enchanted netherite pickaxe can break them.

Although evidently, all the clever designing in the world cannot account for the stupidity of players. What good is a facility that can’t be broken into if their one prisoner was able to break out?

Even as he’s thinking about what next steps he should take and how best to minimize the fallout, part of his mind is pondering how they ended up in this situation in the first place, running through rapid-fire scenarios. He’s realized that for Tango to spawn outside of the farm, the respawn anchor must’ve been drained of charge. That’s not something that happens overnight- this is clearly the result of ongoing negligence, and he cringes to think how this might reflect on him personally, as head of Hels Tek.

Ah, but he’s let his train of thought get away from him again. He can worry about these things after he has his property back.)

Atlas’s footsteps are wholly automatic as he makes his way through the lab, towards the chamber where the Tango Tek farm is located. Stopping in front of the door, he fishes a slip of paper out of his lab coat pocket- his ID- and drops it into a dispenser embedded in the wall. The security system reads his paper and then spits it back out, the door swinging open for him.

Atlas steps inside, and the door locks shut behind him.

The room is empty save for three people; two security guards standing on either side of a scientist, hunched over in a chair as he works on a redstone component. His curly mustache is more unkempt than usual, the facial hair positively frayed at its edges. The man must’ve been woken abruptly, for although he’s wearing his lab coat (stained and wrinkled, as always) his shirt is partially unbuttoned and he’s not wearing a tie.

Atlas clears his throat. “Good morning, Dr. Clear.”

“Mornin’,” Clear replies automatically, not even glancing up from the comparator he’s fiddling with. His thick accent is even rougher in the early morning, a slurred drawl that never fails to get on Atlas’s nerves.

Atlas disregards him for a brief moment to stride over to the farm, the small glass enclosure against the opposite wall of the room. As promised, it’s largely intact and untouched- the only differences are the black bloodstains smeared against the glass, the snapped chains hanging from the sides, and the complete and utter absence of a blaze hybrid inside. As expected, the respawn anchor fitted into the wall has gone dark; out of charge.

Atlas turns back to Clear. “You were the last one at the lab this past evening, is that right?” he asks, neatly folding his hands behind his back.

“Right, sure,” Clear mutters absent-mindedly. “Got a lotta work t’do, you know. Ain’t gonna do itself. Gotta be perfect.”

“Of course,” Atlas replies smoothly. Normally he wouldn’t tolerate such inattentiveness, but he’s long since learned to pick his battles with Clear. “Before you left, do you recall if Tango Tek was still functioning properly?”

“Who?” Clear asks, unbothered.

“Tango Tek, the blaze farm,” Atlas emphasizes, managing to keep his tone slow and patient. “Was the blaze hybrid still inside it when you left?”

“Blaze?” Clear frowns, one greasy, redstone-stained hand coming up to twirl his mustache. “No, no, no, I don’t work with blaze,” he chatters, more to himself than anything. “Don’t do a lotta damage, them blaze. I’m more of a TNT-duper myself. World eaters, y’know, that sorta thing-”

“Dr. Clear,” Atlas says calmly, stepping forward, “might I have your undivided attention for a moment?” He reaches out and grabs Clear none-too-gently by the chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. “I’m asking if you remember seeing the blaze hybrid, Tango Tek, inside his farm before you left the lab last night.”

Finally, finally, clarity sparks in Clear’s bloodshot eyes. “Oh. I suppose he was, yeah,” he says with a shrug.

Atlas leans in closer, close enough to smell the potion of swiftness on Clear’s breath (and thank the universe for that, because otherwise the man would probably be comatose). “Did you see anyone or anything out of the ordinary before you left for the night?”

Clear snorts. “Ordinary. Who decides that, huh?” Just like that, his gaze is clouded again as he starts rambling. “What’s ordinary to one person might be extraordinary to another, y’know. After all, everythin’ is relative, innit?”

Atlas sighs. “Indeed.” Releasing his grip, he steps back.

He never truly suspected that Clear had anything to do with Tango’s escape- the man’s mind is too fragmented to concoct a plot like that- but he’d been hoping Clear would have some sort of useful information for him. Evidently, it was too high of a hope.

“Go prep the flying machines,” he orders. “After I debrief the rest of the staff, I’ll be taking a team over to spawn to correct this little mishap.”

Clear gives a faint nod, already having turned his attention back to his comparator. “Right, sure. Just lemme finish this last-”

“Now please, Dr. Clear,” Atlas says firmly.

Clear heaves a sigh, sliding out of his chair. “Alright, alright…” He straightens his back with a loud pop before immediately reverting to his horribly hunched posture. “Flyin’ machines, right… where, exactly, can I find them?”

Atlas snaps his fingers at the security guards. “Do make sure he gets there, won’t you?”

The two players quickly nod and usher Clear out of the room. Atlas takes one final look at the empty farm before departing.

~*~

It doesn’t take long for Atlas to get everyone caught up to speed.

Hels Tek isn’t as large an operation as one might presume based on their reputation. Their numbers include fifteen scientists (including Clear and himself), ten security guards (including the two currently babysitting Clear), and two interns (for the time being).

All of them gathered in an average-sized conference room during an emergency might’ve been cause for a headache, if not for Atlas’s tight leadership. They await his instructions in stony silence, masking the nerves they must surely be feeling. Once he informs them of the situation, there isn’t a second spared for outrage or disbelief or panic- they simply ask what to do next.

They don’t have a protocol in place for this sort of emergency (an oversight on Atlas’s part, he’ll admit) but every one of his scientists is used to rolling with the punches. He quickly divides them into teams; one to search the entire lab top to bottom in case Tango simply respawned outside the enclosure and has hidden himself somewhere, one to form a perimeter around the premises to steer away any happenstance visitors, and one to accompany Atlas to the world spawn, where Tango most likely ended up after his death.

Atlas takes most of the security force with him as well, because even with flying machines, the journey to world spawn is long and dangerous. Every second spent chugging along through the smoke-filled air feels like an eternity, making Atlas quite aware of the invisible timeline closing down on him.

The longer Tango is free of Hels Tek, the greater the risk of him slipping away forever. And even worse, the greater the chance of Hels Tek’s sponsors catching wind of this disaster.

(There’s one in particular that Atlas shudders to think about discovering his blunder.)

For the most part, their formation of flying machines is left alone. Hels Tek is well known in this area, and has earned its reputation for dealing with troublemakers severely. Every now and then, they do get arrows sent their way, from bold (and stupid) players hidden amongst the landscape. There are also a couple close calls with ghasts, the monsters spawning out of nowhere in a burst of fireballs and demonic screeching.

But it’s nothing they can’t handle. The security guards make quick work of mob and player alike with their own volley of arrows. Those Power V crossbows pack quite the punch, reminding Atlas how nice it is to have wealthy sponsors.

Which he might lose, if he can’t recapture their blaze farm.

Eventually, the biomes start to give way to the horrendous moth-eaten terrain of the outer spawn chunks. It’s barren as always, with no signs of life amongst the patchwork of holes. Once the actual world spawn is in view, the pristine natural landscape, Atlas signals for the fleet to stop. Flying machines can enter the anti-griefing perimeter around spawn, but if they stall or get stuck for whatever reason, there’s no removing blocks, so they’ll be floating up in the air forever.

Which isn’t the end of the world, but it’s a meaningless waste of resources that Atlas would prefer to avoid if possible.

Fishing his water bucket out of his inventory, Atlas slides off the side of his flying machine. His stomach lurches as he drops, placing the water down just before he lands to negate any fall damage. Straightening up, he scoops the water back into the bucket and puts it away.

“We go on foot from here,” Atlas announces, as the rest of the search party follows suit. “Keep your eyes peeled, he could be hiding anywhere.”

“Yes, sir!” comes the chorus.

Traveling becomes considerably more difficult at that point, dodging holes every two steps. But soon enough, they reach the start of the spawn radius. Using the stone they’ve brought with them, they stack up to ascend the squat, sheer cliffs left behind by players long ago, digging for blocks the second they were out of the anti-griefing perimeter.

(Hels is ancient. By the time Atlas spawned into existence, the world already looked much like this, and has changed very little in the years since- as best he can tell as someone who seldom visits spawn, anyways.

But he remembers the day he spawned in. He remembers toddling over towards the cliffs on short, unsteady legs and dropping off the side, the painful crack of fall damage, his first damage, rattling through his feet. He remembers a sudden urge overtaking him, an instinct written into his very code, to start digging and gathering resources. And he remembers taking his tiny fists to the nearest block, an oak plank, only to find it’d been left by some other player to plug up a one-block hole that went all the way down to bedrock.

That wasn’t a fun fall.

He had to wonder, why would a player even bother to plug up a single hole in that disaster zone? It wasn’t as if anyone who’d respawned would have wooden planks on them, or a way to gather them, so it must’ve been someone coming to spawn instead of trying to escape from it. And so he’d decided, with all his two minutes of life experience, that it must’ve been done deliberately to trick someone, newly respawned and desperate for resources, into falling down that hole.

Just like he did.

That was also the moment he resolved to never let himself be outsmarted again.)

Atlas hops to the ground within the spawn radius just in time to see a dark shape flying up one of the netherrack mountains surrounding spawn. Before he can blink, it vanishes into the cliffside- probably into a hidden cave.

Well. Atlas had been hoping to find Tango here (even a respawn won’t have been enough to return him to full strength right away so he can’t have gotten far), but perhaps he’s found a witness.

“Fan out around the perimeter,” he says over his shoulder, as the rest of the group pull themselves up onto the level ground. “I think I see someone who might be able to help us out.”

“Yes, sir!”

Atlas approaches the mountain at a leisurely pace, arms folded behind his back. He comes to a stop at the foot of the cliff and looks up, allowing a wide grin to spread across his face. “Yoo hoo, hello up there!” he calls.

Silence, unsurprisingly.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I just need to ask you a couple questions,” he continues, voice cheery. “I can come to you if you want, we’ve got flying machines. It’d be no trouble at all.”

It’s a very clear threat, shoddily wrapped under the guise of politeness. And it seems to do the trick- a figure slowly creeps over the edge of the cliff, peering down at him.

The player isn’t very imposing; he’s pale and scrawny, practically emaciated, with big, hollow eyes. He’s an avian hybrid of some kind, black wings just barely visible poking over his shoulders. Interesting, but not important at the moment beyond what he can tell Atlas about recent arrivals to spawn.

He doesn’t seem to be wearing any armor, and as such, likely isn’t a spawn camper. Why else a player would hang around spawn, Atlas doesn’t know, but since he fled at their arrival he probably wants to be left alone. That increases the likelihood that he’ll answer Atlas’s questions readily, if only to get rid of them.

“... yes?” comes a soft, but labored, voice.

He sounds quite weak. Atlas’s grin widens. “Do you know if a blaze hybrid respawned here?” he asks. “He would’ve shown in the chat as Tango.”

The player seems to nod- a faint gesture from this distance.

“Wonderful!” Atlas claps his hands together, noting the way the player jolts at the sound. “And did you happen to see which direction he went?”

Slowly, the player lifts one trembling arm to point eastward. “Over… there,” he says, tone wary but seeming genuine. “Haven’t seen… him since…”

Atlas hums, pleased that at least someone is cooperating with him today. “Thank you very much.” He snaps his fingers- immediately, several members of the search party peel off from the group to head east. “Now, have you been at spawn for a while? Do you know how long ago he respawned here?”

The player hesitates. “Not… sure…” It sounds like he’s cringing, afraid of not knowing the answer, so it’s probably not a lie.

“That’s alright,” Atlas assures him, pulling up his communicator. He scrolls through the death messages again when something catches his eye. The first message after Tango’s death; Bravo has joined the game.

The only players that join Hels are children, new-spawns. They can burst into existence at any moment, with no rhyme or reason; sometimes there’ll be ten in a row, and sometimes weeks will go in between. It shouldn’t stand out as unusual… and yet, the names have an odd similarity that won’t leave him alone.

(Already, a part of Atlas’s mind has snatched up the idea like a wolf and ran with it. If the two events are connected- Tango’s death and Bravo’s entrance- then there must be something bigger than random chance going on. If there’s a way for players from other worlds to travel to Hels, and potentially viceversa, then Atlas has to be the first one to know about it.)

“Who’s this Bravo that joined shortly after?” Atlas asks, as casually as he can.

The player’s answer is just as casual, despite the way he sounds as if he’s on death’s door. “Just… a kid.”

“Mm.” Now that Atlas is looking more carefully, he sees an actual message from Bravo, asking for help. That message is promptly followed by several deaths, interspersed amongst the regular deaths of other Hels denizens.

Of course. Just a stupid kid.

(Atlas purges the idea from his mind, embarrassed to have given it any significant thought at all.)

Sighing, Atlas puts his communicator away. “Alright, that will be all. Thank you.” He turns away with a wave, moving to rejoin the search party. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

The player’s response is so faint, Atlas almost misses it.

“... thanks… you… too...”

~*~

Only minutes later, a new message comes through the chat.

AnimosityGaming starved to death.

Well. That explains a lot.

~*~

They don’t stay around spawn very long.

Since the spawn chunk can’t be altered in any way, there’s no possibility that Tango has made himself a hiding place by digging or placing blocks. So after a quick sweep of the area, they move on to the outlying chunks. Searching through these is a more difficult task than it’d seem, because despite the terrain’s barren appearance, there’s an infinite maze of tunnels underground from years of desperate players trying to safely make it out of spawn.

They split into pairs and fan out, searching for hours on foot until Atlas finally throws in the towel, fed up with bumping his head on the two-high ceilings. After ordering everyone back to the flying machines, they continue their search from the air, flying in concentric circles around spawn. Even this method is limited by the terrain- high mountains and low overhangs from the nether ceiling blocking their paths.

(He should’ve let Clear install TNT-launchers on these things.)

As the day wanes on, Atlas grows increasingly frustrated. Tango shouldn’t have been able to get very far from spawn, not in his condition, unless he asked for help. But Atlas knows the blaze hybrid’s mind quite well, and knows that asking for help is the last thing he’d do.

(It’s the last thing any sensible resident of Hels would do.)

So they should’ve found him by now, or he should’ve had another death. Hels is a dangerous place for anyone, even more so for a very weak creature with absolutely no resources to speak of. After spending his last few months in the farm, Tango should barely be able to walk. And yet somehow, he’s managed to evade them, and death itself.

(Atlas would be impressed if he weren’t so infuriated. Clever devil. He’s always privately thought that Tango would’ve been an excellent Hels Tek scientist, if he weren’t spawned as part blaze.)

As a last resort, Atlas swings by the Arena.

It’s been a while since his last visit- he doesn’t make a habit of it. Too chaotic for his tastes. But he knows its recruiters often pick up cannon fodder from spawn, and they’re especially keen on nabbing any kind of ‘exotic’ player for their fights.

The two recruiters that greet him, a cat hybrid and a large zombie player, heartily assure him they haven’t been by spawn lately. They even take him on a tour through the underground cages, where gladiators of all shapes and sizes await their fates. And sure enough, none of them are Tango.

The recruiters promise to let Atlas know if they see him. However, Atlas doesn’t fail to notice the sly look they give each other when he takes his leave. They’ll almost certainly be out to spawn soon, to try and catch Tango for themselves.

Perfect. Just perfect. He’ll have to have someone keep an eye out at the Arena, in case they actually end up finding Tango in the coming days. Normally, he stays informed on the major businesses of Hels through his various sponsors. But that doesn’t work very well when he needs to be informed of something he’s trying to keep from them.

Wouldn’t that be a bad look, for the blaze farm he’d just shown off as part of his big Phase Two proposal to suddenly appear as a new punching bag at the Arena.

In any case, it’s late into the night before Atlas finally gives up the search. The last actual civilization to check nearby is New Helington, and showing up there would be like signing off on his own death warrant. Besides, if Tango was foolish enough to seek refuge in the city, then Atlas will hear about it anyways, and at that point he’s already doomed.

Their ride back to the lab is spent in stony silence. Atlas can tell everyone is wary of his temper- and certainly, there’ll be a time for that- but right now, he’s too preoccupied with figuring out how to fix this. All he wants to do when he gets back to the lab is down a potion of swiftness and pour over all his collected research and data on Tango, in the hopes of finding a way to track him.

But as soon as Hels Tek comes into view, they’re flagged down by a scientist on the ground.

“Dr. Atlas!” FlySpeck calls, her voice tightly wound with nerves. “There’s someone here to see you, says it’s urgent. I tried to tell him you were out but he won’t leave-”

“Who?” Atlas asks, sliding off the flying machine.

“bXMiner.”

Atlas’s stomach sinks.

Whenever Alisker needs to conduct business, he usually does it through some other underling acting as a go-between. It’s not often he sends his right-hand man bXMiner, and when he does, it’s usually a bad sign.

There’s only one thing that could have prompted the visit. “Where is he?”

FlySpeck casts a wary look over her shoulder. “We put him in the lobby to wait.”

“Thank you, I’ll see him now,” Atlas says curtly, brushing past her.

He walks to the lobby at a speed just shy of running- it simply won’t do to be seen running around in a panic at his own lab, but he knows he shouldn’t keep bX waiting. Not because the man is particularly impatient, but because the longer he’s away from Alisker, the more Alisker’s mood will sour. And Atlas has a nasty feeling Alisker is already quite displeased with him.

(Of course Alisker found out. He has eyes everywhere.)

Atlas sweeps into the lobby with the casual presence of a man with nothing to fear and nothing to hide. “Hello, Mr. bX!” he says warmly, as if greeting an old friend instead of a glorified attack dog.

The man waiting on one of the benches looks over at Atlas with a grin. “Hey, man,” he says nonchalantly, rising to his feet.

He doesn’t quite match Atlas’s height, but he’s certainly the bulkier of the two. Broad shouldered and well-muscled, bX is a formidable force. His face, however, is deceptively pleasant, his teal eyes bright and kind. They match the shimmering diamond chestplate he’s wearing over his smart leather ensemble, as well as the trident strapped across his back.

(Atlas isn’t surprised to see it, despite the weapon’s usefulness being somewhat limited out of water. They love using tridents at the Arena, and it seems bX never gave up the habit.)

“Thank you for your patience,” Atlas says smoothly, coming to a stop in front of bX. “I do hope my staff have been accommodating?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” bX assures him. He gives Atlas a knowing look. “Rough day?”

Atlas manages a polite laugh, despite the implication that his appearance and demeanor are visibly haggard. “You could say that. So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

bX tilts his head. “You mean you really don’t know why I’m here?” he asks, a playful hum in his voice. He’s having fun with this, the bastard.

“Well, I have an educated guess,” Atlas allows, with enough amusement in his voice to imply he’s in on the joke rather than being the butt of it. “But I must admit, I’m surprised to hear from Mr. Alisker so soon.”

bX shrugs a shoulder, scratching at his well-groomed beard. “People might not chat in Hels, but we certainly whisper.”

Atlas sucks in a breath through his smile. “Indeed.”

He’d known there was a high probability that someone on his staff was secretly reporting to Alisker. After all, Atlas hired most of his security force through him. But he’d been hoping they’d developed enough respect for him to trust in his abilities, and give him time to correct the problem before bringing it to Alisker’s attention.

Apparently not.

(One of these days, his hubris will be the death of him.)

Atlas spreads his hands. “I can assure you, Mr. bX, I have a perfectly reasonable explanation-”

“Save it.” bX waves him off, somehow still managing to seem friendly. As if he truly doesn’t want Atlas to waste his breath. “Papa Al wants to talk to you, in person.”

“Ah.” Atlas folds his hands behind his back, his smile sharpening. “You know, if it was that urgent, he could’ve simply sent me a message. Would’ve saved you the trip. I was just in the area, in fact, paying a visit to the Arena.”

If the pointed mention has struck a nerve with bX, he doesn’t show it. “He just wanted to make sure you got there safely,” he says easily. “You know how dangerous traveling can be on your own.”

(Translation: Alisker didn’t trust that Atlas would come voluntarily.)

“Indeed,” Atlas says, masking his displeasure. “Very well, then. Shall we take my flying machine?”

“Ah, I was hoping you’d offer,” bX chuckles. “It’s not an easy journey to make on foot.”

“No,” Atlas sighs, turning to head back outside, “no, it’s not.”

~*~

If the purpose of having bX fetch Atlas was to make him sweat, it’s certainly working.

The journey to New Helington is always long and arduous, but it’s far more nerve-wracking in bX’s presence. He spends the time making casual small talk and launching into the occasional story, as if their relationship is perfectly amiable. And even worse, he’s resistant to all of Atlas’s attempts to unbalance him, letting every snide remark and underhanded compliment glide off his back like water. As always, his demeanor is perfectly unflappable, as if the man is physically incapable of being anything but totally relaxed and jovial.

Atlas doesn’t trust it. He’s seen what bX is capable of. The front he presents only means that he’s better at covering up his true emotions, thoughts, and desires than most- which makes him even more dangerous.

(Because it’s not like anyone could truly be that content all the time. True happiness in Hels is like sunlight; unattainable, and thus supplemented by other cheaper means.)

Eventually, New Helington’s skyline rises in the distance. The city was around long before Alisker, the remnant of early civilizations that were griefed faster than they could be built, but it’s only been able to flourish under his iron fist and watchful eyes. They’ve seen great expansion in the last few years and will likely continue to do so at an ever-increasing rate. Atlas wouldn’t be surprised if the city ended up encroaching on the outer spawn chunks someday, if Alisker can be bothered to cover up the eyesore that is its current terrain.

“You can park here,” bX calls above the chugging of the sticky pistons as they approach one of the city’s gates.

Atlas leans forward to place the stopper block, bringing them to an immediate halt. “Lead the way,” he says wryly, as if he didn’t just drive himself to his own execution.

bX hops to the ground, waving at the player standing guard at the gate. “Hey man,” he calls as they approach, “keep an eye on this, will you? We’ve got business with Papa Al, shouldn’t take long.”

The player nods and steps aside, pulling a lever on the wall. The gate- a massive piston door- opens up to admit them into the city. Atlas follows bX through, pistons churning as the gate seals behind them with echoing finality.

No matter how many times Atlas visits New Helington, it’s a jarring adjustment.

Flashing redstone lamps and blocks of glowstone adorn the front of nearly every building, which are packed together in a haphazard array. The air is thick with steam and filled with sound- voices shouting and screaming, hydraulics hissing and pounding, metal clashing and screeching. There’s activity everywhere he looks; a player rushing out of a bar as bottles are thrown after him, a player tumbling off a roof and crashing through the awning of a market stand, a player chasing a little horde of kids while screaming about pickpocketing.

Truly, a brilliant reminder of why there are so few thriving civilizations in Hels. Most Hels players are unpleasant on any given day, but they’re even more unpalatable in large numbers.

The cobblestone streets are crowded, players packed together as densely as a piglin swarm. Atlas walks closely next to bX so as to decrease the likelihood of being hassled by anyone. bX is well known here- the crowd parts for them like fish in a stream.

Soon enough, the buildings fall away and the road opens up into a sort of courtyard, paved with polished diorite and framed by lush shrubbery (as lush as it can be in this biome, anyways). Looming on top of the hill in the distance, beyond the tall iron gates, is a lavish mansion made almost entirely out of quartz.

(Seems that Alisker has made good use of the piglin bartering farm Atlas had installed for him. Not that the man will likely recall that particular favor during this meeting.)

bX approaches the gate first, nodding at the two players standing guard. “Hey guys,” he greets them pleasantly. “Got a friend here to see Papa Al.”

The guards exchange a knowing look. “Sure thing, sir,” one of them says, stepping aside to open the gate for them.

Atlas gives them a pointed grin as he passes; he refuses to show even the slightest amount of trepidation lest they realize their assumptions were correct. For all they know, he could be here on perfectly pleasant business, or even a social call.

(Yeah, right.)

The paved path to the front doors slopes gently upwards as it curves this way and that, taking a rather lackadaisical route through the garden. If Atlas were here under different circumstances, he might spare a second to appreciate the landscaping. Not because he has any particular interest in building aesthetics, but because of what it represents. To own so much excess land in a crowded city like New Helington that serves no purpose except to look pretty is quite the power play.

There are no guards at the front doors, which open up into a grand entry chamber reminiscent of a lobby. In the middle of the room, a receptionist sits within the center of a circular desk. She straightens up at their arrival, notices bX, relaxes, notices Atlas, quirks a brow, and then goes right back to her paperwork, an amused smile playing on her lips.

Atlas is certain they’ll all be talking about his visit today, and the thought only sours his mood even further. He’s invested a great deal of time and effort into crafting his reputation as the intelligent, business-savvy, and ruthless head of Hels Tek; he’s not happy about being treated like a misbehaving child.

bX wastes no time leading Atlas to an elevator at the side of the lobby. After bX spins the floor selecting key in its item frame a few times, the redstone lamp in the wall lights up, and the pistons beneath their feet start to churn. The elevator jolts at the movement, starting to ascend in jerky lurches.

(It sounds a lot like the flying machines Atlas has been listening to all day and night. He’s really starting to hate that sound.)

It doesn’t take long for them to reach their floor. The elevator grows still and silent, the redstone lamp going dark, and opens up into a long hallway with a single door at the end.

bX gives Atlas a sideways glance, mouth quirked into a smile. “Three guesses as to what’s behind Door Number One.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Atlas huffs.

“Alright, alright,” bX chuckles, stepping out of the elevator. He leads the way down the hall, stopping in front of the door and rapping his fist against it.

“Hollo?” comes a distinctive voice from inside. “Who isss it?”

“Honey, I’m home,” bX drawls, his voice lighting up with mirth.

There’s a gasp. “bX! That you, sweet face? Come in!”

bX opens the door, and the two of them step inside.

Atlas has been inside Alisker’s office only a few times before- they rarely conduct business in person- but it’s clearly seen some renovations since then. Most of the walls are quartz, a mixture of smooth and polished, while the back wall is made of glass. It provides an excellent view over the lush backyard gardens of the gated property. And to top it all off, the floor is paved entirely with solid diamond blocks.

(Tacky, sure, but also an undisputable show of wealth.)

The man sitting at the desk is just as flashy. He wears a bright teal suit, dyed the exact shade of diamond, and is wearing several of the little stones on his fingers. His actual features, however, are more plain; short brown hair that’s neatly combed back and wide brown eyes set in a somewhat soft, rounded face. The only thing unusual about him are the dozens of thin lines that haphazardly zig-zag across every inch of his face, like paper cuts.

(Atlas doesn’t let himself stare; Alisker loves making people uncomfortable.)

bX waves Atlas inside before closing the door behind them and crossing over to the desk. “Sorry it took so long,” he says ruefully.

“Spank you, queenie,” Alisker hums, tilting his head up to kiss bX on the cheek.

(Atlas isn’t fooled by the tenderness of the gesture; it’s nothing more than a display of power. Showing outright affection to someone like that plainly exposes a weak spot, like baring your throat to a knife. Alisker is saying, in no uncertain terms, that this is his house, and he can do whatever he damn well pleases with no fear of retribution.)

bX moves away to stand in front of the door. Alisker now turns to Atlas, a broad grin splitting across his face. “Doc-tor Sinny!” he croons. “It’s been sooo long since I’ve seen dat beautiful face. Come in, come in! Just sit back, and relax.”

Atlas sits down in the solitary chair before Alisker’s desk, offering a polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Alisker-”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Alisker tsks, giving him a bemused look. “How many times I told you? Call me Papa Al.”

Ugh. “Papa Al,” Atlas corrects himself begrudgingly, his smile strained. “I assure you, I can explain-”

“No need,” Alisker says loftily. He leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk. “Look into my eyes, and nufin’ but my eyes.”

Atlas has already prepared himself, but his stomach still jolts when the rest of Alisker’s eyes open up. Every line on his face peels open into a pair of lids, behind which an eye peers out. They’re not symmetrical in size, color, location, or orientation- it’s as if someone’s scooped a bucketful of mismatched eyes out of a bin and crammed them into Alisker’s face at random, wherever they’d fit. His forehead, the bridge of his nose, cheeks, jawline, chin- they all twitch and blink and roll completely out of sync, as if trying to look everywhere at once.

But Atlas has seen all this before, and manages to keep his gaze centered on Alisker’s main eyes, the only two located where eyes are normally found.

“I already know alllll about wha’ happened, mhmm,” Alisker says emphatically, nodding his head. His various eyes roll around in multiple directions at the movement. “I must admit, I- I was shocked- no, I was hurt, dat you didn’t tell me yourself. What’s dat about?”

Atlas inclines his head. “I do apologize for the secrecy,” he says mildly, “but I can assure you, this is just a minor setback. I didn’t see the need to bother you with this when I knew we’d have him back soon enough-”

“But you don’t,” Alisker interrupts pointedly. “How long it’s been, a day and a hoff? Two? Almost two days since you lost the blazey farm, and I gotta say, I’m not- I’m not happy.” Absent-mindedly, he scratches at his cheek- the three eyeballs crammed into the flesh there quickly squeeze shut against his fingertips. “I wouldn’t have been mad if you’d just told me, ya know.”

That’s a blatant lie, Atlas knows. He feels himself bristle. “I was just-”

“I gotta know dese things, Atlas!” Alisker interrupts, his tone chiding- like he’s scolding a child. Some of his eyes are looking at each other, as if exchanging a private glance. “Dat’s my investment at stake!”

Atlas talks a breath, centering himself. “You know I appreciate your investment in Hels Tek,” he begins smoothly, spreading his hands, “and I fully intend to deliver. But as inconvenient as this development was, we don’t need him anymore.” His lips split into a winning smile. “We have virtually infinite blaze rods stored up, absolutely no problem there, and I feel as though we’ve more than proven the concept of hybrid powered farms to be a success. We can still proceed with Phase Two-”

“Oh, can we?” Alisker asks in mock surprise, cocking his head to the side. Several of his eyes are looking Atlas up and down, scanning so intently it makes his skin crawl. “You really fink I’m gonna lend you even more of my guys and my pwecious resources so you can go catch more mob hybrids to lose? If you can’t even keep ahold a one, how am I supposed ta trust you wif a whole factory, hm?”

Keep it together. “I understand your trepidation, I do,” Atlas says calmly. “Look, we’re both businessmen. Let’s just discuss this rationally. You’ve known me a long time, I’ve proven myself to you-”

“You’ve proven dat you can’t be trusted,” Alisker snaps, finally letting some heat into his voice. “I spent all dese years funding your research, supplying your security guys, providing you wif all da information you need to be a success, the very bed you sleep on, and dis is how you repay me?”

(Atlas could point out he doesn’t actually sleep on the bed Alisker gifted him, but that information doesn’t seem pertinent at the moment.)

“I don’t- I don’t love it, Atlas,” Alisker continues, his tone grave. His eyes are glaring now, all narrow slits of pupils. “And right now, I don’t love your face.”

Atlas’s stomach drops. “Papa Al, please-”

“You were nufin’ when I found you,” Alisker says darkly, leaning back in his chair. “And if you’ve forgotten, then bX over here will remind you.”

He snaps his fingers.

bX suddenly appears next to Atlas. He doesn’t fight as bX grabs him by the front of his shirt, heaving him out of the chair until their faces are only inches apart, close enough for Atlas to smell the saltwater that always seems to hang off bX’s breath despite them being thousands of blocks away from the nearest ocean.

“Nothin’ personal,” bX chuckles before throwing Atlas against the wall.

The blow shudders through Atlas’s skull, knocking his shades clean off. He manages to stay on his feet, clutching his head and straightening up just in time to see the first punch swing towards his face.

He retreats into his mind right before the impact.

(This is probably how bX manages to stay so collected, Atlas thinks to himself, observing with detached interest while his body is beaten. bX gets to let out all his frustrations on whatever unfortunate player Alisker sics him on that day. It’s something Atlas can relate to, somewhat. After all, there are times where he has to use a little force of his own to keep his staff in line and remind them who’s in charge- because some of them still only respond to violence, the brutish law of beasts.

But he can never let himself go this far. If he did, he’d lose their faith completely. Why would they stay with him if Hels Tek wasn’t better- more civil, more orderly- than the alternative, the lawless wasteland of Hels?

Besides, he hates to admit to himself how good it feels to use violence, so he avoids it when he can. He prefers to use the more elegant method of psychological torture to break a spirit. There’s beauty in laying a trap like that, in spinning delicate spiderwebs of lies and manipulation until his victim is so thoroughly ensnared they can’t even think to fight back. It works like a charm- most of the time, that is- and it’s far less messy.

Of course, that’s not to say Alisker’s methods are ineffective. Atlas has been dreading this meeting for very good reason.)

He isn’t sure how much time passes before the beating is over. When he comes back to himself, he’s on the floor, curled onto his side. One of his eyes won’t open all the way, pain radiating through his skull. It’s only dimmed by the pain pulsing through his chest and stomach- he’ll likely have some boot-shaped bruises come morning.

He can taste blood from a split lip, smeared against his teeth- he runs his tongue along them just to check he hasn’t lost any, because those don’t always respawn.

Another small mercy; once the room stops spinning, Atlas sees his shades lying on the floor a few feet away, without so much as a crack in the lenses. Taking a slow, deep breath, he pushes himself upright- and grits his teeth against the wave of nausea that crashes over him.

(Any hope of leaving with his dignity intact has been utterly destroyed, but at the very least, he’d like to not lose his lunch all over Alisker’s diamond floor.)

Atlas can’t know for sure without checking his communicator, but he’s fairly certain he must only have one or two hearts of health left. Carefully, he reaches for his shades, placing them back on his face before pulling himself to his feet.

bX is on the other side of the desk, hands braced on it as he leans over to whisper something in Alisker’s ear, which makes him chuckle. His extra eyes have closed once more, leaving just the two normal ones eyeing Atlas as he stands, one brow quirked.

“Well?” Alisker prompts, almost sounding bored.

Atlas chokes back his anger. “Message received,” he breathes, grinning despite the sharp pain in his lip. “It was a mistake I won’t be making again.”

Alisker snorts. “If you even get da chonce…” Seemingly satisfied, he turns away from Atlas and runs a hand up bX’s arm, letting it rest at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t even look over as he adds, “I trust you can find your own way out?”

(What was it that Atlas called bX, an attack dog? More like a glorified lap dog.)

“Of course,” Atlas says shortly, heading for the door just as bX leans down to meet Alisker’s lips. “Good day, gentlemen.”

It’s humiliating, to take his own leave from the mansion in such a sorry state. He thinks it almost would’ve been less humiliating if Alisker had him dragged and thrown out, instead of forcing him to leave with his tail tucked between his legs.

He briefly debates taking a short walk off a tall building to respawn his injuries away, and to save himself the trip back to the lab, but having the death against him would be even more of a bruise to his pride.

And he’ll be damned if he lets them keep his flying machine.

~*~

After a long flight back home, Atlas is greeted with even more bad news.

Four of his security guards have quit. The cowards couldn’t even stick around to hand over their resignations in person. Sensing the start of a worrying trend, Atlas quickly assembles the rest of the staff for a meeting.

(Normally he’d give it a few days for his injuries to heal, but this is important. Besides, it’s not like they couldn’t guess what happened. A visit to Alisker is never a good thing.)

Atlas explains that yes, their chief sponsor is informed of the Tango situation, and yes, he’s quite unhappy about it. But he also explains that this is just a little snag, and that efforts to recapture Tango will begin anew very soon. In the meantime, he expects business to proceed as usual; they have plenty of other projects that require attention, and all reports are due at their normal times.

That refocuses some of the heavily work-driven scientists. But over the next couple days, there’s still far too much gossip and speculation for his liking.

And at the end of the week, three more guards resign.

~*~

“You’d better have a good reason for interrupting me,” Atlas says without looking up.

He’s given his staff strict instructions not to bother him. It’s no easy task, going through all their accumulated knowledge on Tango in the search of something that might help them track the hybrid down. All that’s come of it thus far were the coordinates of Tango’s starter base, which had turned up empty. It’d been griefed years ago, with no signs of life or recent activity. Tango probably doesn’t even remember where it is, but Atlas had the whole place trapped just in case.

The player standing in the doorway of Atlas’s office sucks in a breath through his teeth, like a wince. “Sorry, sir. It’s just, uh- well, I just need to-”

“What is it?” Atlas snaps, finally looking up. It’s the intern- no surprise there.

The intern gulps and holds out a piece of paper. “Dr. Ironclad resigned.”

Atlas blinks. Slowly, he rises from his desk and takes the paper. Quickly reading it, he shoves down the violent collision of emotions rising up inside him and drops the paper into the little waste bin beside his desk.

“Well congratulations, doctor,” he says simply, turning away. “You’ve just been promoted.”

The intern makes a disbelieving squeaking noise. “Oh! Oh wow, sir! Th- thank you, sir! I- I promise, I won’t let you down-”

“You can go now,” Atlas says dryly.

“Yes sir, right away, sir!”

~*~

The intern-turned-doctor only lasts two days before he flees in the middle of the night.

~*~

Atlas’s communicator beeps.

InstinctEV whispered to you: I heard that old al pulled the plug on HT. True?

You whispered to InstinctEV: Not in the slightest. If you must know, the terms of Alisker’s sponsorship deal with Hels Tek have become complicated, but the deal is still very much intact. The details beyond that are confidential.

InstinctEV whispered to you: interesting. You know, we’re always hiring at iRaid…

You whispered to InstinctEV: Respectfully, fuck off.

InstinctEV whispered to you: :P

~*~

Despite Atlas’s best efforts, word spreads quickly.

Soon enough, the rest of Hels Tek’s sponsors are at the door, demanding to know about the status of Phase Two. Atlas does his best to assuage their concerns, but they insist on seeing the farm.

And from there, things go rather poorly.

Atlas’s sales pitch, insisting that Tango is not a necessary component in the Phase Two expansion, isn’t well received. By the end of the visit, two sponsors have walked out on the company. He does manage to convince the remainders to give him some time, but they make it quite clear that the terms of their investment lie entirely on Tango’s swift return.

As soon as the sponsors leave, Atlas tears through their research on Tango with renewed urgency. But aside from observations about blaze hybrid behavior and habits- which they’ve altered by pure virtue of scientific experimentation and thus cannot rely upon to be constant- there’s nothing they can use to locate him.

They’ll have to do this the old fashioned-way.

~*~

Over the next few months, Atlas sends out several more search expeditions- but all to no avail. He finally gives up when the last expedition doesn’t return; three more scientists run off with the last of his security team to seek employment elsewhere.

There’s nothing else to be done. He has to accept that Tango must’ve slipped past them, escaping to the wilds of Hels. The hybrid is probably long gone, hundreds of thousands of blocks away.

It’s either that, or else…

(There are whispers, sometimes, of players vanishing from Hels. Not dying, but well and truly vanishing without a trace, never to appear again, not even in chat. Atlas knows there are worlds beyond Hels- he’s an analytical purist at heart, and he knows Patho’s deduction is sound. He’s worked over that theorem enough times himself to nearly have it memorized.

But he’s had some of the best scientists in Hels attempting to construct a working portal for the better part of two decades now. If it was possible, they would’ve done it already.)

No, no, he’s being ridiculous. There’s nothing mysterious or otherworldly happening here, just a sneaky blaze hybrid that’s managed to evade him. All Atlas can do now is keep an ear to the ground and an eye on the chat, waiting for Tango to slip up and expose himself.

(It’s a hard pill to swallow. Atlas would greatly prefer if something mysterious and otherworldly was happening here.)

He’d send a whisper to Tango, just to confirm that the hybrid still exists somewhere in Hels and put those ridiculous fears to bed, but they took Tango’s communicator from him a long time ago; it’s still collecting dust on a shelf in Atlas’s office, unused but fully-functional.

Atlas briefly thought it could be of use; communicators are unique items that spawn into existence with their player, so he hoped there might be a link to Tango buried within its data. But the data analysis he ran came up dry. He could call in a specialist to have a look at it, but those contacts operate through Alisker, and he certainly won’t be doing Atlas any favors.

Nevermind that. The next time Tango dies, his name will appear in the chat whether he has a communicator of his own or not.

Atlas just has to be patient.

(Hels Tek’s sponsors, it seems, do not share the same sentiment.)

~*~

“- such a big fucking deal?”

“I can’t work in these conditions!”

Atlas quickens his pace down the hallway towards the sound of shouting. Tensions have been rising among his staff since another one of their sponsors pulled out a couple days ago, and he’s had to break up several squabbles already-

“You don’t work at all! All you do is stand around complaining-”

“Hybrid farming is my life’s work, you asshole-”

“And what’s it amounted to, huh?”

Atlas rounds the corner just in time to see Riposte tackle Malvin to the ground. The scuffle between the two scientists quickly turns bloody- Riposte’s fingernails rake across Malvin’s face, who retaliates by biting down on the meat of Riposte’s thumb. Diving into the fray, Atlas wrenches Riposte off the other man, throwing him against the wall.

“Dr. Riposte!” Atlas barks. “Get ahold of yourself!”

Riposte is glaring daggers, but makes no move to break free of Atlas’s hold. “He started it-”

“Oh, fuck off!” Malvin snarls from behind them.

“That’s enough!” Atlas can feel his own temper coming to a boil. “Both of you! This behavior is not acceptable at Hels Tek.”

“Yeah?” Riposte pushes Atlas off him and stalks down the hall, shouting over his shoulder, “Well, I quit!”

“Good riddance!” Malvin shouts back.

It takes all of Atlas’s self control not to whirl around and kick him.

~*~

On the first anniversary of Tango’s escape, bXMiner drops by Hels Tek.

“Mr. bX,” Atlas greets him with a smile, stepping aside to let him in. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Been a while since we’ve heard from you,” bX hums, clearly not in the mood for small talk. “Papa Al sent me to check in.”

Atlas inclines his head. “Well, I hate to disappoint,” he says, trying to sound sincere, “but if I’d made any progress you would’ve already been informed.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” bX says, shaking his head.

Atlas’s grin is so tight he might just crack his teeth. “I do hope Mr. Alisker doesn’t see the need to discuss the matter in person?”

“Oh no, no,” bX laughs, cracking his knuckles. “He just told me to give you a message.”

Atlas sighs. “Very well.”

Gingerly, he takes his shades off, folds them, and sets them on his desk.

bX seems amused by that. “Again, nothing personal,” he says, winding up for the first punch.

Again, Atlas doesn’t fight. There’s no point; Alisker is relentless and if it wasn’t bX, it’d be any number of vicious goons sent after him. Might as well just get it over with and then get back to work, so it never has to happen again.

(Atlas doesn’t know it at the time, of course, but this soon becomes a yearly tradition.)

~*~

Time passes. Still no news of Tango.

Nothing in the chat, nothing at the Arena, nothing in the city.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

~*~

On one unassuming day, Atlas is pouring over his files on Tango for what must be the fiftieth time when three unfamiliar players burst into his office, equipped with swords.

“What’s the code to your vault?” the player in the middle demands.

Atlas stares blankly at the players. Hels Tek is being raided, now. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Security has admittedly taken a steep dive, considering they no longer have any security guards employed and are only eleven scientists strong, but he didn’t think players would be bold enough to actually attempt a raid-

“Hey!” a second player shouts, raising her blade. “We’re talking to you, poindexter!”

Atlas sighs. “Very well. I know I have it written down somewhere,” he says, reaching for the loaded crossbow stashed in an item frame beneath his desk.

~*~

biaxialcloud78 was shot by Atlas Syn

Hoaxboat was shot by Atlas Syn

Ballet Bob was shot by Atlas Syn

~*~

Their villagers were slaughtered in the raid, of course, bringing the iron farm to a screeching halt. Hels Tek has a villager farm in reserve, of course, hidden deep beneath the facility. But of course, no one is willing to fetch the replacement villagers and undertake the arduous process of wrangling them several floors up into the iron farm. Atlas would assign the task to someone himself, but of course, he’s too preoccupied with his own work to bother.

So iron production halts, and scientists start running out of materials, and by the end of the week, Heligan and FlySpeck have quit.

Of course.

~*~

“Oi, Atlas,” Clear huffs, poking his head into Atlas’s office, “could’ya tell Mal to quit nabbin’ all me spare pistons?”

Atlas can’t even bring himself to be irritated. “Dr. Malvin left three weeks ago, Dr. Clear.”

“Oh.” Clear blinks. “Alright. Can I ‘ave some more pistons, then?”

“No,” Atlas says, rising to his feet, “no, you cannot. Do you know why that is, Dr. Clear?”

Clear frowns at him. “What, you gettin’ stingy on us alluva sudden?”

Atlas feels himself smile entirely without humor. “Us? When’s the last time you looked around yourself, Dr. Clear?” he asks. “All that’s left of Hels Tek is you, me, and four other people. Our sponsors are dropping like bats and we’re still no closer to recapturing Tango than we were the day we lost him! Do you even realize how many years have passed without a single whisper of his existence?”

Clear, as usual, seems entirely unfazed by Atlas’s tone. “Well, if you ask me, I don’t see why losin’ a blaze farm is such a problem,” he huffs, absently drumming his greasy fingers along Atlas’s doorframe. “Ain’t we got other things to work on?”

“Oh, believe me,” Atlas snarks, “I’d be perfectly happy to move forward with Phase Two.”

“So why don’t ‘cha, then?” Clear asks plainly.

“Because our sponsors, Dr. Clear, don’t share the same opinion.” Atlas folds his arms behind his back, walking around the desk. “They require Tango Tek in working order as proof of concept before they’ll fund my expedition, and an effort of this scale cannot be orchestrated on empty pockets.”

“Sponsors,” Clear scoffs, as if he’s only heard every other word Atlas said. “Bunch’a ninnies, the lot of ‘em. What’s a sponsor know ‘bout redstone anyhow?”

Atlas exhales slowly. “In case you haven’t noticed,” he says, “redstone endeavors of this caliber don’t have the luxury of being entirely unattached from politics and personal agendas. No one will fund science for science’s sake.”

Clear shrugs. “Then we’ll do it ourselves.”

Atlas rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

“We’ve got most the infrastructure in place already, ain’t we?” Clear continues, now twirling his mustache.

Atlas knits his brows together. “Infrastructure is useless without the manpower to utilize it.”

“Then get some manpower.”

“I already told you, our sponsors-”

“If I ain’t mistaken, Hels Tek didn’t ‘ave any sponsors when I joined up.” The look Clear gives him is surprisingly lucid, framed by hard determination- a shadow of the man Atlas knew so many years ago. “Just you, standin’ there with your trim black coat an’ a grin that said you’d ‘ave all of Hels in your pocket someday, an’ I believed it.”

Atlas is silent for a moment. “Is that so?”

Clear inclines his head. “I’m still ‘ere, ain’t I?”

“I suppose you are,” Atlas says quietly. “Thank you, Dr. Clear.”

“Sure.” Clear glances away, his expression quickly clouding again. “Glad to help. Now, about them pistons-”

“Prepare a flying machine, if you please,” Atlas says, turning back to his desk.

“Oh,” Clear says, taken aback. “Oh, alrigh’ then. Fine, sure, not like I’ve got me own work to do…” he mutters to himself, starting down the hallway.

Atlas quickly starts packing. Aside from the essentials, he won’t need much. A stack of business cards, his blueprint for the Phase Two factory, and the abstract of Riposte’s thesis on hybrid farming (which is now the intellectual property of Hels Tek, of course). The sales pitch is still as fresh in his mind as the day he wrote it, all those years ago.

He’ll start with the cities. New Helington is off the table but while it may be the largest and most centrally located, there are plenty others he knows of. And if that fails, he has no problem poaching talent from other redstone communities and corporations. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time-

Clear pokes his head back into Atlas’s office.

“Uh, flyin’ machines are… where, exactly?”

~*~

Atlas’s first recruitment tour is a smashing success.

Six new redstoners to join the staff, with several more on the line and likely to join soon. Since security is still a work in progress, he ensures that every one of them is well-armed and fully capable of defending themselves. Once he has them settled in, he tasks them with whipping all the farms back into working order.

(In the years after Hels Tek’s mass exodus, several more farms have broken in addition to the iron farm, falling victim to glitches and overflow and lack of maintenance. The only reason Atlas didn’t realize this sooner was because he hadn’t had enough scientists to complain about the lack of resources.)

The feat gets accomplished in record time, as each new hire is determined to prove their mettle to him and stand out from the pack. Resources start flowing in, and crafting begins shortly thereafter. Soon, their storage system is well-stocked with all the redstone essentials.

It’s not a completely smooth transition, of course. Many of them have heard rumors about the decline of Hels Tek and there are questions about the empty blaze farm, which Atlas does his best to deflect. There are squabbles between the new hires and the old staff, squabbles about which office spaces and dwelling chambers go to who, and squabbles about what projects to work on next. It doesn’t help that the only scientists who stayed from the old payroll, including Clear, are the most eccentric and stubborn ones he ever hired.

In the end, Atlas assigns the new scientists to ongoing projects based on the skills and experience listed in their resumes, under the supervision of the old scientists (who he finds quite like being called ‘supervisors’) and with the promise that success will award them the chance to manage their own projects. That makes everyone happy, and Hels Tek sees a sudden surge in productivity, the likes of which Atlas hasn’t seen since before Tango escaped.

After two months, when Atlas feels that all the little snags that come with change have been ironed out and things are now running smoothly, he starts looking for new sponsors. He sends whispers out to a long list of his former sponsors, past and current clients, and affluent business moguls, announcing Hels Teks’ grand reopening.

Most of his whispers go unanswered- which isn’t a surprise, considering he doesn’t have Alisker’s name behind him (because although Alisker hasn’t formally revoked his sponsorship and still sends his monthly stipends, he’s no longer conducting business on Hels Tek’s behalf).

But some of them don’t. Some of them get interested responses, and with a little back-and-forth, Atlas is able to set up a couple facility tours. Once those go off without a hitch, the money starts pouring in.

And with it comes all the influence and notoriety that he once enjoyed; the peak of a mountain he feared he’d never climb again. He’s able to hire decent security (who are only interested in money, unlike the scientists that can be won over on the merit of redstone alone). The employee housing gets expanded, as does the facility itself. Projects are completed and approved for sale at a tremendous rate. Soon enough, even the Arena is sporting Hels Tek brand piston doors.

But even so, Atlas isn’t completely satisfied. That empty blaze farm burns at the back of his mind. And despite his recent progress, Phase Two still feels like a far-off dream at this stage, well out of reach- just like the hybrid who has all but vanished off the face of Hels.

(He still checks chat every day, just in case.)

~*~

InstinctEV whispered to you: There’s a new redstoner settin up shop near the eastern wastes, seems big into farms. just so you know…

You whispered to InstinctEV: And why, pray tell, did you decide to share this information with me?

InstinctEV whispered to you: I tried to hire him and he told me to piss off, figured I’d let you take a crack at it.

You whispered to InstinctEV: How uncharacteristically generous of you. What’s the catch?

InstinctEV whispered to you: He seems skittish around monsters but you tend to only hire normies anyway. plus it’s only fair, I got five new scientists out of HT’s nose dive and i dont like owing anyone.

You whispered to InstinctEV: I’d hardly call that a debt.

InstinctEV whispered to you: That mean you don’t want the coords?

…

…

…

You whispered to InstinctEV: Send them.

~*~

Atlas finally brings the flying machine to a halt, dropping to the ground.

It was a painfully long trip. Hels Tek is located a couple thousand blocks to the west of spawn as it is, and the eastern waste itself is several thousands more blocks still. It’s quite a remote place for a redstoner to settle, and the netherrack landscape is barren, bordered by an insurmountable lava ocean almost entirely spanned by a soul valley biome. Ghasts spawn all the time, taking out anyone stupid or desperate enough to try crossing or building near it- anyone hoping to head east will have to go around it, adding weeks and weeks of travel.

Even now, Atlas is keeping his distance from the glowing orange horizon as he starts towards the coordinates Instinct gave him. Dying now would almost guarantee he gives up on the idea altogether, because he can’t be bothered to make such a long trip again.

He really hopes whoever this mystery redstoner turns out to be is worth it.

There, in the distance; a modest blackstone structure about two stories high, fenced in by thick walls. Luckily, it’s far enough away from the soul valley that no ghasts are spawning. Atlas thinks he might be able to see the top of a farm peeking above the fence, though he can’t say for certain what kind.

Everything is still and quiet as Atlas strolls up to the front gate. Posted against the wall is a birch sign with ‘NO TRESPASSING, KEEP OUT’ scrawled on it. And on the other side, a second one that says ‘NO SOLICITORS, GO AWAY’.

Chuckling to himself, Atlas pushes the gate open and walks inside.

The yard is simple, but meticulously landscaped. Over on one side is the farm he saw on his way in, which he can now identify as an automatic bamboo farm. Not much on its own, but bamboo is one of the most rapidly acquired fuel sources; an essential piece of infrastructure for any large scale smelting. That shows good foresight, and at least a basic understanding of redstone mechanics.

Perhaps this trip won’t be a bust, after all.

Atlas comes to a stop at the front door of the building. It’s an iron door, with no visible button or other unlocking mechanism. He suspects it must be hooked up to a hidden hopper that reads a specific item, a ‘key’, before permitting access. That’s slightly more complex redstone, and shows a wise amount of paranoia- though of course, a truly determined raider would just break it down.

(It’s as if this player expects others to abide by gentleman’s rules without the threat of force, just the principle. Interesting.)

Atlas knocks loudly on the door. “Hello,” he calls, “anyone home? I’m looking for a redstoner.”

A sound pricks at his ears; the gentle thump of something or someone landing behind him. Just now, it occurs to Atlas that the second floor had windows- one of which was positioned right above the front door.

(Clever devil.)

He whirls around right as the player draws his sword. He means to say something witty, but his grin drops clean off his face as soon as he gets a look at the player’s face, because he knows that face, that messy blond hair and slim nose and pointed chin.

He’s staring at Tango.

Except-

It’s Tango, except the ears are too round, and there are no wither stains beneath his eyes. It’s Tango, except the teeth bared in a scowl are blunt, and the hand gripping the sword ends in fingertips instead of claws. It’s Tango, except there isn’t a single ounce of recognition or fear in his expression, just displeasure bordering on annoyance. And furthermore, there are no blaze rods floating above his head.

Atlas tilts his chin down slightly, enough to look over the top of his tinted shades, and he sees that the player’s eyes are green.

Not Tango, not quite- but close enough.

“I’m Bravo,” Not-Tango says in Tango’s voice, leveling his sword at Atlas’s throat. “Who are you?”

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a long time ago, a player climbs a mountain.

The cluster of basalt spires in the delta north of New Helington isn’t for the faint of heart. In this biome, the risks are many; fall damage, tripping into a sneaky lava pool, and nearly infinite spawning of those damned magma cubes. Even the very air, choked with an ever-constant downpour of ash, is hostile by design.

But Atlas is here for a very good reason.

He’s gotten a tip from Alisker about some new redstoner leaving traps near the borders of New Helington. He even went through the trouble of having one of his goons sniff out the player’s base, so all Atlas has to do is follow the coordinates.

It’s not the first time Alisker has informed him of a potential new hire; several of his full-time scientists came as recommendations. But this time, Atlas is less interested in what this player can do with redstone, and more in what kind of player this is.

'Some kinda mob hybrid,' Alisker had written dismissively. 'Blazey, me thinks.'

There’s a lot that can be done with mob hybrids, far more than a non-redstoner might think. One of Atlas’s own employees just wrote a thesis on the subject. So for that reason alone, it’s worth making the treacherous journey.

(And he’d never admit this, for fear of hypocrisy, but it’s nice to get out of the lab every now and then.)

Glancing at his communicator, Atlas comes to a stop. Based on the coordinates, the hybrid’s base should be just in front of him.

The terrain has opened up into a small plateau, perfectly in line with the normal generation of these biomes. Except there’s the slightest jut out from the far cliff- perhaps a single block too wide than what would’ve spawned naturally here. The blocks themselves are right; basalt in vertical orientation, but the positioning is off. As if someone placed them there to cover something up.

A piston door, perhaps.

(An untrained eye never would have noticed it. This hybrid is clever.)

Atlas puts his communicator away and walks up to the cliff. He’s planning to announce his presence plainly and loudly, not wanting to waste any time or come off as a threat, but he doesn’t get the chance.

A snarl fills his ears, high-pitched and animalistic. He whirls around in time to sidestep the blur of movement coming at him- he only registers them as claws when they scrape the basalt cliffside behind him, leaving four shallow gashes in the stone.

Atlas backs up a few steps, quickly holding his hands up. “Take it easy! I’m not here to fight.”

The figure has backed up as well, pausing, posture slightly hunched as he looks up at Atlas and catches his breath.

The hybrid.

Atlas peers down at him over the brim of his glasses; turns out the hybrid’s eyes are actually red, not just tinted that way through his shades.

The hybrid’s young, though not quite still a kid- somewhere in what most players refer to as the ‘teenage stage.’ His limbs are growing faster than the rest of him, though he remains at least half a block shorter than Atlas, and his face is rounded with the last stubborn remnants of baby fat. Two oversized pointed ears jut out from beneath a mop of wild blond hair. And dancing in the air just above it are several fine cylinders, no thicker than Atlas’s finger, glowing with red heat as they spin and fizzle in a defensive display.

Blaze rods. The entire reason Atlas is here.

He doesn’t let himself stare at them long. The hybrid is watching him closely, those red eyes burning with a calculated intelligence that Atlas seldom finds in a player so young.

“Hello there,” Atlas starts, keeping his tone brisk. If he tries to be too kindly, he’ll scare the hybrid off for sure. “My name is Dr. Atlas Syn, head of Hels Tek Laboratories. Have you heard of us?”

The hybrid peels his lips back into a snarl, showing off a mouth full of sharp teeth. The blaze rods floating above his head ignite with flames.

It’s not a surprising reaction. Most children in Hels grow up completely wild, at the mercy of the unforgiving world. But truthfully, the ones lucky enough to get taken in by other players or accepted into a community don’t seem to do much better.

Atlas suspects it’s part of an innate defense mechanism, built into the data of young players to protect them from the hostile environment until they’re able to properly look after themselves. Players generally don’t mellow out and start acting civilized until they’ve matured (Atlas considers himself the exception in this case). And of course, a hybrid will be battling mob instincts during any moment of stress or strong emotions, bound to their code.

Rather than react to the threat, Atlas shrugs. “That’s alright,” he says easily. “We’re quite a way’s west, word must not have reached here yet. We’re a redstone laboratory. I hear you know a thing or two about that.”

The growling stops. The hybrid eyes him warily.

“I’m on a recruitment mission of sorts,” Atlas continues, undeterred, “seeking out new scientists to join our staff. We’ve got lots of projects in the works at the moment- plenty of specialties to choose from. Now, you are a bit younger than we tend to hire for full-time scientists, but there’s an opening for an intern that I think you’d be well-suited for.”

The hybrid hesitates- his eyes flick to the side, as if debating whether or not to run. “What makes you say that?” he asks finally. His voice is higher than Atlas was expecting, strained with the characteristic cracking of youth.

Atlas inclines his head. “Whenever people talk about some new player building clever redstone contraptions, I hear about it. And from what I hear, your work is quite impressive for your age.” He lets just the slightest amount of approval enter his voice, not enough to be taken as disingenuous or overly flattering. “I think you could have a bright future with Hels Tek, with a little guidance.”

The blaze rods twirling above the hybrid’s head are glowing yellow, now- and there’s a warmer, less hostile feel to it. It’s likely no one has ever praised him before.

But he’s still on his guard. “What would I get out of it?” he asks dubiously.

Atlas counts on his fingers. “A secure base to live in, a state of the art laboratory to work in, full access to a complete stock of redstone components, nearly unlimited resources, and collaboration with the brightest redstone minds that Hels has to offer,” he says. “Hels Tek has caught the eye of several prominent beneficiaries; you’ll find we’re quite well-supplied.”

Atlas can almost see the gears turning in the hybrid’s mind. “And- and what would you have me do?” he asks, folding his arms.

“Well, that depends on you,” Atlas says simply. “Sometimes, younger interns find the work too challenging. But those that succeed go on to become full-fledged scientists running their own experiments, conducting their own research, constructing their own contraptions- with complete control over their projects.” He spreads his hands. “We don’t constrain our scientists to working on what’s most profitable, we let their passions guide them. Under this methodology, Hels Tek has recently made stunning advancements in redstone technology- with slime block flying machines and iron farming, to name a few.”

The hybrid’s pupils expand a couple of millimeters; the idea excites him. “You guys have villagers?” he asks, trying but mostly failing to keep the excitement from showing in his voice.

Atlas allows a knowing smile to spread across his face. “Like I said, Hels Tek is privy to several lucrative sponsorship deals. We’ve got all sorts of things most redstoners can only dream of. I’m sure we’d find something to suit a man of your talents.” Here he pauses, raising an eyebrow. “Though I must say, I hope your redstone prowess extends beyond simple traps and pranks.”

The hybrid actually puffs his chest up at that. “Oh, don’t you worry,” he says, his eyes flashing at the proposed challenge, “I’ve got plenty more than that.”

He suddenly strikes an arm out at the pillar of basalt beside him- a stone button, almost perfectly blended into the ashen gray landscape.

(Clever devil.)

A chugging sound fills the air. The two peculiar blocks of basalt Atlas noticed earlier are retracted by pistons and tucked away, revealing a small opening in the spire. Beyond that, he can see the inside has been hollowed out, stairs leading down to what must be the rest of the base underground.

“We can talk more inside,” the hybrid says, extending a clawed hand. “I’m Tango.”

Shaking his hand, Atlas grins.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Tango.”

~*~

Chapter Text

from eden, part VI - a rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player levels his sword at another player’s throat.

“I’m Bravo,” he says, “who are you?”

It’s an unwelcome interruption. There’s a reason Bravo deliberately set up base as far east as he could manage. Over the last five agonizing years he’s spent trapped in this hellish world, he’s grown less and less fond of the players that inhabit it, hoping to avoid interactions with them as much as possible. And yet somehow, this is the second player to drop by unexpectedly in the last week.

This player is a tall, thin man- a bit taller than Bravo. He seems human, at least. That’s a definite upgrade from the demonic creature that came knocking on Bravo’s door a few days back. His attire is quite fitting for Hels; the long, neatly-pressed lab coat he wears is pitch black, and his gloves are red as redstone, red as blood. He’s wearing a pair of orange shades- almost reminiscent of lab goggles- from behind which two piercing red eyes peer out. His skin is pale and his dark hair is short. Overall, one of the more bland Hels denizens that Bravo’s had the misfortune of meeting.

In fact, the most interesting thing about him is the way he’s looking at Bravo. It’s like he’s seeing a ghost- which is very strange indeed, considering Bravo has never seen this man before in his life.

Bravo presses the flat of his blade against the man’s neck. “Who are you?” he repeats firmly. “And what do you want?”

Finally, the man seems to break out of his trance. A smile splits across his face, and suddenly, his entire demeanor is horribly unnerving. It’s an unnatural smile; too wide and showing all his teeth. Bravo hasn’t seen anyone smile like that before, not once during all these years in Hels, and he immediately gets a bad feeling about it.

“Well, well, well,” the man says smoothly. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bravo. My name is Dr. Atlas Syn, head of Hels Tek Laboratories.”

Bravo relaxes only slightly. He can already tell where this conversation is going; it’s the same reason the demon stopped by. But just because this man came here to recruit Bravo doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. He’s from Hels, after all.

“We’re a redstone laboratory,” the man, Atlas, continues casually, as if there isn’t a sword at his throat. “I heard through the weeping vine that there was a new redstoner in town. I originally came here to offer you a job, but now that I’ve actually seen you…” He exhales in what might be a laugh, shaking his head. “Well, this is quite a different matter, indeed.”

That makes Bravo pause. “Why do you say that?” he asks, frowning.

“Forgive me for answering your question with one of my own,” Atlas says, folding his arms behind his back. He studies Bravo for a moment. “Do you happen to know of a player called Tango?”

Electricity jolts down Bravo’s spine.

Tango.

Sudden images flash into his mind unbidden, jumbled and chaotic- smoke and fire, the glint of sharp teeth, blackened claws sifting through redstone-

Tango.

He’s never heard that name before but somewhere, deep down in his very data, he knows it. He knows it the way a newly spawned player knows to mine, the way a skeleton knows to avoid the sun, the way an enderman knows to teleport away before a loosed arrow can make its mark-

Tango.

Something instinctive, something so painfully familiar, like a forgotten word lingering on the tip of his tongue-

Tango-

It feels like a punch to the stomach. Bravo staggers back from Atlas, staring up at him with wide eyes as he catches his breath. Who is this stranger, to show up unexpectedly in Bravo’s life and utter a name he’s never heard before, but somehow knows as intimately as his own shadow?

“No,” Bravo says, the confusion in his voice plain to even his own ears. “But I… I feel like I should.”

“Fascinating,” Atlas says, his eyes glinting with intensity behind his shades. “I ask because Tango was a former employee of Hels Tek, and you happen to look just like him.”

Bravo balks at him. “You- what are you talking about?” he demands. The idea is so foreign, so unthinkable- “Who’s- I don’t- I’m not even from this world!”

“No,” Atlas muses, tilting his head as he looks Bravo up and down, “no, you’re not. You probably spawned here, oh, I don’t know…” He glances at his communicator. “Five years, seven days, and two hours ago?”

Bravo can’t help it; his jaw falls open. “How did- how did you know that?”

“Because that’s precisely the moment that Tango vanished from this world,” Atlas says, his voice filled with mounting certainty. The look he’s giving Bravo now is that of someone putting together the pieces of a puzzle- pieces Bravo didn’t even know he held. “And I suspect that’s the reason why you ended up here at all.”

For a moment, Bravo is too shocked to respond. His mind is reeling, struggling to make sense of what Atlas is telling him. After spending so long wondering why he was sent here, the idea that he might actually get some answers is almost too good to be true.

Atlas is from Hels, Bravo reminds himself. No matter who this man claims to be or what he claims to know, he can’t fully be trusted. But if he wanted to kill Bravo- for whatever reason- he would’ve tried already. And even so, Bravo has a respawn anchor hidden upstairs.

This is the first player Bravo’s met who seems to actually know something about how he ended up trapped in Hels. This is a chance he can’t afford not to take.

“We can talk more inside,” Bravo says finally, putting his sword away.

Atlas chuckles, as if sharing a private joke with himself. “After you, Mr. Bravo,” he says, stepping aside from the door and sweeping an arm out.

~*~

Bravo’s interior work is, admittedly, quite modest. Of course, he’s never claimed to be a builder, but he likes his bases to look as though some amount of effort has been put into them. And after seeing the sorry state of most ‘civilizations’ in Hels, he prides himself on having at least the most basic comforts of modern living.

Namely, a table and chairs. Bravo isn’t certain why he put two of them at his kitchen table- as if he’d ever expect to have company here- but he’s grateful for it now. Any host worth their flint should ensure their guests have somewhere to sit, even in a world as uncivilized as Hels.

Atlas settles across the table from him, steepling his gloved fingers together. “I must compliment you on your building,” he says, that wide grin still fixed on his face. “I thought for a tick that perhaps I’d come to the wrong coordinates. Us redstoners don’t often have such an eye for aesthetics.”

Bravo simply shrugs a shoulder, letting the praise roll off his back like water. He won’t be lulled into a false sense of security by cheap flattery.

“So,” he starts bluntly. “There was a player named Tango who worked for you.”

Atlas, for his part, graciously accepts the change in conversation. “Yes. For a few years, too, until he abruptly left us.” He shakes his head, tsking. “He was one of our best scientists- although he did occasionally let his mob instincts get the better of him.”

It takes Bravo a second to realize what Atlas is implying. “He was a hybrid?”

“Indeed. Part blaze.” Atlas’s shrewd gaze studies him keenly. “His appearance is nearly identical to your own, at the most basic structure. Your voice even sounds like his- if a bit more controlled, less pitchy. But there are some key differences, likely attributed to his hybrid status that you appear to be lacking.”

A chill runs down Bravo’s spine. “What kind of differences?”

“His eyes are red, for one thing,” Atlas explains. “He has pointed ears, sharp teeth, clawed fingertips… quite monstrous, actually. And of course, blaze rods that float above his head, exactly as they do for the actual mobs.”

Bravo tries to picture it- to picture himself, but part monster. He’s startled by how easily the image takes shape in his mind, how little separation there might be between himself and this Tango player. It sits uncomfortably in his stomach like stone.

“This is…” Bravo runs a hand through his hair. “I- I don’t even know what to say, like- what does this even mean? How… why is there another player out there that looks so much like me?”

“That’s what I’d like to figure out.” Atlas leans forward in his seat. “What do you know of Hels, Mr. Bravo?”

Bravo creases his brows together. “It’s… not a normal world,” he says haltingly. “It’s like… the overworld and nether in one realm.”

Atlas gives an appraising nod. “Long ago,” he starts, “a very smart player figured out how to analyze biome data. And in doing so, he discovered that Hels was a world created from the fusion of two distinctly separate realms; overworld and nether, each with their own unique codes. Some of these codes even contradicted one another- with matters such as sleeping in a bed, or placing down water.”

Realization dawns on Bravo. “Wh- yeah, that’s nether stuff. In a normal nether, you can’t sleep in a bed or it explodes, and- and you can’t place down water, it evaporates instantly.” He’d discovered early on that nether rules didn’t apply for those things here in Hels, but he hadn’t quite made the connection as to the reasoning behind it.

Atlas’s eyes flash with unmistakable excitement. It’s an expression Bravo is quite familiar with; a scientist gaining steam in a novel idea, running with a train of thought that’s rapidly increasing in speed.

“The player found the structure of these codes still intact but inactivated, set from ‘true’ to ‘false,’” Atlas rattles off. “Now, he had to wonder, why would they exist in the first place if not to be utilized? So, extrapolating this data, he postulated that there are other worlds outside of Hels, each consisting of their own nether and overworld, with travel occurring between them. And he concluded that Hels was modeled upon these other worlds, but altered to prevent the possibility of interdimensional travel.” He spreads his hands. “You see, buried within this conglomerate of data, he found a crafting recipe for a portal- a portal that, thus far, has never been successfully created anywhere in Hels. We can make the frames, but they never ignite.”

Bravo nods; he’d tried constructing one of his own as soon as he got a diamond pickaxe. “Portals don’t work here.”

Atlas inclines his head, a knowing look in his eye. “But they do where you’re from.”

“Yeah,” Bravo says, “we uh, we use an obsidian portal to go between overworld and nether, and temporary portals summoned by our communicators to travel between worlds. Of course, mine hasn’t been working since I got here.”

Satisfaction settles across Atlas’s features, and he leans back in his chair. “And thus, we have confirmed Hels’ oldest theory on the very nature of the world and the universe itself. Bravo, Mr. Bravo.”

The weight of it grasps Bravo quite suddenly. Over the last five years, he’s begun to think of Hels as a prison, but he had no idea just how accurate that assessment might be. For the universe to create a world that’s impossible to escape from, that’s completely cut off from other worlds in every way, not by error but by design… it feels deliberate. It feels like a punishment.

No wonder almost every player here seems to be evil. The universe must spawn them here for a reason.

But that doesn’t mean Bravo doesn’t pity them- even if only slightly. There’s an entire population of players in this world who are completely ignorant of the larger universe, who don’t know the joy of traveling between worlds and starting new ones on a whim. Players who have never joined a large hub to play minigames or a private multiplayer world to build with friends, who’ve never explored the multinet and its infinite wealth of knowledge.

Which is easier, he wonders; believing that Hels is all there is, that there’s nothing except this cruel reality, or knowing that there’s an entire universe beyond it that remains forever out of reach?

Since his arrival, Bravo has been so preoccupied with the matter of his own imprisonment that he hasn’t given much thought to what it must be like for the players who spawned here and know nothing else. They must truly be awful players for the universe to condemn them to this fate.

Bravo rubs the back of his neck, inexplicably sheepish. “Now, I- I’ve tried telling players before that I came from another world,” he insists. “Some didn’t believe me, and some didn’t seem to care.”

“Mm, that’s to be expected,” Atlas says mildly. “The theory still isn’t fully accepted outside of scientific communities. And even amongst those who do, the idea that a player could actually travel here from one of these theorized other worlds is quite improbable. They likely thought you insane. Many Hels residents are.”

Bravo huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. So- so what does this all mean?”

Atlas makes a noncommittal noise. “I’m beginning to form a hypothesis,” he amends. “Tango’s disappearance must be linked to your arrival here. If he figured out how to utilize your connection to leave Hels, we ought to be able to replicate the phenomenon and reverse it. Or, at the very least, open a door from our side.”

Bravo’s heart starts to pound. “What, you mean like… find a way for me to leave Hels?”

“Indeed.”

It’s as if a stack of bedrock has fallen off Bravo’s shoulders. All these years, he’s felt there must have been some mistake, some random glitch that brought him here. He’s an overworld player, he’s a good, decent player- surely he wasn’t actually meant to come here. He doesn’t belong here, it had to be an accident.

Now he has his answer. Now he knows he’s not supposed to be here. If what Atlas is saying is true, he’s only here because some strange Hels doppelganger figured out how to switch places with him.

His relief is quickly outpaced by sudden rage.

He’s spent the last five years trapped in this horrible, cruel, nearly inhospitable world because of the actions of a stranger. Some Hels monster that shares his face and stole his life, his future. How could someone do that? How could Tango knowingly condemn Bravo to this fate? How could he be so evil?

It takes Bravo a few seconds to wrestle his temper back under control, and realize that Atlas is still talking.

“Of course,” Atlas continues, “it would require intensive testing and data analysis- which we are more than equipped for at Hels Tek. I have a flying machine parked outside, we could be there by the end of the day, and-”

“Woah, woah, hang on a second,” Bravo interrupts, holding out a hand. “You haven’t said why you’re so interested in this whole situation. I mean, what- what do you get out of helping me?”

Atlas smiles, as if amused by Bravo’s mistrust of him. “When Tango left Hels Tek, he took some proprietary information with him, representing years of valuable research. I’d like to retrieve it. And I believe you could hold the key to locating him.”

It’s a believable enough explanation, though Bravo gets the sense it’s not the entire truth. The most obvious motivation is that Atlas might want his own way out of Hels. But if that’s the case, Bravo thinks he can live with that. How much damage could one Hels player really do out there in the universe?

“Okay so, so let me get this straight.” Bravo folds his arms. “I help you track down this Tango guy, right, and you help me get home?”

Atlas’s nods. “That’s the idea.”

“Okay.” Bravo exhales slowly, rising from his seat. “Okay, I… I think that can be arranged. Let me pack a few things, and we can head out.”

“Take your time,” Atlas hums.

“But just know this,” Bravo says, putting his hands on the table and leaning forward. “If this is a trick, or you try to cross me in any way, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

The threat doesn’t seem to have deterred Atlas in the slightest. “You have nothing to worry about,” he says, his grin widening.

Somehow, Bravo doesn’t find that comforting. Nevertheless, he holds his hand out. “It’s a deal, then.”

Atlas rises to his feet and shakes his hand. “I think this is the beginning of a wonderful partnership, Mr. Bravo.”

~*~

It’s a long flight to Hels Tek.

There are, of course, chance encounters with hostile mobs and random players along the way. But Bravo has learned a lot these last few years, and although he’s never thought of himself as a serious PVPer, he isn’t nearly as helpless as he used to be. He also finds that Atlas is quite handy with a crossbow, and files that information away for later.

Shortly after they’ve set off, Atlas pulls his communicator up and starts typing something. When Bravo questions him, he explains, “I’m notifying my staff of our impending arrival. Your resemblance to Tango might cause some confusion, as well as anger, for those who knew him. He didn’t leave on the best of terms.”

Bravo purses his lips. Inexplicably, he almost feels ashamed of his doppelganger’s actions. “You know why he did it?”

Atlas gazes out over a dripstone chasm their flying machine is chugging across. “It’s difficult to say for certain, because Tango’s mental state is quite different from most players. Like normal players- say, you or I. He’s a blaze hybrid, and I fear part of him will always long for chaos and destruction.”

Bravo nods solemnly. Before Hels, he hadn’t had much experience with hybrid players. And normally, he tries to give people the benefit of the doubt. But what he’s seen thus far isn’t very encouraging. Some of his worst deaths have been at the hands of hybrids.

As the trip goes on, Bravo spends much of the time (when they aren’t under attack) asking Atlas more questions; about the nature of Hels and its players, about Hels Tek and the kind of work they do, and about previous attempts to open portals.

Atlas spends much of the time giving Bravo rather elusive answers. Sometimes he offers up the information freely, but other times he’ll start what seems like a good explanation before diverting to a different question entirely, and answering that one instead. The speed and ease with which he crafts sentences tells Bravo he’s somewhat of a smooth-talker, the kind of businessman that can get you to sign your life away before you’ve read the fine print.

Bravo will have to tread carefully with this one.

Some of the information isn’t entirely new to Bravo. He’s already figured out Hels players seem inherently hostile, but Atlas has a theory that it’s quite literally built into their codes. The mob hybrids get the worst of it, of course- Bravo’s already met several that barely qualify as players. It’s for that reason, Atlas confides in Bravo, that he prefers to employ non-hybrid players at Hels Tek. Makes everything a lot simpler, less chaotic- which Bravo can appreciate.

According to Atlas, Hels Tek is an established facility with over two decades of experience and over a dozen full-time scientists, featuring a wide array of redstone specialities. They’ve curated a client base that provides them with ample funding and resources for their various projects. One major sponsor is the man who runs the city Bravo’s avoided since his first failed attempt to enter it.

When Bravo tells Atlas about his experience there, he doesn’t seem at all surprised. In fact, he’s almost amused by it- which is rather annoying.

As the conversation shifts to portals, however, Bravo is admittedly a little out of his depth. He never paid that much attention to the mechanics behind portals, because- well. Why would he ever need to? All he’s ever needed to know is how to accurately link up between an overworld and a nether for the sake of convenience.

Fortunately, Atlas spares him the agonizing details and describes the problem in simple terms; they can’t get a portal to ignite because it doesn’t have anything to lock onto, a theoretical ‘signal’ to act as an anchor-point between dimensions. Whether that signal is a set of coordinates, or a data point, or an ID tag, or something else entirely remains unclear. Even attempts to create portals that just teleport between two spots within Hels have failed, so the chances of making a portal that teleports outside of it are slim.

“That is, until you arrived,” Atlas says, tone and expression unreadable.

Bravo files that away for later, too. At the moment, he seems to need Atlas as much as Atlas needs him. That could turn out to be useful, in terms of having something to negotiate with. But if things turn south, Atlas might go to dramatic lengths to get what he wants. Bravo will have to strike a delicate balance while working with Atlas, to maintain his own authority and not become a science experiment.

Finally, Atlas announces that they’ve arrived, and a silhouette emerges from the red fog.

Hels Tek is a large, imposing facility, sporting the jagged architecture that seems to be quite popular in Hels. Broad and high-walled, the laboratory is flanked by an ocean of lava on all sides except the front, which features a landscape of burning netherrack. This must be the western coast Bravo’s heard about, similar to his own home in the eastern waste- though fortunately, it doesn’t seem to be within a soul valley biome.

(He hears those infernal ghasts in his nightmares.)

Atlas steers the flying machine around the side- briefly crossing over the lava- and into a rather impressive garage with code-activated piston doors. As the blocks shift to admit them, Bravo realizes the walls are four blocks thick; two cobblestone blocks sandwiched between the inner and outer walls. A security measure, perhaps. And, if the cobblestone layers are fed by an infinite generator, a quite clever one.

Inside the garage are several other flying machines and what looks like a couple small walkers parked in neat rows. Sea lanterns built into the ceiling keep the area well-lit, and the polished quartz floor is spotless. Already, Bravo’s opinion of Hels Tek is improving dramatically.

There’s only one other person in the garage, knelt beside a flying machine. He looks over as they approach and rises to meet them, his expression almost bored- or, like he’s expecting to become annoyed very quickly.

The player is a gangly man with dark hair, bloodshot eyes, and a frayed, curly mustache. He’d probably be quite tall if it weren’t for his horrendous slouching, and he’s wearing a black lab coat like Atlas. It isn’t nearly as tidy as Atlas’s, though; wrinkled and stained, like the clothes he wears underneath it.

“Oi, need somethin’?” he asks Atlas bluntly, wiping slime off his hands with a filthy handkerchief. He has a mumbled way of talking, and a thick accent that reminds Bravo of Not-Jimmy’s, only much stronger.

Atlas doesn’t seem taken aback or offended by the disrespect. “Good evening to you, too, Dr. Clear,” he says patiently.

The man, Dr. Clear, mutters to himself as if Atlas hadn’t spoken. “Engine cycle’s gone out’a sync on shuttle five, keeps updatin’ three ticks too fast.” As his gaze shifts to Bravo, however, something like recognition sparks in his eyes. “Oh hey, you found ‘im. Good. Now we can finally get back to work, ey?”

“Not quite, Dr. Clear,” Atlas sighs, in the manner of someone who’s already had this conversation. “If you look closely, you’ll notice our new friend here is not, in fact, part blaze.”

Clear blinks.

Bravo awkwardly lifts a hand in greeting. “Hey.”

“Oh.” Interest quickly fades from Clear’s expression again. “S’pose you’re right.”

“Indeed,” Atlas says dryly. “Now, would you be so kind as to show Mr. Bravo to a spare room within the housing district?”

“Spare room?” Bravo repeats, his brows furrowing. “Hang on, I- I didn’t say anything about an extended stay-”

“Just for as long as you need,” Atlas assures him, holding his hands up. “There’ll be an ender chest for anything you’d like to keep safe, and a respawn anchor for you to set your spawn.”

Bravo crosses his arms. “And why would I need to set my spawn?” he asks, raising a brow. “I mean, am I- am I in danger here or somethin’?”

“One can never be too careful when experimenting with portals,” Atlas says mildly. “Besides, this is a redstone laboratory. We have several machines that utilize TNT on the premises, and it’d be quite unfortunate for you to have to make such a long trip again in the event of an accident.”

It’s a fair enough explanation, though Bravo won’t be fully convinced until he sees the room for himself, and can ensure he’s not about to walk into a cell. “Alright, then…”

Atlas turns to Clear, folding his arms behind his back. “Once he’s finished up, bring him back to conference room A1. I’ll assemble the rest of the staff for a meeting.”

Clear shrugs a shoulder, turning to go. “Right, sure…”

Before Bravo can follow him, Atlas catches him by the arm. “Ah, a word, Mr. Bravo?”

The sudden contact startles Bravo more than he’s willing to admit, resulting in a rather embarrassing and incomprehensible noise. “What?” he demands, jerking his arm free.

Atlas doesn’t comment on his reaction, simply inclining his head. “I ought to warn you,” he says in a hushed tone, “that Dr. Clear, while undoubtedly one of our most brilliant scientists, is quite mentally unsound and spends much of his time hopelessly confused. If he says anything untoward, just pay him no mind. And if there’s anything you’d like clarification on, you’re welcome to come to me.”

Bravo casts a wary look over at Clear, who’s lingering by the doorway and wiping his hands again on the same dirty rag. Then he tucks it into the collar of his shirt like an ascot.

“Understood,” Bravo says lowly.

“Wonderful. I’ll be seeing you shortly.” Atlas nods at Clear. “Doctor.”

Clear doesn’t acknowledge it, simply turning away as he rolls his eyes. “Right, let’s get a shake on, then,” he huffs. “This way.”

Bravo hastens to catch up to the man; his legs are definitely longer than his hunched posture gives him credit for.

The door from the garage leads into a hallway, just as brightly-lit and clean. Bravo’s footsteps echo loudly as he falls into step beside Clear. They pass a few iron doors here and there, with signs designating a lab number to each. He can hear pistons somewhere nearby, and what he thinks might be the faint, cyclic explosions of some TNT-powered farm. He can’t stop to investigate, though; Clear is really moving with purpose.

Bravo clears his throat. “So, uh- so how long you been working here?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Clear mutters as he turns a corner. “A few years? Weeks, even.”

“Right,” Bravo says haltingly. “Uh-”

“Keep up, will ya?” Clear grumbles, making another abrupt turn. “Dunno why I ‘ave to babysit the interns. Ain’t in my job description. Do I look like a bloody nanny?”

“I’m not an intern,” Bravo snaps, feeling his temper rise. “I’m here ‘cause your buddy Atlas said you guys know about portals-”

“A portal?” Clear asks, suddenly keen. “Say, that’s not a bad idea. Someone should get workin’ on that.”

Bravo exhales slowly. ‘Hopelessly confused’ is right. “Yeah. Yeah, someone should.”

Clear hums his assent as they continue down the hallway, passing through a pair of iron doors. This hallway has doors lining either side, with signs declaring the rooms’ owners. He leads Bravo to one at the end with a blank sign, and presses the button on the wall beside it.

“Well, ‘ere we are,” Clear says, walking into the room first.

Bravo takes that as a promising sign and quickly follows him. The room is sparsely decorated and quite small, only five-by-five, but it at least has a cohesive palette and there aren’t any blocks out of place. There’s a fully-charged respawn anchor in one corner, sitting next to an ender chest.

“You’re allowed t’ decorate it, if ya like,” Clear informs him in a bored voice, leaning against the wall.

Bravo cranes his head around, carefully inspecting the room. There’s a button for the door on the inside as well, so he can’t be locked in. He can’t find any evidence of traps. Everything seems to be in order. Perhaps Atlas will be more reasonable to work with than Bravo was expecting.

He places his hand on top of the respawn anchor to set his spawn, the crying obsidian cool against his skin. Then he opens the ender chest, dropping off some backup gear and extra resources he brought with him. He’ll keep his best sword on him, of course. Just in case.

Satisfied, he turns back to Clear, who’s absent-mindedly twirling his mustache as his gaze darts around the room. Without looking at Bravo, he says, “Much better ‘an your last accommodations, ey, Tango?”

At this point in time, Bravo still isn’t entirely certain how he feels about this potential doppelganger of his. But being referred to as Tango is immediately, and overwhelmingly, a viscerally unpleasant sensation. He physically recoils from it, and it takes a second to find his voice.

“Wh- what? No, I’m- I’m not Tango.”

That gets Clear to look over. “Huh?” He blinks. “Oh. Well, who are ya then?”

Bravo pushes down a twinge of irritation. “I’m Bravo. I’m not Tango, I’m his… uh…” What should he call it? How is he supposed to explain it? “I- I just look like him, okay?” he settles on finally.

“Alright,” Clear says, nonplussed. “What’re ya doin’ ‘ere?”

Bravo folds his arms. “Um, you were gonna take me to uh, some sorta conference room, remember?”

“Conference room?” Clear repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Well, what in Hels did we come ‘ere for?! Goodness me.” He glances down and finally notices the filthy rag tucked into his shirt collar. “Goodness me! What’s this doin’ ‘ere?” He pulls it out with a huff and shoves it in his pocket. “Right. This way, then.”

Shaking his head, he swiftly exits the room. Bravo hastens to follow, nearly slamming into the iron door as it shuts in his face.

Patience, he reminds himself. These guys are his best shot at getting home.

Hitting the button on the wall, Bravo slips through the door and jogs to catch up. Clear, paying him no mind, quickly leads him back down the same hallway, through the double doors, and then down a different hallway. This one has a piston elevator at the end, which Bravo steps into just in time before Clear sends it off.

Mechanical churning fills the air. Bravo leans against the side of the elevator as he catches his breath, vibrations humming through his skin. Clear stares straight ahead, gaze unfocused, hands absently fidgeting.

“This place is bigger than it looks,” Bravo says, if only to fill the space.

Clear makes a wordless sound of acknowledgement. “Lots’a things are, when ya get up close.”

Bravo manages not to roll his eyes.

The elevator jolts to a stop as a noteblock tone rings out. Bravo follows Clear out of the elevator, glancing around. The doors in this hallway lead to rooms with big glass windows; one of these is currently occupied by a sizeable group of players, all wearing black lab coats.

Atlas is standing at the front of the room, speaking and gesturing. He happens to be in a position where he’s facing the elevator, so he’s the first one to see them through the window. He grins that sickly grin of his again and waves them over.

Clear looks mildly surprised to see him- he’s probably forgotten why they came up in the first place- but he shrugs and heads over. Bravo takes a deep breath before following.

Atlas is still speaking as they come in. “- best behavior. And here he is now.” He turns to them, dipping his head. “Thank you, Dr. Clear.”

“Sure.” Clear slinks past him without so much as a glance, heading to the back corner.

Bravo awkwardly steps next to Atlas, looking out over the room. There are about thirteen other players besides Clear and Atlas, and- as far as Bravo can tell- they all seem to be mostly human. There are a few strange-looking eyes and slightly sharpened teeth here or there, but no overt hybrids. That puts Bravo a little more at ease.

“Everyone,” Atlas says, putting a hand on Bravo’s shoulder, “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Bravo.”

Applause breaks out.

Bravo actually jumps at the sound, completely taken aback. To his surprise, the applause seems rather genuine; the players are looking at him with undisguised excitement in their eyes. Compared to the kind of reception Bravo has been getting over the last few years, it’s a welcome change, and he offers an appreciative, if somewhat shy, smile back.

“Now,” Atlas continues as the applause dies down, “Mr. Bravo will be staying with us as we work on finding a solution to our portal problem. You are to treat him with your utmost respect and provide assistance however necessary.” He glances at Bravo. “And of course, you may have as active a role as you desire, seeing as you’re a redstoner yourself.”

Bravo clears his throat. “Right, yeah,” he says, nodding. “I uh, I- I’ll try to help out however I can. I… really appreciate you guys helping me.”

“And we can’t wait to get started,” Atlas replies smoothly. “Now, if you’ll take a seat, I just have some more technical things to go over to get us all on the same page.”

Two scientists quickly shift over to make room for Bravo, waving him over. He accepts the seat with a grateful smile before turning to listen to Atlas.

Maybe this won’t be a mistake, after all.

~*~

The meeting consists of a fairly standard rundown. Atlas begins with an overview of Hels Tek’s business practices and a brief history before getting into laboratory policies, emergency procedures, and evacuation routes. All of which is solely for Bravo’s benefit, he suspects, but at least the other scientists don’t seem to mind the recap. And by the end of it, he’s got a pretty good idea of how the facility works.

Once that’s all out of the way, Atlas lays out their game plan. First, they’ll run some data analysis to hopefully find a link between Bravo and Tango, utilize it to construct a functional portal, locate Tango, and retrieve the information he stole.

“And send Mr. Bravo home,” Atlas concludes, with a meaningful look at Bravo.

Easier said than done. Bravo won’t get his hopes up just yet.

Atlas assigns a few senior scientists to the project, and then rearranges teams to take over the projects left in their stead (because Hels Tek has other clients to think about, of course). After a brief pause for questions, where he mitigates a couple complaints about the distribution of responsibilities, he concludes the meeting and dismisses everyone to their duties.

“This way, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas calls as the scientists disperse.

“Hey, hold up for a sec,” Bravo says, sidestepping through the rows of chairs. “I uh, I got a question for you.”

“Oh?” Atlas raises an eyebrow. “A private one, I presume?”

Bravo waits for a couple seconds as the last scientists slip out of the room. “Yeah,” he says lowly. “Listen, I just wanna make sure that once we get this portal working, you guys aren’t just gonna… y- you know, uh-”

“Run wild and wreak havoc on your worlds?” Atlas finishes.

Bravo swallows. “Yeah, that.”

“Mmm.” Atlas shakes his head, amused. “Mr. Bravo, Hels Tek is one of the most powerful and influential establishments in all of Hels. Every scientist here worked quite hard for their position. None of them will be interested in deserting all that just to strike out blindly into a new, unfamiliar world.”

Bravo folds his arms. “You sure?”

“Quite sure,” Atlas assures him. “Of course, I cannot speak for the rest of the Hels population, so we’ll just have to keep this little project of ours secret. But my team is quite familiar with maintaining confidentiality; Hels Tek has no shortage of competitors.”

“I see.” Bravo gives a short nod. “Good. I mean, no offense, it’s just that- these Hels guys, you know, they can be a little, uhh, you know-”

“Of course,” Atlas says, grinning. “I understand completely. Now, let me show you the lab we’ll be working in.”

~*~

The first few days are rather uneventful.

The scientists running the project, Drs. Tyrannicide, Phantonym, and L8R_H8R, start by gathering the appropriate resources and plotting out where things are going to go, drawing up blueprints and schematics. Then they spend some time simply gathering information about Bravo; vital signs, biometrics, and a first-hand account of how he came to Hels. Atlas issues Bravo his own Hels Tek ID, for getting around the facility, and a spare lab coat to wear.

“Lab safety,” he says with a wink.

Bravo tries his best to be helpful, but at this stage, there isn’t much for him to do. He ends up spending most of his time exploring Hels Tek, familiarizing himself with the layout, where all the exits and elevators are located. He doesn’t actually go into any of the other labs; that feels a bit presumptuous at this junction, but he at least gets a good sense of where they all are.

He also starts familiarizing himself with the other scientists. With the exception of Clear, they all seem excited to chat with him over meals or as they pass in the hallway, asking questions about what worlds outside of Hels are like. And aside from some occasional snippiness, Bravo doesn’t witness any truly nasty behavior between any of them- a far cry from the absolute brutality he’s seen thus far.

It seems like Atlas’s model of a more civilized community within Hels isn’t a pipe dream, after all.

~*~

Days turn into weeks.

~*~

Gradually, Bravo falls into a routine.

Wake up, breakfast in the cafeteria, work in the lab, break for lunch, more lab work, dinner, even more lab work, and then bed. Of course, ‘lab work’ for him is mostly just standing where he’s told to stand while the scientists run redstone lines and comparators all over the place, reading and cataloging output from stat hoppers that Bravo can’t even hope to decipher. Atlas stops by frequently to check their progress, but even his conversations with the scientists don’t do much to inform Bravo of where the project currently stands.

Bravo’s never been one for data analysis; the best he can do is use his communicator to read a block’s light level or power status, maybe an entity count and block height check every now and then. Certainly nothing this sophisticated. But if he’s honest, it seems like the scientists are struggling quite a bit with it as well. Eventually, they ask for his communicator to compare to Tango’s, which he apparently left behind by mistake in his haste to depart.

Bravo is hesitant to do this, because a communicator is an important item. They spawn in with their players, and the only way he could ever have his replaced is by getting one from an admin- which, apparently, Hels doesn’t have. But the scientists assure him he can have it back whenever they aren’t using it, so for the sake of making progress, he finally agrees.

He watches them closely at first, as they carefully hook up each communicator to their complex data readers and start running tests, but he quickly grows bored. It’s clear they aren’t going to do anything to damage the communicators, not when they might be the only link to Tango, so Bravo asks if he can go check out the other labs and see if he can be of use.

There’s only the slightest pause before Dr. Phantonym answers. “Sure,” she says, “except for the south wing. It’s under renovation.”

Bravo nods; he remembers that from Atlas’s little orientation. “Right, yeah, no problem,” he assures her as he turns to go.

(Naturally, Bravo stops by the south wing. Peering through the locked iron doors, he sees a hallway cluttered with a horrendous chest and shulker box monster, random crafting tables, and tarps strewn about. That seems pretty damning to him, so he leaves it be. Besides, it’d be in poor taste to start off this partnership by sneaking into places he shouldn’t be.)

~*~

As Bravo visits the other labs, he finds the scientists are rather enthusiastic about showing him what they’re working on. Their technology is quite impressive; an automatic tree farm design that can be used for nearly every type of tree, an array of rapid-firing piston doors of varying sizes, and a supremely efficient yet compact iron farm.

“Theoretically, anyways,” one of the scientists, Dr. Slayer1, says with a frown. “We’re having some trouble getting the villagers to behave.”

Bravo watches the farm for a couple cycles, noting the timing of when the zombie is presented to the villagers. “You’re not giving ‘em long enough to have the proper panic response,” he says. “And the facade is blocking line of sight from that third villager; his buddies are only seeing him every other cycle, so- so you’re losing fifty-percent of your spawn chances right there.”

Slayer1 blinks in surprise. Then realization dawns in his eyes. “Ah, Tango was our resident villager expert,” he says with a knowing smile.

Bravo immediately stiffens. “Oh. Okay. Uh-”

“Sorry,” another scientist swiftly steps in, “it’s just- you really do sound like him sometimes, you know? It’ll just take some getting used to, is all.”

“Right, right,” Bravo says, forcing a chuckle. He turns to go. “Totally get it. Anyway, uh, good luck with the- with the farm.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Slayer1 calls after him, “you’re much more pleasant to work with than he was.”

That does actually improve Bravo’s mood a bit. “And- well, and if it’s any consolation to you,” he calls back over his shoulder, “I apologize for his actions.”

That gets some laughs, and Bravo settles himself. So long as none of them start seeing him as Tango, they should get along just fine.

~*~

“-tired of hearing excuses!” Atlas snaps, looming over Dr. L8R_H8R.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you!” H8R shoots back, shoulders hunched by his ears. “We don’t know enough about this kind of technology, we need a specialist-”

“You need to try harder,” Atlas cuts in darkly. “Need I remind you what’s at stake here?”

H8R narrows his eyes. “I’m fully aware of-” He breaks off as his gaze falls on Bravo.

Bravo coughs from where he’s standing in the doorway to the lab. “Uh, hey guys… am I- am I interrupting something?” he asks plainly.

“Ah, Mr. Bravo.” Atlas immediately smoothes his expression over, his smile returning to its usual spot. “No, of course not,” he says, tucking his arms behind his back as he steps away from H8R. “We’re simply having a discussion about the project timeline.”

“Right,” Bravo says, unconvinced.

H8R scowls. “We’re basically learning a new language here, okay? Give it time.”

Atlas’s face twitches, like he almost lost hold of his grin. “We’ll discuss this more later,” he says, turning to leave. “For now, I’ll let you get back to work. And I’d like to see a progress report by the end of the week, hm?” He pats Bravo’s shoulder as he passes. “Keep up the good work.”

Bravo frowns as he watches Atlas leave. He’s had his own concerns lately about the slow progress, but figured it was to be expected for something that’s never been done before. If Atlas is concerned, though…

“Well?” H8R huffs. “You heard the man. We’d better get to it.”

Bravo sighs, slipping his communicator out of his pocket.

~*~

Weeks turn into months.

~*~

“Oi, Atlas, you seen Scáil around?” Clear asks frantically, sticking his head into the lab.

Atlas glances over from where he and Bravo are speaking with the other scientists. “Come again?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“He was fine one minute,” Clear continues, hurrying over to them as he wrings his hands, “then he’s spoutin’ nonsense an’ his eyes are doin’ some sorta glowy purple thing an’ next thing I know, he legs it out the door!” He rakes a hand through his hair. “He ain’t respondin’ to my whispers either, I’m startin’ to get worried-”

“Dr. Clear,” Atlas says calmly, “Scáil left you years ago.”

“What?” Clear jerks his head back. “No, no, no, he- he wouldn’t, he-”

“Clear…” There’s something almost like pity in Atlas’s eyes. “You’re caught in a memory again. Try to ground yourself-”

“Scáil wouldn’t just leave me!” Clear insists, his voice thready with panic. His eyes are wild, unfocused; even more so than what Bravo’s used to seeing. “Somethin’s wrong, I- I gotta go find ‘im-”

Atlas slaps Clear across the face.

He breaks off mid-sentence, head snapping to the side. A horrible silence follows, filled with nothing but Clear’s ragged, shallow breathing. Finally he straightens back up, blinking. He looks at Atlas and quirks a brow.

“Right,” Clear says, his voice uncertain. “Uh, what were we talkin’ ‘bout, again?”

“You were about to go run a maintenance check on the flying machines,” Atlas says smoothly.

“Oh, right. Good idea.” Clear nods, absent-mindedly rubbing his cheek. Already, a red handmark is starting to appear. “Been a while since me last run-through… y’know, the engine cycle’s gone out’a sync on shuttle five, keeps updatin’ three ticks too fast,” he mutters to himself as he turns to leave.

Bravo stares. His stomach is in knots. It’s nowhere near the worst thing he’s seen since being in Hels, but somehow, he hadn’t expected that from Atlas. Not here, with his own scientists-

Gingerly, Atlas takes Bravo by the arm and leads him a couple steps away from the others. Bravo’s heart jolts, but he manages not to pull away.

“When Dr. Clear first started working here,” Atlas says quietly, “he had a little boyfriend, Scáil. One day, he just took off, flew the coop. Dr. Clear has never really gotten over it.” He inclines his head. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I do hate resorting to violence, but sometimes they leave me no choice.”

Bravo glances away. “Hey, man, you do what you gotta do,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. Coincidentally, it also dislodges Atlas’s grip on his arm. He smoothes his lab coat down. “Does he- does he get like that often?”

“No, thankfully,” Atlas sighs. “But he can spiral quite spectacularly if left to his own devices. Best to intervene.”

“Right, yeah,” Bravo says flatly. “Uh, can- should we get back to work?”

Atlas nods. “Yes, yes, of course.”

~*~

“Read it again,” Tyrannicide instructs.

Phantonym glances down at Bravo’s communicator. “Console.log(‘Test command called by ${player.Bravo}’),” she reads out.

“Okay,” Tyrannicide says, squinting at Tango’s communicator on the lab bench. He flips the comparator beside it into subtraction mode and then taps on the communicator’s screen. “Alright, I’m there. Command?”

“/Setblock block.minecraft.nether_portal.”

“Good. Send it.”

Phantonym presses a button on the communicator. Bravo watches as the redstone lines hooked up to either communicator suddenly flash with light, making both scientists gasp.

“Did you see that?” Tyrannicide asks excitedly. “They both sent out a pulse.”

“Same power level,” H8R calls, crouched over by some output-reading hoppers.

Phantonym scans the communicator intently. “They’re the same frequency, too.”

“Fucking finally!” Tyrannicide throws his arms up, leaning back dangerously far in his chair.

Bravo carefully steps over the intricate redstone lines spread all over the lab. “Woah, woah, uh- what does that mean?” he asks, leaning over the work bench to study the communicator.

Tyrannicide turns to him with a sharp-toothed grin. “It’s definitive, scientific proof that your communicator is connected to Tango’s!”

Bravo blinks. “Um… okay,” he says, forcing a chuckle, “maybe I’m missing something here, but uh- didn’t we already know that?”

“No, no, no, we assumed as much,” Phantonym cuts in, shaking her head. “But now we have actual evidence.”

Bravo knits his brows together. “So… okay, so how does this help us in terms of creating a working portal?”

“Oh, it doesn’t,” Tyrannicide says matter-of-factly. “We’re simply laying down the groundwork. The more we can learn about your connection to Tango, the better chance we’ll have at replicating whatever he did to escape.”

“Okayyyy,” Bravo drawls, struggling to keep ahold of his temper, “and- and what exactly do you think this tells us about my connection to Tango?”

Tyrannicide shrugs. “Impossible to say until we run some more tests,” he says dismissively, turning back to the work bench.

Bravo’s eye twitches.

~*~

“I’m tired of waiting!” Bravo slams his hands on Atlas’s desk. “Do you or do you not think we’ll ever be able to get this portal thing working?”

“I can assure you, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas replies cooly, “that the chances of doing so are far greater with us than they will be with any other player in all of Hels. But if you’d prefer to take your chances out there, then by all means, you may leave at any time.”

Bravo’s anger leaves him as quickly as it came. “I just-” He falls back into his chair, putting his head in his hands. “We’ve been at this for almost a year and- and it feels like we’ve made zero progress. I mean, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m basically spending all my time helping out the other scientists with their projects.”

“I can understand why you might feel that way,” Atlas agrees, steepling his fingers together. “But you’re a redstoner; you know as well as I do that science can take time.”

Bravo makes a noncommittal noise. “Yeah, yeah, just- we gotta try something else, cause I don’t know if I can go on like this,” he confesses. “I mean, is- is there anyone, literally anyone at all, you can think of who might know more about this data analysis stuff?”

Atlas purses his lips. “There… is someone I might be able to speak to on the matter,” he says reluctantly. “But getting his assistance won’t be easy. He’s been rather cross with me since the incident with Tango; the stolen information was critical to a project he was funding, and I was intending not to contact him until I had retrieved it.”

“This guy knows about data analysis?” Bravo asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but I believe he can find us someone who does,” Atlas amends. “See, he’s rather well-connected and influential within the Hels elite.” He gives Bravo a knowing look. “I believe you would know of him as Papa Al, the head of New Helington. It’s a city not too far from spawn.”

“Oh.” The realization hits Bravo. “Oh, that city. Yeah. The city I tried to get into when I first spawned here and got killed for being too poor to pay the tax, right. That city.”

Atlas smiles thinly. “They aren’t known for their hospitality. I might be able to get an audience with him, but if we are to convince him to help us, you’ll have to come with me. He’ll need to see you with his own eyes to believe that our plan has any chance of succeeding.”

“Oh, joy,” Bravo huffs, throwing his arms up. “Yeah, let’s take a trip to the murder city, that- that sounds like happiness and rainbows, fun times all around.”

“Trust me,” Atlas says dryly, “I’m not particularly enthused to drop by, either. But I suppose certain sacrifices must be made in the name of progress.” He pulls out his communicator. “I’ll ask how soon he can see us. Go make any preparations you need; he won’t like it if we’re late.”

“Sure, yeah,” Bravo says, rising to his feet. “Shoot me a whisper when it’s go-time, I’ll be ready.”

The look Atlas gives him isn’t very reassuring. “I hope so. Mr. Alisker is.. a lot to take in.”

Bravo would ask what he means by that, but Atlas has already turned away, typing into his communicator, so he takes his leave. He supposes he’ll find out eventually.

But whatever it is, it’ll be worth it to finally make some progress in escaping from this awful world, once and for all.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, two players approach a tall gate.

“Now,” Atlas says lowly, the tension in his voice completely misaligned with the broad grin fixed on his face, “they should be expecting us, but stay on your guard. Don’t equip a weapon unless you want to start a fight. You will refer to him only as Papa Al. Remember what I told you about staring. And let me do the talking.”

Despite his nerves, Bravo huffs a laugh. “If you’re doin’ all the talking, then I- I shouldn’t call him anything, right?” he asks pointedly.

Atlas’s smile widens. “Oh, I do hope you set your spawn before we left.”

Bravo’s humor drops into a scowl. “Relax, I’m not gonna do anything to get us killed.”

Atlas hums noncommittally. “The people here don’t always need a reason to kill.”

Before Bravo can reply, they’ve come to a stop in front of the solitary player standing guard in front of the gate. Big and fully-armored, he looks them up and down before breaking into a malicious grin.

“Papa Al’s been expecting you,” he says snidely, stepping aside to pull a level on the wall. Mechanic churning fills the air as pistons start shifting blocks around, creating an opening through the gate. “Have fun.”

Atlas gives Bravo a look. “See what I mean?” he says wryly before turning and walking through the gate.

Bravo takes a deep breath before following.

~*~

Chapter Text

from eden, part VII - babe, there’s something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, one player follows another through a gate.

Pistons lurch as the door closes behind them. But Bravo can hardly hear it above the sudden cacophony of noise beyond the walls of New Helington.

There’s far more life and activity here than he’d been expecting, a virtual sea of movement as players rush past each other. Mismatched buildings crowd the busy streets on either side, accented by flashing lamps and the occasional puff of steam. The air is filled with shouting and the sound of machinery; loud, chaotic, violent.

Over the years, Bravo’s grown accustomed to the various scents within Hels, from the ash-choked basalt detlas to the deep caves of sulfur. Every biome with trees in it smells like smoke, because inevitably, some part of it is always burning. Here, though, there’s a new smell added to the mix; the thick smog of coal and the metallic tang of iron. It reeks of industrialization- which might’ve been comforting, except he can see that New Helington is still very clearly uncivilized.

Much of the things being shouted between players are threats and insults. Players shove and scowl at each other as they pass. Several fist fights are currently taking place right before Bravo’s eyes, and that’s just what he can see out on the streets; the muffled sounds coming from within the ramshackle buildings are just as discouraging.

Bravo reminds himself to be careful. They may be more technologically advanced, but they’re still just as savage as the rest of Hels.

Atlas takes in the sights without comment, expression unchanging. He’s been here before, Bravo recalls. “Now,” he says lowly, “I do believe someone has been sent to collect us-”

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

Bravo jumps at the new voice, whirling around. A player is looking down at them from his perch on one of the wall’s watch towers. But it’s not his precarious position that makes Bravo’s heart jolt; he actually recognizes the player.

A well-built man, with a neatly trimmed beard and bright, teal eyes. The trident strapped to his back is further evidence- this is bXMiner, the player who killed Bravo the last time he tried to come to this city, years ago.

“Ah, Mr. bX,” Atlas says with a smile, seeming not at all surprised as bX drops to the ground in front of them. “Always a pleasure. This is my associate, Mr. Bravo.”

bX nods at him. “What’s up?”

Bravo blinks. “What’s up?” he repeats, struggling to keep his voice even as his temper flares. “That’s- that’s all I get? What, you don’t have anything else to say to the guy you murdered in cold blood?”

Rather than look taken aback, bX chuckles. “Oh man, you’re gonna have to be more specific,” he says with a rueful grin. “I kill a lot of people. Nothing personal.”

“Right,” Bravo says tersely, folding his arms. He’s not sure what stings more; that bX killed him, or that bX doesn’t even have the decency to remember killing him.

Atlas shoots him a warning look. “Of course, that’s not why we’re here.”

“Yeah, I gotta say, I was surprised to hear you were coming by.” bX’s tone is light, conversational- but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes as he studies Atlas. “Bit early for our next visit, isn’t it?”

Atlas’s grin tightens. “I assure you, Mr. bX, this is no ordinary house call. But I’d much prefer to discuss the details once we’re inside.”

“Sure, yeah.” Nodding, bX turns and starts walking towards the main street. “Follow me.”

Atlas steps in close, grabbing Bravo by the arm. “Mind yourself,” he says, still smiling.

Bravo jerks his arm away with a huff. “Fine! I’ll play nice.” As if he has a choice.

They follow bX into the street. Fortunately, it’s easy to keep track of him because the other players hasten to get out of his way. Clearly, bX holds some sort of status here. His presence must be fairly common, however, because Bravo and Atlas seem to be garnering most of the attention. Bravo tries not to bristle when he feels the weight of curious eyes on him.

He’s fully aware of how dangerous this is. Nearly every Hels player he’s met has been unpleasant at best, and outright hostile at worst. He’d once thought that a structured civilization like this could only exist due to cooperation and common decency. It’s obvious now that he was wrong. The players here must be kept in line by nothing short of brute force. The tension in the air is like a misplaced block of TNT, just waiting to explode.

Atlas, of course, doesn’t seem at all bothered by this. He keeps his chin up and his eyes forward as he walks, shoulder set and grin firmly in place. Like he has absolutely nothing to be nervous about.

Bravo desperately tries to channel that energy as they delve deeper into the city.

~*~

“Wait here,” bX says, slipping through the door.

Bravo opens his mouth to protest, but is quickly silenced by the warning look Atlas gives him. They’re in Papa Al’s house, now, he reminds himself. They must tread carefully.

bX has taken them to a lavish quartz mansion, much bigger than any other structure in the city, complete with a fenced-in, fully landscaped garden. Everything on the premises is impeccably maintained; a sharp contrast to the rest of the city. It was clearly designed with aesthetics in mind, and seems well-staffed. If Bravo had any doubts about just how powerful and wealthy Papa Al is, they’ve been thoroughly refuted.

After leading them through the mansion, bX took them up a rather impressive piston elevator, stopping at a floor that consisted of a single hallway with a single door at the end. It’s this door that they’re now waiting in front of, as bX presumably speaks with Papa Al inside.

Bravo definitely isn’t nervous. He definitely doesn’t try to listen to the conversation through the door- to no avail. And he definitely doesn’t jump out of his skin when the door suddenly swings open, almost smacking him in the face. Quickly straightening up, he takes a breath to compose himself, hoping bX didn’t notice.

bX definitely noticed. “Come on in, guys,” he says, amused.

“Thank you,” Atlas says graciously, pulling Bravo into the room behind him. “Ah, Papa Al, it’s good to see you!”

Bravo has to make a conscious effort not to let his mouth fall open. The floor and ceiling of Papa Al’s office are completely paved with solid diamond blocks. Oh, that’s so… tacky. So, so tacky. But it’s the most expensive kind of tacky Bravo’s ever seen. The fact that this guy has so many excess diamonds, he can build with them...

“Spank you, queenie,” the man sitting behind the desk tells bX. He turns to beam at them. “Doctor Sinny! Come in, come in, take a seat!”

Papa Al. He’s dressed to match the room, in an obnoxious teal suit and multiple diamond rings. His own features are rather plain, aside from the countless thin lines hatched across his face. And his voice is… not what Bravo was expecting. Strange accent aside, there’s a playful nature to it. It’s extremely unsettling, coming from a man with this kind of reputation.

bX moves to stand beside Papa Al, who reaches a hand up to caress the side of bX’s face. It’d be a possessive gesture if it weren’t so affectionate, if bX didn’t smile softly back at him. Bravo’s taken aback- seems like this crime boss is full of surprises.

“Of course,” Atlas says, “thank you for seeing us.” He takes one of the two chairs sitting in front of the desk, gesturing for Bravo to follow suit. As Bravo sits down, Papa Al gasps.

“And oh wow, look at dis beautiful face!” he coos. “Now, look into my eyes, and nufin’ but my eyes…”

Then the rest of his eyes open up.

Atlas warned him not to stare, but Bravo can’t help it. Being told that the man has a bunch of extra eyeballs on his face is one thing, but it’s another thing to see it. To see them all mismatched and misshapen, moving and blinking completely out of sync. It’s horrifying.

Rather than take offense, Papa Al almost seems pleased by Bravo’s reaction. His grin widens, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Wassa matter, sweetface?” he asks innocently, cocking his head to the side. The motion makes his various eyes roll around in a dizzying manner.

A cold sweat trickles down Bravo’s neck. “Nothing,” he grits out, averting his gaze. “Uh, sorry. Sir.”

Luckily, Atlas swoops in. “Now, Papa Al, I know you’re a busy man,” he starts smoothly, “so in the interest of saving time, allow me to be brief. I believe I’ve found the solution to our Tango problem. Mr. Bravo here-”

“Ain’t from dese parts, humm?” Papa Al says thoughtfully, his eyes dragging over Bravo’s form. “Or even from dis world.”

Bravo suppresses a shudder. He’s never been scrutinized so intently before; it feels like layers of his skin are being peeled back. And how Papa Al can tell he’s from another world just by looking at him, he has no idea.

Atlas recovers quickly. “Yes, that’s correct. Mr. Bravo came to Hels by accident through a portal, the same time Tango disappeared. I know you never meet Tango, but their similarity is quite striking, too much to chalk up to mere coincidence. I believe they share a connection that we could utilize to open a portal and track Tango down, to retrieve the information he stole, and get our project back on track.”

“Is dat so?” Papa Al hums. His eyes are split between looking at Atlas and Bravo; an expression that’d almost be goofy if it weren’t so off-putting. “Den what’chu waitin’ for?”

Atlas pauses, his face twitching the way it does when he’s trying very hard not to let his annoyance show. “We’ve run into some difficulties with actually isolating this connection,” he explains carefully. “See, we still have Tango’s communicator, which we’ve been comparing to Mr. Bravo’s, but my team is sorely lacking a specialist in data analysis.”

“Ooh, I see…” Papa Al nods earnestly. “You need a real smart guy, huh?”

Atlas’s grin is so tight, it’s a miracle his teeth haven’t cracked. “This degree of analysis is a bit beyond our scope, yes,” he admits, begrudging.

Papa Al taps his chin- the eye located there quickly squeezes shut. “Hmmm… I fink I know a guy,” he says after a moment. “But he’s a vewy hard guy to track down, so it could take some time. Could be a bit scary, a bit hairy.”

Satisfaction flickers across Atlas’s expression. “Who do you have in mind?” he asks, leaning forward.

“Uh uh uh!” Papa Al tuts, wagging his finger. A few of his eyes close for a second- is he trying to wink? “All you need ta know is that he’s da best of da best in dis kinda fing. An’ he reaaaally likes his privacy.”

Atlas purses his lips. Clearly, he’s displeased, but isn’t willing to argue. “Well, if you think he’s the man for the job, I trust your judgement. I’d be happy to speak to him myself to explain the-”

“No, no, no, no, nooo,” Papa Al interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t you worry your purdy little head about it. If I can get him ta take da job, he’ll find you, mkay?”

“Of course. As you wish.” Atlas inclines his head. “Though I must stress that this is rather sensitive information, and the utmost care should be taken to ensure-”

“Oh, Sinny,” Papa Al sighs. He rests his head in his hands. “You really fink I got to where I am today wifout knowin’ how ta keep my mouth shut? I know what’s at stake, same as you do.”

Atlas exhales slowly. “Of course.”

“Now,” Papa Al continues, “step outside wif bX for a second, mkay? I wanna talk ta Mistah Bravo.”

Bravo jolts in his seat. What? This wasn’t part of the plan!

Atlas stiffens. “If you require any more information about the project, I’m sure I can-”

“Dat wasn’t a request, sweetface,” Papa Al says, his tone deceptively light.

Atlas falls silent. With a terse nod, he rises from his seat and follows bX out the door. As he does, he gives Bravo a look that isn’t so much reassuring as it is saying ‘don’t mess this up.’ Normally, Bravo would roll his eyes, but he’s just as worried about messing this up as Atlas is. Atlas was supposed to do all the talking, Bravo doesn’t know how to navigate Hels business like this-

“Soooo,” Papa Al drawls, “Mistah Bravo… you come from other worlds outside a’ Hels, is dat right?”

Now that they’re alone, Bravo bears the full weight of Papa Al’s gaze. He straightens his back unconsciously. “Yeah. Uh, yes sir, Papa Al.”

Papa Al hums noncommittally. “Tell me… what are da other worlds like?”

Bravo blinks. “Um- you mean like, just in general? I guess… they’re usually a lot nicer than Hels.” He scratches the back of his head. “See, other worlds have a separate nether from the overworld, and- and we travel between them using portals.”

Papa Al nods, motioning for him to go on. Evidently, he’s familiar with the concept.

Bravo swallows. “Okay so, all the biomes with ash and lava and fiery stuff, that’s- that’s nether stuff.” He counts on his fingers. “Basalt deltas, warped and crimson forests, soul sand valleys, nether wastes- that’s all pretty much the same. I mean, it’s fine if that’s what you like, but uh, I prefer the overworld.”

Papa Al’s expression is utterly unreadable, those many eyes watching him with rapt attention.

“So, the overworlds,” Bravo continues haltingly. “There are… okay, so- so overworlds have tons of different biomes, right? The biomes here are sorta like uh, hybrid biomes, so you’ve got like, netherrack veins in a stone mountain or a jungle filled with crimson fungus. But in a normal overworld, the biomes don’t have any features of the nether. And other than a few specific kinds, they all usually have some kinda grass and trees, and they’re green. Not brownish-green like the ones here.”

His tone turns wistful, despite himself. “And the sky- there’s no bedrock ceiling in the overworld, just an endless blue sky… there are clouds sometimes. The air’s clear. And the sun… it’s this giant, yellow ball of fire way up in the sky, too far to reach, and when it shines down on your skin, it’s just the most amazing feeling. Warm, but not painful. And- and at night, the sky turns black, and you can see a bunch of tiny bright lights called stars, and one big, white moon. Like a smaller sun. The moonlight isn’t warm, but it’s beautiful in its own way. I…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, I uh- I didn’t realize I missed it so much…”

A gentle smile spreads across Papa Al’s face, forcing several eyes into a squint. “Oh, das alright,” he murmurs. “It must be hard, ta be away from home for sooooo long. And I bet you’d do whatever it takes ta go back, hmm?”

Bravo is immediately on edge again. “I suppose,” he says warily.

“Now tell me dis…” Papa Al leans in, his voice low. “Do you trust Atlas?”

Well. That’s not what Bravo was expecting. He knits his brows together, trying to figure out how he should answer. Is this some kind of test? “I… trust that he wants a portal opened as much as I do,” he says eventually.

Papa Al tilts his head. “Is dat so?”

It’s impossible to tell whether he approves of the answer or not. Bravo makes a frustrated noise. “I- I don’t- look, compared to how other players here have treated me- I mean, Atlas is one of the few who didn’t just kill me on sight.”

“Oh, sweetface…” Papa Al clicks his tongue. “Dere are so many fings a player can do ta you dat are worse dan killing.”

Irritation flares through Bravo. He hates being treated like he’s naive; he didn’t make it on his own here for several years through the power of friendship. “Okay, so- so what, are you sayin’ I shouldn’t trust the guy who’s working for you?” he asks, folding his arms. “I mean, what- what do you want here?”

“I want ta know dat you’re committed,” Papa Al says, holding his gaze evenly. His earlier playfulness has fallen away into the cool demeanor of a hardened businessman. “Dat you’ll uphold your end of da deal. Cuz- cuz if you don’t, den I’m wastin’ a lotta time and energy for nufin’, mhmm. You get me?”

“I- yeah, I get you,” Bravo says shortly. In his opinion, it’s a stupid question. There is so much more on the line for him than there is for them. They want to get back important research. He wants to get back his entire way of life and an infinite universe. It’s almost insulting, for Papa Al to question Bravo’s commitment.

“Good, good.” Papa Al nods. “Cuz ah, little word to da wise; I am not someone you wanna cross.”

Bravo grits his teeth. He generally considers himself a nice guy, but god, he’s so tired of all the posturing. “Yeah? Well, well maybe I am, too,” he says lowly.

For a moment, Papa Al just stares at him, as if he hasn’t fully processed the threat. Then he throws his head back and laughs, all his eyes squeezing shut. “Oh, I knew I liked ya,” he says cheerfully. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Tell Doctor Sinny dat I’ll work on sending da specialist over pronto, mkay? And in da meantime, he should tell me if dere are any updates or probbylems. Got dat?”

“I- yeah, sure,” Bravo says, taken aback. “Uh-”

“Great! You can go, now.” Papa Al sits back in his chair, waving his fingers. “Buh bye! Spank you! See ya next time!”

Well, that’s that.

Bravo steps out of the room almost in a daze, into the hallway where Atlas and bX are waiting. bX nods at him in greeting and leads them back out of the mansion, through the city, and to the gate before bidding them farewell.

Atlas waits until they’re on the flying machine back to Hels Tek to start pestering Bravo about his meeting with Papa Al. Bravo tries to relay the odd conversation the best he can, still trying to make sense of it himself. But he leaves out the part where Papa Al asked if he trusts Atlas.

Somehow, he doesn’t think Atlas would take that well.

~*~

“What? That’s it?”

Bravo jumps a little as Tyrannicide slams his hands on the conference table. Atlas sighs, looking almost bored as he waits for the other scientist to stop shouting.

“Are you fucking kidding me? All we get is some flimsy promise that he’ll send for a specialist, without even knowing who?”

“Dr. Tyrannicide, indoor voice, if you please,” Atlas says dryly. “I understand it’s not ideal, but-”

“It’s a rip off, is what it is,” Phantonym cuts in, her arms folded as she leans back in her chair. Her shoulders are hunched, jaw set. “I thought this guy was supposed to be our top sponsor!”

The tension in the room is palpable. Bravo knew that the rest of the portal team wouldn’t be thrilled by the news of their visit with Alisker, but he’s unsettled by all the hostility. It’s like they’re going to leap over the table at Atlas any second now. Surely they wouldn’t actually attack each other here- Hels Tek is better than that, right?

“Alisker is our top sponsor,” Atlas replies, giving Phantonym a stern look. “I’m sure he has his reasons for all the secrecy. All we have to do is be patient.”

“And what if this so-called specialist never even shows up?” L8R_H8R demands. He’s tense, hands gripping the armrests of his chair so hard his knuckles are white.

Atlas smiles, shrugging a shoulder. “Well, in that case, I suppose we carry on as we have been.”

H8R frowns. “At the rate we’ve been going, it’ll take years just to figure this data thing out, much less build a working portal from it,” he points out. “Isn’t Alisker’s patience with us already running thin?”

Atlas’s smile widens. “Yes, yes it is. So if I were you, I’d stop wasting time throwing fits over things beyond our control and get back to work. Do I make myself clear?”

The scientists mutter their agreement, a reluctant, “Yes, sir.” The tension dissipates, and Bravo remembers to breathe again.

It’s fine. This is fine. The specialist will come, they’ll figure out how Bravo is connected to Tango, they’ll finally be able to make a portal, and this nightmare will be over. He’ll go home and forget about this horrible place. He just has to be patient for a little bit longer.

It can’t take more than a few days, right?

~*~

Several days come and go, with no news.

Atlas is starting to get annoyed by how often Bravo asks if he’s heard from Alisker. But he can’t help it; he hates feeling out of the loop like this, feeling completely and utterly powerless. He tries to keep himself busy, but progress on the portal has screeched to a halt. The rest of his team is once again trying to teach themselves how to read and analyze data, the lab covered with pages and pages of code, and all his attempts to help are met with stiff rejection. Even just being in the room with them is getting increasingly uncomfortable; tempers are short, and there’s a lot of bickering.

The other scientists seem to tolerate his presence better. His assistance on the various projects at Hels Tek isn’t always necessary, but they don’t mind him hanging around to observe and ask questions. They seem to be in higher spirits than the portal team- probably because their projects aren’t stuck on the backburner, waiting for some mysterious specialist to show up out of the blue. So long as they’re being productive, they’ve got nothing to fight about.

At least, that’s what Bravo thinks until he walks in on a scientist throwing one of the interns against the wall.

“How many times do I have to fucking tell you?” the scientist snarls, a piece of paper clenched in his first. “Double check your calculations before showing them to me. If you can’t even do basic math, you’re-” He pauses when he notices Bravo, all his fury suddenly vanishing. “Oh, hey. Didn’t know you were dropping by today.”

The intern has quickly recovered himself, standing with a carefully composed expression.

“Right,” Bravo says uncertainly, a pit forming in his stomach. “Uh, sorry- I’ll come back later.”

He leaves before the scientist can protest, his heart pounding. He’s never seen violence used so casually around Hels Tek, the way it is elsewhere in Hels. The closest time was when Atlas had to snap Clear out of a breakdown, and even that hadn’t been done so lightly.

Atlas told him that Hels Tek was different. That it was better than the rest of Hels, that he’d be safe here.

It’s… probably not that big of a deal. Everyone loses their temper from time to time. And Bravo can’t hold them to the same standards he would normally, because they’re still from Hels. Things just… work differently here. It doesn’t matter anyways; as soon as that portal is working, he’ll be out of here for good.

He just has to be patient.

~*~

Days turn into weeks.

~*~

“-informed me that they should have the entire lexicon fully transcribed by now,” Atlas says, his quick footsteps bouncing off the empty hall.

Bravo keeps pace with him as they make their way to the portal lab. “Yeah, well, that’s what H8R said last week-”

He breaks off when he hears a sudden crash. Behind one of the doors to another lab, he can make out the sound of furious shouting- two scientists he’s vaguely familiar with- and more heavy thunks and crashes.

Bravo turns to ask Atlas about it, but he’s already slipping inside the door. The sounds immediately stop. After a minute, Atlas comes back out, smoothing down the front of his lab coat.

“Just a little work dispute,” he tells Bravo with a smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Right,” Bravo says flatly. He almost lets it drop there, but something prompts him to keep going. “Y’know, I- I’m not stupid. I know you guys are trying not to be so… so Hels around me. What, do you think a- a few harsh words and fist fights are gonna scare me off?”

“Of course not,” Atlas says, raising his eyebrows. “It’s true that my staff are attempting to be more conscientious than what’s standard for the rest of Hels, but I instilled those rules even before you got here.” He looks at Bravo from over the brim of his shades. “Contrary to what you might believe, we Hels players don’t all thrive on chaos and violence. Some of us would prefer a little more civility and order.”

“Oh, okay.” Bravo glances away, almost sheepish. “Sure, yeah. Sorry.”

Atlas hums noncommittally, continuing down the hall. “Now, where were we…?”

~*~

Weeks turn into months.

~*~

“I’ve told you, I’m working on it!” Tyrannicide snaps. “Who died and made you queen?”

“Well, someone has to keep us on schedule,” Phantonym shoots back, her eyes narrowed, “and it’s clearly not you!”

Bravo pinches the bridge of his nose. The two scientists have been arguing all morning about things he can barely follow. Something something, responsibilities, something something, timelines. It’s really getting hard to bear. If this is the best redstone lab that Hels has to offer, he shudders to think about how the others must function…

“I’m sick of your shit!” Tyrannicide pushes away from the lab bench, his chair toppling over with a loud thud as he jumps to his feet. “If you don’t like the way I do things then you can just-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence; a sword suddenly appears in his chest, splattering blood across the lab bench. Instantly, he vanishes in a puff of respawn smoke, the sword dropping to the ground with a clank.

Phantonym calmly leans over to pick it up. Shock crashes over Bravo as he processes what just happened, only two feet away from him.

H8R sighs loudly. “For godsakes…” he groans, rising from his chair. He shuffles over to grab the mop leaning against the wall. “Couldn’t you have taken this outside? Papers, ruined…”

Bravo finally finds his voice. “You killed him,” he says, stunned.

Phantonym rolls her eyes. “Sorry, yeah, I know that was rude,” she huffs, putting the sword back in her inventory. “But whatever, maybe he’ll come back with a better fucking attitude.”

Bravo isn’t sure how to respond to that. Fortunately, Atlas is quick to arrive, having noticed the death message in chat. He lectures Phantonym about ‘appropriate workplace conduct’ and then pulls Bravo to the side.

“I apologize for that,” Atlas says lowly. “With respawn anchors set up, death has little consequence, and as such, players can sometimes get careless- even those who should know better. But I can assure you, no one here would even think about harming you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bravo demands. He finds that hard to believe. “Why’s that? Has- has my sparkling personality endeared me to them?”

Atlas sighs; he has little patience for Bravo’s sarcasm. “No. I’ve simply impressed upon them that, if such an unsightly event were to occur, there would be dire consequences.”

“Oh.” Bravo swallows. “Uh. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Atlas says, stepping away. “Now, all of you, get back to work.”

Bravo runs a hand through his hair, pausing as he feels a few strands stuck together with still-warm blood. A lump forms in his throat, but he forces it down.

Business as usual at Hels Tek.

~*~

“I don’t know why this couldn’t wait,” Atlas grumbles, rubbing his eyes behind his shades. “I’m all for starting work early, but this is a bit excessive.”

“Because,” Bravo says impatiently, ushering him down the hallway, “every time I try to get a straightforward explanation with the rest of the team there, it always turns into an argument. And I’m sick of being out of the loop. I- I need to know exactly where we’re at with this project, okay?”

There’s only a few more months to go before Bravo will have been at Hels Tek for two years. Not that they’ll throw him an anniversary party or anything. Most players don’t pay much attention to the yearly passage of time; the only reason he even knows how long it’s been is because he’s made a point to keep track on his communicator.

(It’s hard to tell for certain, but Bravo thinks he might’ve stopped aging at this point. He wonders if Tango’s stopped aging too, or if he’ll look younger or older than Bravo when they finally meet.

He supposes it doesn’t really matter. Since all players are immortal, they usually only keep track of age until they reach adulthood. After that, players continue to age up to a certain point that’s completely random; a player who looks twenty might actually be decades older than a player who looks forty. Socially, there’s no difference- an adult is an adult.

But privately, Bravo had been hoping to physically age at least a little bit more, to look more mature than he does currently. Maybe it’d help others take him more seriously.)

Atlas hums noncommittally. “Do you not trust your team?”

Bravo snorts. “I trust my team to get distracted by bickering, that’s what. So- so that’s why I just need you to catch me up to speed on everything, before the rest of ‘em get in this morning.”

“Very well,” Atlas sighs, fishing his keycard out of his inventory as they stop in front of the lab door. He swipes them in. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’d be happy to-” He breaks off as soon as they step through the door, blinking in confusion.

The lights in the lab are already on.

Bravo’s immediately on edge, quickly glancing around. He deliberately dragged Atlas down here at the crack of dawn so they could get here before anyone else on the team-

“Hey, everybody.”

That’s a new voice.

Bravo cranes his head up in the direction the voice came from, and his heart jolts. A player is sitting up in the metal rafters of the lab, balancing on the thin beam in a crouch. Before either of them can respond, the player drops off the side- and catches himself in a rapidly-placed block of water, which disappears back into its bucket and into his inventory just as quickly. He straightens up, standing only a few feet away from them with his hands in his pockets.

The first thought Bravo has is, ‘What a show off.’ Seriously, what kind of guy places water in a redstone lab just to pull off a silly MLG trick?

The player in question is a man with a tall, lanky frame- made even more apparent by the baggy bomber jacket he’s wearing. The gray jacket is old but well-maintained, with patches on the elbows and the collar lined with matted white fur. Complimenting it is a pair of dark cargo pants tucked into trim combat boots. A clock hangs at his hip, suspended on a delicate chain.

His white hair is in the style of an undercut; shaved around the sides and back, with only the top left long and tied into a small bun. His whole left eye is glowing bright red- artificially red, like redstone- with a white iris. The skin surrounding it is thick and mottled, like some kind of burn or chemical scar, standing out in sharp contrast against his pale complexion. It’s impossible to tell the extent of it, though, because the entire lower half of his face is covered by a black mask.

Bravo’s never seen him before. But Atlas inhales sharply, eyes widening from behind his shades.

“Well, well, well.” Atlas spreads his hands, breaking into a broad grin. “If it isn’t Mr. Patho, of Patho’s Lair!”

“Oh, you know who I am?” the player, Patho, asks. It’s difficult to read his expression with so much of his face hidden, but he almost sounds amused.

“But of course.” Atlas is practically vibrating with excitement as he approaches Patho, coming to a stop in front of him. Bravo follows him cautiously. “Any competent redstoner knows who you are, Mr. Patho. It’s an honor to have you here, I don’t know why my staff didn’t inform me of your arrival-”

“I let myself in,” Patho says casually.

It takes a second for the meaning to register; he snuck into Hels Tek completely undetected.

“Ah.” If Atlas is disturbed by this information, he doesn’t show it. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise! It’s an honor to meet you,” he says emphatically, holding out his hand. “I’m Dr. Atlas, the head scientist here.”

Patho just stares at him, hands still in his pockets, making no move to shake Atlas’s hand. It seems to Bravo as if the temperature in the room has dropped by ten degrees.

Atlas, to his credit, recovers quickly. “Thank you so much for coming,” he says, tucking his arms behind his back. “I wasn’t aware that Alisker knew you.”

Patho nods. “Oh yeah, me and Papa Al go way back.”

Now that Bravo’s getting a closer look, he realizes that Patho’s red eye is mechanical; he can see the little metal plates that make up the iris, moving to change the diameter of the pupil. That, combined with the scar around Patho’s orbit, mean it’s probably a cybernetic replacement.

Injuries that kill a player are healed upon respawn, but they occasionally leave a mark, depending on the nature and severity of the wound. The likelihood of retaining some sort of damage increases the longer a player has an injury without actually dying. Bravo’s seen players with all sorts of scars in Hels, but never one that’s missing an actual body part. He wonders what sort of circumstances could lead to an entire eye being permanently lost, and shudders.

“Well, we’re happy to have you,” Atlas says. Man, he’s really laying it on thick. “I’m certain with your help we’ll be able to-”

“So, this is the overworlder?” Patho interrupts, turning his keen, mismatched gaze onto Bravo. There’s something calculating in his expression, and the intensity of his robotic eye is a little disconcerting- like it’s evaluating Bravo on some level he can’t understand.

“My name’s Bravo,” Bravo says, feeling a spike of irritation. He folds his arms. “So Alisker sent you? You know uh, we talked to him about sending a specialist months ago. Like, almost a year ago.”

Atlas shoots him a warning look. Clearly, he holds this player in very high regard- for whatever reason.

But Patho shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m a busy guy,” he says, completely unapologetic.

Bravo’s jaw tightens. He’s trying really hard not to let his annoyance show, but this guy is quickly getting on his nerves. “I just don’t- what, he- he couldn’t just send a quick whisper, asking you to drop by?”

“No, actually.” Patho finally takes his hands out of his pockets, pushing up the sleeve of his left arm. The entire limb is mechanical- a prosthetic, Bravo realizes, just like his eye- and there’s a familiar screen embedded in his forearm. “I don’t get whispers anymore. I permanently disabled chat.”

He’s built his communicator into his own arm. And disabled the chat. In a world without an admin who can just replace his communicator if something were to go wrong.

Bravo stares at him. “Wh- why would you do that?!”

Patho gives him a curious look, huffing a laugh. Like Bravo’s some kind of dumb animal that’s doing something mildly amusing. “Sorry, that’s actually none of your goddamn business,” he says, tone deceptively light. “Now let’s get to work, yeah?”

Bravo’s too stunned to respond. But Atlas swiftly intervenes, sweeping an arm out towards the lab benches. “Of course! Our set up is right over there, Mr. Patho. Feel free to take a look at our progress thus far while I call the rest of our portal development team over.”

Patho simply nods and turns away, sidling over to the lab benches. Atlas seizes Bravo by the arm and leads him aside.

“Do you remember,” Atlas asks lowly, speaking through the clenched teeth of his grin, “how I told you that a long time ago, a very smart player used data analysis to figure out that Hels is made of two distinct realms fused into one?”

Bravo quirks a brow. “Yeah?”

“Patho is that player.”

“What?” Bravo jolts in surprise. “But that’d make him-”

“One of the oldest players in Hels, yes,” Atlas says, nodding. “I know he doesn’t look it; he stopped aging a long time ago. But trust me when I tell you that this player is ancient, and someone you do not want to cross.”

Bravo frowns. “Seems to be a running theme here, with the sorta people you work with.”

Atlas tilts his head. “Let me put it this way. If I had to choose between having Alisker or Patho as my enemy, I’d choose Alisker any day.” His grip on Bravo’s arm tightens. “You must be on your best behavior.”

“Okay, okay, jeeze!” Bravo huffs, shaking Atlas’s hand off. Despite his annoyance, he can’t deny the concern that Atlas’s words have instilled in him. This must be serious. “Relax, I’m- I’m not gonna do anything stupid.”

“I should hope not,” Atlas responds cooly, pulling up his communicator. “We can’t afford to waste this opportunity.”

Bravo manages not to roll his eyes. “Don’t have to tell me that,” he mutters under his breath as he turns away.

~*~

It only takes a few minutes for the other three to arrive. Introductions are a rushed affair, with far too much fangirling for Bravo’s taste. Apparently, Patho is some kind of celebrity in the redstone community here. Go figure.

Once everything’s settled down again, Atlas explains the situation to Patho in excruciating detail, with frequent interjections from the other scientists. They’re all so eager to prove how much they know about the subject. The hostility between them from the last few months has been all but forgotten; clearly, they wouldn’t dream of devolving into petty bickering in front of Patho.

If nothing else, at least this visit has given them a serious attitude adjustment.

Patho listens to them with rapt attention, speaking only to ask an occasional clarifying question. There’s absolutely nothing in his expression to give away what he’s feeling about the information. Certainly not the excitement Bravo might’ve expected, from someone learning that there’s a way out of Hels.

Maybe Patho’s always suspected. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

Patho also spends some time looking over Bravo’s and Tango’s communicators- which makes Bravo more than a little nervous. Patho’s inspection goes beyond a cursory glance; he actually starts digging through data logs and memory banks, reading the embedded codes.

“Lotta early deaths, huh, Bravo?” he comments at one point, making Bravo flush.

To top it all off, Patho pops open a panel on his robotic arm and tugs out a little cord. He uses this to plug into each of the communicators for a few minutes, his expression blank as his cybernetic eye rapidly scans back and forth. It’s… a little disturbing to watch. By the time he finishes up and gives Bravo his communicator back, Bravo’s practically ready to snatch it out of Patho’s hands. He quickly stows it in his inventory while simultaneously trying to look as though he isn’t at all bothered.

Jury’s still out on whether he was successful or not.

“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking,” Patho announces finally, after all these minutes of information-gathering.

They’ve all settled at the chairs by the lab benches now. Tyrannicide, Phantonym, and L8R_H8R each have notepads out. Atlas doesn’t, but he can’t disguise the interest in his eyes as he leans forward slightly in his seat.

“In the worlds outside Hels,” Patho starts, “you can make portals two ways; a nether portal to travel between overworld and nether, or a portal from your communicator to travel between worlds. In Hels, we can’t do either. But um, there’s actually a difference in how these mechanisms have been blocked here. Aha.”

“You see, buried deep inside every communicator’s memory is a command for creating a new world, and a command for traveling to an existing world- like, a derivative of the ‘summon portal’ command. These commands are locked on a Hels player’s communicator, just like, completely nonfunctional. No amount of tampering can activate them again, so one of these communicator portals has never physically existed in Hels.”

“Now, a nether portal, on the other hand, can still be created in Hels. The uh, the frames just don’t ignite. This is because they were designed to travel between two distinct realms that are now fused in Hels, so the portal gets confused. It’s like, you’re asking it to teleport you somewhere, but you’re already there. So it just crashes. But, theoretically, if you gave a nether portal in Hels a new destination, outside of Hels, you could trick it into teleporting you there.” He finally pauses, gaze drifting around the table. “With me so far?”

Eager nods from the scientists as they scribble down notes.

Bravo frowns. “So why hasn’t anyone successfully done that yet?” he asks.

Patho blinks at him. “It’s a paradox,” he says slowly. “In order to make a portal out of Hels, you need to anchor it to something outside of Hels. But in order to find something outside of Hels to act as an anchor, you need to make a portal out of Hels. So um, historically, there’s been no way for anyone in Hels to access anything from other worlds.” He shrugs. “Until you showed up.”

Atlas looks pleased. “So, you’re saying Mr. Bravo is the key to interworld travel?” His tone makes it clear he already knew that, but is now having it confirmed by a top authority on the subject. It must be extremely validating.

Patho nods. “Yeah, so player data is actually influenced by the world you spawn in. Sort of like, an origin ID tag. I could tell just from reading him that he’s not from Hels. All we have to do is use his data to create an anchor point to another world and link it to a nether portal.”

There are surprised and agreeable little murmurs from the scientists.

“Oh, genius-”

“Of course!”

“-yes, I see.”

“Uh…” Bravo clears his throat. “Hey, so- so as the aforementioned ‘he’, would this uh, hypothetical scenario be in any way painful or damaging? Or permanent? I mean, it’s not gonna- it won’t turn me into a portal, right?”

Patho waves him off. “No, no, it shouldn’t be. It’d be like um, a fingerprint or retina scanner. You’d just need a setup that can read your data and feed it to the portal, and it’ll ignite inside the frame.”

That’s something, Bravo supposes. “Okay… but we aren’t trying to go to just any other world, or my homeworld, we’re trying to find Tango,” he points out. “And- and we have no idea where he is.”

“Ah, you didn’t let me finish,” Patho says good-naturedly. “Based on what I can tell from this Tango guy’s communicator compared to Bravo’s, you can use Bravo’s data to create an anchor point to Tango, too.”

Oh, that’s all kinds of strange. “But why?” Bravo asks, throwing his hands up. “How exactly are Tango and I connected? Is it like that- that thing when one chicken egg spawns in multiples? Like, twins?”

Patho shakes his head. “No, you’d be completely identical if that were the case, and I can tell from your communicators that you aren’t.” He gives Bravo a considering look. “The real answer is, um... more complicated than that. You sure you can handle it?”

Well, that’s not concerning.

Despite his sudden unease, Bravo huffs a laugh. “Uh, yeah? I mean, that’s- that’s what we’re here to find out, right?”

“Alright, then,” Patho hums. He pulls a potion out of his inventory- night vision, Bravo thinks. “So like, imagine that this bottle is Bravo. And all his data- all his code, like everything that makes Bravo who he is- is represented by the potion in the bottle. And that potion is made up of different ingredients, right?”

Bravo knits his brows together. “Where are you going with this?”

“Just stay with me.” Patho pulls another bottle out, but this one is empty. “So when Bravo was spawned, he had all these different ingredients in him. But for whatever reason, the uh, the universe took certain things out and dumped them into a second bottle, making a new potion.” To demonstrate, he tips the potion into the empty bottle, letting some of the shimmering liquid pour into it. “That’s Tango.”

Bravo balks. “Wh- so Tango’s my clone?!”

Patho gives a rueful sigh, like he’s patiently trying to teach an actual child some very simple concept. “No, not a clone. Again, you’d be identical.” He scoops up some stray redstone from the lab bench and pours it into the second potion, swirling it around until the liquid turns reddish. “He’s a derivative of you, like some part of you that has been given its own sentience and form before getting spawned here. I don’t know why. But uh, I predict this is the case for every player spawned in Hels.”

There’s a moment of silence. The redstone particles in the potion eventually settle on the surface, like blood on water.

“Mr. Patho,” Atlas ventures finally, his tone careful, “surely you don’t mean... you’re suggesting we all have doppelgängers outside of Hels?”

“That’s right,” Patho says, putting the potions away. “It’s simple inductive logic based on the construction of the data of every player I’ve ever seen.”

The scientists don’t look quite so eager anymore, pens hovering motionless over notepads.

Bravo exhales slowly, running his hands through his hair. This is… so much more than he could’ve guessed. He’d thought there was a chance the universe purposefully spawned the worst players here in Hels, as some kind of preemptive punishment. But what Patho’s suggesting… it’s different.

“But... but why would the universe do that?” Bravo asks quietly.

“Like I said, I don’t know.” Patho scratches at his jaw over his mask. “Um, I’d need Tango here to do a direct comparison in order to figure out what ‘ingredients’ he’s made of. But we can estimate. So like, what similarities does Tango share with you?”

Bravo shrugs helplessly. “I- I mean- I’ve never met him, but-”

“Their tempers,” Atlas interrupts, his eyes widening with realization. “Mr. Bravo does a fine job keeping it under control, but when Tango got truly angry, he’d fly into an uncontrollable, destructive rage.” He gives Bravo a thoughtful look. “I was never certain how much of that was solely attributed to his blaze hybrid status, but now it seems to me that he got it from you.”

Something about that sentence rankles Bravo. He shoves it to the back of his mind.

“There you go.” Patho waves a hand. “Hels players are made of the worst parts of overworld players. Aha.” He winks. “Explains a lot, right?”

Bravo can only shake his head. “I just- I don’t understand how you can know all that just by looking at me and our communicators-”

“This is what you hired me for, right?” Patho asks, inclining his head. “It’d take way too long to explain. Look, trust my expertise or don’t. I get paid either way.”

“Apologies, Mr. Patho,” Atlas says quickly, “of course we trust your expertise. It’s just… quite a lot to take in.”

“Really?” Patho sounds genuinely surprised. “Seems pretty simple to me.”

Atlas’s smile is strained. “You mean to say you aren’t at all bothered by the concept of your existence being owed to some player in another world? That you’re nothing more than the most undesirable parts of them trimmed away and given shape, locked into an inescapable prison for the simple crime of existing?”

“Nope,” Patho says easily. “So I uh, I just foot the bill to Papa Al, right?”

The sudden change in topic throws Bravo for a moment. “Uh- what do you mean?”

“My payment,” Patho says, stretching his arms above his head before standing up. “Job’s done, so…”

“What?” Bravo demands, rising from his seat. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “That’s it? You- you’re leaving, just like that?”

“Yeah?” Patho chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Like, what else do you want, a kiss on the cheek? That’ll cost extra.”

Bravo feels himself flush. He’s not sure how much of it is from embarrassment and how much is from anger. “I thought you were supposed to be helping us open a portal,” he says, stalking up to Patho.

Atlas frowns at him. “Now, Mr. Bravo-”

“Well,” Patho says, tilting his head, “I already told you everything you need to know to open a portal to Tango.”

“Yeah, well,” Bravo snarks, glaring up at Patho, “knowing and doing are two very different things. We’ve waited months for you to show up, only for you to leave after ten minutes, are you serious? I- I mean, aren’t you gonna help us actually build the portal?”

Patho scoffs at him. “I’m a consultant, not a contractor,” he says, turning away.

Rage flares inside Bravo, like his blood’s turned to lava. “Hey! Don’t you have any idea how important this is?” He grabs Patho by the arm. “You can’t-”

Pain cuts across Bravo’s stomach, before he’s even processed that Patho’s moving. He sees the briefest glint of metal in Patho’s hand- some kind of blade- and something warm presses against his legs. He looks down and- oh. Those are his intestines. He’s looking down at his intestines, spilling from a neat slice that Patho has made through his abdomen.

All the air leaves Bravo’s lungs in a strangled gasp. He has a second to look up at Patho, who stares back impassively, those mismatched eyes cold and hard as stone, before Patho reaches forward with his other arm- the robot arm, easily pulled from Bravo’s grasp- and he plunges it into Bravo’s open body, grabs a fistful of viscera, and pulls-

Bravo sees a spray of red, then everything goes black.

He wakes up on the floor of his bedroom.

Oh. So that happened. Residual adrenaline crashes over Bravo like a bucket of cold water. Quickly he glances down, finding no sign of injury. This does little to calm him. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, and his hands are shaking as he scrambles for his communicator.

Bravo was slain by Patho.

What the hell.

Putting his communicator away, Bravo forces himself to take a few slow, deep breaths. Okay. He respawned in his room. He’s fine. The respawn anchor is now missing one little wedge of light. It almost seems to mock him, like a solitary eye. That’s less fine. It’s been so long since his last death, damn it, he thought he was done with the random murder stuff!

As he gathers his composure, rising to his feet, he finds that his shock is quickly giving way to anger. He doesn’t care how smart or famous Patho is, he’s not going to take this laying down. Hels players might be fine with casually killing someone every time they get on each other’s nerves, but Bravo isn’t.

All he’s asking for is some basic fucking humanity.

Grabbing his spare sword out of his ender chest, Bravo smacks the button on the wall and darts out the door. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears. His feet swiftly take him back to the lab, the route subconsciously memorized after all the time he’s spent in this damn place, and he’s so angry he almost rips his keycard up as he swipes in.

“Hey!” Bravo shouts, rushing into the lab. “What’re you…”

He trails off. Patho is standing not far from where Bravo left him, casually talking to Atlas. His hands are in his pockets, his body language totally relaxed. There’s a splatter of blood across the front of his jacket. Atlas is smiling pleasantly and nodding.

Tyrannicide and Phantonym are hunched over the lab benches, comparing notes. H8R is mopping up the blood on the floor. Bravo’s blood. They all look up at his entrance, expressions disinterested, before turning back to what they were doing.

It’d be terribly unnerving, if it weren’t so infuriating.

Bravo storms right up to Atlas and Patho. “What’s going on here?” he demands furiously.

“Ah, there you are.” Atlas turns to him with a beseeching look. “Mr. Patho has agreed to stay and help work on the portal for a bit longer,” he informs Bravo, as if this is gracious news.

“Oh, has he?” Bravo rounds on Patho with a snarl. His grip tightens around his sword.

Patho shrugs, not at all concerned by Bravo’s very clear threat. “Your friend’s very persuasive.”

“Um, excuse me?” Bravo gives an incredulous laugh, made harsh with anger. “So- so are we just not gonna address what happened?!”

Patho chuckles. “Okay, okay. Here, I’ll use my words this time.” He stares directly into Bravo’s eyes, his cybernetic pupil constricting to match his natural one. “Don’t touch me again, or I’ll fucking kill you. Got that?”

The hair on the back of Bravo’s neck stands up. He can’t even respond, his voice dying in his throat.

Atlas takes the opportunity to grab Bravo by the arm. “Mr. Bravo, a word, please,” he says, steering Bravo away.

Bravo’s too stunned to argue. But once they’re at the other side of the lab, he finally finds his voice again. “Wh- are you kidding me with this?!” he snaps, not bothering to whisper. “This guy shows up out of nowhere after months and months of waiting, sneaks in unannounced, and then decides to fucking shank me just for grabbing his arm? And- and you’re okay with this? You actually want to keep working with him?”

“I do regret that such an unfortunate incident occurred,” Atlas says somberly, as if Patho killing Bravo in cold blood was some kind of freak accident. “I meant it when I said Hels Tek strives to be better than the rest of Hels in that regard. But you must understand that this is simply the way things are here. And with certain recent… revelations… realize that it goes beyond culture or tradition or just simple crassness. It’s in our nature, our very data itself.” He gives Bravo a knowing look. “Some are better at fighting that instinctual coding than others, but none of us will ever operate at the same level as an overworlder.”

Bravo pauses, his anger starting to fade. He hadn’t thought about it like that. He’d assumed most Hels players acted the way they did just because they could get away with it. Hels is a world with no rules and no admin to keep order, so common decency falls by the wayside. But he’d thought, he’d thought, that surely they were capable of being better? That there’d be some innate sense of humanity, deep down inside them, that would guide them if only they cared enough to listen.

But now. Now, it seems as if they aren’t capable of it. Not just because they don’t know any better, but because something inside of them is actively rebelling against it, spurring them on to ever more horrible, violent deeds. Bravo’s always felt he was different from Hels players, but now he has actual scientific evidence supporting the fact.

It’s… almost comforting.

“I… I guess that’s true,” Bravo says uncertainly. He puts his sword away, folding his arms. “But I mean- come on, do we really have to keep him around?”

Atlas smiles. “Patho is one of the most brilliant minds in all of Hels. He practically invented the field of data analysis. He is likely the only player who will be able to help us open a portal in a matter of years rather than decades. With your assistance, I’m certain we can figure it out.” He puts a hand on Bravo’s shoulder, and his grin sharpens. “I’m still willing to uphold my end of our deal. Are you?”

The reality of the situation sinks in slowly, a cold dread.

Bravo’s spawn is set here via respawn anchor. He’s outnumbered and outmatched. This is a secure facility that would be near impossible to escape from. With what Patho’s learned, they don’t need Bravo’s cooperation to create a functioning portal. They just need him, his physical data. And he knows they’d be willing to hold him here against his will to get what they want, to keep him trapped like some kind of experiment, like an animal.

Atlas is offering him a chance to not do that. To work with them willingly. And to maybe, just maybe, still go home at the end of all this. He doesn’t know if the portal will require his continuous presence to work. He doesn’t know if Atlas will let him leave, if he’s their only way out of Hels. But it’s a chance.

The only chance he’s got.

“Yeah,” Bravo says, forcing a smile. “Yeah, of course. I mean, we’ve come this far, right?”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Atlas says, releasing his grip on Bravo’s shoulder. “Now, play nice with Mr. Patho. Without his help, you just might be stuck here forever. Understand?”

Bravo’s throat tightens. “Loud and clear.”

~*~

“So I’ve got the blueprints done,” Patho announces nonchalantly, dropping a roll of paper on the table. “Have a look.”

Atlas quickly scoops up the blueprint, moving aside cups and bowls to make space. Bravo fights back a scowl and keeps eating his lunch.

The other scientists in the cafeteria have taken notice, whispering to each other excitedly and casting not-so-subtle looks at the portal team’s table. Patho’s arrival yesterday caused quite the stir, but this is the first time many of the other scientists are actually seeing him- though Bravo’s definitely noticed a few players snooping by the door to the portal lab.

After studying the blueprint for a moment, Atlas raises his eyebrows. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting such a compact design,” he says. His tone is a bit mixed; he’s clearly impressed with Patho’s work, but is irritated that the solution has turned out to be so simple. “Is this really all it will take?”

Patho nods. He seems content just to stand by their table with his hands in his pockets, making no move to sit down with them. “For the most part, yeah. I mean, you know, I’m not sure what kind of power source this thing will need yet but the data processing itself isn’t bad.”

“Power source?” Tyrannicide chimes in, looking over the blueprint with knitted brows. “What do you mean? Isn’t opening a portal like punching open a doorway? Once it’s open, it should stay open.”

“Well, normally, yeah,” Patho says, “but this portal isn’t supposed to exist. We can force the portal to open a door for us by feeding it coordinates, but it’ll be updating every tick. And every time it updates, it’ll check its input and output coordinates, and once it tries to process the uh, the coordinates from Hels, it’ll crash. Because, you know, portals aren’t supposed to exist in Hels. But, if we keep sending our own updates to it, like in a constant stream of power, it’ll keep resetting the checker. Sort of like an update suppressor. And um, that way, it’ll remain open and stable.” He taps the side of his head. “Aha.”

Small murmurs and exclamations of realization and agreement around the table. Bravo sets his bowl of mushroom stew down with a little more force than necessary.

“You said that all we needed to open a portal was my player data,” he accuses.

“To ignite it, yeah, but not stabilize it.” Patho makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s like…imagine you’ve got this door, right? And you want the door to stay open. But there’s, like, a big windstorm on the other side, constantly trying to slam the door shut. So you have to provide your own opposing force to hold the door open. Too little, and you won’t be able to stop the door from closing. Too much, and you’ll blow the door off its hinges, and the uh, the doorway will collapse. It’s gotta be just the right strength. And uh, it’s gotta be 100% reliable, too. No stalling or malfunctions.”

Bravo exhales through his nose. “Wonderful.”

Atlas puts a hand on Bravo’s arm. “I’m sure we’ll find a solution when we get to that point,” he says mildly. “There are plenty of options for powering redstone, should be fairly simple.”

Grumbling, Bravo shifts over on the bench so he can see the blueprints a little better. He scans the diagrams with careful attention, from the portal frame to the rows of data processors all the way down to the input chamber, where he sees what’s clearly supposed to be a player standing on-

“Is that a redstone ore block?” Bravo asks, taken aback.

“Yeah?” Patho quirks an eyebrow. “What, don’t you guys have any redstone ore in this place?”

Bravo snorts. “Uh, no. There’s like, a whole system of double chests filled with redstone blocks if you-”

“No, no good, you need the ore,” Patho says, shaking his head.

Bravo frowns. “Why?”

“There’s a neat little trick you can do with redstone ore,” Patho explains. “It like, lights up when you step on it, right? Turns out it’s actually reading your presence. Like a player detector.”

“Wait, really?” Phantonym asks, leaning forward in her seat. “I thought the particles were simply reacting to kinetic energy.”

“That’s a pretty common assumption, but there’s more to it than that.” Patho idly scratches at the side of his mask. “To keep it short, something about redstone in its raw, unmodified form allows it to, like, take in and process information at a higher level. Of course, we ruin that when we mine it into dust. So you can either use a super complex player detector that’ll take weeks to build and cover up the entire floorspace of this lab… or we can use a block of redstone ore. It’ll be able to read Bravo’s data and transform it into a signal that we can feed to the portal- after it goes through a data processor, of course.”

Bravo is begrudgingly impressed. However, he can’t help but jab, “If redstone ore is that useful, why don’t you have any?”

“Oh, I do,” Patho replies matter-of-factly. “I keep plenty in my ender chest. But like, I don’t really use my own materials on consults like this, so…”

“Right,” Bravo says flatly, less impressed. This guy won’t even give up a single block of redstone ore for a job? What a jerk.

Atlas rolls the blueprint back up into a neat scroll. “Well, this is just splendid work, Mr. Patho,” he gushes. Then he grins at the rest of them. “Anyone up for some mining?”

~*~

After a few days of work, the lab looks like a completely different place.

Several chests have been stacked up and stocked with all the materials Patho’s design requires. In the meantime, he’s laid out where everything is going to go using outlines made of redstone dust. The lab benches are littered with blueprints- Atlas had the good sense to make plenty of copies- and pages of notes.

(There’s also a new wooden platform up in the rafters, only the bottom of it visible from below. Bravo thinks that might be where Patho is actually sleeping, strangely enough. It’s not like they don’t have any spare rooms.)

Once all the preparations have been made, Patho runs the team through the details of his design. The portal is straightforward enough; just an obsidian frame with a redstone line feeding into it. But after that, the outlines quickly become more complicated.

“So, there’s a lot of information in a player’s data, right?” Patho starts. “If we tried to feed it all into the uh, the portal, it would completely overload it. Like, it might try and do some crazy things. So we’ll keep it simple by giving it only the coordinates we want it to open up at. But in order to get those coordinates, we’ve gotta take all that raw data and filter it to get what we want. Aha.” He gestures vaguely at the redstone outlines. “That’s what this is for.”

Bravo squints at the outlines. “And- and what’s this repeater circuit for?”

Patho shrugs. “Well, right now, the coordinates we get from your ID tag lead directly to Tango. Like, the coordinates would open a portal up directly on top of him. Since you guys are trying to get something back from him, I imagine you’ll wanna be able to sneak up on him, right?” A knowing look glints in his eye. “So this circuit is gonna add about fifty blocks of distance in the X axis. Just so you’re not right in front of him when you come through the portal. That way, you keep the uh, the element of surprise.”

“Oh, I see,” Atlas murmurs approvingly. “Very clever.”

Bravo folds his arms. “Unless Tango happens to be standing fifty blocks away from a cliff,” he points out.

Patho’s eyes slant upward in what might be a grin. “Guess you’re just gonna have to take that chance,” he says simply, before moving on. “So uh, after the signal passes through this circuit, it’ll-”

The lab door flings open with a metallic clunk.

Dr. Clear sweeps into the lab, hastily shoving his ID card back in his coat pocket. He doesn’t even look over or acknowledge them at all as he beelines towards the stack of chests. Mumbling under his breath, he pops open the nearest chest and starts rummaging around in it.

Patho blinks at the unexpected interruption. Atlas looks like he might have an aneurysm.

“Excuse me, Dr. Clear?” Atlas calls, his voice and smile incredibly strained.

“Huh?” Clear pauses, glancing over his shoulder. He seems mildly surprised to see them, like he didn’t realize anyone else was there. Typical.

Atlas folds his arms behind his back. “Is there any particular reason you’re interrupting us while we work with Mr. Patho?”

Clear stares dimly at them. “Who?”

If Bravo’s not mistaken, Patho’s face twitches a little at that.

“Mr. Patho,” Atlas stresses. “You know, Patho’s Lair?”

“Patho Slair?” Clear cocks his head to the side. “Huh. Slair. Kinda sounds like stair. Anyone ever call ya that? Patho Stair?”

Bravo manages not to laugh, but it’s a near thing. Atlas looks like he could strangle Clear.

“Anyways.” Clear goes back to digging through the chest. “Don’t you worry none, just ‘ave ta grab somethin’...”

“Is your own lab not sufficiently stocked?” Atlas asks pointedly.

That gets Clear’s full attention. He steps back from the chest, letting it slam shut, and looks around. “Oh. This ain’t me lab. Right, then.” Without another word, he turns on his heel and exists just as quickly as he’d come, leaving the lab in baffled silence.

Atlas turns to Patho with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry for the interruption, Mr. Patho. Dr. Clear isn’t exactly-”

“It’s fine,” Patho chuckles, waving him off. “Let’s uh, let’s get back to work.”

‘Yes sir, Mr. Stair,’ Bravo thinks to himself.

~*~

“Okay, everybody,” Patho calls. “This is gonna be a simple test.”

Bravo sighs impatiently. Putting together the actual redstone for the portal generator took much longer than it ought to have. For someone with such an impressive reputation, Patho barely contributed to the building process, the real laying-down-blocks part. Instead, he mostly supervised and criticized. Apparently, he’s very particular about how his redstone works.

It wasn’t made any easier by the number of times random scientists would stop by the lab with flimsy excuses just to talk to Patho. They’d always end up asking him to explain the project, which he was always happy to do (because he’s a massive show off, too big for his combat boots) so everything would grind to a halt.

They haven’t even properly hooked up the portal itself yet, as Patho insisted on testing their data processing unit beforehand. And of course, Bravo would voice his complaints if it weren’t for the little issue of Atlas not-so-subtly reminding him that the only way to get what he wants is by cooperating with Patho.

So. Here they are.

“All we’re gonna do is have Bravo stand on the ore block,” Patho continues, “and see how the data reads out. Just to make sure everything’s accounted for, so like, nothing extra accidentally travels to the portal. If we’ve done everything correctly, we’ll find the coordinates properly counted in these hopper clocks.”

Tyrannicide, Phantonym, and H8r are standing by with notepads at the ready. Atlas is watching from the side with a smile that might’ve been meant to be encouraging, if Bravo didn’t know him better.

Patho glances over at Bravo. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Bravo pushes down a sudden surge of irritation (as if he’s the one they’re waiting on) and steps onto the redstone ore block. Particles gather at his feet as the veins of ore light up. He watches the signal travel along the redstone line, like a lit fuse, and enter the data processing series.

Dispenser clocks tick and observers flash. The signal makes it way through the circuit before reaching the end of the line and fizzling out. The other scientists wait with bated breath as Patho checks the input coordinate hoppers. His expression betrays nothing.

“Alright,” he says finally, “so uh, the hoppers all filled to exactly two and a half stacks before locking. Can anyone tell me where the problem is?”

All three scientists’ hands go up. Bravo groans and puts his face in his hands.

~*~

“Okay, that’s ready to go.” Patho straightens up, dusting the redstone off his hands. “Bravo, stand on the redstone ore.”

“Alright, I’m standin’,” Bravo huffs.

Patho turns to the others. “I wanna stress again, if this works, the portal that generates is not gonna be stable. No one is going in or out of it, okay? I mean, like, we might see it only for a couple seconds, if we’re lucky. Everyone ready?”

Enthusiastic nods from the sidelines.

“Alright, here goes.” Patho stoops over and hits the button.

A piston extends, pushing a redstone block out to complete the circuit. The signal from Bravo darts across the newly created path, into the data processor. They all wait with bated breath as the signal inches closer to the portal frame-

The temperature drops, a static charge filling the air. Light flashes in the portal frame for just a second, just long enough for Bravo to process the color of it (or colors, rather; an ever-changing rainbow) before there’s a loud crack, and it’s gone, leaving behind an empty frame.

For a moment, the room is filled with stunned silence.

“Amazing!”

“I can’t believe-”

“Did you see that?”

Bravo finally finds his voice. “Oh, finally.” He jumps off the redstone ore block, pumping a fist in the air. Excitement courses through him like electricity, and the relief is overwhelming. “Yes! We’ve got a portal, we’ve got a portal- oh my gosh, this is fantastic!”

Atlas shakes his head. “We’ve got the means to create a portal,” he corrects, though he can’t hide how pleased he is.

“Yup.” Patho nods, his satisfied gaze sweeping over the redstone. “Now all that’s left is to set up a sufficient power source to maintain the portal once it’s open. Can’t overdo it, though, or the whole thing will blow up.”

Bravo exhales slowly. “Right, can’t forget about that tiny little detail.”

“I have some ideas,” Atlas says with a grin. “Rest assured, we’re in the home stretch now.”

~*~

One day, they wake up to find Patho gone.

Just disappeared in the middle of night, without so much of a word to anyone. Atlas speaks with Alisker over whispers for a while, but the crime boss has no further information and insists there’s nothing he can do. Evidently, Patho’s decided that they’re far enough along as to no longer require his assistance, and whatever business he has elsewhere in Hels is more important to him than witnessing the creation of a portal.

Bravo really doesn’t get it. But he can’t say he’s not happy about it.

Good riddance.

~*~

“How’s it looking?” Bravo asks, straining to see without leaving his redstone ore block.

Phantonym makes a noncommittal noise. “Still not strong enough.”

In their search for the perfect power source, they’ve decided to start simple. Redstone torches and levers weren’t enough, so now they’ve moved on to a full redstone block, hooked up to the frame with a bit of dust. After that wasn’t sufficient, they hooked up multiple redstone blocks around the portal before finally just building a complete frame around it. But it seems even that isn’t providing the power they need to keep the portal open for more than a couple seconds.

“Alright,” Atlas says, “tear it out. Cross redstone blocks off the list.”

Bravo steps off the ore block with a sigh. “Well, what now?”

“Hey,” Tyrannicide says thoughtfully, scanning his notepad, “Patho said that redstone ore is more powerful than the mined stuff, right? What if we…?”

~*~

“Hit the deck!”

The light inside the portal frame is swirling madly now, almost violently as the air fills with an electric humming. Bravo dives behind a lab bench just as an ear-splitting boom shakes the entire lab.

Once everything is still and quiet, Bravo carefully peeks his head back out. His stomach drops.

There’s now a large crater where their entire portal machine used to be. Everything’s gone; the circuits, the data processor, the hoppers. All that’s left is the obsidian frame, floating above the newly-formed hole as concrete blocks and miscellaneous redstone items litter the ground- including the redstone ore block they used to try and power it.

“Damn it,” H8R swears. “Overloaded the circuit.”

Phantonym rounds on Tyrannicide with a furious snarl. “You idiot!”

“I was just-”

“Stop it,” Atlas interrupts sharply, glowering at them from behind his shades. “We knew this was a possibility. Go get another copy of the blueprints, we need to rebuild.”

‘I’m in hell,’ Bravo thinks. ‘I’m literally in hell.’

~*~

“And now, we- we’ve gotta do all this work to find the perfect power source to keep the portal open. Not too much, not too little, but just right. Can’t use any kinda mob power because that can fluctuate, and if we’re off by even one tick the whole thing will collapse. After all the years of research that went into this project, the last step is just to power the dang thing and it’s taking forever!”

Clear hums, attention completely focused on the flying machine he’s working on. “Mmm, yeah, sounds tricky.”

“And- and the worst part,” Bravo continues, angrily pacing back and forth, “is that I’d only need it open for a couple of seconds to get back home! But because of this stupid deal with Atlas, I have to hang around until it’s stable enough for them to track down Tango.”

“Track down Tango?” Clear repeats, quirking a brow. He snorts. “Well, that’s really quite simple. Tango Tek’s in the south wing, innit?”

Bravo stops pacing. “What?”

“The blaze farm,” Clear says, squinting at one of the observers. “S’what Atlas said, anyhow. Now uh, d’ya mind handing me that-”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold up. A blaze farm?” Bravo whirls around, kneeling beside Clear and grabbing his shoulders. “You guys don’t have a blaze farm here, Atlas said the spawning conditions weren’t right for them.”

“For who?” Clear asks absently.

“For blaze!”

“What blaze?”

“Wh- I dunno!” Bravo pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. This is why he doesn’t often hang around Clear. “You said something about blaze, and- and Tango, and the south wing-”

“The south wing?” Clear makes a dismissive noise. “Oh, that’s under renovation.”

Bravo pauses. “... still? I… huh.”

He remembers being told the south wing was under renovation when he first got to Hels Tek, years ago. He didn’t think much of it at the time. But he can’t imagine what sort of renovations would take so long to complete, for a facility as well-supplied and well-staffed as Hels Tek.

That’s… suspicious.

Clear coughs into his sleeve. “Right. Now uh, would ya mind handin’ me that piston?”

~*~

Bravo stands in front of the door to the south wing, hesitating.

Squinting through the slats in the door, he can see the hallway beyond it entirely unchanged from the last time he stood here, years ago. The uneasy feeling in his stomach grows stronger with every passing minute. But really, he’s not the one in the wrong here; if Atlas is keeping something hidden from him, after the years they’ve spent working together, it can’t be for any innocent reason. He tightens his grip on his ID keycard, taking a steadying breath, before swiping it into the dispenser.

The keycard is quickly spat back out from under the floor, but the iron door doesn’t open.

Oh, that’s a bad sign. He doesn’t have access to this doorway. Swallowing, Bravo puts the keycard away and pulls out his pickaxe. He knows there’s redstone in the walls that’ll notify the security system if any door is broken, but he doesn’t have a choice. He’ll have to be quick.

Bravo breaks down the door, hastily placing it back up behind him before darting down the hallway. There are more iron doors lining the hall on either side; he quickly peers through these only to find them empty. Moving on, he finally stops at the final door at the end of the hallway.

There’s a sign next to this one that reads, ‘Tango Tek.’

Bravo’s heart is hammering against his ribcage. This is his last chance to back out, to claim that he was just curious but didn’t see anything besides empty rooms. To go back to their tenuous partnership, rife with tension and unspoken words, fighting to keep his head above the choppy water.

He lifts his pickaxe.

The room beyond the door is dimly lit by a couple carelessly placed torches, flickering against the checkered floor. Three of the walls are completely bare. The last one, facing Bravo, is acting as a facade for some sort of redstone contraption.

It’s a small glass enclosure, just big enough for a single player to stand in. The floor is made of soul sand, from which vines of wither roses sprout and curl haphazardly within the glass chamber. Among them are two short chains, as if broken, that hang limply at either side. The glass itself is stained with a dry splatter of something dark. There’s a dispenser embedded at one side, and a drained respawn anchor on the other. Three hoppers are arranged above the chamber, presumably connected to long hopper lines hidden behind the wall.

It hits Bravo suddenly. He’s looking at a farm; a kind of farm the likes of which he’s never seen before. But Clear had said there was a blaze farm-

“Well, well, well.”

Bravo whirls around, swapping his pickaxe for his sword.

Atlas is standing in the doorway with his arms folded neatly behind him, a wide smile fixed on his face. The light from the hallway behind him reflects in his shades, obscuring his eyes from view, his shadow looming long across the floor.

“I figured it was only a matter of time before Dr. Clear let something slip. I do wish you had come to me first.” His tone is deathly calm. “Though I suppose it’s my fault for leaving the farm in this state.”

Bravo raises his sword. “What is this?” he demands, though his voice comes out more fearful than angry. “Explain, now!”

Atlas seems unbothered as he steps fully into the room. “This was the best blaze farm Hels had ever seen, powered by a single blaze hybrid.”

“What are you- oh.” Bravo inhales sharply. “You mean Tango. He- he was in the farm? You put him in a farm?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been fully honest with you, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas says with a rueful grin. “You see, Tango did work here for a couple years, but he wasn’t exactly gainfully employed. It took much trial and error, but eventually we were able to construct a fully automatic and extremely efficient blaze farm, just in the space you see here. It was a work of art, really. My crowning achievement.”

Bravo’s mind is reeling. “Tango never stole anything from Hels Tek, did he?” he realizes. “He just escaped. This whole time, you’ve been trying to track him down to catch him again, to put him back in-”

“Finally putting it all together now, are we?” Atlas hums. “Yes, the plan has always been to recapture Tango. He’s a clever devil; he waited until his respawn anchor was drained, and then drowned himself in his own blood.”

Horror seizes Bravo. He glances back at the enclosure, at that dark smear on the glass-

“What we never figured out, though,” Atlas muses, “was how he created that portal. That much of the story is true. It was solely his actions, his creation of the portal to… trade places, in a sense. I haven’t the foggiest idea how he knew about you and your connection, but clearly, he was able to utilize it. And once he had the chance, he took it.”

Bravo’s breath rings shallowly in his ears. It’s so much to take in- he never really knew how to feel about his missing counterpart. Second-hand accounts from the scientists didn’t paint the kindest picture, and he always knew Tango was responsible for getting him stranded here, but…

“You should be happy, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas tells him earnestly. “This is good news for you. I know you’ve been worried about whether or not I’ll uphold my end of the bargain, once the portal is made. You’re worried that I’ll try to keep you here, against your will. But now I can tell you for certain that you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh, really?” Bravo spits. “And- and why is that?”

Atlas holds his hands up. “All I want is to get Tango back, so I can continue my work. And my work is here. My entire life’s aspirations, my purpose, is here.” His eyes flash from behind his shades. “The rest of the universe can rot for all I care. Once I have what I want, you can go home and leave this whole mess behind you, forever. You have my word.”

Bravo narrows his eyes. “Wha- why should I believe anything you say?”

“Because once we have a stable portal, you are of no further use to me,” Atlas answers cooly. “I have no reason to keep you here.”

That throws Bravo for a moment. He frowns, doubtful. “Not even as insurance? I mean, in case something happens to the portal?”

Atlas tilts his head. “To keep you here against your will is to risk you breaking out and causing further damage in retaliation. We’d also have to put in the time and effort to sustain you with virtually no benefit. No, better to let you go on your way. And in any case, I only need it open long enough to recapture Tango.”

Bravo swallows. “But if I help you catch him, he… he’ll be in that farm because of me.”

Atlas shrugs. “What does it matter? Tango is a mob hybrid- not a true player like us. Before we captured him, all he ever did was cause chaos and suffering wherever he went. At least at Hels Tek he was good for something.”

Bravo hesitates. “I don’t-”

“Besides,” Atlas continues smoothly, “it’s evident he didn’t give the same consideration to you. He took the first chance he had to switch places. For all he knew, you might’ve been a blaze hybrid as well. He had no issue sentencing you to his fate.”

It’s like a knife twisting in Bravo’s side. “You… you don’t know that,” he says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.

Atlas gives a bitter laugh. “Oh, come now,” he says harshly. “Do you really think he’d feel any sort of loyalty to you? Why, because you happen to have some data in common? From everything you’ve seen and experienced at the hands of Hels players, do you really think we’re capable of feeling anything besides greed and spite and hatred? Oh, you are lost. You’re letting your overworld sensibilities get the better of your sound judgement.”

Atlas spreads his arms wide, black lab coat swishing around him, his grin manic. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world out here, Mr. Bravo,” he declares. “This is the nature of Hels. It always has been, and always will be. We were always going to hurt each other, to use each other- it’s how we were fucking made. There is nothing you can do to change that. Tango belongs here, and you don’t. Whatever else happens is none of your fault or concern.”

Bravo’s grip on his sword wavers. He knows he shouldn’t help Atlas. Deep down, he knows. Living in a farm must be a miserable existence for a player, one that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

Except…

Is it really the same if the player isn’t really human? If the player is hardly more than a monster? Hels players are different, and mob hybrids even more so. Tango didn’t care about what would happen to Bravo when he swapped their places, didn’t care that he’d be stranding Bravo in this terrible prison forever. If he cared, he would’ve come for Bravo by now. But he wouldn’t risk his own safety, his own freedom, in order to save Bravo.

So why should Bravo? Why should he risk his one chance to go home just to protect an evil doppelgänger who couldn’t care less about him? Why should he have to keep suffering in this world as punishment for crimes he didn’t commit?

Tango’s had nearly ten years outside of Hels- ten years that he stole from Bravo. There’s no getting those back. But Bravo can make sure it ends here; he can finally right this wrong and get back to his life.

“Now,” Atlas says lowly, having once again regained his composure. He looks at Bravo over the brim of his shades. “Are you going to help me open a portal, or not?”

Bravo takes a final look at the empty farm. Then he puts his sword away.

“I’m in.”

~*~

Bravo stares at the portal in shocked silence.

It’d only taken a few more days of testing for them to find the right power source. Blaze powder, of all things. Now that they aren’t hiding the existence of their nearly-infinite blaze rod stockpile from Bravo, Atlas suggested they try it. And lo and behold, it turned out to give off the perfect amount of power.

They’ve set up a circuit of glass tubing around the portal frame, inside of which the blaze powder flows along in a steady stream. The constant movement provides endless updates to the portal, preventing it from ever catching up to the fact that it shouldn’t exist.

The portal ignited right away, lighting up with a mixture of red, yellow, and green. The colors are holding constant rather than shifting and changing like they did in prior attempts, and Bravo can feel with certainty that Tango lies somewhere beyond it.

“Okay, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas murmurs, watching the portal intently. “Go ahead.”

Holding his breath, Bravo steps off the redstone ore block. The portal doesn’t change, colors still lazily swirling about in its frame. He lets out a sigh of relief.

Atlas nods. “Alright, shut it off.”

Tyrannicide gawks at him. “But it’s stable-”

“Now.”

He quickly shuts the portal off, hitting the button that pulls the redstone block back out of the circuit. The signal dies, and the portal extinguishes.

Atlas rounds on Tyrannicide with a tight grin. “Need I remind you that we don’t know who else is in the world that Tango’s currently inhabiting? The last thing we need is one of them to discover the portal sitting idly. We’d completely lose our advantage.”

“Right. Sorry, sir,” Tyrannicide mutters.

Bravo stares longingly at the unlit portal frame. It was right there. He could’ve reached out and touched it…

“Chin up, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas says mildly, putting a hand on Bravo’s shoulder. “Now the final preparations can begin. Everyone, take the rest of the night off. Meet me in the conference room first thing tomorrow morning to discuss our plan of attack.”

“Yes, sir.”

Atlas looks at Bravo out of the corner of his eye, smiling. “You’ll be home soon.”

Bravo nods. “Yeah, I know.”

~*~

“Are you ready?” Atlas asks, his quiet voice almost lost in the anxious chatter of the lab.

Bravo exhales slowly. “Yeah.”

“Have everything?”

“Yup.” Bravo’s checked his inventory no less than five times in the last three minutes.

“Remember the plan?”

“In my sleep.” Like they haven’t run through it enough times over the last few days.

“Good. Said your goodbyes?”

Bravo snorts. “Oh, yeah, sure. It was super heartfelt. Tears were shed.”

“Mmm.” Atlas is unamused. “You know, I recall a certain blaze hybrid liked to use sarcasm, too…”

“Not helping.”

“Just stick to the plan, and everything will be fine. Once you step through this portal, you never have to return to this place ever again. Help us with this one thing, and we’ll be out of your hair forever.”

“I know. Let’s- let’s get a move on, huh?”

“Very well.” Atlas lifts his voice to address the rest of the room. “Attention, everyone. We’re activating the portal now. Everyone in formation. Yes, yes, you too- no, you’re following Dr. Tyrannicide in, remember? No, not you- you’re all with Dr. Phantonym. There you go.”

Bravo makes a noncommittal noise. “Not instilling a lotta confidence…”

Atlas gives him a dry look. “Alisker didn’t select them for their intelligence, but they’ll serve us well when it comes to dealing with Tango.”

“Right.”

Atlas turns away. “Dr. H8R, start the countdown, if you please.”

“Yes, sir. Portal launch in ten… nine… eight-”

“Oh shit. Oh fuck.” It’s starting to sink in. Bravo’s leaving- he’s really, really leaving Hels.

“-seven… six-”

“Having second thoughts?” Atlas asks, his tone almost teasing.

“- five…”

Bravo scoffs. “What, you kidding? I can’t-”

“... four… three-”

“-wait to get out of here.”

“- two…”

Atlas hums. “About time, isn’t it?”

“... one.”

“You’re telling me,” Bravo breathes.

“Initiate.”

H8R presses the button. The piston extends, pushing the redstone block into the circuit. Bravo’s signal courses along the redstone line like it has every other time they tested this, filtering through the data processor and sending coordinates to the portal.

The frame ignites. A familiar tricolor light floods the room; swirls of red, yellow, and green. A hushed silence falls over the room as Bravo slowly, carefully, steps off the redstone ore block. The portal holds- of course it does, they’ve tested it enough. He faces the portal, heart pounding, tears inexplicably gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Good luck, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas says with a smile.

Bravo takes a deep breath and steps into the portal.

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player steps out of a portal.

The sunlight is nearly blinding. For a second all he can do is stand there, blinking, one arm braced on the obsidian frame behind him as his eyes slowly adjust. The portal’s still stable, he notes absently; on this side, the light inside the frame is blood red.

He takes in his surroundings. He’s standing in some kind of field- wheat, he realizes belatedly. It’s been so long since he’s seen this much wheat. It’s growing along rolling hills that are otherwise covered in lush green grass, occasionally dotted with great big oak trees. The blue sky above him is peppered with fluffy white clouds. A gentle breeze plays with his hair, and the sun is shining high above him.

It’s beautiful.

He can hear animals nearby; he turns his head and sees a pasture filled with cows, another with sheep and goats. There’s one with pigs, and a little coop with clucking coming from inside. Somewhere nearby, a horse neighs loudly. He scans the horizon and sees a winding path that cuts through the wheat field, leading up to a house- some kind of modest, rustic farmhouse. A ranch, maybe.

Taking a shaky breath, he pulls out his communicator to check which world he’s on. As he does, he catches the last message just as it fades from chat.

Bravo has joined the game.

~*~

Chapter Text

from eden, part VIII - i slithered here from eden, just to sit outside your door

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player sits in a rocking chair.

Jimmy’s head is bent down in concentration as he carefully passes his needle in and out of the fabric. Embroidery has always soothed him, so it’s been his favorite way to spend the time in quiet moments. Several framed squares of his designs already adorn the ranch’s walls- as well as a few shirts in Tango’s closet.

Afternoon sunlight streams in through the window beside Jimmy, illuminating the dust that floats lazily in the still air. He can hear the occasional ka-thunk of pistons as Tango troubleshoots the sugar cane farm in the basement. Beyond that, the animals outside are always audible- though far less so than they used to be, back when the cow pen was adjacent to the ranch house. The background noise is something familiar, now. Something comforting.

It’s been a lovely couple months on the Double Life world since they all agreed to end the death game. Everyone’s bases are really starting to come along, as is the centrally-located shopping district. Infrastructure is gradually getting built up- paths, bridges, landscaping, and even a few communal farms. With the world border down, the Double Lifers are taking the opportunity to spread out a bit.

Jimmy thinks there’ll be an expedition to the nearest stronghold in the coming week to finally procure some elytra and shulker boxes. He’ll leave that particular adventure to the more PVP-inclined players, though. He knows Tango isn’t a fan of dragon fights and truthfully, he doesn’t trust his own capabilities in that regard, either. The last thing he wants to do is cause Tango an unexpected death at an inconvenient time.

There have been a handful of accidents between the two of them, mostly during caving sessions. Those are generally inconsequential and easily laughed off. Jimmy wants to keep it that way.

He can’t deny the charm of the early game lifestyle. Everything’s a bit of a grind at the moment, so the world is consistently well-populated, and it’s nice just to casually hang out and chat with his fellow players. No real objectives, no pressing agendas, no ulterior motives. He feels like he’s finally getting to know the other Hermitcrafters- really know them, in a way that a death game simply wouldn’t facilitate.

Who would’ve thought it? Sure, fighting with or against another player in a battle to the death can make quite the impact. It can forge strong bonds and reveal the deepest, most vulnerable parts of themselves. But it doesn’t paint the entire picture of who a player is.

Jimmy knows them now through the little things.

Scar’s dyslexia manifests itself in both written and spoken words. Ren wags his tail without realizing it when he gets excited. Impulse actually really enjoys mining, and will do it just to pass the time. Bdubs loves the rain, though he’ll make a big show of complaining whenever it comes. Etho’s favorite biome is the jungle- he’s already trying to find one on this world. Despite her intimidating appearance, Cleo is bluffing ninety-percent of the time when they make threats.

It’s nice, and a bit surreal, to get to know the Hermitcrafters this way. Grian, of course, Jimmy’s known for ages- same as Pearl. But ever since they joined that server of legends, it’s felt like they were part of a world entirely out of Jimmy’s reach.

The first two death games helped somewhat in that regard. Though admittedly, Jimmy mostly stuck by people he already knew. It wasn’t completely intentional- he likes the Hermits just fine! But it was sort of intimidating, to get up close and personal with the players he’d been hearing about through the multinet for years.

How silly it seems, looking back now.

“Eeep!” Tango yelps from down below. “Oh, you stupid hopper-!”

Jimmy smiles to himself. One of Tango’s blaze rods probably got sucked up by a hopper again- a startling, but painless, event. Just another quirk that Jimmy’s grown familiar with, the more time they spend with each other.

Jimmy could fill a book with the little things he knows about Tango.

His blaze rods change in temperature to reflect his mood. He isn’t hurt by water, but he isn’t a fan of it, either. He can see in the dark much better than the average player, which no doubt influences his habit of being late to bed and, consequently, late to rise. His skin can get hot enough to accidentally set his shirts on fire. He loves his food burnt, right at the edge of inedible. He can wiggle his pointed ears independently of each other; they’re quite expressive. His teeth are all sharp except for his molars. He thinks bunnies are the cutest mob in existence. He’ll neglect sleep to work on a project if Jimmy lets him. He makes the most adorable squeaking noises when he’s flustered.

That’s the best part in all of this, Jimmy thinks. He’s sure they would’ve made a good team in the death game- though it probably wouldn’t have stopped him from going out early, sad as it is to admit. But he knows it wouldn’t have been like this.

He wouldn’t have known the feeling of Tango’s claws combing through his hair, or gently preening his wings. He wouldn’t have known the sight of Tango’s pale skin flushing bright red all the way down his chest. He wouldn’t have known the sound of Tango’s raspy morning voice humming, “Good mornin’, honey” on the rare occasion that Jimmy is still in bed when Tango wakes up.

Grian said the soulbonds were chosen randomly, beyond his or anyone else’s knowledge or control. Even so, Jimmy can’t help but feel like this was meant to be.

During Third Life, Jimmy had been with Scott, so he hadn’t taken much notice of Tango. Last Life is when Jimmy really started to admire Tango, but always from afar; he’d had the whole Southlands thing going on, and was still too intimidated to approach Tango that way. So being paired with Tango in Double Life had seemed like a sign- one Jimmy had almost been too afraid to follow, him and his stupid self-doubt and second-guessing.

Thank goodness he’d had Scott to talk some sense into him. They might not be together anymore, but he knows he can always count on Scott for some cut-and-dry advice.

Pain pricks into Jimmy’s thumb. He jerks his hand back with a surprised inhale, seeing a pinpoint of red blossoming against his skin. Jeeze, he really drifted off into space there. Pressing his thumb against his lips, he carefully scans his embroidery to make sure he didn’t stain the fabric. Despite this minor annoyance, he can’t help the amused smile that spreads across his face.

Gosh, he really is a sap, isn’t he? Getting so lost in thought about his boyfriend that he let his concentration slip-

There’s a knock at the door.

Jimmy looks over in surprise. He isn’t expecting a visit. And usually if one of the other Double Lifers is going to drop by, they’ll shoot him a chat or whisper beforehand. While Jimmy has most notifications turned off, he always has them on for whispers, and he didn’t hear anything- though it’s possible he missed it, over the clang of pistons down below.

Ah, well. Maybe Tango called Impulse over for some redstone help- it wouldn’t be the first time. Either way, he shouldn’t keep whoever it is waiting, that’d be rude.

Setting his embroidery down on the side table where he’d previously deposited his gloves, Jimmy rises from his seat, the rocking chair creaking behind him. Drifting over to the front door, he pulls his communicator out while his other hand reaches for the doorknob, idly glancing at the chat.

Bravo has joined the game.

Wait, what?

Jimmy’s arm is moving faster than his brain can process this information, already turning the knob to open the door. So the door swings open, and quite suddenly, he finds himself standing in front of Tango.

Wait. No, he realizes a heartbeat later, eyes widening. That’s not Tango.

Not Tango, not quite- but close enough.

The player standing at the doorway looks like he came from the same mold. Everything from his height to his frame to the bone structure of his face is identical to Tango. Jimmy knows that slim nose and pointed chin. He knows the shape of those eyes, even though the color is wrong- green instead of red. He knows that blond hair- though it’s a bit more tame than Tango’s wild locks. The ears are small and rounded, and there are no black stains on his skin. He’s wearing a simple button-up shirt and dark trousers, a far cry from Tango’s usual style, and there are particles dancing in the air around him.

“Hi there,” the player says, in Tango’s voice. He smiles, and his teeth are blunt. “My name’s Bravo.”

Jimmy stares at him. It’s a surreal thing to experience because part of his brain is convinced he’s looking at Tango, while the other part of it can only focus on everything that’s different and wrong. How does he look and sound so much like Tango? “Um… hi? You- how did you-”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Bravo chuckles, waving a hand dismissively. It’s a human hand, no blackened claws, no shackle dangling around the wrist. He looks Jimmy up and down. “Um- sorry, and you are?” he asks politely, quirking a brow.

“Oh!” Jimmy blinks, putting his communicator back in his pocket. “Um, I’m Jimmy?”

Some kind of realization dawns in Bravo’s expression. “Jimmy,” he murmurs incredulously, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “Of course.”

It’s like he knows Jimmy- or, he thinks he does. It’s incredibly unnerving, considering that Jimmy has never met this player before. And hang on, this is a private world, how did he even get in here?

“Nice to meet ya, Jimmy,” Bravo says brightly, holding out a hand. “Sorry to uh, you know, barge in on you like this, I’m- I’m sure this must be weird.”

Jimmy knits his brows together. He doesn’t shake Bravo’s hand. “Um, who exactly-”

“So!” Bravo folds his arms and fixes Jimmy with a keen look. “So uh, is- is there a player named Tango here, by any chance?”

“Uh…” Jimmy hesitates, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Something about this doesn’t feel right. “You know, I’m… not sure if he’s back yet,” he says, feigning an apologetic smile. He starts closing the door. “You just wait here a second, okay, and I’ll go check-”

Bravo’s hand shoots out to grab the door.

“Actually,” he says, almost sheepish, “do you mind if I come in?” He’s stronger than he looks, holding the door open against Jimmy without much effort. “It’s just- I’ve come a long way, is the thing, and uh, I sorta need to-”

“Jimmy!”

Oh no.

Tango’s voice comes from the basement. Jimmy hears his footsteps thumping up the stairs, and his heart jolts. He whirls around, opening his mouth to call out, “Wait, Tango-”

The basement door opens. Tango sweeps into the room, blaze rods swirling above his head in obvious agitation. “Jimmy,” he says breathlessly, “have you seen chat? There’s-” He breaks off abruptly when he sees Bravo. “Oh.”

Bravo’s entire expression changes. His eyes narrow, his lips peel back into a snarl. “You,” he hisses, stepping through the doorway.

Jimmy can actually feel the sudden confusion that rushes through Tango by way of their soulbond- something that only happens when emotions are at their peak. The confusion rapidly gives way to recognition, to panic, to fear. It’s overwhelming; electricity buzzing through his skull, through his very data. And he knows, with abrupt certainty, that Tango somehow knows this player the way he knows his own reflection.

Bravo seems to know this, too. “So.” His voice is colder, now. Tight and low in a very non-Tango-like way, barely-restrained anger humming beneath the surface. “You’ve made yourself right at home in my life, haven’t you, Tango? How long did you think you could get away with it?”

Jimmy finally finds his voice. “Woah, hey,” he says sternly, stepping in front of Bravo to block his path. “I- I don’t know what’s goin’ on here, but I think you need to leave-”

“And who are you?” Bravo asks, studying Jimmy with renewed intensity. “Why- why are you here with him?”

Jimmy draws himself up, his wings flaring out defensively. “Wh- I’m his soulmate, thank you very much,” he snaps.

Emotions flash across Bravo’s face, too many to name, before settling on pure outrage. “Oh, so there are soulmates in this world?” he demands sharply, his green eyes blazing with fury as he rounds on Tango. “You’ve stolen mine and you didn’t even tell him?”

What.

“... what?” Jimmy breathes, glancing back at Tango.

Tango still hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word- like he’s frozen to the spot. He’s staring at Bravo with wide, terrified eyes, pupils shrunken into pinpoints. The unabashed horror in his expression is chilling. The feeling of it through their soulbond is even more so.

Bravo cocks his head to the side. “Do uh- do you wanna tell him, or should I?” he asks, taking a step forward.

“Tell me what?” Jimmy demands, stepping back to put a protective arm in front of Tango. “Tango, who is this guy? What’s he on about?”

(He’s been lying to you, a familiar voice whispers in Jimmy’s mind. He blocks it out; now’s not the time for his intrusive thoughts.)

Tango’s chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. He licks his lips, swallows. “I’m from Hels,” he whispers. “Jimmy, I’m so sorry- I- I didn’t know how to tell you, I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Jimmy soothes him, even as his mind races. He puts his hands on Tango’s shoulders, leaning in to meet his gaze with a searching look. “What’s Hels?”

“Hels,” Bravo cuts in darkly, “is exactly what it sounds like. It’s this evil world where all the evil counterparts of normal players live evil lives, doing evil things. Tango is my Hels- my uh, my dark side, if you wanna call it that. And he was never supposed to be here.” He gives a bitter laugh. “So- so I guess that’d make me your real soulmate, huh, Jimmy?”

Jimmy’s mind is reeling. It’s so much information to take in at once- a secret world full of evil doppelgängers that exist for every single player in the universe? It sounds so bizarre, so unbelievable…

Until he looks at Tango.

There’s no shock or confusion in Tango’s expression at all anymore, and none through his soulbond either. There’s just dread. Just sick, heavy, devastating dread- the kind that can only be born from anticipation. From having the same nightmare over and over again, only to watch it finally come true.

Jimmy knows there’s a chapter in Tango’s life that he’s kept secret.

He has nightmares about things he won’t discuss. He’s sensitive about his claws and the dark stains under his eyes. He doesn’t talk about what he did before coming to Hermitcraft. He never takes those broken shackles off his wrists- Jimmy isn’t sure if he even can. And sometimes, he’ll look at Jimmy with such crushing sadness, it’s like he’s already mourning them. Like he’s just waiting for some terrible thing to come and take all their happiness away...

Oh.

(You idiot. Didn’t you see the signs?)

Jimmy takes a steadying breath, so his voice won’t wobble. “Tango,” he says softly, “that’s- that can’t be right. This doesn’t make any sense, please-”

“Well?” Bravo snaps, losing his patience. “What’s the matter, Tango? You don’t wanna tell him how you escaped from Hels almost a decade ago by swapping places with me? That you took what should’ve been my place on Hermitcraft?”

Tango’s got that cornered animal look in his eyes again. He’s shaking, muscles locked like he’s caught between flight and freeze. Whoever this is, whatever is going on, Tango is clearly not in the frame of mind to take control of the situation right now.

Well then.

Slowly, carefully, Jimmy slips a hand into his pocket. Without looking, he types a message into chat, ‘SOS RANCH,’ and prays he was successful.

Bravo continues without noticing, his focus directed at Tango. “You don’t wanna tell him that you sentenced me to an inescapable prison of- of horrific violence and suffering? That you’ve been lying about what you really are this whole fucking time? And that you stole the life that should’ve been mine?”

Jimmy opens his mouth to protest, indignation burning inside him- who is this stranger, to come to their home uninvited and make such outrageous accusations? But then he feels the guilt bleed through their soulbond.

“I didn’t mean to,” Tango says hoarsely.

With those four simple words, everything comes crashing down into place. It’s a confession- confirmation that everything Bravo’s saying about what Tango is, where he came from, is true. He really is a… a Hels, or doppelgänger, or whatever they call it. He really did escape from this so-called prison world, Hels, almost a decade ago.

Which is so confusing, an absent part of Jimmy’s mind thinks, almost in a delirious panic. Does Hels refer to the players or the world? Or both? Why would they do that?

(You can’t trust him.)

“Please, you gotta understand,” Tango pleads, voice desperate. His gaze keeps cutting between Bravo and Jimmy. “I- I don’t know how I escaped Hels, I swear. One second, I’m runnin’ for my life, and then- and then the portal just appeared in front of me. And I knew I couldn’t hang around or they’d find me again, so I just- I went through, and suddenly I was in a place called Hermitcraft.”

That makes Bravo pause. “You… didn’t make the portal?” he asks quietly, brows pinching together.

“No!” Tango cries. He rakes his claws through his hair, his agitation clear in the way his blaze rods whirl and spark. “No, I didn’t make the portal, I wouldn’t know how! And- and I certainly didn’t know that going through it would pull the ol’ switcheroo on us, I- I didn’t know about you, I swear.”

The conviction in his voice is undeniable. Relief washes over Jimmy. He’s still not completely filled in on the situation, but at least this much is evident. Whatever misfortune fell Bravo, it wasn’t a deliberate act by Tango, the way he seems to think it was.

Of course it wasn’t. Tango might’ve been hiding some things about his past, but he wouldn’t do something like that, he wouldn’t knowingly condemn someone to a fate like that-

Then Tango pauses, grimacing. “At least, not at first…”

Jimmy’s heart sinks. “What?”

Tango flinches. “A player came to Hermitcraft a few years ago,” he admits, ducking his head in shame. “Helsknight. He- I never met him, but Welsknight did, and- and he said he was some sorta... evil doppelgänger from a place called Hels? I- once I realized what it meant, and what must’ve happened-”

“So you did know,” Bravo interrupts lowly, his face darkening.

(What a twist! You fell for his lies again.)

Jimmy doesn’t let his shock show. He doesn’t. But he’s pretty sure Tango feels it through their bond, anyways.

“I’m sorry,” Tango breathes frantically. “I- I thought if I told someone, okay, they- they’d try to send me back, and- god, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He takes a shaky breath, meeting Bravo’s gaze, and Jimmy is startled to see tears in his eyes. Remorse drips through their soulbond. “It was wrong, okay? I shouldn’t have just left you there.”

Bravo blinks, something shuddering in his expression.

Jimmy holds his breath. He’s disturbed to find he has no idea what Bravo’s thinking; it’s Tango’s face, he should be able to read it just as well, right? Except wait, no, he doesn’t actually know how to read Tango, does he? Because if Tango’s been able to keep such a big secret from him all this time, even with their soul bond, then Jimmy isn’t as good at reading him as he thought he was.

And isn’t that an unpleasant revelation.

(You’re so stupid.)

(How did you not realize?)

(Your souls are literally linked.)

Jimmy pushes the thoughts away. Time and place.

“It’s okay,” Bravo says after a moment, his tone suddenly flat and calm and entirely not okay. “'Cause now we can set things back to the way they’re supposed to be.”

… we?

Before Jimmy can do or say or think anything else, several things happen at once.

An odd sound reaches his ears; the distinctive crash of glass breaking. It seems to come from several directions around him rather than any one spot- and he finds out why exactly one heartbeat later, when all the windows on the first floor shatter and unfamiliar players spill into the ranch.

There’s more than a dozen of them; mean-looking humans, many of them tall and well-built. They’re clad in full enchanted netherite, a couple of them wearing sleek black lab coats over top, and they’ve all got particles swimming around them.

Bravo sweeps forward to push Jimmy out of the way, slamming him back against the wall. In the same moment, several players rush Tango. They don’t wield weapons- their hands are empty, like they’re simply going to try and grab Tango instead of kill him, to hold him down, subdue him.

But Tango’s faster.

Quicker than breathing, he twists underneath their outstretched hands, bringing his own arm up in a wide slash- and tearing his claws straight across one player’s neck. The player disappears in a puff of respawn smoke before their body ever hits the ground, leaving a spray of bright blood arcing through the air.

Without pausing, Tango springs up at the next closest player with a bone-chilling snarl. Clinging to their shoulder with one hand, Tango wrenches their head back and sinks his teeth into their throat. Razor-sharp fangs clamp down onto soft flesh. Another cloud of smoke, and Tango’s already moved on to the next one.

The players are shouting, words blurring into meaningless noise in Jimmy’s ears. Their forms seem to blend into each other, an endlessly churning sea of movement. And in the eye of it all is Tango, baring his bloody teeth and growling a sound that Jimmy’s only ever heard come from a blaze as he continues to attack the invaders, pupils dilated so his narrowed eyes almost look completely black.

In the split-second that Jimmy has to process everything, all he can feel is shock. He’s never seen Tango move like that. He’s never heard Tango sound like that. And he never imagined Tango would kill like that- with claws and teeth over sword and shield. It’s something completely unrecognizable, like some wild creature has taken his place.

And that creature is on fire.

Tango’s blaze rods are absolutely roaring with flame, engulfing his entire form in a swirling inferno. The fire greedily spreads along the wooden floor and snakes up the walls- they have fire tick on here- but it washes harmlessly over the other players.

Splash potions, Jimmy realizes belatedly. That breaking-glass sound he heard was splash potions; they’ve all got fire resistance.

(Oh, now you catch on.)

All of them, that is, except for Jimmy.

He smells the smoke before he feels the burning. A gasp wrenches itself from his throat; his wings. The tips of his wings are on fire, golden feathers glowing with flame. Pain pricks its way up his wings as the flames eat through the first layer of feathers and reach the follicles. He cries out, finally regaining enough awareness to push away from Bravo, wings thrashing as he desperately tries to put them out.

Through the fire and the fray, he finds Tango’s eyes.

Awareness abruptly crashes back into Tango’s gaze. His pupils constrict enough to let the red bleed through again. Horror dawns in his expression. It strikes Jimmy through their soulbond and it’s staggering, like an icicle in his heart.

Tango freezes. A player takes the opportunity to slam him to the ground, hard, the echo of damage slamming into Jimmy’s chest.

As quickly as it began, the fight is over.

Tango doesn’t react as the players wrench his arms behind his back, securing them with chains pulled from their inventories. He just stares aghast at Jimmy’s burning wings, mouth parted as he pants, blood dripping from his chin. And that’s all Jimmy can see before Bravo grabs his arm and pulls him out of the burning house.

The sudden rush of fresh air reminds Jimmy that his lungs are full of smoke. He coughs violently, doubled-over, eyes burning. When he finally recovers, he realizes he’s no longer on fire- his shoes and pant legs are suddenly cold and damp, and Bravo is putting a bucket of water away.

The edges of Jimmy’s wings are tinged black, the burnt feathers curled like peeling paint.

(So what? This isn’t the first time he’s burned you.)

But Jimmy’s otherwise unharmed, so he whirls back around to face the ranch. “Tango!” he screams, despite the ragged pain in his throat. He only makes it a couple steps before the players emerge from the doorway, two of them dragging Tango between them.

Two more players surge forward to hold Jimmy back. They’re both much bigger and stronger than him, their grips like iron. That doesn’t stop Jimmy from fighting, anyways, pointless as it is.

The emotions he’s feeling from Tango through their bond right now are enough to send him into a panic. He needs to get to him, right now.

Then one of the players twists Jimmy’s arm behind his back in a very unnatural way, making him inhale sharply. Pain shrieks through his bones, aggravated by even the slightest movement- he falls still, chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths as his eyes prick with tears.

(So useless.)

Okay, Jimmy, calm down. Think. His message- if his message went out successfully, the others should be on their way. And even if it didn’t, someone is bound to notice the new players’ arrivals eventually, right? He just- he needs to hang on until they get here. Maybe he can try to stall them?

(Oh, go on, then. This should be good.)

“Who-” Jimmy’s voice cracks. He clears his throat, tries again. “Who are you guys? What- what do you want?”

It’s Bravo who answers, having circled around to stand in front of Jimmy. He actually looks displeased to see him restrained. “Take it easy,” he murmurs, “we don’t wanna hurt you. Right, guys?” he adds pointedly.

The grip on Jimmy’s arm relaxes fractionally- just enough to ease the pain, but not enough to give any leeway.

“I’m sorry you got mixed up in this,” Bravo continues, crouching down so he’s eye-level with Jimmy. Strangely enough, he sounds like he actually means it. “They’re just here for Tango, okay? I promise they’ll leave-”

“Well, well, well.”

That’s a new voice. Jimmy turns his head to see a tall, slim man stride over to them. He wears no armor, just one of those long black lab coats, his arms folded neatly behind his back. Pale and dark-haired, his red eyes burn from behind a pair of orange shades, and an unnaturally wide smile splits his face.

“Atlas.” Bravo straightens up. “That uh, that didn’t go quite as smoothly as you planned,” he says accusingly, putting his hands on his hips. “I thought you said these guys could handle him.”

The man, Atlas, shrugs a shoulder. “No matter,” he says, continuing past Bravo. “We got what we wanted, didn’t we?” He comes to a stop in front of Tango, his grin somehow growing even wider. “Hello, Mr. Tango. So lovely to see you again.”

Even in Tango’s current state, something in his distant, glassy expression seems to recognize Atlas. A whimper works its way out of his throat. Jimmy can sense that he’s absolutely terrified. He shrinks back, but there’s nowhere to go.

“Oh, come now.” Atlas stoops forward, grabbing Tango’s chin with a red-gloved hand to tilt his face up. He clicks his tongue. “This has gone on long enough, don’t you think?”

“Leave him alone!” Jimmy shouts, though it comes out as more of a plea than he’d intended.

That gets Atlas to release Tango. He glances over his shoulder. “And who is this?” he asks, curiosity glinting behind his shades.

“No one,” Bravo says quickly. “Just another player on the server-”

“I’m his soulmate!” Jimmy interrupts defiantly, lifting his chin.

Atlas raises his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

Alarm flashes across Bravo’s face. “Atlas,” he says warningly, “he’s not important. He doesn’t- I’ll explain things to him, later. Trust me, okay, you- you don’t have to worry about him.”

Atlas studies Jimmy for another moment. “Very well,” he relents finally, turning away again. “Well done, everybody. Now we can finally get back to work.” He pulls something out of his inventory- a thick metal collar that shares a startling resemblance to the shackles around Tango’s wrists.

Jimmy’s stomach drops.

Bravo jolts in surprise. “Woah, what’s that?”

“Just a little extra insurance,” Atlas hums, fitting the collar around Tango’s neck. He uses a small key to lock it, and a shrill beep rings out.

Tango hisses in pain. His blaze rods extinguish to a dull bronze color, the way regular blaze rods look when they’ve been removed from their blaze. Without any sort of ambient flame or glow coming from them, they suddenly look smaller, more lifeless. They even hang a bit lower in the air than they normally do, hovering tightly around Tango’s temple like some sort of deconstructed crown.

All the emotions Jimmy was feeling from Tango suddenly vanish, cloaked beneath a thick, heavy numbness. That’s somehow even more alarming.

Atlas puts the key back in his inventory before spinning on his heel. “Alright, gentlemen. Let’s get going.” He grins at Bravo. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Bravo.”

Bravo jerks his chin in a nod. “Take care.”

The gathered players follow Atlas without another word, dragging Tango with them. He makes no sound, no movement- completely limp in their grasps. The players restraining Jimmy shove him roughly to the ground before following suit.

Wheezing, Jimmy struggles to get to his feet, wings flapping as he catches his balance. He glances out in the direction the players are going, and his heart jolts.

There’s a portal out in their wheat field. Bright red light swirls inside the obsidian frame. That must be how they got onto the world, and they intend to take Tango back with them. He can’t let that happen.

(What could you possibly do to stop them?)

Wings flaring, Jimmy moves to follow- but then a strong hand snatches his arm.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait,” Bravo says urgently, his voice low. “Just let them go. They’ve got what they wanted, alright, they’ll leave.”

Is he serious? “Lemme go!” Jimmy protests, trying to pull his arm free. “He’s my soulmate!”

Bravo holds fast. “Hey, look, I- I know this must be confusing,” he soothes, his expression sympathetic, which is so so wrong. “It’s not your fault. Tango’s been lying to you about a lot of things, okay, he’s been manipulating you. But it’s alright, now things will finally be how they’re supposed to-”

Jimmy punches him in the face.

He’s done listening to this. Whatever Tango did, wherever he came from, Jimmy won’t abandon him.

The blow takes Bravo by surprise. He reels back and lets go of Jimmy’s arm. Pushing past him, Jimmy takes to the air.

Oh gosh, he’s so out of practice- the avians don’t use their wings during death games, as sort of a gentleman’s rule to keep things fair for the elytra-less players. But even after they ended the game, he hasn’t had much need to fly lately, spending most of his time at or around the ranch. And it definitely doesn’t help that his wings are still stinging from the burns and his mind is spinning out of control and his stomach is churning like he’s about to throw up- oh gosh, please don’t throw up.

(This can’t end well.)

Jimmy swiftly cuts ahead of the group of players, wings fanning out as he tumbles into a rather ungraceful landing in front of the portal. His hands are shaking. His heart is pounding. He’s badly outnumbered and outmatched; there’s no way he’s winning this fight.

But he doesn’t care. All he knows is that he has to do something.

Standing between the players and the portal, Jimmy flares his wings out. “You’re not taking him,” he declares, drawing his sword. Somehow, his voice doesn’t waver.

The players stop. Everyone is quiet.

Then one of them laughs. The others quickly catch on, filling the field with laughter. Despite his fear, despite the adrenaline tremoring through his body, Jimmy feels himself flush.

(Pathetic.)

(No one takes you seriously.)

(Can’t do anything right.)

One of the players, a burly man nearly a foot taller than Jimmy, takes the initiative to step forward. “You wanna rethink that, little birdie?” he asks bemusedly, cracking his knuckles.

Jimmy stands firm- or, as firm as he can while trembling. The player shrugs a shoulder before charging.

He sees the first blow coming, and he’s still not fast enough to dodge it. The player’s fist collides with the side of his face. Pain explodes across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. The next punch lands squarely in his gut.

Jimmy manages to stay standing, staggering back as he gasps for breath. He tries to bring his sword up- the player bats it aside with his hand and spins into a roundhouse kick.

Crack.

Blood streams from Jimmy’s nose. Stars flash in front of his eyes. Oh, these players hit hard. He’s barely recovered when a strong hand on his arm throws him to the ground. He rolls out of the way as a heavy boot comes down right where his head was, scrambling back to his feet and blinking blood and dirt out of his eyes.

It’s hard to tell how much awareness Tango has right now; the look in his eyes is a million blocks away. But he winces at every bit of damage that Jimmy takes, shared through their soulbond.

(You’re just making things worse.)

Jimmy somehow kept hold of his sword. He lunges forward; the player sidesteps and snatches his arm, reeling back his own for another punch-

“Wait, stop!” a voice shouts.

Tango?

Wait, no. Not Tango, who is still on his knees at the edge of the circle with his arms chained behind his back, flanked by two players and borderline incapacitated.

It’s Bravo. He pushes his way through the group of players, breathless and angry. There’s a bright red mark blossoming along his jaw from where Jimmy hit him, and yet he takes in the scene with a look of outrage. “Atlas! This wasn’t part of the deal, he’s innocent-”

“He’s interfering,” Atlas says coolly before nodding at the player. “Proceed.”

Another kick to the stomach sends Jimmy to the ground again. His sword flies out of his hand. Before he can even think about recovering it, the player’s boot slams into his ribs. Instinctively, Jimmy curls in on himself, unable to hold back a cry of pain.

Distantly, he hears Tango echo him, hunched over on his knees. Salt in the wound.

“He’s so weak,” another player snickers from the sidelines. “Are all overworlders this weak?”

(They’re right; you’re weak.)

(No wonder you’re always out first.)

(Is anyone surprised?)

Jimmy struggles to get up again, wings flailing, wheezing for breath and coughing up the blood he accidentally inhaled from his (likely) broken nose. His arms shake. His head is pounding. He can’t have more than a couple hearts of health left. All he wants to do is lay on the ground and wait for the world to stop spinning.

But despite everything, he rises to his feet.

“You just won’t quit,” the player tuts. “Maybe a respawn will teach you a lesson.”

Smack.

Two cries of pain ring out. Back into the bloody dirt. Jimmy lifts his head in time to see the player’s boot swinging towards his face, to deal what will most likely be the final blow-

“Stop!” Atlas shouts suddenly. “Can’t you see their damage is linked?”

The player freezes.

Jimmy blinks.

There’s a split-second of shared realization, a heavy silence falling over the field as everyone inhales at once. A single heartbeat of static as neurons fire. Then Jimmy moves, lunging for his sword, snatching it up to plunge it into his chest-

But he isn’t fast enough. The player dives forward and tackles Jimmy to the ground, knocking his sword away. Another player darts over and squirrels it away into their inventory.

(Stupid. Should’ve thought of that sooner.)

“No!” Jimmy desperately tries to free himself, thrashing in the player’s grasp.

If he can just knock those last few hearts off, he and Tango will respawn back in their bedroom, in the ranch- which is currently on fire, sure, and not very far away, but at least they’d be able to make a break for it. Gosh, he really is stupid, why didn’t he think of that before? Their health has been linked for months now!

(It’s almost impressive how bad you are.)

One of the other players rushes over to help restrain Jimmy, pulling a pair of shackles from their inventory. Jimmy tries to fight them, but it’s to no avail. He ends up with his hands cuffed behind his back, his wings uncomfortably pinned between them.

Atlas is quiet as he walks over. He studies Jimmy with an unreadable expression, eyes hidden behind his shades.

Jimmy’s heart is in his throat as he stares back up at Atlas. His pulse is thrumming in his ears. He tries to think of his next move, but panic is threatening to overwhelm him. Everything’s happened so fast- it can’t have been more than a couple minutes since his SOS went out.

Assuming it even did. He dreads to think of what might happen if it didn’t.

For a few moments, no one speaks. The red portal swirls behind Jimmy, mere blocks away. The wheat field around them blows gently in the breeze. The animals are calling out from their pens. The sky above them is strikingly blue, with few clouds to cover the bright sun. It’s almost hard to believe this is happening on what would otherwise be such a pleasant, normal day.

Then again, Jimmy supposes, all days start out normal, don’t they?

“... what does this mean?” Bravo ventures finally.

A grin spreads across Atlas’s face.

“Well, I’m afraid there’s been a change in plans,” he says briskly, folding his arms behind his back. “We’ll be taking our new friend back with us, just to make sure this ‘bond’ won’t interfere with our operation.”

(Uh oh, you’re in trouble now.)

“What?” Bravo glances back and forth between Jimmy and Tango, brows pinching together. “But- but what if it does? What if the bond still exists off-world?”

Atlas makes a noncommittal noise. “Then I suppose we’ll be forced to rework our farm design to accommodate it.”

Farm design? Jimmy hasn’t the foggiest idea what that means, but Bravo clearly does, his face paling.

“You can’t do that,” Bravo protests, quickly moving beside Atlas. “You- you said no one else had to get involved, that you just needed Tango-”

“That was before I knew about our little feathered friend here.” Atlas looms over Jimmy, that deranged smile of his growing ever wider. “I wonder how much someone would pay for golden-feathered arrows…”

Jimmy’s stomach lurches. He knows the soulbond doesn’t exist off world, but these players don’t. And it’s starting to look like they won’t care either way.

A shadow falls over Bravo’s expression. “I’m not gonna let you trap another overworlder in Hels, Atlas,” he says, his voice low.

“I’m not asking permission, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas replies coldly, peering at Bravo from over the brim of his shades. “Don’t be foolish. You’ve got your freedom. Just walk away.”

Bravo draws his sword. “I can’t do that.”

Atlas sighs. He doesn’t look very concerned. “You just had to make things difficult, didn’t you?” He turns away towards the portal, waving a hand dismissively. “Bring Tango and his little avian. Everyone else, you know what to do.”

The players standing with Tango grab him by the arms and start to drag him towards the portal. The player restraining Jimmy pulls him roughly to his feet. All the others draw swords from their inventories and start moving in towards Bravo, who tenses in preparation-

A horn goes off.

That gets everyone to pause, glancing in the direction it came from. It’s a sound Jimmy is horribly familiar with; the other Double Lifers teased him relentlessly with that horn during the early days, until he and Tango got horns of their own and the novelty wore off. But right now, he couldn’t be happier to hear it.

The cavalry has arrived.

A second horn joins the first, and two figures break over the hill behind the ranch; Impulse and Bdubs on horseback. As they charge down the hill, Jimmy can make out Joel and Etho riding with them, axes at the ready.

Surprised exclamations ripple through the group as the players shift to face this new threat. But then a third horn sounds, and an arrow hits a player directly in the neck. He disappears in a puff of smoke, items scattering among the wheat. A shadow falls over the group- Grian, up in the air, his double pair of wings flattening into a nosedive, holding Scar underneath his arms as he notches another arrow.

“Well, hello there!” Scar grins.

“Not too late, are we, Tim?” Grian cackles from above.

Shouts of alarm ring out. They’re drowned out by a new chorus of war horns; the remaining Double Lifers approach from the side.

Pearl’s wolf pack rises over the wheat field like a wave, filling the air with howling and snarling, the red-hooded player herself right in the thick of it. Running with them are Scott, Cleo, and Martyn, all with weapons drawn.

Ren is in full wolf mode- something Jimmy’s heard about but has yet to see. All his human features have completely disappeared into the form of a giant wolf, dark-furred and red-eyed. Bigb is perched on his shoulders, holding on with one hand while his other wields a sword.

The Double Lifers let out a battle cry, bearing down on the portal all at the same time.

(Here we go.)

Everything descends into chaos.

The field is suddenly full of moving bodies, packed so tightly that individual forms can barely be distinguished. The air is filled with shouting and growling and the clash of metal, and the scent of fresh blood carries on the wind.

Jimmy catches only flashes of it all.

Scott’s hanging back a little, keeping to the high ground of the hills as he tactfully fires into the fray. A couple of Pearl’s wolves stay with him to provide cover while his chosen soulmate, Cleo, storms into battle-

-Impulse steers his horse around the outskirts, one hand twisted in its mane while his other draws a sword. Leaning slightly out of his seat, his forked tail lashing behind him to keep balance, he slices his blade through a player’s neck-

-arrows rain down over the crowd as Grian soars above them. At this close a distance and against enchanted netherite, Scar’s arrows aren’t resulting in his usual one-shot kill, but they’re definitely leaving their mark-

-Ren charges into the thick of battle with a hair-raising snarl, snapping his jaws closed around one player’s entire torso. Bigb doesn’t flinch as the blood sprays in front of him, merely ducking as one half of the player’s body flies over his head before poofing into smoke-

-leaping off horseback, Etho flicks out a fishing rod and snags a player close enough to land a hit with his axe. As the player moves to retaliate, Joel suddenly appears between them, lifting his shield to block-

-Cleo towers above the other players, grabbing one by the face and flinging him across the field. A sword embeds itself in the back of her knee, making her stumble. Their attacker is quickly dispatched by well-placed arrow from Scott, while Martyn rushes to Cleo’s aid-

-wolves tear at a player’s limbs, sharp teeth glancing off netherite armor. One wolf finds purchase in the crook of the player’s elbow, fiercely hanging on even as the player screams and brings their sword down on its skull-

-Bdubs is thrown off his horse with a shout as a heavy blow knocks its legs out from under it. Landing hard, he can’t recover fast enough to dodge the next slash of the player’s sword, but a fishing line swiftly yanks him out of the way-

- a wolf drops dead mid-lunge, an arrow bristling from its open jaws. Pearl’s red eyes burn with fury as she lifts her axe, and everything is wolves and blood and screaming-

Jimmy is abruptly brought back to himself when the player holding him lurches towards the portal, trying to make a break for it. Jimmy digs his heels in and struggles to get free- and then the player collapses. He sees the arrow sticking out of their chest for a brief second before they respawn away.

“Got ‘em!” comes Scar’s voice from above.

Jimmy glances up. “Grian!” he screams above the din. “Scar! Kill me!”

He sees the understanding flash across Grian’s face. Grian changes direction mid-swoop, his four wings moving with expert dexterity. Pumping his wings to gain some height, he readjusts his grip on Scar before careening into a dive. Scar zeroes in on Jimmy and draws an arrow back-

Then an arrow appears in one of Grian’s wings.

The pair is immediately thrown off course, Scar’s arrow sailing far above Jimmy’s head. Crying out in pain and alarm, Grian goes down somewhere beyond Jimmy’s view, sending up a flurry of wheat and bloody feathers.

Heart jolting, Jimmy turns in the direction the arrow came from.

Atlas is reloading a crossbow.

Jimmy rushes him. He can’t exactly shoot himself with a crossbow while his hands are cuffed like this, nor does he have a good chance at wrestling it away from Atlas in the first place, but he’s hoping Atlas might fire at him on pure instinct.

Unfortunately, it seems Atlas is too smart for that. He merely steps aside, hooking a foot around Jimmy’s leg to trip him. Jimmy faceplants into the dirt with a thump- disoriented, but unharmed. Atlas is being very mindful of how much damage he deals out.

Groaning, Jimmy rolls onto his back. Atlas stands above him, his smile pinched at the edges with fury.

“You’re making this far more difficult than it needs to be,” he says sternly, leaning down to grab Jimmy by the front of his shirt.

Jimmy wishes he could do something bold, like spit in Atlas’s face or curse him out, but he doesn’t get the chance.

A blade swings towards Atlas.

Clang!

In the blink of an eye, Atlas has swapped his crossbow for a sword and parried the blade away, letting Jimmy drop back onto the ground. Once his vision stops spinning, the image comes into focus; it’s Bravo, lunging after Atlas.

He’s breathing hard and bleeding from what looks like several wolf bites, his crisp white shirt torn and stained with blood. But it does nothing to dull the absolute fury in his eyes as he attacks Atlas, diving forward with a powerful slash of his sword.

Atlas moves lightly on his feet, keeping just out of reach as he delivers quick, precise jabs with his own sword. There’s a detached, sort of clinical aspect to the way he fights, his eyes cold and hard behind his shades despite that ever-present grin.

Bravo, by contrast, seems to be fueled solely by rage. He pursues Atlas with the intensity of a wolf on the hunt, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed. Every slash and stab has immense power behind it, metal screeching against metal as Atlas counters him.

There’s no talking, no witty banter. Just vicious fighting with intent to kill.

Forgotten for the moment, Jimmy rolls onto his knees. Struggling to get his feet under him, he glances around.

Most of the enemy players are gone. A few of them have come back through the portal, but seemingly without a backup set of armor. They quickly fall to Pearl’s wolf pack. And with the Double Lifers still gathered by the portal, any attempts to reinvade will descend into a cycle of spawn-camping. This battle is drawing to a close.

Atlas seems to realize this, too. He delivers a parting blow to Bravo’s side, throwing him to the ground, before darting towards the portal. As he steps into the swirling red light, he meets Jimmy’s eyes and grins.

“Until next time,” he calls. Then he vanishes.

Bravo moves as if to follow- but the portal extinguishes.

Martyn pokes his head out from behind the portal frame, which is now missing a block. “Sorry,” he says unapologetically, swinging his pickaxe onto his shoulder, “did you need to use that?”

Bravo draws up short. He lowers his head to charge, sword at the ready, but then a fishing hook snags on his sleeve. Before he can blink, he’s wrapped up in the line, arms pinned to his sides.

Etho drops down from the top of the portal frame a second later. Landing behind Bravo, he plants a heavy boot in the square of his back and sends him to the ground, swiftly moving to hold him there.

“Lemme go!” Bravo protests, outraged. He tries to squirm free from Etho’s grasp but can’t quite get the necessary purchase, so for the time being, he seems thoroughly incapacitated.

“Hang on, Timmy,” Martyn murmurs, grabbing Jimmy’s arm to help him stand. He hooks his pickaxe into one of the links of Jimmy’s chains and snaps them with one sharp twist.

Jimmy exhales as his arms and wings come free. His joints are a little stiff, but he’s regenerated enough health that he’s no longer hovering over death’s door. Some of the Double Lifers are absent, presumably killed and respawned back in their own bases, but the majority of them are still gathered in the field. All the enemy players are gone, piles of dropped items scattered around the field. The portal is broken.

It’s over.

Jimmy’s breath catches. Now that he’s not in the midst of any direct confrontation, one thought comes screaming to the forefront of his mind.

He’s lost sight of Tango.

Terror seizes Jimmy. For all he knows, someone could’ve dragged Tango through the portal before it went down. If their bond is disrupted, even a respawn won’t save him.

Martyn puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, are you-”

“Tango!” Jimmy cries. “Wh- where’s Tango?”

“Here!” Impulse’s voice calls.

Jimmy spins around. Impulse is crouched near the edge of the field, only his curved horns poking out above the wheat. Wings flaring, Jimmy half-runs, half-flies over to him, limbs shaky and uncoordinated from the mixture of adrenaline and overwhelming relief.

Tango is kneeling beside Impulse. His hands are free of the chains now, resting limply by his side. The collar is still locked around his neck, and there’s a startling lack of clarity in his eyes as he stares blankly at the ground in front of him.

Jimmy falls to his knees in front of Tango, wrapping him in a hug. “Tango. Oh gosh, I’m here, I’m here.” He pulls away enough to look at Tango’s face. “Are- are you okay?”

(Dumb question. Of course he’s not.)

Tango doesn’t reply, doesn’t even seem to register Jimmy’s presence. Despite his plain expression, he’s trembling, and it suddenly hits Jimmy that he might be in shock.

Impulse’s forked tail thrashes anxiously through the air. “Do you know what this is?” he asks Jimmy, carefully tapping the collar around Tango’s neck. “I tried to take it off, and it seemed to hurt him.”

Jimmy’s stomach sinks. “No, I don’t.” He turns over his shoulder to shout at Bravo. “What did you guys do to him?”

“I don’t know!” Bravo shoots back, almost sounding exasperated. “I didn’t- I- I wasn’t made aware of that little skadoodler!”

“Can someone,” Grian interrupts, stalking up to Bravo with his wings flared out and eyes flashing, “explain what exactly is going on here?”

“Gladly,” Bravo huffs, “if you can get this guy to stop crushing my ribcage.”

Etho eases up a little so that Bravo can sit up, but still keeps a tight hold on his arms. Bravo glances over his shoulder and finally sees who’s restraining him.

“Oh, of course you’re here!” he exclaims irritably.

Etho blinks. “Uh, have we met before?”

“No,” Bravo snaps, “but I’ve met your doppelgänger, and lemme tell ya, the guy’s got major issues.”

There’s a pause as shared confusion washes over the group.

“Doppelgänger?” Grian says finally, knitting his brows together.

“Right, yeah.” Bravo clears his throat. “So uh, hi, my name’s Bravo, and your buddy Tango over there is my evil doppelgänger from an evil world called Hels.”

Jimmy’s heart twists. “Stop it!” he protests, folding a wing around Tango protectively. “He’s not evil-”

“What, they deserve to know!” Bravo retorts. “After all, it was supposed to be me who joined Hermitcraft all those years ago, but somehow, Tango and I swapped places. So- so he’s been living the life I should’ve had all these years.”

“Is he for real?” Etho asks incredulously.

Jimmy’s throat is dry. “I- I don’t…”

“Just admit it!” There’s a manic light to Bravo’s eyes. “The Tango you all know is just a facade, a front. He’s been lying to you all for a decade, and he would’ve kept lying if I hadn’t shown up. Right, Tango?” He addresses Tango suddenly, expression twisted into pure rage. “I know what you really are! Do you fucking hear me?! I’ve seen what Hels players are like, and as soon as they find out, you’re done! You-”

Bravo breaks off. His words dissolve into a strangled bubbling sound as he chokes around the arrow that suddenly appeared in his throat. Then he disappears in a puff of respawn smoke.

Scar lowers his bow, features drawn into an uncharacteristic glower.

After a moment of shocked silence, Grian rounds on him with a frustrated shriek. “Scar!”

“What?” Scar defends. “I got sick of listening to him!”

Grian throws his arms up. “He might’ve had more information-”

“Forget that guy,” Joel says urgently, stepping forward, “what about the others? How’d they even open a portal here?”

“Well, if Scar hadn’t killed him, we might’ve found out-”

“What if they come back? Grian, can you ban them?”

“No, I can’t ban them, Joel, this is a private world!”

“We have to do something!”

More voices join into the frantic conversation. It all turns to static in Jimmy’s ears, fading into the background. He takes a second to look at his surroundings.

Their quaint little wheat field has turned into a war zone. The soil is trampled and stained with dark patches of blood. Wolves pace the area restlessly, panting and whining and growling, white fur streaked red.

Jimmy turns his head to look at the ranch. Roaring flames flicker through the shattered windows, a plume of dark smoke billowing above the roof. Embers flutter through the air like ambient particles. He can tell just by looking that there will be no saving it, that the building and everything inside it is lost.

Smoke stings Jimmy’s eyes. The reality of their situation finally catches up to him, and suddenly he’s crying. He buries his face in the crook of Tango’s shoulder and sobs, holding him tighter than what’s probably comfortable, but Tango doesn’t react, doesn’t speak. He sits motionless in Jimmy’s embrace, the shallow rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he hasn’t turned to stone.

The ranch burns behind them, and Tango says nothing.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player respawns in an empty room.

Bravo sways where he stands. It takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the sudden dim lighting, to the stark absence of a sun. Residual adrenaline crawls across his skin. His heartbeat roars in his ears. His heavy breathing rings out harshly in the quiet room.

The reality of what just happened abruptly crashes down on him. They lost. His chance at freedom, his years of planning, gone- dissolved into a messy, chaotic battle and fumbled first impressions. All because Atlas couldn’t quit while he was ahead.

Rage takes Bravo swiftly, his vision turning red.

Moving quickly to the ender chest in the corner, he pulls out a spare sword and pickaxe. He uses the pickaxe to break his still-charged respawn anchor, the item popping into his inventory. Then he puts his pickaxe back into the ender chest before turning on his heel, slamming the button on the wall, and storming out into the hallway.

His pulse thrums with every step. His grip tightens on his sword. His teeth grind together so much, it aches.

He’s so fucking sick of this.

Just goes to show that he can’t trust anyone in Hels. He never should’ve relied on anyone but himself to find a way home. Now that Atlas has shown his true colors and left them all royally screwed, the way forward has suddenly become quite clear.

Bravo’s feet take him to the portal lab without even thinking, the path now so familiar to him. The large room is full of noise and activity; all of Alisker’s hired cronies used communal respawn anchors to set their spawn, so now they’re just milling around aimlessly like the dumb meatheads they are. They haven’t even thought to put on their spare armor, sitting forgotten in a chest by the wall. Some help they turned out to be.

Atlas is already there, of course, having cut and run rather than let himself be killed. He’s standing before the portal, which now has an empty frame, and typing rapidly on his communicator.

“Hey!” Bravo shouts. The room falls silent.

Atlas turns around. “Ah, Mr. Bravo!” He spreads his hands with a beseeching smile. “Welcome back. Now, I realize things didn’t go quite as we had planned, but I can assure you-”

“What the fuck was that?” Bravo snaps, stalking up to him. “You had him! You fucking had him, and you blew it. You just had to get carried away tormenting a perfectly innocent player for no goddamn reason. If you’d just taken Tango and left, none of that would’ve happened!”

Bravo can tell he’s struck a nerve from the way Atlas’s grin tightens. Nevertheless, he neatly folds his arms behind his back, quirking a brow.

“Is that so?” he asks calmly. “You think the other players on that world would have welcomed you with open arms?”

Bravo scowls. “I- I mean, at least I could’ve explained things to them!” he insists.

Atlas rolls his eyes. “Yes, because the reception we received was so warm and understanding.”

Bravo makes a frustrated noise, throwing his hands in the air. “They showed up when we had two of their players in chains, what- what were they supposed to think? No, if you guys had left, things would’ve been different. I could’ve-”

“You give yourself far too much credit, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas interrupts cooly. “And it seems I might have slightly underestimated how effectively Tango would be able to endear himself to his new servermates. I didn’t anticipate such strong resistance from them. But now that we know what we’re up against, next time will be-”

“Next time?” Bravo echoes disbelievingly. “Uh, no. No, no, no, there will be no next time. I’m done. You- you think you can just switch up on me like that, and I’ll just- I’ll run right back to your side? No, that’s not how this works.”

Atlas tilts his head. “Oh? And how does this work?” he asks, sounding amused. “Because from where I’m standing, you have no other choice. I am the only one with the means to send you home- or have you forgotten?”

Bravo scoffs. “Uh, I think maybe you’ve forgotten that you need me to open a portal.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” Atlas amends, inclining his head. His grin sharpens. “But no one ever said you had to help us willingly.”

He snaps his fingers, and the gathered enforcers rush in.

“Asshole,” Bravo says, lifting his sword.

The years he spent alone in Hels have taught him how to fight against much bigger, stronger opponents. Being smaller has its advantages. It’s all too easy to slip under an outstretched arm and jab his sword up, piercing the joint socket. One sharp twist and the arm dislocates with a loud pop, nearly muffled by the player’s scream. Then Bravo drives his sword down, through the ribcage and into the heart.

Poof. The screaming stops.

Moving quickly, Bravo tucks his chin and rolls- head, shoulders, hips- to dodge another player’s fist, bringing his sword across the back of their legs in a clean slice. The player goes down hard, falling forward onto hands and knees- in the perfect position for Bravo to lop their head off.

He vaults over their body as it respawns away, landing a kick in another player’s gut as they rush forward. They double over, now within reach. Using his free hand, Bravo grabs a fistful of their hair and rams his knee up into their face. Crack- bone shatters against bone. The splinters push backwards into the player’s brain, killing them instantly.

Bravo’s vision is flooded with red. His heart is pounding. Adrenaline is coursing through him and it feels good. Slash, slash, jab. Lunge forward, draw back. Punctured lung, slashed jugular, disembowelment. Keep moving. It’s nothing that hasn’t been done to him before, while trapped in this hell.

It’s nothing they don’t deserve.

(The smell of blood is overwhelming. In his mind’s eye, he sees Tango, snarling with fierce eyes and bloody teeth. He wonders if that’s what he looks like right now, and then banishes the thought just as quickly.)

Absently, Bravo realizes that the players are still just respawning in the lab, enabling them to quickly reenter the fight. As good as it feels to release some of his anger, he can’t fight them forever. And they don’t seem to be trying to kill him- if they get the chance, they’ll just restrain him, chain him up, so they can use him to open another portal. And then there will be no getting free.

So Bravo holds his sword up to his own throat.

That makes the players back up, but Atlas laughs. “Save your energy,” he says loftily. “There’s no point. I’ve already sent reinforcements to your room; you’ll be apprehended the moment you respawn at your anchor.”

Now it’s Bravo’s turn to grin. “Oh, you mean this respawn anchor?” he asks, pulling the item from his inventory and dropping it on the floor.

Atlas’s smile drops clean off his face, eyes widening with realization. He must have assumed Bravo would immediately rush out from the room to confront him. He didn’t think Bravo would have the foresight to break his respawn anchor. For once, Bravo is genuinely, unexpectedly, one step ahead of him.

There’s something really fucking satisfying about that.

“Stop him!” Atlas shouts, rushing forward. But he’s too late.

Bravo raises his middle finger before drawing the sword across his neck.

And then he’s at spawn.

Bravo’s hands instinctively fly to his throat, half-expecting to feel blood as the phantom sensation fades from his body. He forces himself to take a few steadying breaths (he’s never killed himself like that before). Once he’s reasonably sure he isn’t going to pass out, he takes a look at his surroundings.

Spawn is exactly as he remembers it- which is to be expected, considering the anti-griefing perimeter. Netherrack and basalt, flame and sulfur. A grim reminder that he’s in Hels again, with the memory of the overworld still fresh in mind.

Anger threatens to overwhelm him. He pushes it down.

“Bravo…?”

The quiet voice comes from somewhere above Bravo, making him jump. He whirls around and cranes his head up.

Not-Jimmy is there, perched on an outcropping of stone.

The black-winged avian hasn’t changed at all since Bravo last saw him, either. Still sickly pale and deathly thin, with big, watery eyes that hungrily take in Bravo’s appearance, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

(“Oh! Um, I’m Jimmy?” says a golden-winged avian with a smile like the sun.)

Bravo stares back at him for a moment, inexplicably struck by the urge to laugh. Right. Of course one of the first players he met in Hels turned out to be the doppelgänger of his would-be soulmate.

After a couple fragile seconds, Not-Jimmy spreads his wings out and glides to the ground, landing just out of reach from Bravo. “Is that… really you?” he whispers. “It’s… been so long…”

“Yeah,” Bravo says. “Not-Jimmy, right?”

Taken aback, Not-Jimmy nods. He clearly didn’t expect Bravo to remember him.

Bravo had made the connection earlier, but now he can see it. The color scheme is off, of course- black instead of gold- but the foundation is there. They have the same bone structure- that sharp jawline, that strong chin. If the face was more filled out, if the hair was shorter… he’s taller than Bravo even with the hunched, closed-off posture and drooping wings. If he weren’t so emaciated, he’d share Jimmy’s broad frame. If the skin was tanner, if the eyes were brighter…

Not Jimmy, not quite- but close enough.

Bravo tilts his head. “Is there somethin’ else I can call you?”

Not-Jimmy hesitates for only a moment. “Timmy,” he says softly. “My… my name is Timmy.”

Somehow, it makes perfect sense. “Timmy. Alright.” Bravo crosses his arms, jerks his head to the side. “You wanna get outta here, Timmy?”

Timmy’s eyes widen. “Wh- you mean… leave spawn?” he asks, wringing his hands together. His bedraggled wings flutter anxiously and send a couple dark feathers into the air. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, like he wants to move closer to Bravo but can’t quite commit.

“No, I mean leave Hels,” Bravo says, lifting his chin. “I know how to make portals, now, so I’m definitely not hanging around this dump for another ten years. Once I get everything set up, you can come with me. But we can’t stay here, we’ve gotta get moving.”

Timmy bites his lip. “I… I dunno, Bravo… it’s dangerous-”

“I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” Bravo holds his hand out, a hint of desperation seeping into his voice without his permission. “Just- just come with me, okay?”

“... okay,” Timmy says, taking his hand.

Bravo smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, not yet. There’ll be time for that later. His mind is still racing, residual adrenaline making it difficult to string together coherent thought, to properly plan out his next steps. But this much, he’s certain of.

If he can’t have the sun, he’ll learn to love its shadow.

~*~

Chapter Text

from eden, part IX - no tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player kneels in a bloody wheat field.

Jimmy’s senses are flooded with iron. He’s regenerated enough health that his nose isn’t actively bleeding anymore, but he’s sure it’s still all over his face. As he finally pulls away from Tango, he realizes he’s smeared plenty of it on Tango’s shoulder. The blood on Tango’s chin and claws hasn’t fully dried yet, either. And through his slightly parted mouth, Jimmy can see it’s stained his teeth.

(Did you see what he did back there?)

(He was like an animal.)

(How long do you think he’s been keeping that in?)

Jimmy pushes the thoughts away. Focus on the here and now.

To be fair, though, the ‘here and now’ is a horrible place. The ranch is burning behind them. His eyes are burning from the tears and the smoke in the air. His throat feels tight and scratchy. He’s physically and emotionally exhausted, the weight of it dragging him down, sinking into the trampled soil beneath him. The singed edges of his wings are still stinging, but it’s an easily forgotten pain among everything else.

Jimmy hates crying. Especially in public. Really, nothing makes him feel more useless and pathetic than crying. But he has to admit, he’s at least a little calmer and more clear-headed. Now that he’s cried himself out, his awareness is gradually returning to the conversation going on around him.

“What in’a world was that about?!” Bdubs cries out, sounding absolutely flabbergasted.

“Yeah, who were those guys, anyway?” Etho asks, knitting his brows together. “How’d they get here?”

Joel makes a distressed noise. “They shouldn’t be able to open a portal here, this is a private world!”

“I know, I know, okay,” Grian gripes, “I’m workin’ on it. Hang on-”

“And what was all that nonsense about doggelpangers?” Scar pauses. “Uh, dop- doppabang-”

“Doppelgängers?” Cleo calls over wryly.

Scar hangs his head. “Dang it. Yes, that.”

“I dunno, but what if they come back?” Joel asks nervously. “What should we do?”

Isn’t that the question?

Jimmy takes quick stock of his surroundings. Grian is standing a little way’s off from Jimmy’s huddle, head bent down as he furiously scrolls through his communicator, the screen reflecting in his tinted glasses. Scar is hovering next to Grian, peering keenly over his shoulder, his bow held limply at his side. Both of them look a little roughed up from the battle, but alright for the time being.

Etho, still crouched at the spot where Bravo died, is searching through the dropped items. Joel is pacing in front of the broken portal frame and casting anxious glances at it, one hand gripping his sword while the other rakes through his hair, antennae twitching with agitation. There are a few scrapes and gashes between them- mostly superficial and likely to heal on their own.

Pearl’s wolf pack has been considerably thinned out- something Jimmy notes with a pang of guilt- but there’s still plenty of them milling about the place. With blood-matted fur and tucked tails, it’s clear they took a beating. Pearl herself must’ve gone, from the way they sniff and look around aimlessly, giving plaintive yips and whines. Scott is conspicuously absent as well, another hint as to the bonded pair’s fate. Jimmy’s sure they’ll be along soon.

Bigb and Ren are also nowhere to be seen- likely more casualties of the battle. Ren makes for a rather large target when in wolf mode; he probably drew a lot of enemy fire. And of course, Bigb would’ve gone with him. Box is quite a way from the ranch, Jimmy recalls, so it’ll take them a few minutes to get back.

Martyn is busy mining up the rest of the portal frame, seeming none the worse for wear. Cleo sits a couple yards away, one leg stretched out in front of her. The other one has been chopped clean off at the knee, and is clenched in their hand- but wait, it does that sometimes, Jimmy reminds himself before he can panic. The detached limb isn’t even bleeding, and she’s already pulling some string from her inventory to stitch it back on, seeming more inconvenienced than anything else.

Bdubs, across the field, looks no more beat-up than he always does. He’s fussing over his horse, snatching up stray bits of wheat to heal as it struggles to get its legs under it. Impulse’s horse, devoid of rider, has wandered off towards the barn- perhaps hearing the other horses inside. Impulse himself is crouched beside Jimmy and Tango, his golden eyes intently studying the collar that’s been locked around Tango’s neck.

Tango is still completely silent. He doesn’t move or give any indication that he’s at all mentally present, just kneeling idly in the dirt, expression blank, eyes distant. Nothing but static through their soul bond. He doesn’t seem to be seriously injured- most of the blood stains aren’t his. That realization isn’t as relieving as Jimmy wants it to be.

Grian clears his throat. “Right. First thing’s first, are we all still here?” he asks, scanning his communicator. “No one went through the portal?”

“Nah, all good,” Martyn calls over his shoulder as the final obsidian block pops onto the ground.

Etho has his communicator pulled up too. “Yeah, uh, just looks like Scott and Pearl got killed,” he reports. “Ren and Bigb, too. I’ll shoot ‘em a message, see if they’re alright.”

“Right, okay.” Grian chews his lip, wings ruffling. “And all the other fellas are gone?”

Etho nods. “Yep.”

“Okay-”

“G,” Scar cuts in, tugging on Grian’s sleeve, “you gotta respawn before that injury sets in.”

Grian shrugs him off. Only now does Jimmy realize he’s holding one of his wings closer to his body than the others, the one that took an arrow during the fight. “Gimme a second-”

”Um, guys?” Martyn says suddenly, pointing at the ranch. “Fire tick is on, yeah?”

Grian looks up at that, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Hoo boy. Yeah, we need’ta get a ditch around the ranch, okay, or else the whole forest’ll go.” He casts a sidelong look at Jimmy, expression apologetic. “Tim, do you mind…?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “No,” he says hoarsely, “no, no, by all means. Whatever you need to… oh gosh, it’s all gonna go. It’s gone, isn’t it? It’s-” His voice breaks, and he quickly looks away, fresh tears welling in his eyes.

It wasn’t much, the ranch.

Only two floors- three counting the basement- and a bit tight on space. It wasn’t the most impressive build, not by a long shot. Certainly not when compared to the other builds on this world. It was something that would’ve taken two actually competent builders nothing more than a dedicated afternoon to put together. Plainly decorated, and comprised mostly of wood and stone variants. Nothing that’s particularly hard to obtain. And in all honesty, it was just a starter base; they were going to outgrow it sooner or later, anyways.

But it was theirs.

It was the scorch marks in the wood from Tango’s blaze rods, in the moments where his emotions got away from him. It was the rocking chair where Jimmy liked to do his embroidery, when he needed to unwind after a busy day. It was the auto-sorting storage room that Tango spent weeks fine-tuning. It was the small but cozy living room that Jimmy decorated with potted flowers. It was the kitchen that always smelled faintly of charcoal, and the wool rug in the foyer that came from their own sheep, and the bedroom that they shared with an east-facing window to let them watch the sunrise together, on the rare days when Tango was awake early enough to see it.

The ranch is burning, and there’s nothing Jimmy can do about it.

(Great. Gonna start crying again, are you?)

(What exactly is that going to accomplish?)

(Man up! Don’t be so pathetic.)

A gentle hand on Jimmy’s shoulder makes him look up. Martyn is there, sympathy glimmering in his eye. “We’ll save what we can,” he promises.

Jimmy manages a grateful smile, blinking away his tears. “Thanks.”

Martyn nods before straightening back up. “Etho, Joel, you got water buckets on ya?”

“Oh, yeah.” Etho puts his communicator away as he and Joel start toward the ranch, buckets in hand. “Yeah, here, let’s make an infinite source..”

“Right. I’ll get the ditch started, then,” Cleo chimes in, rising to their feet now that both legs are once again intact.

Grian makes an appreciative noise, still tapping away at his communicator. “Okay, so that’s done-”

“Grian,” Scar says again, more insistently. “You gotta-”

“Hang on!” Grian huffs. He looks up to meet Jimmy’s gaze. “Okay, so uh, I can’t ban them… but what I’m gonna do is lock the world down,” he explains, taking a few steps over. “No one goes in or out… not even through a backdoor portal. This is just a temporary solution, but it should do the trick for now.”

Relief washes over Jimmy. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

(Good thing Grian is here to clean up your mess, huh?)

“Hey, guys?” Impulse speaks up, making Jimmy startle. “Um, Tango… he’s not lookin’ so good.”

That’s putting it kindly. Jimmy’s heart tightens. “Right. We should prob’ly get him inside, um…” He trails off as he instinctively looks at the ranch, which is on fire.

Right.

Impulse gives him a comforting look. “C’mon, you guys can crash at our place.” He rises to his feet, calling out, “Bdubs, would you bring the horses over?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec,” Bdubs shouts back. He’s finally gotten his horse standing again, glancing around for Impulse’s. “C’mere, stupid- hey! No, don’t wander off…”

“You finished, Grian?” Scar asks impatiently, notching an arrow.

“Okay, okay, hang on…” Grian presses a couple more buttons before putting his communicator away. “There, it’s done. Now, I’m gonna do some diggin’ and see what I can find out about this. But, um…” His gaze sweeps over Tango, expression pinched. “As soon as Tango is up for it… we all need to have a serious chat, okay?”

The wording immediately puts Jimmy off. He can feel his feathers bristling, his wings flaring out almost unconsciously to block Tango from view. “Wh- hey, this wasn’t his fault!” he protests.

Grian holds his hands up. “Ey, I know, I know,” he says lightly. His lower wings sweep out and flatten into a sort of fan as he crouches; an appeasing gesture. “None of us think that, okay? But clearly those guys came here for him, so we need’ta figure out why and how if we’re gonna figure out how to stop it from happenin’ again. Alright?”

Jimmy takes a breath, letting his feathers smooth over again. “Right. You’re right, sorry,” he mumbles.

(Wow, so defensive.)

(Like you could protect him, anyways.)

(Have you no faith in your own friends?)

Grian glances at Impulse. “You got them, Impulse?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Impulse assures him.

Scar draws back his bow. “Any day now, Grian…”

“Okay.” Grian turns around with an exasperated sigh. “Alright, Scar-”

He disappears in a puff of respawn smoke. Scar immediately follows him, his bow clattering to the ground amidst the shower of other items.

Impulse exhales in what might’ve been a laugh, if he didn’t sound so tired. He turns to Jimmy. “Can you stand?” he asks, holding out his hand.

(Look, they all think you’re weak, too!)

Jimmy feels himself flush. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, his tone short. Ignoring Impulse’s hand, he struggles to his feet unaided, wings flapping about to help keep his balance.

And then he feels incredibly silly about it. These are his friends, for goodness sakes.

“Thanks,” Jimmy adds, to soften it. “But Tango, I dunno if he… I mean, normally I’d carry him, but right now, I think- I think I’d drop him,” he confesses. Already, the effort of just standing on his own is starting to fatigue him.

Impulse just nods, a knowing look in his eye. “Yeah, no problem.” Slowly, he crouches down next to Tango again. “Hey, Tango, buddy?” he calls softly. “Can you hear me? It’s Impulse. I’m gonna pick you up now, if that’s okay?”

Tango doesn’t respond. Carefully, Impulse gathers Tango into his arms in a cradle hold- which Tango doesn’t react to besides curling in on himself a little more. His breathing quickens for a few seconds before he settles down again.

“Sorry,” Impulse whispers.

Jimmy swallows. He’s never known Tango to be so quiet, so still. It’s incredibly disturbing to see. And gosh, he knows Tango’s pale, but right now he looks about as white as quartz.

The events of this afternoon were a lot for anyone to handle. Jimmy’s still only working with bits and pieces, of course. He knows that Tango originally came from a terrible world called Hels, escaped from that creepy scientist guy Dr. Atlas, and has been hiding out on Hermitcraft ever since. So it’s not surprising that Tango got a nasty shock when his past suddenly came knocking at his door- literally, in Bravo’s case.

But Jimmy also knows that Tango is quite tough. He’s not the type to shut down in the face of hardship- in fact, he’ll often go the opposite direction, with manic bursts of frantic energy. So for a reaction this extreme… either that collar they put on him is having a more drastic effect than Jimmy realized, or there’s something more to the story he isn’t aware of.

Before the collar dampened their soul bond, the fear Jimmy felt from Tango had been damn near overwhelming. What could those Hels players have done to him to elicit such a strong reaction? Jimmy dreads to think of it.

The sound of hoofbeats pulls Jimmy out of his musings.

“Here I am!” Bdubs announces loudly, leading a horse by each hand. “Got the hawsies all ready t’go- oh, hey, waugh- what happened to him?” he gasps, his horrified gaze falling on Tango, wide eyes going even wider. “Wha’ th- is he okay?!”

Impulse gives him a tired smile. “Bdubs, I know we’re outside right now, but indoor voice, please? I’ll explain later.”

“Oh, okay!” Bdubs immediately drops into a stage whisper, ducking his head sheepishly. “Right, right, right, right, right, sorry.” He eyes Tango nervously for another moment. “Jeeze, they really… okay, okay, okay, right. Let’s go.”

With an appreciative look, Impulse moves beside one of the horses. Shifting his hold on Tango, he hikes one foot up into the stirrup and swings onto the horse’s back, forked tail lashing through the air.

Bdubs follows suit, climbing onto his own horse before glancing down at Jimmy. “Uh- you wanna ride wi’ me, Jimmy?” he asks, still whispering.

“That’d be great, thanks,” Jimmy says gratefully. Just the thought of walking or flying to their base makes him feel like all his bones have turned to slime.

His own attempt to get on the horse doesn’t go anywhere near as smoothly. With someone else already in the saddle, it’s a clumsy maneuver, his flailing wings more of a hindrance than anything. In the end, Bdubs grabs the back of Jimmy’s shirt and helps haul him up. That only makes Jimmy feel worse. Bdubs is so much smaller than him, how did he manage that?

“Okay…” Bdubs glances over his shoulder as Jimmy gets settled. “You alright back there?”

“Yep, yep, I’m good,” Jimmy says quickly. He clears his throat. “Can we- can we get goin’?” He’s anxious to leave this depressing scene behind and get Tango someplace calmer.

Bdubs nods. “Okay. Uh- hang on tight, and you’d better keep those wings folded or else you- you’ll be blown right off’a this thing!” He turns to Impulse. “We go now!”

“Alright, let’s go.” Impulse urges his horse forward, and Bdubs swiftly follows.

The horses gallop away from the ranch.

Jimmy does as he’s told, leaning forward to put his arms around Bdubs’s shoulders and tucking his wings tightly against his back. The jostling of the horse’s stride isn’t kind to his aching muscles and bones, but he’s not about to complain. Right now he feels completely out of sorts- like a stranger in his own skin.

As exhausted as his body is, his mind is absolutely racing. He can’t stop thinking about what Bravo said, that Tango was to blame for his being in Hels. And Tango hadn’t really denied it.

From what Jimmy can recall from today’s chaotic events, Tango used to be in Hels, and then a portal appeared. He went through it to Hermitcraft, and somehow, that got Bravo sent to Hels. That seems to be the conclusion they’ve come to. And Tango didn’t know about it at first, but he’s known about it for a couple years at this point, and said nothing.

(How selfish of him.)

But it wasn’t Tango’s fault! He didn’t intentionally send Bravo there, and he only kept his knowledge secret because he was afraid he’d get sent back himself if he revealed the truth. That’s… really upsetting. If Tango didn’t trust the Hermits enough to tell them, after spending nearly a decade getting to know them, it’s no wonder he didn’t tell Jimmy.

Has Tango spent this whole time feeling like a fugitive in his own home?

And what is Hels, really? What kind of world doesn’t allow portal travel in and out? The way they’d spoken about it, it almost seemed like a prison. But created by who? And why?

What exactly is a Hels player? What does a ‘doppelgänger’ entail, exactly? Because if Tango is supposed to be an evil version of Bravo, Jimmy is clearly missing something, ‘cause he doesn’t buy that for a second.

Do all players have a Hels counterpart? Does Jimmy? Oh, now there’s a disturbing thought. Is there another Jimmy running around in a prison world somewhere, locked away from the rest of the universe?

Now that he’s aware of the possibility, he isn’t sure this is something he can just forget about.

But he knows his questions will have to wait. Tango is hardly in the condition to be discussing any of this- getting him recovered from his shock is Jimmy’s first priority. He’s about to ask how far away they are when two figures appear in the distance.

It’s Scott and Pearl, on the way back from their respawns. Pearl is preoccupied, intensely scanning her communicator as she walks. But Scott spots them immediately, nudging Pearl with his elbow and lifting a hand to wave them over.

Impulse glances over his shoulder at Bdubs and Jimmy. “Guess we’d better go see what they want,” he says as he steers his horse towards the pair, Bdubs following suit.

Pearl looks up at their approach. Her respawn must’ve taken care of any injuries she sustained from the battle, because she seems like her usual red-eyed self. But there’s an unmistakable air of anxiety about her- one that Scott seems to share, based on his terse expression.

“Impulse!” Pearl shouts, as soon as she’s within proximity hearing range. “You seen Tilly ‘round?”

Impulse eases his horse to a stop. “Oh, uh- she’s the one with the dyed collar, right?” he asks, knitting his brows together. “Yeah, yeah I’m pretty sure she was back at the wheat field.”

Pearl exhales heavily. “Oh, thank goodness. I- I lost so many dogs, I wasn’t sure…” She puts her communicator away, looking them up and down. “So uh, is everyone alright? Are… you guys alright?” she asks uncertainly, quirking a brow.

“We’re fine,” Impulse assures her easily. He jerks his head back in the direction they came from. “The others are dealing with the ranch right now, it’s uh… it’s a pretty big fire, I’m sure they’d appreciate some help.”

Pearl follows his gaze, eyes widening at the plume of smoke still visible above the trees. “Oh gosh, yeah, we’d better get goin’, then.”

“You alright, Timmy?” Scott speaks up suddenly.

“Huh?” Jimmy startles at being addressed. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Mmm.” Scott doesn’t look convinced, his sharp eyes studying Jimmy’s face before flicking over to Tango. “Is Tango alright? Where’d tha’ thing on his neck come from?”

Jimmy’s heart jolts. “Um…” He isn’t sure how much he should be sharing with the others, while Tango’s incapacitated like this.

Luckily for him, Impulse cuts in. “Don’t worry,” he says gently, “we’ve got it covered. You guys go check in with the others, okay?”

It’s not a very subtle hint, but Scott allows it. “Alriiiight,” he drawls, holding his hands up. “Just remember you’ve got help if y’want it.”

“I appreciate it,” Impulse hums, but Jimmy catches the flash of relief in his eyes as he turns his horse away.

“Yeah, ‘preciate ya!” Bdubs echoes as they ride off.

They ride in silence for a few moments, until they’re out of proximity range, before Impulse clears his throat. “I just think Tango would appreciate some privacy right now,” he explains quietly. “You know everyone else- they’d all want to help and see if he’s okay, but a big group would probably freak him out.”

“Ah.” Jimmy nods. “Good thinkin’.”

(Gee, Impulse is really taking charge, huh?)

(You’re basically useless.)

(He would’ve been a way better soulmate for Tango than you.)

The thoughts make Jimmy flinch. He hasn’t often felt insecure in his relationship with Tango, despite having known him for a much shorter time than the Hermits. But right now, his general lack of knowledge and experience in how best to help Tango has become glaringly obvious.

Thankfully, before he can spend any more time feeling sorry for himself, Impulse and Bdubs’s house finally comes into view.

They’ve added another floor since Jimmy was last here. Floor-to-ceiling windows made of light gray panes curl around one side of the building, continuing with the sleek mid-century modern design. The front yard has received some landscaping as well; a wide, circular path that frames a small cluster of custom trees and shrubbery before leading to the dark oak door, framed by neat flower beds on either side.

As they come up on the house, Impulse and Bdubs turn their horses along a branch of path that veers off from the main circle, taking them towards a small structure built against the house’s side. Made only out of diorite wall posts and a flat, deepslate tiled roof, it creates sort of an overhang, divided into two compartments with warped stem fence posts. Its purpose quickly becomes obvious as Bdubs hops off his horse and pulls a lead from his inventory, leashing his horse to one of the posts.

Jimmy swings his leg around to slide off the horse, dropping onto the ground with an ungraceful grunt. In the stall beside them, Impulse has carefully dismounted from his own steed, still cradling Tango in his arms.

The longer Jimmy looks, the more his chest aches with longing. So he looks away.

“Alright, let’s get inside.” Impulse’s voice is soft. He turns back towards the front of the house. “This way.”

Bdubs finishes hitching the other horse to its post. “Right behind ya!” he chirps. He pats Jimmy on the arm as he passes- an encouraging, or perhaps comforting, gesture.

Either way, Jimmy appreciates it. He knows Bdubs tends to diffuse tense situations with humor, or by maintaining an energetic demeanor. It might be mistaken as inconsiderate, in some situations, but he seems to know where the line is. Genuinely, Jimmy thinks he’d feel worse if Bdubs was suddenly walking on eggshells around him.

Pity is a suitor that won’t take a hint, no matter how many times Jimmy turns it away.

He follows Impulse and Bdubs around the front of the house. Bdubs has already scrambled ahead to open the door for Impulse, whose arms are, of course, full of Tango. He ushers Jimmy in after them with a wide sweep of his arm.

They’ve moved their bedroom upstairs at some point, it seems. The main floor is now a dedicated living space with a modest kitchen in the back, overlooked by a loft from the second floor. An L-shaped lounge made of quartz stairs is built into the conversation pit occupying the center of the room, surrounding a small fireplace. The glass panes encasing it go all the way up to the ceiling, but the sight of fire makes Jimmy flinch anyways- which he immediately kicks himself for.

(Jeeze, man, get a grip! What if Tango saw that?)

If Impulse and Bdubs noticed, they don’t comment on it. Impulse silently leads the way up a spiral quartz slab staircase, which opens up into the loft. Bdubs’s interior work is clearly showing here, with cozy seating nestled beside a custom bookshelf-console unit. Straight ahead past the loft is a short hallway with a couple doors on either side.

Impulse stops at the first one on the right. “We got a spare room here,” he says, nodding his head at the door.

“Not finished yet!” Bdubs adds hastily, though still making an effort to keep his voice low. “Or uh, heugh- furnished. I’m gonna- I was gonna do the interior, I swear.”

Somehow, the fact that Bdubs is concerned Jimmy will judge his lackluster interior decoration- despite everything else going on right now- makes Jimmy crack a smile. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers, ey?” he jokes.

“Oh, very freaking funny!” Bdubs huffs, but he’s grinning, too. He opens the door for them, and Jimmy lets Impulse carry Tango inside before following.

The room is, as expected, fairly bare bones. Quartz walls and a dark oak floor carry over the mid-century modern theme from the exterior, but there’s no furniture other than a double-wide cyan bed against the wall. A couple of haphazardly-placed torches on the walls provide the room’s only lighting.

“No windows yet, either,” Bdubs mutters, clicking his tongue as his critical gaze sweeps over the room. “I need ta- I- I still gotta figure out how to place ‘em, with the exterior wall and stuff.”

“It’s alright,” Jimmy assures him. Windows would make him feel a bit too exposed right now, if he’s being honest.

Impulse carefully sets Tango down on the bed. “Okay, Tango, here we are.” He straightens up, running a hand through his hair as he exhales heavily.

Bdubs crosses quickly-but-quietly over to Impulse, wrapping him in a hug. “You okay, sweetie?” he asks softly.

Impulse smiles down at him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Bdubs goes up on his toes to kiss Impulse’s cheek- and even so, he barely makes it. “I’m gonna go check on our boys, then, and see if the others need help with th- with the uh, the ranch. D’you- is there anything you want me to tell ‘em?”

“Yeah,” Impulse says thoughtfully, “maybe just let them know that we’d like to give Tango and Jimmy some privacy right now? We’ll let them know if we need anything, and we’ll chat more once everything’s calmed down.”

“Right, okay.” Bdubs glances at Jimmy. “That- is that good? For you?”

Jimmy is taken aback by the amount of consideration he’s being given. “Oh yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

“Alright.” Bdubs casts one final look at Tango, trying but failing to hide his worry from those big eyes of his. “Alright, I- I’ll be back in a little.”

He slips out the door, leaving them alone.

Before an awkward silence can descend, Impulse clears his throat. “So uh, looks like someone got you pretty good,” he says, gesturing to his face.

“Huh?” Confused, Jimmy brings a hand to his face- only to jerk away as his fingers brush against his nose. Now that he’s actually paying attention, there’s a dull ache of pain radiating down the bridge of his nose, and underneath the still-sticky blood, he can feel a prominent bump where there wasn’t one before.

“Oh, right,” he murmurs. “Forgot about that.”

“Yeah, looks broken,” Impulse says sympathetically. “Need a respawn?”

Jimmy pauses. It’s difficult to tell when an injury will result in lasting damage- no one’s really cracked that particular scientific riddle yet. But generally, it’s understood that the sooner the respawn, the better the outcome. That’s why things like creeper explosions hardly ever leave a mark, since the death is usually instant.

More so, superficial wounds tend to be less likely to scar than deeper, more structural wounds. A simple gash will almost always go away after respawning- if it hasn’t already healed on its own- but things like broken bones can linger in the form of scars, joint deformities, and chronic pain. If he’s being smart, he really should get a quick respawn in, just to be sure.

But they’re on the Double Life world, and right now, his life isn’t just his own.

Jimmy looks Tango over. None of his wounds are serious enough to warrant a respawn, he only got a little scuffed up in the initial attack. In his current state, it’d probably do more harm than good.

“No,” Jimmy decides, “I… I can’t do that to him, not right now. He’s disoriented as it is.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Besides, I think it’s just the cartilage. Either it’ll heal on my next respawn, or it won’t, and it’ll just match the rest of my face.”

Impulse doesn’t laugh at the self-deprecating joke, simply offering a sad smile. “Alright. I’ll see if Martyn can bring some healing potions by once they finish up at the ranch, I’m pretty sure he’s got a brewing set-up.”

Jimmy’s throat tightens. “Right, thanks…” He smoothes a hand over the bed’s cover, setting his spawn anyways, before he eases himself onto the mattress. “Tango…?” he ventures. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Tango has yet to move at all from where Impulse deposited him, back against the wall with his knees tucked to his chest, arms limp at his sides. He doesn’t acknowledge Jimmy at all- which isn’t anything malicious on his part, of course, but god does it hurt.

Taking a deep breath, Jimmy tries again. “Hey, Tango? It’s me, it’s Jimmy.” He puts a gentle hand on Tango’s shoulder, watching him all the while for any sign that he’ll startle or panic. “It’s over, you’re safe now. Are- are you hurt anywhere? Do you need anythin’?”

Still nothing. Somewhere behind Jimmy, Impulse makes a noncommittal noise. “Jimmy, buddy, I don’t think that’s gonna work right now…”

Jimmy ignores him. “Please, Tango,” he pleads, feeling his eyes sting, “can you just…” Idly, he lifts his other hand to wipe some of the blood off Tango’s chin. “Can you look at me?”

Unexpectedly, that gets Tango’s attention. He lifts his face almost robotically to look at Jimmy, eyes and expression still devastatingly blank.

The sudden movement startles Jimmy, his hand jerking back. And as it does, Tango lets his head drop back down.

An image flashes in Jimmy’s mind; Atlas, the doctor with the blood red gloves, grabbing Tango by the chin and tilting his head up.

(Oh, that’s messed up.)

(You’ve really done it, now.)

(Brilliant, just brilliant.)

Jimmy’s stomach turns. He scrambles back, away from Tango, his heart starting to pound. “Sorry,” he whispers, even though Tango gives no indication that he’s hearing it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

A hand lands on his shoulder, making him jump. Impulse gives him an understanding look. “I… think he just needs some time to come out of it,” he says quietly. “Y’know, alone. When he shuts down like this, there’s really nothing to do but wait.”

Jimmy finds his voice again. “Wait, you’ve seen it before?” he asks, creasing his brows together.

Impulse winces. “A couple times, yeah.”

“Oh.” Jimmy swallows, glancing back at Tango. “I dunno, I- I don’t wanna just leave him like this…”

“We can stay right outside,” Impulse says reassuringly, folding his arms. “It’s just… when he gets like this, I’m not sure he’s fully processing what’s going on. It’s like a defense mechanism. So he’s not gonna come out of it until he feels safe, and um… well…”

It’s not hard to catch his meaning. Jimmy bristles. “What, are you- are you sayin’ he doesn’t feel safe with me?” he snaps, which is so unfair because Impulse has been so helpful and so kind and he’s actually sort of right, but Jimmy can’t help it.

Impulse holds his gaze. “Not if he doesn’t recognize you.”

That sobers Jimmy a little, his wings sagging. “Oh. Oh, yeah, good point. You’re right.” Ducking his head, he swings his legs off the side of the bed and rises to his feet. “I guess he’ll be okay in here,” he relents. “But um, can we- would you mind if we put out the lights? It’s just…”

“Tango feels safer in the dark,” Impulse finishes, realization dawning in his eyes. “Good call.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy fidgets with his hands as Impulse collects the torches.

(Wow, he really knows Tango, huh?)

(Thank god someone knows what to do.)

(What exactly are you even here for?)

With the room now sufficiently darkened, Impulse holds the door open for Jimmy. Jimmy gives Tango a final look-over, his blank face now lit by the dim glow of his dampened blaze rods.

“We’ll be right outside if you need us, Tango,” Jimmy says in parting.

Tango remains silent as Impulse closes the door behind them.

As soon as they’re back in the hallway, all of Jimmy’s fatigue seems to hit him at once. He sways where he stands, shoulder bumping against the wall- the dull pain is easily ignored in favor of the black spots dancing across his vision. He squeezes his eyes shut, biting back a groan.

Fortunately, Impulse is there to steady him. “Woah, easy there.” He quickly guides Jimmy over to the loft to sit down. “Just breathe, okay?”

Jimmy takes a few slow, deep breaths- in through the nose, out through the mouth. When he opens his eyes again, the room is no longer spinning around him, so that’s a plus.

“Here,” Impulse presses something into Jimmy’s hand, “you must’ve worked up some hunger.”

It’s a golden carrot. “Thanks,” Jimmy murmurs, immediately starting to nibble on it. He probably does have food on him, somewhere in his inventory- cooked steak, most likely- but the extra saturation helps.

Seemingly satisfied that Jimmy isn’t going to pass out, Impulse sits down in the chair next to him. “How you feelin’?”

“Better, thanks,” Jimmy murmurs, shifting to fold his wings a bit more comfortably. He feels awkward and just… so out of place here. And Impulse is a nice guy, sure, but it’s a little embarrassing to have to be taken care of like a child. If it weren’t for Tango’s sake, he probably wouldn’t have accepted Impulse’s offer of help in the first place.

“Good.” Impulse looks him up and down, brows pinching together. “Jeeze, they really did a number on you. I’m sorry we weren’t there sooner, chat was chaos and we thought they’d be at spawn ‘til we saw your SOS.”

That comforts Jimmy a little. At least he managed to do something right. “It’s alright, not your fault,” he assures Impulse. “I mean, if you guys hadn’t come when you did…”

“Yeah.” Impulse nods solemnly. “That, uh… would’ve been pretty bad.”

Jimmy studies Impulse for a moment. Now that they have a second, there’s a question that’s been nagging at him. “So…” he starts, “how much did you hear, of what Bravo said?”

“Eh, bits and pieces.” Impulse shrugs. “Something about Tango being an evil doppelgänger from Hels.”

He says it so casually, like he’s talking about the weather. Jimmy’s stomach cinches. “Impulse…” he says carefully. “Did you… did you know?”

“What?” Impulse looks at him in surprise. “Oh, that Tango was from Hels? No. No, I never knew anything about before he came to Hermitcraft. But you know, I always kinda knew there was something… not great in his past. I mean, there were signs. I just figured he’d come from an anarchy server or something.” He knits his brows together. “I guess you… never saw what he was like, when he was still new, huh?”

Jimmy frowns. “Wha’d’you mean?”

Impulse makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s not my place to get into all that. But let’s just say… he’s come a long way since then. So um, looking back, it kinda makes sense.”

“So then…” Jimmy hesitates. “D’you believe what Bravo was saying? About what Hels are like?”

Impulse actually laughs- though not unkindly. “Oh, no, not by a long shot,” he assures Jimmy. “Don’t worry about that. I mean, there are players who think non-humans are bad, right? Like, there are still public servers out there that’ll ban Cleo soon as she joins, just for being a zombie.” He shrugs a shoulder, his forked tail idly flicking through the air. “Or me, for being a demon.”

“Oh.” Jimmy blinks, feeling stupid. “Right. It’s… so easy to forget, sometimes, that some folks still feel that way.”

Impulse tilts his head. “Well, not when you have to live it,” he says lightly.

“Oh. Oh!” Jimmy smacks his forehead. “No, no, right, of course,” he adds hastily, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it’s easy for you specifically to forget. Just, in general, I guess. ‘Cause most players don’t have that problem with avians- I mean, sometimes they think some of our traits are weird, sure, but uh- but it’s not the same thing, cause we aren’t hostile mob hybrids. Obviously. And- and none of my friends feel that way, either, so I just…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m not makin’ a lotta sense.”

Impulse gives him a gracious smile. “It’s okay, I know what you mean.” He leans back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. “I’ve gotten so used to Hermitcraft, sometimes it catches me by surprise when I travel to public servers and people act scared, or… distrustful of me. And that’s without even seeing me in ‘full demon’ mode. So uh, even though I don’t know anything about this Hels world, I don’t believe that just being from there would automatically make someone evil. I know Tango better than that.”

Jimmy’s throat tightens. “Right…”

Now it’s Impulse’s turn to give him a sideways look. “... you don’t believe what Bravo said, do you?” he asks, voice low.

“What?” Jimmy blanches. Despite himself, he feels his wings puff up with indignation. “Gosh no, no, that’s- not in a million years, mate, it’s utter nonsense!”

“Alright, alright, sorry,” Impulse chuckles, holding his hands up. “I didn’t think you would. But you know, I just had to make sure.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy sighs, letting his feathers smooth down again. “You’re a good friend, Impulse,” he says, glancing away. “Seems like you know what to do, here. He’s gonna need that.”

“He’s gonna need you.”

That makes Jimmy look up. “What?”

Impulse’s expression softens. “I’ve known Tango a while, now, and even though there’s been plenty of fun and good times over the years… this is the first time I’ve seen him truly content. Like, he just seems at peace in a way I’ve never seen before. You do more for him than you’ll ever know- probably ‘cause he’s too scared to tell you.” There’s a knowing glint in his golden eyes. “Emotional vulnerability, uh, isn’t exactly his strong suit.”

A bittersweet smile tugs at Jimmy’s mouth. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Impulse claps him on the shoulder. “We’re gonna figure it out, okay? You guys aren’t alone in this.”

Warmth blooms in Jimmy’s chest. “Thank you, Impulse,” he says softly, “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Impulse returns his smile before sitting back in his chair. “Now, how about you get some rest?”

Jimmy’s heart jolts. “Wh- no, wait,” he protests, “I’m not gonna leave-”

“You can stay right here!” Impulse assures him easily. “Just close your eyes and rest a bit. I’ll keep an eye out, and wake you up as soon as Tango comes to, okay? But right now, frankly, you look exhausted. And I’m sure you’ll wanna be well-rested for whenever Tango’s ready to talk about stuff.”

“Ah…” Chewing his lip, Jimmy glances over at the door to the spare room- mere steps away.

Since he forewent a respawn, he has to admit some shut-eye would be quite welcome at the moment. The immediate danger has passed. And right now, there’s nothing he can do to help Tango but give him some time. Might as well spend that time resting.

“I… suppose you’re right,” he relents finally. “But you gotta promise you’ll wake me if anythin’ happens, alright?”

Impulse nods. “I promise.”

“Right, then.” Jimmy settles into his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He fights back a yawn. “Thanks again. I- I mean it though… any little thing…”

“I know, I know.” Impulse waves him off. “Don’t worry.”

“Famous last words,” Jimmy quips, closing his eyes.

Impulse huffs a laugh but says nothing else.

Silence settles over the room, filled only by Impulse’s steady breathing and the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of him typing away on his communicator. He’s probably updating the others on the situation, so Jimmy can rest easy. He’s considerate like that.

Jimmy would’ve thought it’d be hard to fall asleep. This chair isn’t exactly built for it, and as lovely as Impulse and Bdubs’s home is, it’s not the ranch.

The loss is still fresh. He already knows it’s gonna hit him even harder in the coming days. But for right now, the post-adrenaline exhaustion is finally sinking in, and before he knows it, he’s drifted off into the inky blackness.

~*~

A gentle hand on Jimmy’s shoulder startles him awake.

“Jimmy,” Impulse whispers, his golden eyes glowing in the darkness, “wake up.”

It must’ve been quite a deep, dreamless sleep, because while it seems to Jimmy that he only just closed his eyes, he can clearly see through the window that it’s been at least several hours. The sun has long since set; a half moon is rising in the night sky. That’s alright with Jimmy- he was afraid he’d have nightmares.

Rubbing his eyes, Jimmy squints at Impulse. “What’s goin’ on? Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Impulse scratches the back of his head. “I uh, I just heard a thud in Tango’s room so I went to check on him and- he’s fine, don’t worry!” he adds quickly, as Jimmy bolts upright. “He’s fine, he’s up, but he still seems kinda disoriented? Like, he’s conscious, but when I tried to go in… I guess I look a bit too intimidating,” he taps one of the curved horns poking out from his hair, “‘cause he growled at me.”

“Growled?” Jimmy repeats, raising his eyebrows.

(Well, that’s promising.)

(Round two!)

(Here we go…)

“Yeah.” Impulse gives a sad smile. “So um, I think you should go try and talk to him, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh.” Jimmy blinks. “Oh, right, of course.” He rises to his feet, shaking off residual soreness from his awkward sleeping position.

Impulse pulls a lantern from his inventory and holds it out to Jimmy. “Give a shout if you need anything.”

Jimmy takes the lantern. “Right, thanks.” Steeling himself, he creeps over to the spare room, knocking lightly on the door- which is slightly ajar. “Tango…?” he calls softly, poking his head into the room. “You okay?”

The bed is empty, covers strewn in disarray. Tango is crouched in the corner farthest from the door, his back pressed against the wall. Hunched over and breathing hard, he stares at Jimmy, his blood-stained face lit by the faint glow of his blaze rods. His pupils are dilated again, lips curled back to show his teeth. There’s no recognition in his expression at all.

(You cannot sleep, there are monsters nearby.)

Jimmy swallows. His heart starts to pound. “Tango,” he starts tentatively, holding the lantern up so his face is clearly illuminated as he steps forward, “it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Tango makes a blaze noise deep in his throat; a haunting, hollow sort of growl. It’s unmistakably a warning.

Jimmy hesitates, wings shuffling uncertainly. How to get through to him? General reassurances don’t seem to be working. He needs to remind Tango of where he is, to convince him that he’s safe- in a way that only Jimmy would know.

He takes a breath. “Hey, rancher.”

Tango falls silent. Surprise flickers across his features, mouth parting, gaze sharpening. For a moment he just stares, motionless. Then he squints.

“... Jimmy?”

Oh, Jimmy could cry. “Yes, there we go!” he says encouragingly. “It’s me, it’s Jimmy. You okay, Tango?”

Tango’s breath hitches. He takes a single, careful step forward- then he halfs runs, half stumbles towards Jimmy.

Jimmy rushes to meet him, catching Tango before he falls. “Oh jeeze, okay…” Setting the lantern down on the bed, he lowers them to the floor, shifting so he can wrap Tango in his arms. “It’s alright, it’s alright…”

“Jimmy, thank god.” Tango clings to him just as tightly, face buried in Jimmy’s shirt. His claws dig into Jimmy’s skin just shy of being painful. “I- I woke up,” he gasps, “and the quartz- I thought I was…” He pulls away enough to scan Jimmy’s face, eyes wide and frightened. “Where are we? What- how long has it been?”

Jimmy knits his brows together. “Uh- we’re at Impulse and Bdubs’s place, and it’s been… several hours, I think? Half a day?”

“God.” A shudder runs through Tango. “That- that really happened, didn’t it?” He starts to breathe faster, his voice straining into that faint upper pitch that Jimmy’s come to associate with panic. “Oh god, I- I- I don’t- hhh, I c- can’t…”

“Hey, hey, breathe,” Jimmy soothes, rubbing circles on Tango’s back. “I’m here, you’re safe. It’s over. Just breathe.”

They stay like that for a while, Tango curled against Jimmy as he rides out the worst of it. He shakes violently, eyes squeezed shut, breath hitching as he tries to get control of it again. Jimmy’s heart aches for him- he wishes there was something more he could do to help.

But he knows from experience that just being here is enough.

It’s not terribly infrequent for Tango to have nightmares. Sometimes he simply startles awake at night, apologizes for waking Jimmy up, and goes back to sleep. If Jimmy asks about it the next morning, he brushes it off as nothing; just silly nonsense nightmares, the kind that are terrifying at the time but seem utterly ridiculous in the light of day. Nothing more than that.

And all this time, Jimmy believed him.

(What a fool.)

Jimmy’s only ever seen a couple nightmares cause a reaction as severe as this. The shaking, the shortness of breath, the panic. What helped in the past was simply holding Tango- offering a few reassurances, but mostly silent comfort. And of course, Tango never wanted to talk about those nightmares, and Jimmy didn’t want to push too hard. He’d figured that Tango would talk to him about it when he was ready.

(Fool me once, shame on you…)

Gradually, Tango calms down. His tremors cease, and his breathing starts to grow deeper. He’s still holding onto Jimmy, but it’s less desperate, now. More familiar. Jimmy curls his wings around them, as if providing another barrier, another layer of security.

After Tango’s been still and quiet for a few moments, Jimmy softly breaks the silence. “How much d’you remember?”

Tango takes a shaky breath. “All of it,” he whispers. “E- everything, I was- it was like I- I was watching everything happen to someone else, like I was outside my body…” He looks up to meet Jimmy’s gaze, eyes brimming with tears. “Jimmy, I- I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Jimmy frowns. “Tango, what on earth are you apologizing for?”

Abruptly, Tango pulls away. “I burned you,” he grits out.

“No, you-” Jimmy almost grabs him by the arm, but then thinks better of it. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Tango stares at him incredulously. “Wha’ th- what do you mean? Of course it was!” He rakes his claws through his hair. “I- I lost control, I set the ranch on fire, and you got burned.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Jimmy argues. “You didn’t do it on purpose, you were just defending yourself.”

“Doesn’t matter!” Tango throws his hands up. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten burned, true or false?”

(True!)

(He’s got a point…)

(Why are you arguing this?)

Jimmy doesn’t answer. “Look,” he says instead, “honestly, it’s not a big deal. I’m fine!”

“Well, you don’t look fine!” Tango says bluntly. Distress flashes across his face as he looks Jimmy up and down. “Your poor wings- and oh, your face! What, did- we didn’t respawn?”

Jimmy ducks his head. “I didn’t wanna put you through that,” he explains, wincing.

He can actually see the guilt in Tango’s eyes intensify. “Ohhh no,” he breathes, dismayed. “You- why did you…” Shaking his head, he fixes Jimmy with a firm look. “Okay, you- you need to respawn, now.”

“It’s not important,” Jimmy replies, just as stubbornly. He holds a hand out, beseeching. “Tango, please, I- I’ve been worried outta my mind about you. So much happened- ”

“I’m fine,” Tango says shortly.

“No, you’re not,” Jimmy insists, working hard not to raise his voice. “I mean, honestly, I- I don’t even know what that thing ‘round your neck is doin’!”

Tango shuts his mouth with a sharp click and glances away.

That sobers Jimmy instantly. Tentatively, he scooches a bit closer to Tango. His eyes trace the collar- it’s so deceptively simple, so innocuous at first glance. Just a ring of smooth, flat iron. But clearly, there’s a lot more going on; a single red light above the keyhole hints at a mechanism hidden within.

“Do you… know what it is?” Jimmy ventures, giving Tango a searching look.

Tango’s jaw tightens. “It’s wither rose.”

Jimmy blinks, taken aback. “What? But… we aren’t withering, we aren’t takin’ damage-”

“It’s not…” Tango makes a noncommittal noise, waving a hand in an aborted gesture. “They’ve modified it, somehow, I dunno. It- it’s not the full effect. All it’s doin’ is dampening my fire.”

“And our soulbond,” Jimmy realizes, his stomach sinking. “After he put it on you, I- I couldn’t feel your emotions anymore. It’s just… numb.”

Tango’s face is grim. “That’s what wither rose does,” he says lowly.

The certainty in his voice is… somewhat concerning. Sure, any player who’s been ‘round the block will have learned what it feels like to be withered, at some point or another. But due to the tedious and somewhat risky nature of obtaining the roses by way of a wither farm, most players don’t regularly encounter them. And as far as aesthetics are concerned, they aren’t the most appealing flower, so when they are farmed, they’re mostly used for mass-producing black dye or as the killing method in a mob farm. Not as decor or landscaping, where a player might actually touch the rose and be subjected to the wither effect.

Personally, Jimmy can’t remember the last time he touched a wither rose, as a player who doesn’t make a habit of farming withers or even taking on the boss fight. But the tone of Tango’s voice right now is the tone of someone who is horribly familiar with the sensation.

“Tango…?” Jimmy prompts quietly. “Is there… somethin’ I should know?”

Tango swallows. He’s avoiding Jimmy’s eyes. “I… I don’t wanna talk about it,” he whispers hoarsely. “Not right now?”

It’s almost a plea, and Jimmy’s heart tightens. “Okay. That’s okay,” he says gently, forcing down his disappointment; this isn’t about him. He rises to his feet, holding out his hand to Tango. “Here, come on, let’s… let’s get up on the bed, alright? It’s late, you need some proper rest.”

Tango hesitates, though he accepts Jimmy’s offered hand to help him up. “You need to respawn…”

“It can wait,” Jimmy says easily. He tries for a grin. “Honestly, I- I already knew I wasn’t exactly easy on the eyes, but I didn’t think it was that bad…”

“No,” Tango says quickly, “no, you’re not-” He makes a frustrated noise. “Your wings.”

Jimmy softens. “They’re just feathers. They’ll grow back.”

Sure, it might take a while if his follicles have been badly damaged, and his wings won’t be a pretty sight once all the burned feathers fall out. But most of his flight feathers are still intact, so in terms of places to get burned, it could’ve been much worse.

Tango huffs a breath, clearly still upset with himself. But he doesn’t protest further as Jimmy eases onto the bed, gently pulling Tango with him. After collecting the lantern so the room is properly dark again, Jimmy nestles under the covers, sweeping a wing out to lightly gather Tango beside him.

Tango settles against him, and it’s then that Jimmy realizes he isn’t as warm as he used to be.

He’s not cold, not by any means. But Tango has always run a bit hotter than the average player- a blaze hybrid trait that Jimmy’s quite fond of. It was the whole reason they first shared a bed, back in the early days of the world, and inadvertently plunged their relationship into new, terrifying depths. If it wasn’t for that moment, they likely would’ve danced around the issue for far longer, and been robbed of many precious days of happiness together. So even on warm nights, Jimmy will still cuddle up beside Tango. Even if he has to kick all the blankets off.

But with the collar dampening Tango’s fire, he’s been robbed of that, as well.

Jimmy swallows the lump in his throat and puts an arm around Tango, who curls into his side, head resting on his shoulder. Having Tango so close is immediately comforting. God, to think of how close he came to losing this, to never holding Tango again…

It’s scary. It’s incredibly scary. There are few things in the universe that can really, truly cause lasting harm to a player. Injuries can heal upon respawn, death isn’t permanent- except for worlds where it is, then they just respawn on a different world and start again. But if those Hels people had succeeded in taking Tango through that hacked portal, into some isolated prison world that Jimmy has no way of finding… he’s afraid that would’ve destroyed him.

Jimmy turns his head to press a kiss onto Tango’s forehead, right between the dimmed blaze rods hovering around his temples. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Tango whispers back.

The room grows silent. Jimmy stares up at the dark ceiling. His earlier tiredness has up and left him, his mind racing, plagued by thoughts of what might’ve been. It’s all he can do to reassure himself that it’s over, that Tango’s safe and still here with him.

That for once, he was lucky.

(For how long, though?)

He isn’t trying to stay awake. And he isn’t pretending to be asleep, either, just laying quietly with his thoughts. But at some point Tango must think he’s nodded off, because only then does he start to cry.

It’s a quiet sound. Just the sharp inhale and exhale of breath. Jimmy might not have even known he was crying if it wasn’t for the way his shoulders shake, and the sudden dampness seeping into Jimmy’s shirt.

It takes all of Jimmy’s willpower not to console Tango, to hold him tighter and offer hushed reassurances. There’s a reason Tango waited until he thought Jimmy was asleep- he’s very much the kind of person who prefers to show emotion on his own terms. If he knew Jimmy was awake to witness this, he’d completely shut down again. And he needs this.

So Jimmy pushes down his own emotions and does nothing as his soulmate cries, trying not to move or start crying himself as the guilt for being so useless eats him alive.

(Sweet dreams…)

~*~

Morning comes, eventually.

At least, as far as Jimmy can tell by his internal clock. The room he wakes up to is still fairly dark- just a slim beam of light coming in from the hallway through the cracked door. Impulse must’ve done that to better keep an ear out for them overnight. Thoughtful guy. Tango is sleeping deeply next to Jimmy, and the sight is quite comforting.

It seems they’ve kept with their usual sleeping habits, even without a sunrise to greet them.

Carefully, without jostling Tango, Jimmy pulls up his inventory to grab his communicator. He can’t recall hearing it go off, but he wants to make sure there isn’t anything that urgently requires his attention. He’s surprised, however, to find a potion of healing; Impulse must’ve slipped it to him while he was sleeping.

A smile tugs at Jimmy’s lips. He’s long since regenerated his health, but the potion ought to help with his lingering injury. He downs the potion quickly, grimacing at the cloyingly sweet note of melon. It doesn’t take long for a cooling sensation to settle over his broken nose. When he gently probes at it, he can feel it’s still a little crooked, but at least the pain is gone.

Putting the empty bottle away, Jimmy digs out his communicator, squinting against the blue light. No one’s used chat lately or sent him any whispers- it seems they’re taking the request for privacy quite seriously. But there is the backlog from yesterday waiting for him. It takes him a minute just to scroll back to where it all began.

Bravo joined the game.

Grian: ey??

AtlasSyn joined the game.

Tyrannicide joined the game.

Phantonym joined the game.

Grian: EYY????

Helfyre_004 joined the game.

PearlescentMoon: Ummm?

Renthedog: What the heck??

CRIMETIME joined the game.

t3rr0r_b1te joined the game.

EbonyHelmentia joined the game.

baddomen666 joined the game.

InTheLittleWood: WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?!?

staluggmite joined the game.

PwrPlayz joined the game.

PearlescentMoon: Hello??

XxSLAYERxX joined the game.

Vexed2theMax joined the game.

ApexGamer98 joined the game.

Smajor1995: wait how is this happening

PearlescentMoon: Raid?? D:

SheHelsSeaHels joined the game.

ne’er_do_hels joined the game.

Grian: i don;t know??

Jaffu joined the game.

Grian: theres no one at spawn???

Etho: woah!

SolidarityGaming: SOS RSNCH

Smajor1995: oh no

Renthedog: What??

Smallishbeans: rsnch lol

GoodTimeWithScar: G come pick me up

Tyrannicide was slain by Tango.

staluggmite was slain by Tango.

Phantonym was slain by Tango.

InTheLittleWood: Wait WHAT?!?!?!?!?!

Smallishbeans: NO WAY

BdoubleO100: OHHHHHHH

Grian: EVERYONE TO RANCH

ZombieCleo: what is happening???

staluggmite joined the game.

Tyrannicide joined the game.

Smajor1995: omw cleo

Phantonym joined the game.

impulseSV: Etho, Joel, our place?

Renthedog: BigB where you at??

bigbst4tz2: coming

SheHelsSeaHels was shot by GoodTimeWithScar using [hOtgUy]

EbonyHelmentia was shot by Smajor1995.

XxSLAYERxX was slain by impulseSV.

CRIMETIME was slain by Wolf.

t3rr0r_b1t3 was slain by Renthedog.

Jaffu was doomed to fall by ZombieCleo.

SheHelsSeaHels joined the game.

ne’er_do_hels was shot by GoodTimeWithScar using [hOtgUy]

Tyrannicide was slain by Renthedog.

XxSLAYERxX joined the game.

EbonyHelmentia joined the game.

CRIMETIME joined the game.

Phantonym was slain by Etho.

t3rr0r_b1t3 joined the game.

ne’er_do_hels joined the game.

XxSLAYERxX was slain by Wolf.

Jaffu joined the game.

Helfyre_004 was slain by Renthedog.

Vexed2theMax was slain by bigbst4tz2.

Tyrannicide joined the game.

XxSLAYERxX joined the game.

Jaffu was slain by Renthedog.

SheHelsSeaHels was slain by Wolf.

bigbst4tz2 was shot by AtlasSyn.

Renthedog died.

Phantonym joined the game.

baddomen666 was slain by Wolf.

SheHelsSeaHels joined the game.

Jaffu joined the game.

PwrPlayz was slain by InTheLittleWood.

Helfyre_004 joined the game.

Vexed2theMax joined the game.

staluggmite was slain by Smallishbeans.

Helfyre_004 was shot by Smajor1995.

EbonyHelmentia was slain by Wolf.

PwrPlayz joined the game.

ApexGamer98 was slain by PearlescentMoon.

baddomen666 joined the game.

PwrPlayz was slain by Wolf.

Jaffu was slain by Wolf.

baddomen666 was shot by Smajor1995.

EbonyHelmentia joined the game.

Vexed2theMax was slain by InTheLittleWood.

PearlescentMoon was shot by AtlasSyn.

Smajor1995 died.

Helfyre_004 joined the game.

ApexGamer98 joined the game.

SheHelsSeaHels was slain by Wolf.

ne’er_do_hels was slain by Wolf.

baddomen666 joined the game.

Vexed2theMax joined the game.

Helfyre_004 was slain by Wolf.

baddomen666 was slain by impulseSV.

CRIMETIME was slain by Smallishbeans.

Phantonym was slain by Wolf.

Vexed2theMax was slain by Wolf.

t3rr0r_b1t3 was slain by Wolf.

ApexGamer98 was slain by BdoubleO100.

Tyrannicide was slain by Wolf.

EbonyHelmentia was slain by Wolf.

AtlasSyn left the game.

XxSLAYERxX was slain by Wolf.

Bravo was shot by GoodTimeWithScar using [hOtgUy]

Grian was shot by GoodTimeWithScar using [hOtgUy]

GoodTimeWithScar died.

Jimmy doesn’t know how long he spends looking at chat, reading it over and over again as he tries to make sense of it. All those Hels players came here with the express purpose of kidnapping Tango. But why? Dr. Atlas had said something about ‘getting back to work’ and a farm design, but what does that even mean?

Speaking of that doctor fella, he seems to have been the only one to get kills on the Double Lifers- the rest of them must’ve been preoccupied with Pearl’s wolves. Gosh, to think what her chat must look like…

But that’s something worth noting. Atlas didn’t waste his time with wolves, he went for Pearl and Bigb. He must’ve realized the wolves were Pearl’s and targeted her because of it. And the fact he went for Bigb instead of Ren, who was racking up the most kills... that means he was able to put together that they were soulbound, and he used that to get rid of the threat more easily.

Out of these Hels players, Atlas is clearly the one to watch out for.

Well, him and Bravo, of course. Though Bravo technically isn’t a Hels, if Jimmy’s understood it properly. But he’s certainly just as cruel and bloodthirsty as those other guys were, and he’s got it out for Tango the most. Jimmy can’t recall the last time he saw such hate in a player’s eyes, for any reason. And this is the guy claiming he should’ve been Jimmy’s soulmate? Unbelievable.

As if Jimmy would ever go for such a dense, hateful, entitled piece of-

“Honey,” Tango says suddenly, sitting up on his elbows, “you okay?”

Jimmy jolts in surprise; he must’ve been looking quite cross with his communicator. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he assures Tango softly, offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry if I woke you.”

It’s difficult to make out details in the scarce light from the hallway, but Tango looks much improved from yesterday. Even underneath the dried blood, the warmth has returned to his skin, replacing that sickly, pale pallor. His red eyes are sharp and alert- that’s a huge relief, as well.

“No, no, you’re good!” Tango says brightly. He leans over to press a kiss to Jimmy’s cheek. “Sleep alright?”

His tone throws Jimmy for a moment. Someone’s feeling better. Blinking, Jimmy puts his comm away. “I did, yeah,” he answers uncertainly. “You?”

“Yep!” Tango smiles at him; it seems a bit forced. “I uh- I’m all rest-ificated and ready to start the day. So, what I- well, I- I guess our first order of business, we should go take a look at the ranch, right, see what the damage is? Then we can do some resource gathering and start rebuilding, so we aren’t crashing at Impulse and Bdubs’s place forever.”

Jimmy pauses for a moment to process the words. “Umm… are you sure?” he asks tentatively. “I mean, we can go look at it if you want, but uh, are you- we should really focus on getting that collar off you first, don’t you think?”

Tango shrugs. He isn’t quite meeting Jimmy’s eyes. “Doesn’t bother me. Besides, we don’t have the key.”

Jimmy knits his brows together. “So what, we just... let it alone? Move on?”

Tango huffs a laugh- it sounds a bit faint. “Yeah, yeah exactly.”

(What an abrupt change of character!)

(Lying again, it seems…)

(How suspicious.)

Okay, this is definitely strange behavior. Considering everything that happened yesterday, Jimmy would’ve expected Tango to still be physically and emotionally wrecked. But instead, he seems rather keen to just move on, like everything’s normal-

Ah. Of course. Jimmy doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“Tango...” he starts, “I don’t think-”

“Good morning!” Impulse hums as he pokes his head through the cracked door. “How we doin’, guys?”

Curse his timing. Tango, of course, immediately takes advantage of the distraction.

“Oh, hey Impy!” he says cheerfully. “Hey uh, sorry about earlier. You know, I uh, I was a little confused, and uh… you know...” He pulls a face; overdramatized. He’s trying to make light of it.

Impulse seems to share the same realization as Jimmy. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says easily, though he keeps his tone in a lower register- more serious. Not feeding into the fake energy. “No hard feelings. Here, I brought some food.”

Tango takes the offered food without even a second of hesitation; a stack of golden carrots. “Of course. Thank you, thank you.” He quickly starts crunching on one, conveniently busying himself so he doesn’t have to say anything else.

Oh well, at least he’s eating. Jimmy gives Impulse a tired smile. “Hey, Impulse. Thanks again for lettin’ us crash here.”

Impulse returns his smile. “Yeah, of course, no problem. So um, I’ve just got a bit of an update for you guys.” He sits down at the end of the bed, expression sobering. “The ranch situation is under control, they managed to get the fire out before it spread to anything else nearby. So your pastures, barns, and fields are safe. All your animals, too.”

It’s easy enough to pick up on what he’s left out. “But the ranch itself is gone, isn’t it?” Jimmy says quietly.

Impulse nods. “I’m sorry. Most of what’s left is just the stone. I think the basement is pretty intact, too, but everything else…”

“Yep.” Tango, finished with his carrot, shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, I figured. That’s what we get for building with wood, even though I’m super flammable and stuff.”

Jimmy gives him a sympathetic look. “It’ll be okay-”

“So,” Tango interrupts, avoiding Jimmy’s gaze as he gives Impulse an intent look, “uh- anything else?”

(Ouch! Testy…)

Impulse rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. Grian wants to know if you guys are up for a chat. Nothing bad,” he adds quickly, “he’s just trying to figure out a solution and we’re just a little in the dark about everything. You can stick to the basics; if there’s something you aren’t comfortable telling us, that’s fine-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tango assures him. Despite his grin, there’s a hard edge to his voice. “Let’s do it. Call everyone up, we’ll have a nice chat at spawn or something. Let’s- let’s get goin’.”

Impulse pauses. “Well, if you want, we can have just Grian come over...”

Tango huffs. “No, why- let’s just get everyone on the same page, okay? Get it all over with at once.” He spreads his hands. “No point in delaying, or- or having to explain the same thing over and over again, right? I mean, everyone’s stuck here ‘til Grian lifts the lockdown, I- I’m sure they’ll wanna know why.”

Jimmy exchanges a look with Impulse. “I… I suppose,” he says hesitantly. “But are you sure you’re-”

“Yeah,” Tango says, “yeah, it’s fine.”

Impulse purses his lips, clearly fighting not to let his frustration show.

The sentiment is one that Jimmy shares. It’s obvious Tango is trying to downplay everything- and if that’s his way of coping, fine. But it really throws a wrench into the works when moving forward requires actually addressing what happened, and having an in-depth conversation about it. And this doesn’t bode well for long-term; they can’t just pretend everything’s normal, no matter how much Tango might wish it.

“Okay, I’ll let him know.” Impulse rises to his feet. “The bathroom’s at the end of the hallway if you guys wanted to wash up.”

Tango actually makes a face at that, dropping the facade for a moment. He really doesn’t like water. “Wash up..?”

Impulse winces. “You’re um. Still covered in dried blood.”

(I was wondering when he’d realize that…)

Tango blinks. “Oh. Oh, right, of course.” Absently, he reaches a hand up to scratch at his chin. “I should probably wash that off, yeah. I mean, everyone knows I’m a vicious monster but I don’t have to look it, right?” he laughs.

Jimmy’s heart tightens. “Hey, Tango…”

“No,” Impulse protests, “that’s not-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tango says shortly. “Thanks, Impulse.”

“Alright.” Impulse lets the matter drop, turning to leave. “Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

As soon as Impulse is gone, Jimmy turns to Tango. “Hey, so-”

But Tango has already hopped out of bed and crossed to the door, calling, “Hang on, be right back!” over his shoulder.

Down the hall, Jimmy hears the bathroom door open and close. He sighs.

This is gonna be a fun conversation.

~*~

“Right then. Uh, thank you all for coming on short notice.”

Grian’s tentative welcome is met with a chorus of rather subdued greetings from the Double Lifers. Everyone is gathered in a loose semicircle around spawn, standing in their respective soulbound pairs and groups. Jimmy would’ve preferred to have this conversation sitting down, inside somewhere, but Tango had insisted on spawn.

Only now does Jimmy realize that the open nature of the forest clearing at spawn is less enclosed than a room filled with fourteen people would feel, and he understands.

Tango hadn’t been very talkative on the way over. But every time he said something, it was with that same forced ‘Everything’s fine!’ kind of attitude. It’s really starting to frustrate Jimmy, making him want to grab Tango by the shoulders and shout, ‘No, actually, everything’s not fine, and that’s okay!’

But he doesn’t think that’d be well received at the moment.

Tango, standing beside Jimmy, is still maintaining his fake nonchalance. To an untrained observer, he’d actually look quite casual. Simply standing with his hands in his pockets, listening intently to Grian with a plain, but not unpleasant, expression. The only indication Jimmy has that he’s at all uncomfortable is the complete lack of movement.

He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t pace, doesn’t shift his weight- all things that might otherwise be taken as signs of anxiety, but are usually normal for Tango. The stillness, though subtle, is concerning. It means he’s tense and on-guard. As if expecting an attack at any second. Which, to be fair, Jimmy doesn’t blame him for.

But more concerning is the fact that Tango can so easily and convincingly pretend that everything’s fine. He must’ve had a lot of practice.

(Ten years, remember?)

(Of course he’s a good liar.)

(Surprise, surprise.)

Grian clears his throat. “So, as we all know… there was an attack yesterday by some strange fellas who came in through a hacked portal of some sort. I’ve locked the world down for the moment, but until we know all the who’s, why’s, and how’s, I’m afraid that’s only a temporary solution… since I’m sure you all don’t wanna be stuck here forever.”

He says it matter-of-factly, not a hint of any frustration, annoyance, or other ill-feeling in his voice. But Jimmy sees Tango’s face twitch anyway. Unsurprisingly, the guilt is getting to him.

“But that’s why we’re here,” Grian continues, taking a more upbeat tone. “Tango has kindly agreed to explain a little better what’s goin’ on, so hopefully, we can get to the bottom of this and uh… come up with a plan for moving forward.” He gestures invitingly towards Tango. “Tango?”

(Here we go…)

Tango clears his throat. “Right, yeah, thanks.” He takes a small step forward, casting a quick glance around the clearing. “Okay, so here’s the deal. I spawned in a world called Hels, where every player is sort of an evil counterpart to an overworld player elsewhere in the universe. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the Helsknight fiasco.”

Jimmy can actually see the sudden realization that settles over all the present Hermits- minus Pearl, who seems as out of the loop as the others.

Grian’s eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, that makes so much sense…”

“Oh, dudes,” Ren breathes, running a clawed hand through his hair. “Not gonna lie, I completely forgot about that…”

“Same here,” Impulse says, looking stunned. “I mean, it was over and done with so fast, and Wels didn’t seem worried, so I guess none of us really thought to look into it? Man…”

Scott puts a hand up. “Um, what’s tha’ Helsknight fiasco?” he asks, frowning.

“Oh, right.” Tango scratches the back of his head. “So, you guys know of Welsknight, right? One of our fellow hermits?” At the group’s hesitant nods, he continues, “On Hermitcraft’s seventh world, there was this player who randomly joined and attacked Wels. None of us ever saw him, but when Wels explained the situation later… he said Helsknight was some kinda evil clone, and that he came from a place called Hels.”

Murmurs of surprise and confusion ripple through the group. Jimmy longs to put a hand on Tango’s shoulder as a reassurance, but based on how tense he is, that’d probably set him off.

“Wait, really?” Pearl asks, her antennae curling in surprise. “What’re the chances of that?”

“I know,” Cleo agrees, “it was really strange, in hindsight…”

“So this Helsknight guy,” Joel says, knitting his brows together. “He’s what Bravo was talkin’ about, one of those Hels players? Like all the other people that came through the portal?”

“Yeah,” Martyn chimes in, “I- I noticed a lot of uh, ‘Hels’ in the names in chat. Or like, ones with ‘bad’ or ‘evil’ kinda vibes.”

“Yep.” Tango nods stiffly. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t know Helsknight or- or how he joined Hermitcraft, but it was obvious he was Wels’s counterpart. I mean, he said he was ‘all the darkest parts’ of Wels, right?” He folds his arms. “Well, I’m that for Bravo. A sort of uh- a personification of his badness, I guess.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bigb cuts in, holding his hands up. “So- so you’re sayin’ that we all have these… Hels versions of ourselves?”

“Evil doppelgängers, yeah,” Tango amends. “I mean, I don’t know why it’d only be for some players and not others, and Hels is plenty big enough for every player in the universe to have a counterpart. You go to any of the major cities around spawn, and it’ll definitely feel that way.”

“What’s this… Hels world like?” Pearl asks, her red eyes wide with a sort of morbid fascination.

Tango’s expression darkens. “It’s an ancient world, infinite and deadly. The overworld and nether are fused into one crazy, messed-up realm full of these weird hybrid kinda biomes, and- and you can’t access the end. The bedrock ceiling makes it so hostile mobs spawn basically everywhere, but you can’t find naturally spawning passive mobs for like, hundreds of thousands of blocks around spawn, ‘cause the early players murdered them all. And no portal travel in or out- at least, that’s what we thought.”

Jimmy’s starting to see why Bravo described Hels as ‘an inescapable prison of horrific violence and suffering.’

Grian raises his eyebrows. “No end?”

“No portals?” Bdubs echoes disbelievingly.

Etho, who’s been listening with rapt attention, tilts his head. “That Bravo guy, he mentioned something about my, uh… my doppelgänger?”

Tango shrugs. “He must’ve met them at some point in the last ten years, yeah. I- I dunno, I never did.” He pauses, creasing his brows as he glances around the circle again. “Actually, I don’t think I ever met any of your guys’s Hels. Or, if I did, I don’t remember.”

That makes Jimmy frown. “What do you mean?”

Tango gives Jimmy a sidelong look. “I uh, I wasn’t really that social for most of my time there, I spent my childhood being a general menace- most kids do, actually. There’s no infrastructure to look after kids, we- they’re basically on their own. So you can imagine it’s- it’s an interesting world to grow up in.” Idly, he kicks at a clump of grass. “Bunch’a little monsters runnin’ around unsupervised, causing chaos, trying not to get brutally killed by hostile mobs and players, it was great.”

Horror seizes Jimmy. “That’s awful.”

“That’s just how it was,” Tango says bluntly. “I mean, try setting something like that up without an admin, right? See how that goes.”

“Wait, Hels doesn’t have an admin?” Grian repeats.

“Nope. At least, not when I was there.” Tango shrugs. “They hadn’t for a long time before I even spawned, so- so the whole place was basically anarchy, every player for themself.”

Aghast, Scar shakes his head. “What in the world…”

“How long did you spend living like that?” Impulse asks softly, his eyes sad.

Tango’s avoiding everyone’s eyes now, staring off somewhere into the middle distance. “Oh, probably ‘til I was like… fifteen or sixteen? Somewhere in the teen stage? That’s when I met Atlas.” A bitter smile splits across his face. “He told me he was recruiting for his redstone company, Hels Tek, and- and of course he threw in lots of cheap flattery, blah blah blah, and in my young, naive stupidity, I fell hook, line, and sinker. Turns out all he wanted me for was a blaze farm.”

There’s a brief silence.

“What?” Jimmy asks, confused. Is that what Atlas had meant about a farm design? Did they just want to force Tango to make farms for them? He knows Tango’s a bit of an innovator in that regard, but that’s an awful lot of trouble to go through for something that could easily be done by someone else.

“He… wanted you to build a blaze farm?” Impulse asks slowly, brows knitting together.

Tango laughs; a sharp, dry exhale. “No, no. Not to build one. To be one.” He reaches a hand up to tap one of the blaze rods hovering around his head. “I uh, I dunno if you guys have noticed, but these things here aren’t just for show. They’re real, functional blaze rods, and they just so happen to be respawnable.”

Jimmy’s stomach drops.

Oh.

(There we go, now they’ve got it.)

(Makes sense, right?)

(Honestly, it’s so obvious…)

The clearing is deathly silent now. All Jimmy can hear is his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Everything is clicking into place, all the strange things he’s seen and heard suddenly making perfect, horrible sense.

They used Tango as a blaze farm. An actual sentient player, reduced to nothing more than a simple mob. A player with complex thoughts and feelings, with creative ideas and passions, with hopes and fears and dreams. They locked him up like an animal to use for profit- and even now, ten years later, he still can’t fully escape from it.

Jimmy has a sinking feeling he knows what Tango’s nightmares are about.

Tango keeps talking. “They didn’t start with that, of course.” There’s a bored sort of quality to his voice, like he’s merely commentating on the weather. “There was this uhh awkward phase where I thought I was helping with redstone experiments, when actually I was the test subject.”

It’s kind of surreal, actually. To be standing here and talking about this so casually. It’s like Jimmy’s having a nightmare he can’t wake up from.

“And once I caught on, well, they uh- they didn’t exactly have to play nice anymore,” Tango laughs. “That’s where I got these fabulous accessories.” He waves a hand, cuff jangling around his wrist.

Jimmy feels sick. They put the cuffs on Tango to lock him in a farm. To think he’s still had those on him, all this time-

“After that,” Tango continues briskly, “it still took, like, another year of testing for them to develop the most optimized farm.” He delivers the information almost disinterestedly, studying his claws. “It was a pretty smart design, nice and compact.”

Jimmy glances around the clearing. Amidst the shocked, horrified faces, he finds Impulse- who seems to be focused on taking slow, deep breaths, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

(Uh oh, no Impulse to the rescue…)

“Wither roses dealt constant damage,” Tango rattles off, “triggering my blaze rods to respawn as quickly as they could be skadoodled away by hoppers, and they had regen on an automatic clock to keep me alive- though there was a backup respawn anchor for any accidents.”

Wither roses. Of course. Jimmy can picture it, in his mind’s eye; Tango chained up among the ashen flowers. What must it have felt like, to be withering all the time? His health constantly wavering between the icy blackness and the regeneration, every minute of every day. How absolutely miserable.

Jimmy somehow finds his voice again. “How… how long did you spend like that?” he asks hoarsely, stepping next to Tango.

Tango won’t look at him- though he’s carefully watching out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, I dunno… four or five months, maybe?”

Months. Jimmy’s heart aches. He can’t even begin to imagine what that existence was like. To spend all day trapped in a farm that’s constantly hurting him- and by wither effect, no less. Not to mention how dehumanizing the entire concept is on its own.

“How’d you get out?” Jimmy asks tentatively. “If- if you don’t mind.”

Tango snorts. “Yeah, so, one day, the charge on my anchor ran out when no one was around, so I was able to kill myself to get back to world spawn. And that’s when the portal to Hermitcraft appeared.”

Etho steps forward. “I thought Hels didn’t allow portals?” he asks, his voice as cool and unreadable as his partially-concealed expression.

Jimmy’s taken aback, his feathers puffing up unwittingly. He doesn’t understand how Etho can grill Tango about technical details in such an upsetting situation. In fact, he’d almost think that Etho doesn’t care at all- except the question makes Tango pause. In his expression, Jimmy can see his mind working, and realizes what Etho has done.

By circling back to a scientific topic, he’s provided Tango a distraction. Something less personal for his mind to focus on, and take everyone else’s focus off of him. Already, Jimmy can see that Tango’s less tense as he starts to explain.

“We didn’t have portals in Hels, but we knew the concept from data-mining.” Tango spreads his hands. “Locked comm commands, hidden recipes. But portals to Hermitcraft are made by the universe, right? So- so whatever is preventing Hels players from making portals, it- the universe can circumvent it. ‘Course, at the time, I didn’t know how it appeared or where it was gonna take me, but I went through. And apparently, somehow, a portal appeared in front of Bravo that took him to Hels at the same time. The universe must’ve tried to send Bravo to Hermitcraft, glitched ‘cause of Hels’s wonky portal technology, and swapped us by mistake.”

Etho hums noncommittally. “So it was an accident.”

(Oh, sure.)

(That’s what they think…)

(Yeah, he ‘accidentally’ didn’t tell anyone the truth for ten years.)

Jimmy angrily pushes the thoughts away. So long as Tango didn’t intend to strand Bravo in Hels, that’s all that matters to him.

Tango gives Etho a funny look. “I mean, that’s not the point? Bravo’s been trapped in Hels ever since, ‘cause of me. This whole invasion thing was my fault, they were tryin’ to get me back for the farm and help Bravo escape Hels, and... I dunno, get back to his life? Or, the life I stole from him ten years ago.” He shrugs. “So yeah. Secret’s out, sorry I’ve been lying to some of you for a decade, now, and- and sorry you all got dragged into my mess. I didn’t mean t- well, anyway, that’s- that’s what happened.”

“God, Tango,” Jimmy breathes, reaching a hand out, “I- I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Tango asks incredulously, jerking away from Jimmy. “Wh- for what? That’s just what Hels is like, okay, if it wasn’t the farm it’d have been some other terrible thing, so y’know, it’s- it’s whatever.” He lets out another harsh laugh, raking his claws through his hair. “If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry, I mean, I- I’ve been lyin’ for ten years and-”

“They put you in a farm?!”

Everyone jumps. Impulse’s voice is suddenly several octaves lower, quite a bit louder, and warped with distortion into something truly demonic. His pupils have eaten up the rest of his eyes, turning them solid black. The teeth bared in a scowl look bigger and sharper than they used to, and the hands at his sides have sprouted claws. His horns and tail have grown longer, too, and Jimmy can see what looks like dark, leathery wings sprouting up behind him. His entire body is outlined by a bright golden glow, like his skin has abruptly become as hot as lava, and the absolute fury in his expression burns even fiercer.

Ah. This must be ‘full demon’ mode.

Bdubs quickly jumps in front of Impulse, grabbing him by the shoulders to ground him. Jimmy instinctively steps in front of Tango, wings snapping out to shield him from view.

But the damage is already done. Jimmy hears footsteps, and by the time he looks over his shoulder, Tango is gone.

“Tango, wait!” Jimmy turns to follow him, but a hand suddenly grabs his arm.

Martyn is there. “Don’t chase him,” he says lowly, “he’ll only panic more.”

Jimmy wants to argue, but the severity in Martyn’s solitary eye sobers him. “Alright,” he relents, folding his wings. “I… guess I’ll give him a few minutes to calm down…”

“Right, then.” Martyn gives a short nod, putting his hands on his hips. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Tell me about it,” Jimmy mutters, gazing back over the clearing.

Impulse is starting to settle back down, Bdubs in front speaking to him in low tones while Etho and Joel each hang onto an arm. It looks like his extra demon-y features are reverting back to his usual state, though he still looks furious.

Grian is sitting against a tree, wings splayed out around him. He’s massaging his temples like he’s warding off a headache, his eyes squeezed shut, groaning, “How did I not see this coming?” while Scar, crouched beside him, rubs his back soothingly.

Ren is pacing back and forth across the clearing. “I should’a killed more of those guys,” he growls, tail lashing, ears pinned flat against his skull.

“Hey, you did all you could,” Bigb says comfortingly. “I was the one that got us killed. If I’d kept my shield up, he wouldn’t have gotten that shot on me.”

“I wish we’d realized that Atlas guy was in charge,” Martyn laments, crossing over to them. “If we’d stopped him from leaving, we could’a gotten a lot more information.”

“I wish we’d known Tango was dealing with all this,” Cleo says bitterly, her crossed arms resting on her knees, Scott leaned against their side. “I mean, honestly… ten years and we never knew? That’s- that’s- that’s rubbish. We’re rubbish friends.”

“Hey, hey now,” Jimmy says, lifting his voice to address the group, “this wasn’t anyone’s fault, okay? You guys have been great friends to Tango- otherwise, he wouldn’t have stuck around for so long, right? It’s- it’s just his way, to try and deal with things on his own without askin’ for help. You know that.”

Cleo exhales slowly. “Yeah, I know. Still sucks.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy glances over at Impulse, who seems to have recovered himself back to normal, sitting cross-legged next to Bdubs. “You alright, Impulse?”

Impulse gives a slight nod, expression guilty. “I’m sorry. I- I almost never lose control like that, I just got so angry… not at Tango!” he quickly clarifies. “Never at him. I- I just… thinking about what they did to him, everything he went through…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Bdubs murmurs, squeezing Impulse’s hand. “That’s- it’s freaking crazy, right? With th- hyaugh, evil Hels world, puttin’ people in uh, in farms… sheesh.”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Jimmy assures him. “I know you didn’t mean anythin’ by it. I’m sure Tango does, too, he was just so on-guard the whole time… he just got spooked, that’s all.”

“Jimmy,” Pearl says urgently, fluttering over to him while tailed by her small pack of wolves, “d’you know- uh, is- is everythin’ Tango said true?” she asks, concerned.

Jimmy swallows. “It’s true. I mean, I- I didn’t know about the farm specifically, but based on what I overheard Atlas say- it makes sense.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And gosh, I didn’t know how awful Hels was, but the way Bravo talked about it…”

“But, um…” Bdubs pipes up hesitantly. “Just- just ‘cause Tango is Bravo’s… uh, Hels… doppelgänger, whatever… doesn’t mean he’s evil, right?”

“I know!” Jimmy cries, throwing his hands up. “That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell him! He doesn’t believe it. He thinks he’s a monster for what he did, killin’ those guys and burnin’ down the ranch.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Martyn scoffs. He’s coaxed a still-seething Ren to lay down now, absentmindedly stroking Ren’s ears as his head rests in Martyn’s lap while Bigb starts to braid his hair. “It was self-defense, yeah? A bunch of strangers invaded your home, and he defended it. There’s nothin’ wrong with that.”

Jimmy has a feeling it’s more to do with how Tango killed them and how the fire got started, plus the fact that Jimmy got hurt in the process. But Tango didn’t share those particular details, so Jimmy’s not about to now. Besides, in his opinion, that doesn’t change anything.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he says ruefully. “But he still blames himself for what happened. For all of it.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Cleo deadpans. Then she pauses. “Or- sorry, his feelings aren’t stupid, but I- I hope he knows that none of us feel that way.”

There are exclamations of agreement and similar sentiments from the rest of the group, which helps ease some of the tightness in Jimmy’s chest. He knows his friends, and knows they’re all good people who wouldn’t judge Tango like that, but it’s been hard not to let Bravo’s words get to him.

“I’ll tell him,” Jimmy promises them. “I’ll try to make him understand, he just- I think he’s always been afraid this day would come, that he’s just been tickin’ down borrowed time.”

“What d’you mean?” Grian asks, rising to his feet. “It’s not like he knew they were coming, right?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s more like… he’s always had that possibility hanging over him.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Impulse says quietly. “The first time we used comm portals to hop to the next Hermitcraft world, you would’ve thought he was being sent to his death. It… makes sense, looking back now.” He puts his head in his hands, sighing. “Man, there were so many signs…”

Grian walks over, pulling his communicator out. “So hang on, the world itself is called Hels, yeah?”

“Yeah, why?” Jimmy asks.

Grian doesn’t respond, silently scanning his comm with his brows knit in concentration. And then something very strange happens. For a moment, it almost seems as if Grian’s eyes flash purple, and Jimmy hears his voice in his head.

(There it is. Hm, firewalled. Gonna be tricky.)

Then Grian pushes his glasses back up, and it passes.

“Right,” he says briskly, putting his comm away. “I can’t find the world, so the portal thing checks out. But since Tango’s cut this meeting a bit short, do you have any other information? Anything the Hels guys might’ve said or done that we should know about?”

Jimmy blinks. Grian’s just looking at him expectantly, giving no indication that there’s anything out of sorts. Jeeze, he’s used to having random thoughts, but the stress of everything must really be getting to him if he’s imagining his friend’s voices, now.

“Um, actually,” Jimmy says, “the collar they put on Tango… he said it’s using some sort of… modified wither rose to dampen his fire? It’s uh, also dampening our soulbond.” He clears his throat, glancing away. “As a- as a fun little side effect.”

“Have you tried removing it yet?” Etho asks, stepping around Impulse with his hands in his pockets.

“I did, earlier,” Impulse chimes in from the ground. “Just with my hands, but uh, he acted like it was hurting him.”

Jimmy nods. “Yeah, Atlas locked it on him with a key, and I’m pretty sure he still had it when he left. So I think that might be the way to get it off.”

“Well,” Joel cuts in, straightening up from where he’d been leaning over Impulse’s shoulder, “surely not the only way, right? I mean, you could always…” He makes a noncommittal noise, and draws a finger across his neck.

Jimmy bristles, wings flaring out. “What, decapitate my soulmate?!”

Joel holds up his hands. “Hey, hey, we don’t know if that thing’ll respawn on him!”

“His cuffs do!” Jimmy points out.

“Yeah, but isn’t it worth a shot?” Joel counters.

“I… I guess,” Jimmy relents, letting his feathers smooth back down. “But I’d rather look into a few other options before jumpin’ straight to decapitation, if you don’t mind. Tango’s been through enough as it is.”

Joel backs off. “Alright, fair enough.”

“Okay…” Grian turns to address the rest of the group. “Well, um… this has been an interesting revelation, to say the least. I think we’re gonna have to do a bit more research to figure out how they got here before we just… open the world back up. So that means we’ll all be stuck here a bit longer, is that- is that okay with everyone?”

“Yes, yes of course,” Bdubs says vehemently.

“Yeah,” Impulse agrees, “whatever it takes.”

Further murmurs of assent ring out from among the group. Everywhere Jimmy looks, he sees faces full of sympathy and understanding, not a single trace of resentment or annoyance to be found. God, he loves his friends.

“Thanks, guys, I appreciate it,” he says gratefully. “I’m gonna go check on Tango, but we’ll keep you updated if anythin’ changes.”

“Right, okay then.” Grian claps his hands together. “Uh- I guess that’s all for now?”

Nodding, Jimmy turns and takes to the sky, leaving spawn behind him.

His mind is still reeling from all the heavy revelations, his stomach twisted up into knots, but he’s at least comforted by knowing that his friends are behind them. Seems that the fears Bravo tried to instill were completely unfounded, nothing more than vicious, desperate attempts to sow division between Tango and the others. Jimmy really shouldn’t have doubted them.

(That went… surprisingly well.)

(Give it time.)

‘Oh, shove off,’ Jimmy thinks.

~*~

He finds Tango back at the spare room in Impulse and Bdubs’s house.

Thank goodness for that. He hadn’t exactly been sure if Tango would consider this a safe place to go. But with the ranch destroyed and the world on lockdown, it’s not like he has a lot of options.

Tango’s sitting on the bed with his back to Jimmy. At a glance, he seems relaxed, but his legs are curled under him in a way that’d allow him to spring up in an instant. And the way his pointed ears swivel back toward Jimmy tells him Tango is quite alert.

(So deceiving…)

“Hey, Tango,” Jimmy says softly. “You alright?”

“Oh, hey.” Tango doesn’t turn around just yet, shrugging a shoulder. “Sure, yeah.”

Jimmy lingers by the bed for a moment, uncertain. “Um, Impulse didn’t mean to lose his temper like that,” he offers. “He wasn’t mad at you, he was mad at the situation, that’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just, in the moment- I- I- thought…” Tango sighs. “Anyway. So- so I guess I should head out, huh?”

Jimmy’s stomach drops. “What? What’re you sayin’?”

“It’s over, right?” Tango asks, his voice tight, shoulders hunched by his ears. “They don’t want me around, and I don’t blame ‘em. I mean, once Grian opens the world again, it’s only a matter of time before another portal from Hels opens up. And- and who’d want to go through all that again, right? So don’t worry, I get it, it was my fault, so-”

“No, Tango, I promise- none of them blame you, alright?” Jimmy sits down on the bed- not too close. “None of them believe what Bravo was sayin’ about you. None of them think you’re some… some evil monster that deserves to be locked up in Hels.”

Tango finally turns around. His body is coiled with all the tension of a drawn arrow. “That’s ‘cause they didn’t see me- what I did- back at the ranch,” he says sharply. “They don’t know the whole story.”

Jimmy rubs the back of his neck, exhaling slowly. He knew Tango would hold that against himself. “Well, I do, and I-”

“No, you don’t.”

Jimmy blinks. “Wh- oh, you mean the Helsknight thing?” he asks, furrowing his brows. “Look, honestly, based on what you told Bravo, I don’t blame you for doing that. You were just scared you’d get sent back, that doesn’t make you evil. I know you-”

“No, you don’t,” Tango says again, more intently. “You don’t know everything about me, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s stomach drops. “Wha’d’you mean?”

Tango smiles without humor, a hard look in his eye. “You wanna know why I like making those- those crazy mob farms? Why I try to kill them in creative, fun ways?” He tilts his head. “Because I like it. I like to make their deaths entertaining. I’ll even sacrifice efficiency for it, I’ll go out of my way to do it. And I- it doesn’t stop there, I’ll kill passive mobs for no reason. Cats, frogs, things that don’t even have drops, for absolutely no reason. That’s not normal.”

Despite himself, Jimmy feels a chill run down his spine. “That’s not… those are just mobs, it’s- it’s not evil…”

(Are you sure about that?)

Tango exhales sharply- a short, bitter laugh. “Okay. You know why practically all my mini games end in death? Huh? You wanna guess?”

Distress shoots through Jimmy. “Tango-”

“I like to watch players die, too,” Tango says. “And I like it to be entertaining. I enjoy it, that’s- that’s just plain sadistic.” He rakes his claws through his hair. “That’s what I am, I’m a- a sadistic monster, okay, I always have been.”

“Stop it, don’t say that!” Jimmy protests, his heart twisting. “You’re not- people actually sign up for those games, you know. And it’s not like death is permanent, it doesn’t matter-”

“So?” Tango interrupts harshly. He jumps off the bed and starts pacing. “What- does that make any difference? Doesn’t matter if people enjoy them, okay, my- my reason for making them is wrong. Designing games is fun, sure, but I- that’s never what it’s been about. I like to make players struggle, and suffer, and die in the end. I like to watch them experience pain and fear in a trap of my own creation. I like the feeling of control it gives me. No matter how you look at it, that’s- I- I’m messed up.”

Jimmy can’t take this anymore. He rises to his feet. “Tango, stop, that’s enough,” he says, his voice stern. “I know I haven’t known you very long, but-”

“Yeah,” Tango snaps, rounding on Jimmy, “you haven’t! That’s the whole problem! I’ve kept a huge chunk of my life secret from you, my own soulmate. I’ve kept it from the Hermits, too- my friends of nearly a decade. I’ve deceived and lied to everyone I ever cared about. I’ve pretended to be this- this benevolent game maker who just wants everyone to have a good time, I’ve kept so much of who I really am hidden ‘cause I knew that if you guys ever saw the real me, you’d hate me.”

Jimmy’s mind is reeling. Tango’s clever eye for game design is something Jimmy’s always loved about him, the way he could create fun challenges even amidst the throes of a death game. After all, the first time they really interacted was when Jimmy died to his ‘Dare to Flare’ challenge back on the Third Life world. And that had been a laughably simple game compared to some of the things he’s done on Hermitcraft.

Even though it ended up costing Jimmy a life, the rush of adrenaline had been thrilling. And even though in hindsight, he knew it was a deliberate ploy by Tango to thin out his competitor’s lives, Jimmy’s never resented him for it.

So to suddenly realize there might’ve been more to it… that Tango might’ve actually enjoyed watching him burn to death- beyond the simple satisfaction of having outsmarted his competition, of course- is… unsettling, to say the least.

(What a start to a relationship!)

(The red flags have been there from day one.)

(A sadist and a liar, lucky you.)

But nevertheless, Jimmy holds his ground. “I don’t hate you.”

Tango tenses. “You should.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Jimmy insists. “I love you, Tango.”

“No, you don’t!” Tango snarls, and the hurt in his voice is raw and ragged and bleeding. His eyes are burning with rage, and Jimmy’s almost certain that if it weren’t for the collar, he’d be on fire right now. “Alright? Just shut up! You love this- this version of me that I’ve presented, okay, this lie I’ve been living. You love Tango the friendly redstoner, who makes ridiculous high-pitched noises when he’s flustered and who’s funny when he’s mad and who can’t fight his way out of a one-block hole. You don’t love the sadistic blaze hybrid that sets things on fire and- and rips people’s throats out with his fucking teeth, don’t be stupid!”

The silence that follows is deafening.

(And there it is!)

(Finally showing his true colors.)

(He did try to tell you…)

For a moment, Jimmy is too stunned to speak. Tango’s never yelled at him before, not seriously, and the sting of his words is almost a physical thing.

Tango seems just as shocked at his outburst as Jimmy is, his face paling as his anger quickly extinguishes. The next words out of Tango’s mouth are almost guaranteed to be an apology, but Jimmy isn’t letting him off that easily.

“Now hang on just a second,” Jimmy says lowly. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel about you. I’m a grown player. I’m not some poor, innocent idiot that you’ve manipulated into loving you, alright? And it hurts that you’d think so little of me, that I’d stand here and just lie about my feelings to you.”

(Ooh, someone finally grew a backbone-)

Jimmy silences the thought, violently forcing it out of his mind. He’s got no patience for that sort of thing right now.

“I’m sorry,” Tango whispers, “I didn’t-”

“And what’s more,” Jimmy continues, gaining steam, “do you really think I’m the type of person to judge someone so harshly for things outta their control? You honestly think I’m some- some shallow, heartless jerk who’d turn on you, just like that? Or- for that matter, you think the Hermits would? After ten years of friendship, you have that little faith in them?”

Tango’s eyes widen. “No, no it’s- it’s not like that,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care that you’re from Hels,” Jimmy presses, taking a step forward. “I don’t care what you did in the past, or that you kept it from me. I don’t care if some random guy thinks you’re just the manifestation of all his evil- frankly, I think that says more about him than it does about you.” He comes to a stop in front of Tango. “I love you. The teeth, the claws, the death fascination or- or whatever you wanna call it- I love all of it. All of you. And I wish more than anythin’ they hadn’t got that damn collar on you, so you could feel that love through our soulbond. But you’ve felt it before, right? Before I knew? Well um, it hasn’t changed, I promise you that.”

Tango stares back up at him. Now that the anger’s gone, he just looks scared. “You don’t-” His voice breaks. “You can’t.”

“Yes, I do,” Jimmy answers, unwavering. As difficult as this conversation has been, this part’s easy. “I promise, cross my heart.”

Tango shudders, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Please,” he whispers, “don’t… I can’t- if I let myself think that but you don’t mean it, I- I can’t handle that. Please. Just tell me now, okay, get it over with…”

Understanding settles over Jimmy. Creasing his brows, he takes a slow, deliberate step forward. “I mean it,” he says, lifting a hand to cup Tango’s cheek.

Tango trembles, but he doesn’t move away. He swallows, licks his lips. “Say it again?” he asks, almost a plea, his eyes darting to take in every inch of Jimmy’s face- like he’s unsure whether he can truly believe what he’s seeing, almost searching for any hint, any trace of doubt in Jimmy’s expression.

There isn’t any. Jimmy leans in. “I love you.”

Something glimmers in Tango’s eyes; a warm light Jimmy hasn’t seen since before the ranch burned.

Something like hope.

Love rises inside Jimmy like a wave- love and the sorrow of shared grief, the fierce determination to withstand it, and the agony of all the past suffering he can’t take away. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating, this sudden rush of emotion. A whirling maelstrom that makes his head spin. But his love burns brightly through it all, a sole lantern against the storm.

Maybe he can’t make Tango believe he’s worthy of love. But he can give it anyway.

Jimmy moves slowly, tilting his face down towards Tango’s. He keeps his eyes open until the very last second, giving Tango plenty of time to move away or say something to stop him, to give any sign at all that he isn’t feeling the same.

There isn’t any. Their lips meet gently, like a familiar greeting. Like the way sunlight falls through the window every morning.

And just like that, the dam breaks. Suddenly Tango’s kissing him back, fervently, pushing against him. Jimmy’s legs hit the bed and buckle, sending him backwards, Tango falling on top of him. His hands cling to Jimmy’s shirt, twisting in the fabric, and his tears wet Jimmy’s face, salt on his tongue. Above the pounding of his heart in his ears, he can just make out the words Tango’s murmuring between kisses, breathless and desperate.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you.”

Jimmy pulls him impossibly closer, whispering, “I never doubted.”

They don’t need words after that.

~*~

“Jeeze, they weren’t kidding,” Tango mutters, taking in the ranch with wide eyes.

The ranch looks even worse than Jimmy had been imagining. Nearly the entire first floor is gone, just a wide-open plot and their lonely front door sitting ajar. Aside from the odd block here and there, it’s just empty. A couple trapdoors from the furniture in the living room. The smooth stone slabs that made up their kitchen countertops. An occasional unbroken glass pane floating where there used to be windows.

It’s not a home anymore, not by any stretch of the imagination.

Up the intact cobblestone staircase, the second floor has only fared slightly better. Some of the walls are still standing, charred and moth-eaten as they are. He thinks most of the bathroom’s interior was spared, as it was primarily made of different stone materials. Polished andesite and the like. The chests in their storage room made it, of course, even though the room itself didn’t. And their bedroom seems to have gotten the worst of it. From down here, he thinks it might just be the bed itself that’s left.

The roof is gone, leaving their cobblestone chimney awkwardly sticking up from the ground to nowhere. The path up to the house and the surrounding fields have been torn up to make a ditch. Necessary as it was, it’s quite the eyesore. And to top it all off, one of the custom trees that Scar helped build has been hastily chopped down, due to its proximity to the nearby forest. There’s just a couple of logs and solitary leaves left floating in the air.

It hurts. Everywhere Jimmy looks, there’s another source of heartache. Another precious memory that’s been turned to ash. It’s almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.

But he’s also aware of Tango standing beside him. He knows how much Tango is already beating himself up for the fire, and the last thing he wants to do is add to that guilt.

Jimmy turns to give Tango a rueful grin. “Talk about your fixer-uppers, ey?”

Tango exhales slowly. “Man, it’s so…” He glances at Jimmy, expression pinched. “I’m sorry, you worked so hard-”

“It’s fine,” Jimmy says, shrugging. “It’s just a building.”

Tango hesitates. “It’s… alright to be upset. This was our home, and I- I got all ‘rahhhrr angry-burny rage mode’ on it and-”

“Not your fault,” Jimmy says, voice gentle but firm. He puts a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s the Hels fellas for attackin’ us in the first place.”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise, scuffing the upturned dirt with his boot. “Sure.”

It’s clear he’s not convinced, but Jimmy leaves it there for now. Their conversation from yesterday is going to take some time to fully sink in. He crosses over to a haphazardly-placed double chest near the front of the ranch and crouches beside it, lifting the lid with a creak.

“Martyn said everything they were able to save is in this chest here, let’s see…” He rummages through the chest’s inventory. A lot of it is random junk; miscellaneous blocks, half-stacks of wheat, dropped weapons and armor from the fight. But there are a few good finds, like some of the clothes from their closet, a couple of flower pots, one of his framed embroidery pieces...

“Oh, hey, look at this!” Jimmy calls excitedly. “My gloves!”

He pulls the gloves out, looking up from the chest to see Tango standing over him. His eyes widen when he sees them- happily surprised at first, and then the familiar dawning of guilt and regret.

“You uh… maybe I should take those back, for now,” Tango says quietly, his ears lowered. “Or- or maybe just forever, yeah.”

“Ey, stop it, no take-backs,” Jimmy chastises him, slipping the gloves on. “Gloves couldn’t have prevented that fire, anyways. And I like wearin’ ‘em, because that way it’s sorta like I’m holdin’ your hand all the time.”

A grin tugs at Tango’s mouth. “Aw, that’s real cheesy, honey,” he teases, even as a faint blush colors his cheeks.

“Yeah, but I mean it,” Jimmy says loftily. “I’m keepin’ them.”

Tango holds his hands up, chuckling. “Alright, alright…” His gaze travels back towards the ranch, up towards the storage room with its rows of chests. “Guess we should still have plenty of materials to rebuild, huh?”

“Should do, yeah,” Jimmy says, straightening up. Having the gloves back is an immediate comfort, despite the fact he’d only gone two days without them. He foldings his arms, gaze sweeping critically over the remains of the ranch. “I guess for now, we’ll just focus on the structure? Y’know, get the place liveable again and worry ‘bout the decor and landscapin’ later…”

“Oh, that’s what you think!”

The loud voice makes them both jump. Jimmy whirls around to see Bdubs- of course, because there’s absolutely no mistaking that voice.

“Bdubs!” Jimmy laughs, clutching his heart. “What- what’re you doin’ here?”

Bdubs puts his hands on his hips. “I- I can’t believe what I’m- ‘no interior decor’, yeah right! You’re not gonna get outta that very- so easy! I tell you!”

Tango snickers. Luckily Bdubs’s sudden appearance hasn’t seemed to cause more than a brief startle. “Oh, yeah? You gonna help out, then, shorty?”

“Hey!” Bdubs barks incredulously- though it’s clear from his expression he’s not really upset. “I’m tryin’ t- augh, n’you- you stu- yes. Yes, yes, I’m here to help, of course. For goodness sakes. I- how kind, are I! Sweet, kind Bdubs…”

“And handsome, too,” Jimmy adds cheekily.

That makes Bdubs beam, puffing his chest out. “Yeahhh, c’mon baby!”

“Don’t encourage him,” Tango groans.

“Oh, stop it!” Bdubs huffs. “Anyway, Impulse would’ve come, of course, but he and Etho- the redstone guys, you know, uh, they’re havin’ a- a- little chat, little brainy-thing… brainstormin’ ‘bout the portal stuff with Grian. But never thy fear! I saw you guys head out and, in my eternal wiseness, have already called in the forcements!”

Jimmy exchanges an amused look with Tango. “Well, any help is appreciated,” he amends.

“Sure about that, Timmy?” calls Joel’s voice, as the man himself appears over the hill.

And he’s not alone. Cleo’s taller figure looms over him, Scott and Pearl walking on either side of her as a small pack of wolves weave between their legs. The trio is followed by Martyn, Bigb, and Ren- the latter seeming to have recovered his friendly disposition and wagging tail. Finally, Scar emerges from behind a tree to round out the group, calling out a cheerful, “Hello there!”

Joel comes to a stop next to Bdubs and claps him on the shoulder. “We figured you two could use the help, what with you not bein’ builders and all.” Cheeky man.

Jimmy snorts. “Gee, thanks,” he says sarcastically. But slights at their building skills aside, he’s actually quite touched.

Tango blinks. “You guys… all came to help out?” he asks, sounding amazed.

“Of course!” Bdubs declares. “We ha- we help!”

Cleo shrugs, giving a hapless grin. “You know, I- I- I really don’t know… why Bdubs invited me? I’m not that great a builder. But I can supervise, I guess? And- and heckle. Always heckle.”

“And reach tha’ tall bits,” Scott offers, lightly elbowing her hip.

“And reach the tall bits,” Cleo laughs. “Right. Yes.”

“It’s the least we can do,” Martyn chimes in, slinging an arm around Bigb’s shoulders, “since that portal stuff is way over my head.”

Bdubs pulls a face. “Uh…” He speaks to Jimmy and Tango behind his hand, despite making no effort to lower his voice at all- for comedic effect. “Normally, I would’ve offered my perfect redstone prowess to uh, to help the other guys out with their little portal thing, you know, but eugh- I knew someone would have ta’ keep all these jokers in line.”

“Ah, of course,” Tango replies sagely.

“Well?” Bdubs turns expectantly to the others, throwing his arms up. “Get movin’ then! Sheesh! Stand around, waitin’ for- for no raisin…”

“Yes, my liege,” Cleo drawls, rolling their eyes.

Ren claps his big paws together. “Yeah, we’re burnin’ daylight, my dudes!”

Pearl’s fuzzy wings unfurl from beneath her red cloak. “Let’s see what we’re workin’ with!” she says excitedly, fluttering up to the storage room.

Just like that, the other Double Lifers descend on the husk of the ranch. Placing down temporary chests and crafting benches, sorting through the remaining resources, filling in the ditch with dirt. Multiple conversations start up immediately as everyone sets to a task, and the atmosphere is comfortable- even if a bit strange.

Jimmy can’t recall a time when this many of them have worked on a project together. Not on Third Life, not on Last Life, not here. Something like this just wouldn’t be possible during a death game. Large gatherings between different groups are always fraught with tension and uncertainty, by the fear of a trap or a backstab or a fight breaking out.

But it’s nice. Pearl is hovering above the second floor, working with Cleo to build the walls back up while Scott prepares some stairs and slabs for detailing. Scar and Bdubs are already bickering about how to do the landscaping while Joel grumbles at them, waist-deep in the ditch with Bigb and Martyn placing dirt. Ren’s started tearing down the damaged trees, clearing room for replanting, and Pearl’s wolves mill about, filling the air with curious sniffs and yips.

Tango’s watching the scene unfold with wide eyes, and it suddenly occurs to Jimmy that this is the most people Tango’s been around since the difficult conversation at spawn. Impulse was checking on them throughout the rest of the day, of course, and a few of the other players stopped by now and again, but not in big groups or anything.

Jimmy steps closer to Tango. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.

Tango looks at him in surprise. A smile spreads across his face, and he takes Jimmy’s hand. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, it is.”

Jimmy smiles back. “Then let’s get in there.”

~*~

Jimmy lets out a low whistle. “Dang, this looks even better than before!” he says, craning his head to look around the room.

After a full day of building and the gradual dispersal of the other Double Lifers, Jimmy and Tango are now seeing their new bedroom for the first time. They were around for the bulk of the structure building, but once it came time for the interior, Bdubs and Scar had insisted it be a surprise. Everything about it is perfect, from the custom furniture to the quilted wool rug to the fancy frame Scar built around their double-wide bed.

Tango clears his throat. “Maybe, uh- maybe we can just…” He kicks one of the beds with the toe of his boot. “... scooch this over a little…”

“Nope,” Jimmy declares, sweeping Tango off the floor and onto the bed. “Nice try, mate, but you’re stayin’ right here next to me.”

“Okay, okay, fine! I ju- don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Tango huffs, but he’s grinning as he says it.

~*~

“Alright, fellas,” Grian says, clapping his hands together, “here’s what we’ve got so far…”

Jimmy leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Tango is a little tense beside him- probably just nerves. But it could be worse. They’re gathered in the living room of Impulse and Bdubs’s house; Grian perched on the arm of the sectional across from Jimmy and Tango, Impulse and Etho sitting adjacent to them. The familiar setting and fairly limited company seems to have helped put Tango more at ease for what might end up being a tricky conversation.

“We’re... pretty sure we know how the Hels peeps got here,” Grian continues, “but there are a few things we need to clarify, first.” He glances at Etho, inclining his head. “Etho, you wanna explain?”

“Oh yeah, yeah.” Etho stands up. “Tango, may I see your comm, please? I uh, just need to look at it for a minute.”

Tango blinks. Anxiety flashes across his face for just a brief second before disappearing. “Oh. Uh, sure?” He pulls the item from his inventory, holding it out.

Etho takes the communicator. “So,” he begins, sitting back down, “you said that in Hels, players can’t make portals with their communicators, right?”

Tango gives a short nod. “That’s right. That comm isn’t the one I spawned with, they took that from me at Hels Tek. X made me a new one, after I got to Hermitcraft.” He gives a dry laugh. “I told him- I told him I lost it. Which, I mean, that’s- it’s technically not a lie, just... not the whole truth.”

Jimmy gives him a sympathetic look. He might no longer be worried that the others will reject him, but this still can’t be easy to talk about.

Etho studies the communicator, his mismatched eyes narrowed in concentration. “So after you got a new comm, you were able to use it to make portals?”

“Yeah,” Tango says, “it uh, it’s taken me to each Hermitcraft world and everything in between, no problem. Hubs, solo worlds, creative- you name it.”

Etho hums. “Can you use your comm to travel to Hels?”

“No.” Tango glances away. “I’ve looked for it, a few times. Never shows up.”

That brings a couple more questions to mind, but Jimmy files them away for later.

“Interesting.” Etho seems to be delving deep into the communicator’s hardware, typing rapidly. “So uh, the portal issue isn’t centered on players that spawn in Hels, just their communicators. And since overworld communicators can’t find Hels, there must be something about the world itself preventing it.”

Tango knits his brows together. “I suppose…?”

It’s at this point that Grian leans forward. “Have either of you heard about firewalls?” he asks.

Tango shakes his head, but Jimmy’s heart jolts. He has heard that word before; just the other day, when he thought he heard Grian’s voice in his head. But that’s not exactly something Jimmy wants to bring up right now. Or ever, maybe. His weird, random, intrusive thoughts don’t need to be anyone else’s problem.

“Um…” Jimmy pretends to think about it for a moment. “I think I’ve heard the term somewhere before, but I- I dunno what that actually means.”

“Right.” Grian spreads his hands. “So firewalls are a sort of added security measure that admins can use when making a new world. It’s like, an impenetrable barrier ‘round the world that makes it basically impossible for anyone unauthorized to join via portal.”

“Wait, really?” Tango asks, eyes widening. “What- why haven’t I heard about this? Do all worlds have these?”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “Well, firewalls are kinda outdated. Developments in server security and comm travel have basically rendered them obsolete. I mean, when’s the last time you heard of a private world being raided, besides ours?” He shrugs. “Plus, it’s a real tedious process to set one up, so they aren’t used often. Mostly for multiplayer worlds that are invite-only, if an admin is particularly concerned about hackers.”

Jimmy holds out a hand. “So wait, hang on, this- what’s this got to do with our situation?”

Impulse catches his eye. “If you try to join a firewalled world without permission, it doesn’t show up on your comm.”

“Oh,” Tango says, realization dawning in his expression. “You think Hels has a firewall?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of,” Grian says, nodding. “However, it’s a bit odd, ‘cause firewalls are usually just one-way… meaning that they keep players out, but they don’t stop players from leaving. So if that’s what’s goin’ on with Hels, it’s a firewall unlike any I’ve ever heard of- where it’s meant to keep players in, too. I’m not exactly sure if that’s why comms made in Hels can’t make portals, or if that’s due to something else entirely, but uh, that’s my best guess.”

Tango runs a hand through his hair. “That’s… I mean, this is the first I’ve heard of firewalls, but that doesn’t sound impossible…”

“So,” Jimmy speaks up hesitantly, “so how did the Hels Tek guys open a portal here?”

“How, indeed?” Etho repeats, finally looking up from Tango’s communicator. “Well, we know the portal was red, not purple. That’s like a comm portal, the way their light syncs up with the world they lead to. But uh, you know, the players coming through had items and armor on them, and they didn’t show up at world spawn. Their spawns didn’t reset, either, they uh- they kept spawning back on the other side. That makes me think this was actually a hacked nether portal, not a comm portal.”

Tango frowns. “Hang on, we- we didn’t have nether portals in Hels, either. I mean, how- there was no point, the nether and the overworld were combined into one realm.”

“Right.” Etho’s got that look in his eye- the glint of an idea about to take off. Jimmy’s seen it in Tango countless times. “You know how nether portals work?”

Tango coughs into his fist. “Oh, right, of course I know all the uh, super technical skadoodle bits, but- but maybe you should go over it.” He jerks his head towards Jimmy and Grian. “You know, for these uh, non-redstone people here.”

“Please do,” Jimmy chuckles.

Etho’s eyes crinkle upwards, like he’s smiling behind his mask. “Basically, they grab the coordinates they’re made on and translate it to nether coords, and vice versa. From what you’ve told me about Hels, being a fusion of the nether and overworld realms, a nether portal couldn’t work ‘cause it’d be like… giving it coords to a place it already is? It’d just crash and never ignite. But if you gave a nether portal frame coordinates to a different place… like, say, a different world…”

Even with Jimmy’s scarce knowledge of portals, it’s easy enough to catch Etho’s meaning.

“That’s crazy,” Tango protests. “How’d they- how could they possibly have gotten coordinates to Double Life?”

“I don’t think they did. I think they got coords to you.” Etho leans forward. “Think about it. The portal didn’t open at spawn, it opened down the hill from the ranch- where you were. I think that was intentional, considering you’re the whole reason they came.”

Jimmy’s mind is spinning. “But... how? And how’d you figure all this out?”

Etho shrugs a shoulder. “Uh, educated guess? Like, just kinda based on the things Bravo said, and what Tango’s told us about Hels and the players it spawns. But um, looking at his comm just now basically confirms it for me.”

“Wait, really?” Tango asks, surprised. “How?”

Etho tilts his head. “Communicators are pretty special items. They’re unique to the player they spawn with- even a replacement communicator like this one. It might not have the hard locks on it that prevent it from summoning portals, but it’s still unique to you. And based on its data, I can tell your player data is a little different. I think it has to do with you being from Hels.”

Tango hesitates. “Okay, and…?”

“If you and Bravo are really counterparts,” Etho says, “then I’d expect your data to be similar. Like, the same word in different languages, in a metaphorical sense. So if Bravo’s data was fed into a nether portal, it’d translate it to your data, and open a portal at your coords. Plus or minus a few blocks, probably.”

Jimmy knits his brows together. “So… you’re sayin’ they used Bravo to open a portal to Tango?” he surmises.

Etho nods. “I’d need Bravo’s comm or a look at his player data to confirm, but that’s my best guess, yeah.” He holds the communicator back out to Tango.

Tango stashes the communicator in his inventory. “So wait, what about- how does the firewall thing factor in, here?” he asks. “If it stops comm portals, wouldn’t it stop a nether portal, too?”

“Yes and no,” Grian answers. “A firewall works by constantly scanning for portals. If it finds one trying to form, it’ll crash it. If a nether portal was used to travel between different worlds, rather than two realms on the same world, a firewall would recognize it all the same.”

“But,” Etho continues, “if they somehow figured out how to stabilize the portal… like, by sending a constant stream of updates… it’d constantly reset the scanner of the firewall. Sort of like an update suppressor. That way, the uh, the firewall can never actually register the portal as a problem and shut it down. So that’d be one way they could keep a hacked nether portal open, even in the face of a firewall.”

Tango exhales slowly. “Okay…” he says, “and how do we stop them from doing that ever again?”

Impulse winces. “That, we’re not sure about. I mean, if Bravo wasn’t there for them to grab a signal from, I guess that’d stop them. However they built a portal, it probably needs his data to function.”

“Oh, well, great.” Tango throws his hands up. “No way he won’t help them again, he hates my guts. Only reason they haven’t come back yet is ‘cause Grian locked the world down, I- I guarantee it. But we can’t just all stay locked in here forever, you’ve all got lives and other worlds to get back to.”

Jimmy frowns, putting a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “Tango, anyone who’s got a problem with you has a problem with all of us.”

“For sure,” Grian agrees.

“Besides,” Impulse says, shrugging, “not to toot our own horns or anything, but I think we handled ourselves just fine against them.”

“You mean Pearl’s wolves handled them,” Tango says flatly. “And you guys had the element of surprise. I guarantee the only reason they went down so easy is ’cause they weren’t expecting much resistance. They show up again, now knowing what they’re up against, and that’s- that’s gonna turn out a whole lot differently.” He crossed his arms. “I need to leave, before Grian opens the world back up.”

“And what, just wait for them to come after you?” Jimmy demands, his wings puffing up. “Absolutely not.”

Tango makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. “It’s- you understand it’s only a matter of time, right?” he stresses. “Maybe it won’t be right after Grian lifts the lockdown, okay, maybe it’ll be days, or weeks, or months. Either way, it’ll happen eventually, and when it does… whether it’s- if that happens here, or back on Hermitcraft, or the next Life world... the result will be the same. People I care about will get caught in the crossfire, I- I’m not lettin’ that happen again.”

Jimmy pauses, wings drooping. The distress in Tango’s voice is sobering. There’s no question that Tango cares fiercely about his friends, and the guilt for putting them in harm’s way must be staggering. But still, he insists, “We don’t mind stayin’ put-”

“For how long, though?” Tango asks pointedly. “I can’t ask you guys to stay here forever. Like, I- I can’t stress enough how obsessive Atlas is. He came for me after ten years, okay, he’s not gonna just give up or lose interest. There will always be the risk of them opening another portal to me, so long as Bravo is in Hels.”

“So what if Bravo wasn’t in Hels?” Impulse cuts in.

Tango gives him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

Impulse’s eyes are alight with excitement as he gains steam with his idea. “What if we went to Hels and got him out? That way, he’s not mad at you for being stuck there anymore, right, and Hels Tek can’t use him to make another portal.”

“What, you mean we open a portal to Hels?” Tango asks, raising his eyebrows. “I- I thought we already established that our comms can’t take us there, what- how are we supposed to get there?”

“The same way they got here,” Etho says. “We use your data to open a hacked nether portal to Bravo. Ahah.”

As intimidating as the prospect of encountering Hels Tek again is, Jimmy has to admit it’s probably the only solution. They can’t just ignore the problem and hope it goes away, not if it means Tango could get randomly attacked at any moment. And with all of the Double Lifers together, they stand a much better chance of succeeding.

“That’s a great idea!” Jimmy exclaims. “We grab him, shake Atlas down for the key to the collar while we’re at it, and get out. Problem solved.”

Tango doesn’t seem nearly as enthused. “No way. Absolutely no way. That’s- that’s way too dangerous, if you guys get stranded there- and Atlas is already looking for more hybrids to make farms with, he was about to take Jimmy for a feather farm!”

A brief silence follows this revelation.

Grian grimaces, ruffling his wings. “Oh, woof.”

“What?” Impulse asks, taken aback. “That’s why he had Jimmy chained up, too?”

Jimmy blinks. “Oh, is that what he meant?”

“What’d you th- you didn’t know?” Tango asks incredulously.

Jimmy holds his hands up. “Hey, hey, I didn’t spend much time thinkin’ about what he said to me!” he says sheepishly. “I was more concerned about you.”

Tango pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh. Oh, great. Well yeah, that’s what he wanted you for, to stick you in a feather farm skadoodler for all eternity.”

Jimmy swallows. No wonder Tango’s been so against the idea of them going against Hels Tek again. Death is no big deal- they’d simply respawn. Few injuries cause lasting damage. But being trapped in a farm like that, with no means to escape…

“Well,” he says, “that still doesn’t change my mind. You’re his number one target, okay, you can’t go without backup.”

“No,” Tango huffs. “Let me do it. I- I know Bravo shouldn’t just be left there forever, but that’s not your guys’ faults! It’s my life, my mistake, you guys shouldn’t be putting yourselves at risk like that-”

“Tango,” Jimmy interrupts, “we’re not gonna make a portal to Hels and just send you through alone-”

“Well, I’m not letting you guys come with me!” Tango shoots back. “Most of you guys are hybrids or monsters, too, and I’m not gonna risk Atlas turning you into farms.”

Grian clicks his tongue. “Ey, we wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says, “and what’s the alternative? You just take off to some solo world until Hels Tek comes a’knockin’?”

Tango shrugs. “I mean, I’d be fine with that-”

“No,” Jimmy says firmly. “I’m not lettin’ that happen. This is our only option, to put this problem to bed forever, and we stand the best chance if we do it together. We have to take it.” He grabs Tango’s hand. “Please, Tango.”

Tango hesitates, staring at their intertwined hands.

Now more than ever, Jimmy desperately wishes that he had some sense of what Tango’s thinking- even just the slightest insight to his thoughts, the faintest impression of an emotion through their soulbond. Especially since he’s had his confidence in reading Tango so thoroughly shaken over the last week. It’s scary to consider that he might not know Tango nearly half as well as he should, that Tango can so effectively mask his true feelings even from him.

“... fine,” Tango says, after a small eternity. “Fine, okay, we- let’s plan an invasion to Hels, sure.”

Jimmy gasps. “Really?”

“But,” Tango says warningly, “we gotta go about this extremely carefully, alright? No willy-nilly ‘rushing in blindly without a plan’ nonsense. And- and once we’re there, if at any point I tell you guys to flee, you- you best be fleein’, got it? With extra flee. No stupid heroics of noble stupidness.”

It’s a chance. That’s better than nothing. “Yes, alright!” Jimmy cheers. “Thank you!”

(Yay, we’re going to Hels- said no one ever.)

(Do they know what they’re getting into?)

(Oh boy, here we go.)

Etho shrugs. “Whatever you say, Tango, you’re the uh, you’re the Hels expert, here.”

Impulse folds his arms. “That’s a dirty condition you kinda tacked on the end, there,” he mutters, “but I’ll accept it.”

“Alright then.” Tango gives a tired sigh, but the corners of his mouth are curling into a smile. “I- I guess we’re doin’ this. We’ve got some room in the basement at the ranch, we can build it there.”

“Excellent.” Grian grins. “Let’s build a portal to Hels, fellas.”

~*~

Jimmy’s startled awake by a shout.

Heart pounding, he squints into the dark room. As his eyes struggle to adjust in the scarce light, he can just barely make out Tango sitting upright in bed. His rapid, shallow breaths wheeze through clenched teeth, faint sparks emitting from his dim blaze rods as they try to ignite.

“Tango,” Jimmy whispers, sitting up, “you okay?”

Tango’s breathing hitches. Then he turns to collapse against Jimmy’s chest, clinging fiercely to his shirt. His entire body is trembling. “Nightmare,” he manages to get out.

Jimmy’s heart twists. He knew it was only a matter of time, but that doesn’t make it any easier to see. Gently, he wraps his arms around Tango, then his wings for good measure. “I got ya,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”

Tango tucks his face against Jimmy’s shoulder and falls silent. Maybe he’ll want to talk about it in the morning, maybe he won’t. But for now, Jimmy just holds him, and hopes that’s enough.

~*~

Jimmy stares at the redstone circuitry laid out before him. “I understand none of this.”

Though it’s only been a few days since they started work on the portal, they’ve already made a lot of progress. Impulse and Etho have been over basically around the clock, with Bdubs and Joel tagging along more often than not. They’ll watch the redstoners work until they get bored, and inevitably wander upstairs to bug Jimmy. Grian checks in on them every now and then, and the other Double Lifers have popped by for little visits, so it’s been a lot of activity at the ranch. Lots of people coming and going.

It’s strange, but not necessarily in a bad way. Almost like an actual pleasant community feeling. Neighbors helping neighbors and all that.

A dedicated digging session has left them with a bit more space in the basement, allowing them to section off a separate room from Tango’s sugar cane farm. They finished it with a stone floor and simple wooden walls at Bdubs’s insistence (he considered it unacceptable to just leave it all as freshly-dug dirt). An obsidian portal frame (complete with corners at Etho’s insistence) stands empty against the back wall, leaving abundant floor space for the redstone- of which there is plenty.

Redstone dust wires criss-cross through rows of repeaters and hopper lines. It’s all far beyond Jimmy’s capacity to understand, of course, but even Tango seems a bit baffled. He’s claimed many times that his understanding of redstone is surface-level at best, and that his real skill comes in applying the various components and systems in creative ways. But he’s at least been able to help with the construction, the actual placing of redstone components.

“Right,” Tango laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s- lemme see if I’ve got this right…” He points at a long line of redstone dust. “Main circuit to the portal.”

Impulse nods. “Yep.”

Tango steps gingerly around the redstone, gesturing towards a rather complex looking amalgamation of observers and comparators. “This nonsense over here will turn my skadoodle bits into a fireable signal.”

Etho, leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, chuckles. “Pretty much.”

“And this,” Tango waves at the hoppers, “will count out the final coords before they hop on the main bus line to the portal.”

Jimmy nods hesitantly. “Okay… okay, cool, so- so is it done, then?”

“Not quite,” Impulse says. “We need a player detector.”

Tango creases his brows together. “What, like a- like a pufferfish? A skulk sensor?”

“No, more like a- a whole separate system,” Etho explains. “It’s more than just registering your presence. We need something that can read your data, pick out your coordinates, and send them to the portal for translation to Bravo.”

Tango exhales slowly. “That… sounds pretty complicated.”

“Oh, it will be,” Impulse says, folding his arms. “I mean, just think about how much data each player contains, right, all the codes that dictate our behavior and biology… we don’t wanna overload this thing, so it’ll require some heavy-duty filtering.”

“Not only that,” Etho continues, “but uh, if that firewall thing turns out to be a problem, we’re gonna have to figure out a way to stabilize the portal, too. That’ll take some tinkering with different power sources til we find the exact right input to override the firewall’s checker.”

Jimmy winces; he’d been hoping for a quicker solution. It’s already been over a week since the invasion, and he knows Tango hates being stalled. The sooner they get this problem taken care of, the sooner they can stop worrying and get back to their normal lives. Jimmy himself doesn’t have anywhere else to be, but the other Double Lifers do. And even if they don’t mind the unexpected stay-cation, it definitely bothers Tango that their lives have been disrupted for his sake. Goodness knows he’s already got enough of a guilt complex.

But Tango simply gives a bemused smile. “Well, let’s get started, then.”

~*~

“Are we really sure we wanna do this?”

Jimmy winces at Tango’s tone. “I know, I know,” he says regretfully, “it wasn’t my favorite idea either. But if it can get that collar off’a you, we gotta try, right?”

Trying to remove the collar manually had resulted in a sharp, shooting pain through Tango’s neck at the slightest movement. Trying to remove it with redstone had proven unsuccessful- clearly, it was designed to be insulated against any outside signals. Trying to pick the lock had resulted in nothing but a lot of frustration. So that left them with their last resort.

They’ve moved outside, round the back of the ranch, to avoid getting blood stains all over their newly refurbished house. A random bed has been placed down to provide them with a quick and easy respawn, their items temporarily stowed in a chest. Impulse holds a Sharpness V sword, tail flicking as he watches them apprehensively.

“I’m only gonna do this if you’re okay with it,” he tells Tango seriously. “We can go back to the drawing board, come up with some other things to try…”

“No, no,” Tango shakes his head, “I don’t- you shouldn’t be wasting time on this, you’re already working pretty much nonstop on the portal.”

The frustration in his voice is evident. Impulse frowns. “I don’t mind…”

“Well, I do!” Tango says, crossing his arms and glancing away.

Jimmy exchanges a look with Impulse before putting a gentle hand on Tango’s shoulder. “I know there’s a chance it won’t work,” he starts quietly, “and we’ll have killed ourselves for nothin’. No one likes gettin’ their head cut off. But it’ll be over quick, we’ll respawn straight back here, and then at least we’ll know we tried everything.”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise. “Hey, I- I’m not afraid of a little decapitation, alright, I just… I feel kinda bad putting you through this, you know?” Guilt creeps into his expression. “It’s not your neck that the stupid thing is stuck on. You shouldn’t have to-”

“We’re in this together,” Jimmy tells him steadily. “So if you’re willin’ to try it, I’m happy to die along with ya.”

Tango manages a faint laugh. “Jeeze, honey, you- you don’t have to make it sound so dramatic. We aren’t on a three-life system anymore.”

Jimmy shrugs. “Well, that’s how I feel! Honestly, if there’s even a chance this’ll get that thing off’a you, I’m down.”

“Alright.” Tango takes a quick, steadying breath. “Okay, I wanna try.” He glances at Impulse. “Uh- commence the chop-ificating, then, I guess.”

Impulse nods; he’s keeping his expression and general demeanor calm, reassuring. “Okay, then. So here’s what I’m gonna do…” He carefully sets the edge of his blade along the rim of Tango’s collar, so that the metal is just barely touching skin, and then pinches the collar between the fingers of his other hand. “I’ll give it one quick, clean slice, and try to pull the collar off your body, okay?”

Tango tilts his chin up. “Okay,” he whispers. He’s nervous, now; every muscle in his body is rigid.

Jimmy reaches for his hand. “I’ll be right there with ya.”

Impulse tightens his grip on the sword. “Tango, gimme a countdown whenever you’re ready.”

“Alright.” Tango exhales shakily, closing his eyes. “Five... four... three... two...”

Jimmy closes his eyes and squeezes Tango’s hand.

“One.”

Pain slices across Jimmy’s neck- an intense, searing burn, like he’s swallowed a bucket of lava. There’s a rush of vertigo, the world spinning off-kilter around him. He’s instantly thrust into darkness, that all-consuming void with which he’s rather familiar.

And then it’s over. He’s back, sitting on the bed with Tango in a piled heap of limbs.

Jimmy sucks in a breath. Now that everything’s stopped spinning, he can see that the collar is still around Tango’s neck.

“Oh, babe,” he murmurs, sweeping Tango into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Tango’s laugh is muffled against his shoulder. “Worth a shot, right?”

Impulse, standing a few feet away and holding a bloody sword, looks dismayed. “No good,” he says as he walks over, putting the sword away. “Your body respawned before I could pull the collar off. But uh, that’s… not the only issue.”

That makes Tango look over. “What is it?”

“I caught a look at the inner face of it,” Impulse says, frowning, “the part that’s actually touching your skin? And, um… it looks like there’s a bunch of little… spikes on the inside of the collar?”

“Spikes?” Jimmy repeats, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I don’t know how else to describe them?” Impulse rubs the back of his neck. “Um, they’re black in color, not super big... probably thinner than my pinky finger but not like, needles or anything…”

“Oh.” Tango blinks. “It’s the thorns. They’re wither rose thorns. That’s how it works.”

Jimmy’s heart jolts. “What?”

Tango spreads his hands. “When Atlas locked the collar, it must’ve caused a- a bunch of thorns to pop out and dig into my neck. But they aren’t- they don’t have the full strength of wither rose, so that’s why I’m not getting the full wither effect, and after a while, you know, they sorta- they numb the area, so I don’t feel them. But when we start yanking on the collar, it forces them deeper into my skin, so it hurts.”

“Oh... my gosh,” Jimmy breathes, aghast. “That’s- that’s horrible!”

The whole concept of the collar is already inhumane- to treat a fellow sentient player like a simple animal. But this? This is just plain evil.

Impulse seems to be trying very hard not to get upset again. “Well, then,” he says, voice tight. “That rules out my next suggestion, which was to just go at it with a few sharp axes. I don’t wanna like, hammer those thorns deeper into your neck...” His expression turns thoughtful. “What if we try and get something sharp between your neck and the collar, slice off the thorns all the way around? Then we could-”

“No,” Tango interrupts. “Look, I- I appreciate the help, but if we tweak this thing the wrong way, it could probably jab an artery, or puncture my trachea, and then I’d respawn and be right back at square one again! No, I- I think we’re done.”

Impulse looks like he wants to argue, but Jimmy catches his gaze, giving him an imploring look.

“Alright,” Impulse relents. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says, “we’ll get that collar off, I promise.”

“It’s fine.” Tango’s avoiding Jimmy’s eyes. “It... might not be the worst thing, you know, to have my fire locked down. Considering our fancy new house and all.”

Oh, they can’t have that. Jimmy puts a hand on his shoulder. “Tango,” he says seriously, “your fire is a part of you, and I’m not gonna rest til we’ve got it back.”

Tango sighs, but when he looks up, his eyes are fond. “I know.”

Impulse exhales slowly. “Do you... wanna try and get the cuffs off, then?” he offers.

“What?” Tango jolts. “Why? They aren’t hurtin’ anything.”

Impulse holds up his hands. “Hey, it’s okay, I just thought... if they’re from that terrible place, maybe you’d wanna get rid of ‘em?”

“And y’know,” Jimmy chimes in, “it’d be a lot easier for someone else to crack them off ya, couple good swings with an axe, maybe…”

“That won’t work,” Tango says stiffly. “They’ve been on me for so long now, been through so many respawns that if I’m not the one to remove them, it- they’ll just keep coming back.”

Impulse inhales through his teeth, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Oh, man.”

“Are you sure?” Jimmy asks, his heart sinking. He isn’t overly familiar with the universal rules that determine what does and doesn’t respawn along with a player, but Tango seems pretty certain.

“Yeah. They’re basically part of my data now.”

“Oh.”

The unspoken question is glaringly obvious: ‘why haven’t you removed them yet, then?’ The cuffs seem just as well-made as the collar, but surely there’s a way to cut through them. At least, he should’ve been able to find a way sometime during the last ten years- even if he wasn’t comfortable asking any of the Hermits to help him.

But Jimmy can tell Tango’s already hit his limit for today. It’s a subject he’s always avoided discussing in the past, so they’ll just have to wait until he’s ready.

(Oh, gonna make that mistake again?)

‘Shut up,’ Jimmy thinks.

~*~

“Need some help, hun?”

“Ack!” Jimmy gives a start, accidentally yanking out the feather he’d been teasing. He whirls around. “Tango!”

Tango holds his hands up. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Jeeze,” Jimmy laughs, catching his breath, “I- I thought you guys were still working on the portal!”

“Well, yeah,” Tango says, closing the door behind him, “but Etho thinks we need a redstone ore block and we didn’t have any layin’ around, so he and Impulse went mining.” He crosses over to sit on the bed, curiously studying the feathers strewn about. “Doin’ some preening?”

“Um...” Jimmy ducks his head sheepishly. “Yeah, just- just the uh, burned ones... they’re startin’ to itch.”

Tango gives him a sad smile. “Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to hide it from me, I- I won’t get all weird mega guilt-trippy about it.”

Jimmy softens. “I just... I know you’ve been beating yourself up about it, that’s all.” He gazes at the burned feather in his hand. “It was an accident. I don’t blame you.”

“I know.” Tango runs a gentle hand over one of Jimmy’s wings. “Can… can I help?”

Jimmy smiles. “Sure.”

~*~

“Wait, are you serious?” Tango asks, eyes wide. “You think the portal’s ready to go? Right now?”

Grain nods. “Yeah, I do.”

Jimmy glances between them with raised eyebrows. They’d called Grian over for a little update on the current state of the portal project- now complete with the fancy player detector system that the redstoners have been painstakingly building over the past week. But once Etho explained that the final step was stabilization, Grian had dropped a bomb on them.

“I’ve uh… been doin’ some research,” Grian continues, “and I’m pretty sure that Hels has a firewall that’s just been sorta… inverted? It’s still a one-way barrier, it just stops players from making portals out rather than in. ‘Course, it’s still inaccessible by comm portal, but our little set-up here should circumvent that. Once we’ve gotten the portal to lock onto Bravo’s coords, there shouldn’t be anythin’ stopping it from forming.”

Etho scratches the side of his mask. “Well, if we don’t have to stabilize the portal, that’ll definitely simplify things,” he says. “We might actually have everything we need already.”

“Couldn’t hurt to fire it up,” Impulse agrees, glancing at Tango. “Just to give it a little test drive? If we do get a portal open, we can easily shut it down right after. We don’t have to actually go through it.”

Tango hesitates. “But wouldn’t Grian have to lift the lockdown?”

“Yeah, I will,” Grian amends. “But I’ve actually just finished settin’ up a firewall, so when I lift the lockdown, we’ll still be protected. We’ll be able to leave through any portal we want, but no one else can get in without bein’ on the whitelist.”

“Wait, really?” Tango looks surprised. “Why- did you let the others know? I- I’m sure they’ll wanna get back to their other worlds.”

“Ey, I only just finished it!” Grian defends. “I wanted to let you lot know first, so there wouldn’t be any panic or confusion if people started randomly leavin’ through portals. I’ll inform the others, but uh, I’m pretty sure they’ll wanna just stick around til we get this done. Especially if the portal’s ready to go. All that’ll be left to do is come up with our plan of attack, and we’ll need all hands on deck for the actual mission.”

“Yeah,” Impulse says easily, “Hermitcraft can wait.”

Tango chews his lip. “I… I guess we can try it,” he relents.

“Great!” Grian pulls his communicator out. “Gimme a second to lift the lockdown, okay…”

Jimmy turns to Tango, taking him by the hands. “Hey, is this alright?” he asks softly. “We don’t have to try it today if you don’t wanna.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” Tango assures him, squeezing his hands. “It’s just- it’s a bit sooner than I was expecting, you know? But this is good. I mean, if this works, then this whole business will finally be over.”

Jimmy’s eyes trace the collar around Tango’s neck. “Yeah. And not a moment too soon.”

Obviously they’ve still got a pretty significant task ahead of them. It’ll be no easy feat to storm Hels Tek, not if they’ve got as much muscle backing them up as they did for the invasion. Atlas is one slippery fella, and it might be hard to get Bravo to listen to them long enough to cooperate. But getting the portal in working order is another hurdle down, so they can shift gears towards the impending mission. And once that’s done, there’ll no longer be a threat hanging over them.

Suffice to say, Jimmy’s looking forward to getting back to his domestic bliss.

“Okay,” Grian says, glancing up, “lockdown is officially lifted. Go ahead.”

“Alright, Tango.” Etho pushes away from the wall. “Uh, just hop onto the redstone ore block whenever you’re ready, I guess? Everything should be in place.”

Tango exhales shakily, looking nervous, but he manages to give Jimmy a smile. “Here goes nothin’...”

Turning away, he steps onto the redstone ore block, which immediately lights up. It starts a sort of ripple effect along the dust that connects it to the rest of the redstone, triggering all kinds of ticking and flashing. It’s all Jimmy can do to follow the signal as it travels towards the portal frame-

Static fills the air, and the portal ignites. Swirling red light fills the frame.

“Oh, nice,” Grian breathes.

“Yes!” Impulse cheers. “We did it!”

“Okay, uh, Tango?” Etho nods at him. “Go ahead and step off the block, now.”

Tango doesn’t respond. He’s staring at the portal with an unreadable expression clouding his gaze, almost as if in a trance.

Jimmy quickly hurries to his side. “Tango,” he murmurs, gently shaking his arm, “come on.”

“Huh?” Tango jolts. “Oh, oh right, sorry!”

He steps aside, and the portal remains lit. Impulse grins. “Alright, looks like we’re good,” he says, stooping over to hit a button next to the portal. A piston extends across the redstone line, and the portal extinguishes.

Jimmy lets out a breath of relief. An irrational part of him had been worried that Hels players would immediately start pouring through. “You okay?” he asks Tango quietly.

Tango nods. “Yeah, sorry,” he says with an apologetic smile. “I’m fine, it just… kinda hit me all at once.”

“Yeah,” Impulse says, “I definitely wasn’t expecting to have a working portal today, either. But hey, good job guys!”

“Yeah, nicely done, fellas,” Grian says, sounding pleased. He starts typing on his communicator. “I’m gonna let the others know we’ve got the portal workin’, and tomorrow… we’ll all meet to start planning our invasion of Hels. I’m sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with a solid plan to get Bravo, get that key from Atlas, and get out.”

Tango snorts. “Oh, sure. Easy peasy.”

“Don’t worry,” Jimmy says, putting a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “We won’t go through til we’re all good and ready, yeah?”

Tango’s expression softens. “Yeah.”

“Right.” Grian puts his communicator away. “Get some rest, everyone, and we’ll see you tomorrow. Details in chat.”

~*~

Grian: portal done. meet @ impulse and bdubs tomorrow at noon for hels invasion plotting. all ideas welcome

PearlescentMoon: Ooh :0

InTheLittleWood: wait seriously? already??

Renthedog: YO amazing job on the portal guys! :D

BdoubleO100: oh THANKS A LOT for volunteering us to host GRIAN!!

Grian: :P

~*~

Later that night, in the dark quiet of their room, Tango rolls over to nestle his head beneath Jimmy’s chin, claws bunching up the fabric of his shirt.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

Jimmy hums. “For what?”

“For… not givin’ up on me.”

“What’d’you mean?”

“I mean… you know, I- after everything I did, and- and everything I said…”

“I already told you, that doesn’t matter to me.”

“Yeah, I know. But when I realized the secret was out… that things were- that we couldn’t just go back to normal… I mean, I was convinced it was over. Everything, my- my new life, my freedom, my friends. Us. But you never gave up hope.”

“Of course. It’s been a long road here, alright, I- I’m not givin’ that up without a fight.”

Tango tilts his chin up to look at Jimmy, red eyes glowing in the dark, and leans in to meet his lips. They kiss slow and sweet. Warmth hums in Jimmy’s chest.

This hasn’t been an easy journey, and he knows there’s plenty more challenges still ahead. Even if the mission to Hels goes well and they achieve all that they want to, the experiences Tango’s been through won’t magically go away. It’ll take time. Healing isn’t linear. But with everything out in the open now and the support of their friends, Jimmy’s hopeful that Tango can start to unlearn his self-hatred. Jimmy will be there every step of the way.

All too soon, Tango pulls away. “We should get some rest,” he whispers, settling against Jimmy again.

“Yeah,” Jimmy sighs ruefully, draping a wing across Tango. “Gonna need all two of my brain cells at full strength.”

Tango huffs a soft laugh. “Love you, honey.”

Jimmy closes his eyes, smiling. “Love you, too.

~*~

Jimmy wakes up to a cold bed.

That immediately sets off alarm bells in his head, because since when has Tango gotten out of bed before him? Then he opens his eyes and realizes it’s still night; a faint crescent moon hangs in the starry sky visible through their window. Their room is dark and empty. Tango is nowhere to be seen.

The alarm bells become a siren.

No, no, no, no, no.

Jimmy springs out of bed, sparing a second only to grab his shoes off the floor before throwing the door open. His heart is in his throat as he flies down the stairs to the main level- all dark and empty- and hooks the corner to wrench open the basement door.

Already he can see the chilling red glow from the portal cast across the wall, a shadow of bleeding light, and a million curses scream through his mind. His stomach feels like it’s knotted in on itself and his lungs are burning for air, he’s moving faster than what seems physically possible and yet not nearly fast enough as he crashes down the stairs and bursts into the portal room, mouth opening to cry out-

Just in time to watch Tango vanish into the red light.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player walks through a portal.

Tango’s heartbeat pounds in his ears. He’s already started shaking- if it weren’t for the wither effect flowing from his collar, he’s certain his blaze rods would be igniting right now. It’s a bizarre mix of emotions. The scent of ash and the sight of netherrack are comforting, in a way. Familiar. But it’s also terrifying, because there’s no mistaking where he is.

(There’s a reason he doesn’t like hanging out in the nether.)

Fear threatens to swallow him. He pushes it down; he’s got a job to do.

Forcing a steadying breath through his clenched teeth, he takes in his surroundings, ears pricked cautiously. He’s definitely not at spawn- he’s at the border of a basalt delta, actually, fine gray particles fluttering through the air. Aside from the portal behind him, there’s not a structure in sight. No sounds save for the distant bubbling of lava and the distinctive slap of magma cubes.

Tango frowns, chewing his lip. The portal was supposed to take him to Bravo, so he must be around here somewhere. Why he’s not at Hels Tek, Tango isn’t sure. Maybe they’re out on an errand run? Either way, he ought to start looking around.

But first, he’s got to break the portal so no one can follow him. Everything he’d packed made it through with him, thankfully, so he equips his pickaxe and turns back to the portal-

Just in time for Jimmy to emerge, running straight into him.

The collision knocks Tango to the ground, pickaxe flying from his hand, his forehead stinging where it smacked against Jimmy’s chin. Blinking spots from his eyes, he pushes himself up on his elbows with a groan. Once his vision stops spinning, he locks eyes with Jimmy, who seems just as shocked as he is.

Both of them shout at exactly the same moment.

“What are you doing here?!”

~*~

Chapter Text

from eden, part X - no ‘who cares,’ no vacant stares, no time for me

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player stares at his soulmate in shock.

Tango could’ve sworn Jimmy was asleep. He checked, he checked multiple times to make sure Jimmy was well and truly unconscious before slipping out of bed. And he’d been so careful about it, moving so slowly and quietly to ensure Jimmy wasn’t woken up. All he’d needed was for Jimmy to keep sleeping for not even five minutes- just long enough for Tango to sneak downstairs, grab the supplies he’d secretly prepared earlier, go through the portal, and break it from the other side.

Yet here they are.

The abrupt silence after their mutual outburst is blanching. There’s almost a static feeling to it, like electricity gathering in the air before a lightning strike. All of Tango’s previous thoughts have flown clean out of his brain. He can only stare at Jimmy, forehead stinging, mouth slightly parted as he struggles to make sense of what he’s seeing.

Jimmy looks similarly disoriented. He sits in a heap in front of the portal, bathed in the green-yellow-red light, his wings splayed out around him. His nose is scrunched up- still wincing from the pain of Tango’s forehead smacking into his chin, most likely. The recently-obtained scar across the newly-formed bump on the bridge of his nose stands out in sharp contrast against his other, more familiar, features. He said it didn’t bother him, but Tango feels a stab of guilt every time he looks at it. Even now, it’s a reminder of the pain Tango’s brought him. Of how Tango’s failed him.

Jimmy recovers first.

“What am I- what are you doin’ here?!” he cries, rising to his feet.

Realization dawns on Tango as he finally grasps the reality of this impossible scenario he’s found himself in.

Jimmy’s here. In Hels. Jimmy is in Hels. Jimmy is in Hels. Oh. Oh no, oh that’s the opposite of what Tango wants. This is bad. This is really, really bad. This is a whole heap of bad with extra badness on top. Jimmy can’t be in Hels, he should never be in Hels.

“Tango,” Jimmy presses, taking a step forward, “are you listenin’ to me?”

Tango jumps to his feet, heart pounding. He quickly scans their surroundings- still no players to be seen, though some of those magma cubes in the distance are getting close. He knows they’re on borrowed time; there’s at least two players in this world who are bound to notice his arrival in chat, and the clock’s ticking.

“Tango?” Jimmy says again, uncertainty leaking into his voice. “You alright?”

Adrenaline floods Tango’s body. He feels hyper aware, like all his senses are in overdrive- his skin is prickling with heat, and if it weren’t for the wither rose collar, he’s certain his blaze rods would be swirling around in a defensive inferno.

He needs to get Jimmy out of here.

Despite their difference in height, Tango’s strong enough that he could probably push Jimmy back into the portal. He’d have the element of surprise, initially. But Jimmy’s build isn’t just for show- Tango would have a hard time keeping him in the portal for the few crucial seconds required to teleport. He might even get teleported back, himself.

So instead of attempting brute force, Tango stalks forward- though not close enough to be grabbed- flattens his ears, bares his teeth, and hisses.

“Go home,” Tango hisses lowly. “Right. Now.”

That seems to take Jimmy aback. He raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “Ex-cuse me?” he demands, putting his hands on his hips. “Now, hang on-”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Tango interrupts, his voice catching somewhere between anger and desperation. “This is-”

“You shouldn’t be here! What-”

“You’re not safe here-”

“- tryin’ to- well, neither are you!”

“- and you need to go back!”

“I’m not goin’ back without you!” Jimmy gives up on trying to keep his voice down, wings flaring out in agitation. “I thought we were in this together! I- god, Tango, we want to help you, we all just wanna help-”

“It’s not your problem!” Tango snaps, his temper rising. “Alright? It was my mistake that brought Bravo and Hels Tek to our door, you- why should you have to deal with it? What, just ‘cause we got randomly assigned to be soulmates? You didn’t sign up for all this!”

Jimmy’s expression darkens. “Yes, I did, that’s what it means to be a partner.” He reaches for Tango’s arm. “Tango, I love you-”

“I know!” Tango jerks away. “I know that, okay? But you- did it ever occur to you that maybe I love you, too? Maybe I don’t want you to put yourself at risk fighting my battles for me? Because I love you?” He rakes his claws through his hair, a mirthless laugh escaping him. “Is that- did that happen to cross your mind? That maybe for once I- I did something ‘cause I love you and not ‘cause I hate myself? Maybe I could do the selfless act of love every now and then? I mean, is that- is that so hard to believe?”

Jimmy stares at him for a moment, brown eyes blown wide. Even in the absence of their soulbond, Tango can tell he’s hurt.

“That’s not what I meant,” Jimmy says finally, voice quiet. “I know you love me. Of course I know you love me. But Tango, honestly- can you honestly tell me that this decision wasn’t- that- that it had absolutely nothing to do with feelin’ like you deserve to be here?” he asks desperately. “No influence on your decision at all? Not a- a single part of you that thinks it’d be okay if you got trapped here again, suffering forever? Not even the slightest bit?”

Shit.

Tango sets his jaw. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Jimmy repeats, disbelieving. “Of course it does-”

“No, I don’t- you need to leave!”

“I’m not leavin’ you, I mean it!”

“I already told you, I don’t want-”

“Tango, please.” Jimmy holds out his hand. He looks close to tears. “Let’s go home. We’ll figure this out, alright?”

Tango swallows back a frustrated whine; he doesn’t have time for this. Atlas has no doubt already noticed his arrival, and he still needs to find Bravo. And the longer they stand here loudly arguing in front of an active portal, the greater the risk of discovery. It’s already a miraculous stroke of luck that the portal spawned in an uninhabited area.

Jimmy can’t force Tango back through the portal any more than Tango can force him. Besides, starting a physical fight with Jimmy would probably be his breaking point. This is hard enough already. He spends a precious second to take in Jimmy’s face; the thin line his mouth has pressed into, the tears brimming in his eyes, the scar across his crooked nose.

Then Tango turns on his heel and sprints away.

It’s a last-ditch effort kind of gambit. He’s hoping that if he loses Jimmy in the basalt delta, Jimmy won’t know what else to do but go back through the portal for help. And once he does, Tango can swoop in and break it. Problem solved.

There’s a surprised shout behind him. Wing beats fill the air as Jimmy takes flight. But Tango’s head start has already allowed him to reach the first outcropping of basalt, pock-marked with pools of lava. Without breaking stride, he leaps up onto the ledge of stone-

Only for his foot to catch on a tripwire.

Pistons go off while he’s still mid-jump. The ground opens up into a black pit beneath him. His claws scrape uselessly against the lip of basalt and suddenly he’s falling, stomach lurching, too shocked to even call out as wind whistles by his ears and he plummets into the darkness below, Jimmy’s voice screaming after him.

“Tango!”

Traps. He forgot to look for traps.

Weightless, Tango struggles to right himself. The hole is pitch black and it’s disorienting, wavering light from his dim blaze rods flickering against the walls. His mind races frantically. Even if he could pull a block from his inventory and place it down under him- and he’s not sure that he could, at the speed he’s falling- the damage would kill him anyways. No, better to see how this ends. If he’s dumb enough to fall for a trap, he should at least give it the satisfaction of killing him as intended.

Although, Tango’s been falling for more than a couple seconds and he hasn’t hit anything yet. That’s unusual. Few trappers care to dig holes this deep when a shallow pit of lava will have the same result. Maybe death isn’t the goal here. Maybe-

Light, somewhere down below. As it gets closer, Tango thinks he can see the walls of the hole open up into a larger room. But the bottom still goes down- into a pit of cobwebs. So that’s it. The trap was designed to capture players, not kill them. But why-

“Tango!”

Jimmy’s voice echoes wildly in the tunnel. Tango glances back over his shoulder to see Jimmy diving towards him, arms stretched forward and wings flattened, body straight as an arrow.

Tango doesn’t currently have the breath to call out to him. If he did, it’d probably be something along the lines of, ‘No no no no no, why did you follow me, you idiot!’ and that wouldn’t be very constructive.

Jimmy hooks his arms underneath Tango’s, snaps his wings out, and takes them sailing out through the gap in the tunnel.

The abrupt swerve makes Tango’s stomach drop. Jimmy barely manages to avoid taking them directly into a wall, wings flaring, wind whipping around them. They tumble into an ungraceful- but not deadly- landing, tangled up in a pile of limbs.

The room they’ve flown into is large but rather crude, carved out of the netherrack and deepslate that make up the deepest levels of Hels- more of a cavern, really. A few scattered torches along the walls provide the room’s only lighting, and they’ve landed among a collection of haphazardly-placed chests- a chest monster to rival Scar’s. The center of the room is occupied by the hole at the bottom of the dropchute. Beyond it is something that makes Tango’s blood run cold.

Half of the room is covered in elaborate redstone circuitry, feeding into an empty portal frame. It’s an eerily similar setup to their own portal, and Tango is at once certain he knows who this base belongs to.

He processes this all in the couple seconds it takes him to get on his feet. Jimmy’s still crumpled beside him, uninjured but disoriented. Shit. He hadn’t planned to have Jimmy with him for this confrontation and it has him on edge, his skin crawling. The room’s empty right now, but he can’t see another way out except back up through the dropchute- it’s a precarious place to be in. He doesn’t like what being backed into a corner does to him.

“Ugh,” Jimmy groans softly, pushing himself upright. “Not one’a my better landin’s…”

“Shh,” Tango hisses.

Jimmy frowns at him, rising to his feet. “Tango, can you just-”

“Quiet!” Tango urges, gaze flicking around the room. Their sudden presence doesn’t seem to have set off any alarms, but there’s no telling what the trap was hooked up to-

Ca-clunk.

Tango’s ears prick at the sound of more pistons. He whirls around, hackles rising, to see part of the adjacent wall open up.

“Well,” Bravo says, stepping into the room, “isn’t this convenient?”

Tango had been mentally preparing himself to see his doppelgänger again, but he’s still taken aback at the state Bravo’s in. His hair and clothes are wild and unkempt, the stains on his shirt indistinguishable between redstone and blood. There’s a weariness about him, like he hasn’t slept in days, yet every muscle in his body is tense, his bruised knuckles gripping a netherite sword. Most striking, however, is his face; his green eyes are so bloodshot they’re almost red, and heavily lined with dark circles that- in a bizarre way- resemble wither stains.

So for a moment, it’s like Tango’s looking in a mirror.

It passes quickly. Tango forces the tension from his body, holding up his hands. “Take it easy, alright, I just wanna talk.”

“I?” Bravo tilts his head to the side, taking another step forward as the wall closes up behind him. “Uh, it looks like- looks to me like there’s two of you, pal.” His gaze cuts over to Jimmy, and his mouth quirks into a grin- hard and humorless. “Good to see ya, Jimmy.”

Tango bristles. “Leave him out of this,” he says lowly, stepping in front of Jimmy. “He wasn’t supposed to come.”

Jimmy makes a noise of protest. “Hang on-”

“Ohh, oh okay,” Bravo says, nodding slowly, “I- I see what this is. This is- hah, wow, this is kinda perfect.” He begins to pace in front of them, idly twirling his sword in his hand; there’s an unsettling air about him. “Lemme guess, you uh- you intended to come here alone, but your soulmate had other ideas?”

He spits the word like an insult. Tango feels his lip curl. “None of your business.”

“Oh? It’s not?” Bravo barks out a laugh- a sharp contrast to the enraged look in his eyes. “Well, you’re in my fucking house, so, you know. Forgive my curiosity.”

Anger flares inside Tango; he pushes it down. “Look, I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot-”

“You fucking think?”

“Enough!” Jimmy shouts, wings flaring as he throws an arm out in front of Tango. “Bravo, listen to me. I don’t like you, alright, but we aren’t here to fight.”

“Obviously.” Bravo actually rolls his eyes. “I can- I can piece it together well enough, okay. You figured that you could come rescue me from Hels, and then I- everything will be peachy-keen, right? I mean, if- if you wanted me to stay here, you wouldn’t have opened a portal. Except this one,” he stops his pacing, leveling his sword at Tango, “got it in his thick head that it was somethin’ he needed ‘to do alone.’ So he snuck off by himself, on a solo mission of noble, stupid self-sacrifice, in the hopes that it’d make up for what he did-”

“Shut up,” Tango growls.

“- and that it’d keep you safe. Right?” Bravo’s voice drips with malice. “Except poor Jimmy’s too good to let you take the fall alone so he followed you here, right into my trap.”

“So what?” Tango demands with a bravado he doesn’t feel. Truthfully, Bravo’s words have opened a pit in his stomach; he hates that Bravo has seen through him so clearly. “What, I mean- you want a trophy for figuring it out? And- and why set a trap for us if your plan was clearly to get out through a portal of your own?”

Bravo scowls. “That trap wasn’t for you, actually. It’s for the damn mercenaries that’ve been comin’ after us since I split from Hels Tek.”

Jimmy frowns. “Us?”

Bravo’s face twitches. “Wh- me. Whatever.”

“You split from Hels Tek?” Tango asks, furrowing his brows. He knew Atlas and Bravo had fought back on Double Life, but he wasn’t sure if that’d be enough to make Bravo willingly take on Hels by himself.

Bravo snorts. “Yeah, I- I uh, I don’t take kindly to bein’ stabbed in the back, but Atlas still wanted a portal and wasn’t gonna take no for an answer, so.”

Tango would laugh at the irony, if he didn’t feel so sick to his stomach. “Wow,” he drawls, still unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, “so it turned out Atlas only cared about you as far as he could exploit you? Imagine that.”

Clearly, he’s touched a nerve. “Shut up,” Bravo snaps.

“Watch it,” Jimmy snaps back.

Unbothered, Tango glances around the cavern. “So wait, you- it’s only been like, what, a- a couple weeks since you respawned here, how- where did you get all these supplies?”

“Eh, found a new sponsor.” Bravo shrugs. “You know, I was probably only a few more days away from gettin’ my portal up and running ‘til you guys showed up. But it worked out nice this way, right?” There’s a manic light in his eyes. “I- I was gonna get my vengeance on you once I got back to the overworld, but instead, we can do it right now.”

That’s all the warning he gives before he attacks.

He’s fast, faster than Tango’s expecting. It’s all he can do to shove Jimmy out of the way, diving into a roll that brings him quickly back to his feet. He only brought one sword; he pulls it from his inventory and throws it to Jimmy without a second thought, because he doubts Jimmy prepared at all before coming through the portal and swords have always felt clumsy in his hands. There’s a reason traditional PVP has never been his strong suit.

The sword has barely left his grasp before Bravo’s springing at him again.

Screech!

Tango brings his claws up in time to catch Bravo’s blade between them. The force of the blow shudders through his arms. Bravo’s strong, too- stronger than Tango would think for a non-hybrid version of himself.

“Stop it!” Tango huffs. “We don’t wanna fight you!”

“Too bad!” Bravo sneers.

Well, if that’s what he wants. Tango ducks under the sword and brings a hand up to slash at Bravo’s face. Bravo disengages, darting backwards, out of reach- he readjusts his grip for another swing.

“Hey, lay off!”

Jimmy charges into the fray; Bravo pivots mid-swing to block Jimmy’s blade, the clang of metal reverberating through the cavern. He leans into the movement, bringing his leg up to deliver a swift kick to Jimmy’s side.

With a pained grunt, Jimmy stumbles, off-balance. Bravo raises his sword to slash again- but Tango rushes him, forcing him back. Claws swipe through empty air.

“Gotta do better than that,” Bravo tuts, flicking his sword out to nick Tango’s cheek.

The sharp pain and sudden scent of blood is disorienting. Tango lunges forward almost blindly, a snarl catching in the back of his throat. Rage bubbles inside him, and he can feel his fire trying to respond- but with the wither rose in his system, it’s like throwing a match into a well.

Bravo deftly steps around him. “There’s that famous Tango temper again!” he taunts. “Go on, show us exactly how much of a monster you are.”

The words sober Tango instantly. He swallows back his rage; the last thing he wants to do is lose control like he did back at the ranch, especially when Jimmy could get hurt. His fire may be dampened, but that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.

Then his ears twitch at a furious shout- Jimmy surges into the air, wings beating, and swoops down at Bravo. “Don’t you dare call him that!”

In the same moment, Tango moves to block Bravo’s escape route, aiming for his hands in an attempt to disarm him.

But Bravo’s ready for them both.

He ducks beneath Tango’s claws and side-steps Jimmy’s attack, jabbing the pommel of his sword into Tango’s gut as a parting blow. Wings flailing, Jimmy pulls up short to avoid slamming into Tango- and yelps as Bravo’s sword cleaves a handful of feathers into the air.

“Come on!” Bravo goads them. “That the best you can do?”

Tango hadn’t gotten much of a chance to actually observe Bravo fight during the Hels Tek invasion, and he’s sorely regretting it now. It’s clear Bravo’s got more experience with PVP than either of them. And not the type of casual sparring between friends, but genuine life-or-death fighting- fast, messy, and brutal. Even being two against one isn’t helping them much; Bravo keeps on the move, twisting through and around them with a practiced ease that leaves them struggling not to accidentally hit each other.

A detached part of Tango’s mind runs through their options. Being killed and ending up at the world spawn would be the worst-case scenario; they’d basically be gift-wrapped for Atlas to come snatch up. But he doesn’t think joining through a hacked portal would reset their spawns; after all, the Hels Tek invaders wound up back in Hels after they were killed. Of course, he’d rather not find out for certain. And if he ends up respawning back to Double Life, his entire goal in coming here alone goes up in smoke. He won’t get another chance at this- the other Double Lifers will insist on putting themselves in danger to help him, ‘cause they’re annoyingly kind like that, and everything will turn into a big flaming ball of disaster.

So it’s really in his best interest not to get killed right now.

Except, he can’t help but notice that Bravo actually doesn’t seem to be trying to kill them. Most of what he’s aiming for are non-vital structures- arms, legs, Jimmy’s wings. When he does land an attack above the belt, it almost seems like he’s holding back, leaving only shallow gashes or a blunt hit with a skillfully thrown fist, knee, or elbow.

And despite clearly being the superior fighter, he’s mainly staying on the defensive. He isn’t taking nearly as many swings as he could. It’s an endurance game, Tango realizes- he’s trying to tire them out. But why? He’s on his own, it’s not like he’s stalling for reinforcements. There’s nowhere for them to go. That is, nowhere except-

Tango’s gaze falls on the pit at the bottom of the dropchute.

Oh. Oh, that’s-

Wham!

Pain explodes through Tango’s skull.

Bravo’s taken advantage of Tango’s brief lapse in concentration, landing a solid punch on the side of his face. It’s enough to make him black out for a moment, every thought in his brain screeching to a halt. When he comes back to himself, his cheek is pressed against the floor, made warm and sticky with his pooling blood. There’s a faint ringing in his ears- above it, he can barely make out the sound of swords clashing somewhere in front of him.

Tango manages to lift his head, blinking spots from his vision.

Bravo is driving Jimmy back- back towards the center of the room where the pit is. Tango opens his mouth to scream a warning, but he’s too late. As they near the edge of the pit, Bravo suddenly steps under Jimmy’s guard, hooking a leg behind Jimmy’s foot as one hand comes up to twist his sword out of his grip. Bravo’s other arm slams against Jimmy’s chest, knocking him off-balance.

Jimmy falls backwards with a shout, into the pit of cobwebs. He doesn’t fall very deep, of course- that’s not how cobwebs work. But he is immediately stuck, wings and limbs straining as he slowly begins to sink.

“Jimmy!” Tango cries, his heart jolting.

Oh, this is bad. Getting out of cobwebs without a sword, while slowly falling through them, will be almost impossible. Especially since Jimmy’s feathers are particularly prone to sticking to that stuff and every movement will cause him pain as he pulls on them.

“There.” Satisfied, Bravo stows Jimmy’s sword in his inventory before turning back to Tango. “Now we can finally finish this.”

“No!” Jimmy pleads desperately from the pit, already disappearing from view. “Leave ‘em alone!”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not gonna kill him,” Bravo tuts as he approaches Tango. “That- I mean, that’d just send you back home, right? Hacked portals don’t do the whole spawn reset-ification thing, as it turns out.” He shakes his head. “No, I- what I’m gonna do is arrange a little meeting with our old buddy Atlas to come pick you up, okay, and- and then I’ll finally get him off my back and be able to leave this fucking place for good.”

Terror shoots through Tango. If Atlas comes here, with Jimmy trapped like this…

Head pounding, Tango struggles to get to his feet. “Y- you don’t have to do this,” he says weakly. “I know I messed up, a- and I’m sorry, okay? But Jimmy had nothin’ to do with it, he- you have to let him go, please.”

Bravo’s lip curls. “I’m not gonna let Atlas get him. Believe it or not, I meant it when I said I wouldn’t let another overworlder get trapped here.”

Despite the severity of the situation, the offended disdain in his tone makes Tango snort. “Oh, sorry, uh- excuse me for thinkin’ you’d ever do such a terrible thing,” he rasps. “I- I mean, you can’t blame me, right? You- it’s not like you’ve made a great impression.”

Bravo’s eyes darken with anger, and then his fist is in Tango’s stomach. The punch makes Tango double over, gasping for breath- then a well-placed kick throws him back against the wall, pain crashing through his ribs.

“What’re you doin’?!” Jimmy’s panicked voice sounds from the pit- he’s sunken far enough down that he can’t see them anymore. “Don’t hurt him!”

Bravo ignores him, stalking forward to grab Tango by the front of his shirt. “You’re one to talk, you piece of shit,” he hisses in Tango’s face, reeling back for another hit.

Crack.

This one lands the hilt of his sword against Tango’s jaw. Bravo drops him to the ground in a crumpled heap.

“Tango!” Jimmy’s scream sounds far away.

Everything is pain. With no small amount of effort, Tango pushes himself upright, breathing raggedly through his nose. He can feel blood trickling down his chin from his split lip, can taste it stained against his teeth. His head aches. His body is shaking. There’s a cold pit of dread in his stomach, and he knows that he’s lost this fight.

But more than that, deep down, there’s the realization that maybe… he always expected to.

(It’s not like coming here without Jimmy would’ve changed the outcome. No matter what Tango said or did, Bravo was always going to react this way- why would Tango think anything different? Despite his intention to extend the olive branch, he knows Bravo wouldn’t have been satisfied to just let bygones be bygones.

Truthfully, Tango had been prepared for this the moment he saw that red light fill their portal. Bravo had nailed it right at the start; this was always going to be a mission of self-sacrifice. If giving himself up meant placating Bravo and Hels Tek, if it meant that the people he cared about would be safe, then Tango had been willing to accept it. Even if it meant going back to the farm for the rest of his life.

He’s already had ten years in the sun. That’s more than anyone else in Hels got.)

Bravo looms over him, a mad, triumphant grin spreading across his face. “You’re gonna spend the rest of your days in that farm where you belong,” he says lowly, “and out of the life you stole from me. You’re nothin’ but an evil monster, and it’s what you deserve.”

A strange feeling settles over Tango.

It’s like déjà vu, to sit here and listen to his doppelgänger repeat all the horrible things Tango’s believed about himself almost his entire life, all the things he’s told himself in the mirror time and time again. It’s his words spoken in his voice out of an eerily similar face, as if all his deepest insecurities have taken form.

It’s achingly, hauntingly familiar. Like a knife tracing over old scars.

And yet, there’s something odd about hearing it from another person. To hear such hatred and conviction in that voice, to see it so plainly in his eyes. Tango’s well aware that there are plenty of players who feel the same way- not just about him, but other hostile mob hybrids, too. He’s no stranger to prejudice; he’s noticed the wary looks and distrustful glares he’s gotten on public multiplayer worlds before.

Hell, Atlas is attempting to build an empire on the very concept of oppressing hybrids, and he’s had plenty of help to do it. Not just his fellow redstone scientists, but sponsors and buyers, too. Lots of players have reason to want Tango in a farm, to exploit and degrade him. But only because they would profit from it- otherwise they wouldn’t bother wasting so much time and energy on him. Sure, Atlas probably hates him to some degree, and is indifferent at best to all the pain he’s been caused. But Tango’s also certain that if he weren’t useful, then Atlas wouldn’t give him a second thought. If he couldn’t be farmed, Atlas would never have come after him in the first place. It’s all about ambition with Atlas; he wouldn’t waste time on petty revenge schemes.

Bravo, on the other hand, stands to gain absolutely nothing from this except the satisfaction of knowing Tango is suffering. How strange, that the only player to ever really demonstrate that desire isn’t even from Hels.

And with that thought, everything falls into place.

Tango wheezes out a laugh, though he immediately regrets it- fuck, his ribs. “So that’s where I get my sadism from! Good to know, good to know.”

The smirk drops off Bravo’s face. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Tango wipes the blood from his face. “I mean, I- we- we’ve established that I’m just a uh, a physical manifestation of all the evil parts of you, yeah? That’s what Hels are? Well, if that’s true, then every bad thing about me is somethin’ I got from you.” He grins, despite the pain of his split lip. “Can’t pour from an empty bottle, right?”

Bravo balks at him. “No, that’s not- it’s different,” he argues. “It’s- this is justified, you took everything from me-”

“So now you’re gonna do the same?” Tango raises his eyebrows. Bracing a hand against the wall, he slowly rises to his feet. “Funny, I- I thought that you were supposed to be a better person than me.”

“I am!” Bravo insists angrily.

Tango shrugs. “Well, you sure ain’t actin’ like it, skippy.”

That seems to take Bravo aback. “I- I don’t-” He rakes a hand through his hair, his breathing quickening. “It’s- it’s you, it’s this fucking place, it’s- I don’t know, it’s every-fucking-thing that’s happened in the last ten years! I- I didn’t deserve this, I didn’t do anything to deserve getting sent here!”

“Hold on, what makes you think I did anything to deserve gettin’ sent here?” Tango asks, genuinely curious. “I was spawned here as a child, I mean, what- what could a child possibly do to ‘deserve’ spawning here? What could any of us have done to deserve this?”

Ooh, Bravo doesn’t like that question. “I don’t know,” he splutters, “I didn’t make you spawn here! That was the universe, it- it must know that you- all you Hels- you’re just destined to be bad.”

Tango tilts his head. “Yeah? If that’s the case, then uh, why did the universe send you here?”

Bravo makes a sound like he’s been punched. “What?”

“I didn’t make that portal. You didn’t make that portal. We all know that the universe makes portals to Hermitcraft so why-”

“Stop it! It was a mistake! A glitch! I- I was never meant to come to Hels, you-”

“Then how has every other Hermit joined without having the same problem? Huh? Why you? Why us?”

“Shut up!” Bravo cries, almost desperate. “I’m the one in the right, here!”

“Says who?” Tango asks.

“I just- I have to be in the right!” Bravo protests, throwing an arm out. “I- I’m not like you, I’m not a Hels, I’m supposed to be the good one. If I’m mad, if I wanna hurt someone, it has to be justified, ‘cause I’m not- I’m not cruel.”

Tango just looks at him.

Bravo seems to recognize the irony in his words. It hits him almost like a physical attack; he staggers, eyes widening, face twisting with rage. “Don’t you dare fucking judge me!” he shouts as he raises his sword accusingly at Tango, voice echoing off the cavern walls. “I’m just- I did what I had to do to survive, and- and it ruined me. This world ruined me, and it’s all your fault, you bastard!”

They’re hollow accusations, built from hurt and deflected blame. But it doesn’t occur to Tango to defend himself against them. He couldn’t if he wanted to; all he can do is watch Bravo in stunned silence.

Even without the ability to set himself ablaze, Bravo’s rage is a terrible thing to behold. Tears stream down his reddened face; a mixture of fury and despair, raw and ugly. “It’s not fair!” he wails, almost a breathless scream. “Why did you get to be saved? Why did I have to take your place? What- what did I do?”

He takes another step closer, drawing his sword back, and Tango is suddenly struck by the very real possibility that Bravo is about to kill him.

“You did this to me!” Bravo snarls, wild-eyed and heaving for breath. “You and e- everyone else in th- this fucking hellscape, you- you did this, you-!”

Bravo lifts his sword for the killing blow-

And then he pauses. He stares at Tango, and Tango stares back.

“... fuck. What am I doing?”

Bravo stumbles back from Tango, lowering his sword. He clutches his head with his free hand, a few stray tears streaking down his face as he struggles to control his breathing. His anger seems to have extinguished, finally letting the pain seep through- an expression that Tango knows as intimately as his own reflection.

Tango blinks.

It’s a complicated rush of emotions. Bravo represents the worst part of Tango’s life coming back to haunt him; his skeleton in the closet. Fueled by prejudice and misplaced blame, he fought tooth and nail to destroy the life Tango had built for himself, brought pain and hardship to a world of strangers who’d done nothing to deserve it. He made a deal with a devil to get what he wanted and didn’t care who got caught up in the crossfire. Most of all, despite having a viable way to escape Hels peacefully, he doggedly pursued revenge out of nothing but spite and a twisted sense of justice.

Logically, Tango should hate Bravo as much as Bravo hates him.

But for the first time, Tango tries to imagine what it must’ve been like to be trapped in Hels for ten years and not knowing why.

What Bravo went through is exactly what Tango’s always feared since he escaped; that one day his luck would run out, and he’d lose everything. His peaceful life in the overworld. His freedom. His friends, and the love he found with Jimmy- maybe Bravo had people he cared about before, too. Worst of all, Bravo had already experienced the wonders of the wider universe before having it abruptly taken from him.

Tango had been spawned into cruelty and suffering. He hadn’t known anything different, hadn’t known there was anything beyond Hels that he was missing out on. But Bravo did. Bravo knew what it was to travel between worlds, to explore untainted horizons, to live under the warmth of the sun. He knew cooperation and goodwill between players, the comfort and safety of solo worlds. And then suddenly, he’d been deprived of it all, with no way of knowing if he’d ever get it back.

So if Atlas told him that it wasn’t his fault, that he could blame it all on some mysterious, evil doppelgänger… Tango understands why he’d cling to the notion so fiercely.

It’s an easy thing to blame someone else. Accepting that Tango isn’t to blame for what he’s become means accepting that maybe his understanding of Hels players is flawed, and that he might not have been as good of a player as he thought to begin with. Accepting that Tango wasn’t to blame for stranding him in Hels in the first place would mean accepting that maybe… there wasn’t a reason at all. And that kind of acceptance is paramount to altering his entire worldview.

Tango’s been through that himself, once. It wasn’t a fun process. So right now, watching Bravo fall apart in front of him, he finds that all he can feel is sympathy.

So Tango summons enough strength to step forward and wrap Bravo in a hug.

Bravo recoils at first; the kind of instinctive flinch that Tango knows all too well. A noise catches in his throat- part alarm, part disgust. “What’re you-” He tries to push away, but Tango holds fast.

“I’m sorry,” Tango whispers. “You didn’t deserve it.”

Bravo freezes.

The air is still and silent around them, filled with nothing but the faint flickering of torches and Bravo’s shrill breathing. He’s as rigid as stone in Tango’s embrace- his muscles are so tense, it feels like they’re going to snap. After a few moments, he inhales sharply, and Tango is almost certain he’s about to receive a sword in the gut but he doesn’t let go, because he remembers what it’s like to live in this world and if he can’t even show his own doppelgänger kindness then he really hasn’t learned anything at all-

The sword clatters to the ground. And Bravo breaks.

He folds into the embrace and begins to sob. He sobs hard, shaking and gasping for breath in between, clinging to Tango like his life depends on it. Tears quickly dampen the collar of Tango’s shirt. It’s different from his earlier furious cries- this is absolute devastation, heart-wrenching and all-consuming. It’s a flood ten years in the making, finally spilling over all the careful walls that Bravo’s built around himself. And now that it’s here, there’s no stopping it.

Tango doesn’t speak. He simply eases them down to sit on the floor- he can’t support both his and Bravo’s weight right now. Bravo practically collapses, body limp, legs curled awkwardly beneath him but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He sags against Tango and cries, and Tango lets him.

It’s slightly bizarre, holding his doppelgänger while he cries. Especially when he was attacking Tango not even two minutes ago. In many ways, it’s a disturbing echo of his own past breakdowns- he can hear himself so clearly in Bravo’s voice, the raw ache of it.

But he’s glad for it. New growth can only happen once the old is torn down. It’s a messy, unpleasant process. It won’t be quick or easy. Bravo has only just taken the first step- he’s still got a long, difficult journey ahead of him. But Tango knows how beautiful it’ll be, to come out through the other side.

And he thinks maybe he needed this, too.

Tango isn’t sure how much time they spend like that. Only when Bravo has finally grown silent, just the occasional sniffle or shaky breath, does Tango sit back enough to meet Bravo’s teary gaze.

“And neither did I,” he continues quietly. “And neither did anyone else who’s ever spawned here, that- that’s the point.”

Bravo sniffs, wiping his face on his sleeve. “But… the universe has to spawn you here for a reason,” he insists, his voice small and confused. Like a child.

Tango’s mildly surprised to find he feels no anger- just pity. “Maybe the universe is wrong.”

Distress flashes across Bravo’s face; clearly, he’s never considered that before. He pulls away from Tango but he doesn’t go far, tucking his knees to his chest. “So then... all this pain, all this struggle... was for nothing,” he says miserably. “Everything I went through... a- and everything I did... I- I was so sure there had to be a reason, that I was different from the players here, that I didn’t belong here. But I- I’m fucked up. I used to be a nice person, but…”

“Nice isn’t the same thing as good,” Tango says simply. “And I would know.”

Bravo swallows. “… how did you do it?” he asks hoarsely. “You’re a Hels, why… how come this world didn’t ruin you, too? How did you end up being the good one?”

It’s an exceedingly vulnerable question, without a hint of reproach. Tango hums, leaning back on his arms. “Y’know, I spent a long time in this world. I- I grew up where it’s kill or be killed, murder first ask questions later, everyone’ll sell you out for a piece of rotten flesh. That was just normal. That was expected. If you’d known me back then, I- I would’ve been no different from any other Hels. I set horrible traps for fun. I cost random players, people I didn’t even know, their resources and their lives in an already harsh world, I mean- it wasn’t pretty. But I was a kid.” He glances sidelong at Bravo. “I was just a teenager when Atlas took me in, did you- did he ever tell you that?”

Bravo’s surprised expression is all the answer Tango needs.

“Nah, I guess he wouldn’t,” Tango sighs ruefully. “But the first person I thought was different- the first person who I thought saw more in me than the capacity for chaos, who offered me a home, a sense of belonging, a purpose... it turned out to be a trick. All of it, a lie. Just to get me into a horrible farm for the rest of my life, suffering constant withering and being harvested for my resources, like- like I was nothin’ more than a mob.” He gives Bravo a half-hearted grin. “You’d think that’d seal it, right? Like, that would just totally destroy any remaining faith I had in playerkind. And uh, it came pretty close, actually. But then I got out.”

He tips his head back to stare at the ceiling. “The universe created a portal, and I escaped to a world where players were kind. And generous, and… gave you the benefit of the doubt. They didn’t assume the worst, they didn’t judge you based on what you looked like. It was… completely foreign. I took advantage of it at first, I mean, I- I was a total jerk. I’m just lucky they thought it was all in good fun, jokes and pranks and stuff- or, or uh, maybe they did know, and still chose to show me grace, I dunno. What I do know is that after enough time had passed… I changed. My wants, my goals, my- my entire outlook on life changed. Suddenly I wanted to be good, I- I tried so hard to be good. And that only happened ‘cause I got the chance.”

He meets Bravo’s gaze, raising his eyebrows. “And- and I was an adult at that point, I’d grown up in Hels. I mean, imagine what I might’ve been like if I’d spawned on a normal world, grown up in the normal way. Hell, imagine if any other Hels kid got that chance. Maybe there wouldn’t be so many differences between us. Like, maybe even someone like Atlas could’ve been better.” He shrugs. “And maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe he always would’ve grown up to be an asshole. Either way, there’s no way of knowing if they never have the chance.”

Bravo looks pensive, his brows knitted together. “I guess I… never thought of that.”

Tango dares to reach out and put a hand on Bravo’s arm. “I’m sorry you got sent here. If I’d known about it when it happened... well, I- I probably still wouldn’t have said anything, if I’m honest,” he admits. “Like you said, I did what I had to do to survive. But I’m sorry for what you went through, and for what my role in that was. If I’d been brave enough to speak up, maybe we could’a helped you sooner, I dunno.”

Bravo glances away. “I… understand,” he says haltingly. “It, uh… it doesn’t excuse the way I’ve been actin’, so. You know.”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise. “For what it’s worth, I- I don’t think ‘being good’ is somethin’ that’s like… intrinsically handed to us, just by virtue of where we spawn. I think good is a choice that we make, every second of every day of our lives. And y’know, deciding not to choose good in one moment doesn’t mean we can never choose good again.” He huffs a soft laugh. “I mean, if you ask me, that’s way more important than what world we spawn in.”

Bravo looks at him for a moment. His expression is impossible to read. Then determination settles over him, his eyes hardening, before he abruptly gets to his feet. Without a word, he marches over to one of the chests on the floor and rummages through it. Before Tango can say anything, Bravo pulls out an item and tosses it over to him.

Tango catches it, mostly on reflex; it’s a potion of instant health.

“You take that,” Bravo says briskly, stooping over to pick his sword off the ground, “while I go help Jimmy out of there.”

Then he jumps into the pit, slashing through cobwebs on his way down.

Tango blinks. Well, then. Guess that’s decided. He downs the potion quickly, grimacing at the sweet aftertaste of glistering melon, and rises to his feet. It hasn’t fully restored him, but it’s taken the edge off his fresh injuries and given him enough strength to be a functional player again, and he’s quite satisfied with that for now.

Putting away the empty bottle, he wanders over to the edge of the pit, catching the tail end of Jimmy snapping at Bravo as he approaches.

“- where you’re swingin’ that thing!”

“I’m tryin’ to help! Just hold still-”

“Don’t you tell me to- ouch!”

“You’re makin’ it worse! Hang on…”

Tango’s only just leaned over to look when Jimmy flies out of the pit. His wings are ruffled and there are a few places where it’s obvious that some feathers were pulled out, a few stray bits of cobweb still clinging here and there. But aside from the scrapes and bruises he received during their fight with Bravo, he looks none the worse for wear. He’s been gracious enough to carry Bravo out with him, though he’s quick to dump Bravo back on the ground once they’re clear of the pit.

“Tango!” Jimmy swoops over and nearly knocks Tango over, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Oh my gosh, I- I was so worried, are you alright?”

Despite the ache in his bones, Tango hugs him back just as fiercely. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright, hun,” he reassures Jimmy, voice muffled in the crook of his shoulder.

Right now, he wants nothing more than to curl up in Jimmy’s embrace and fall asleep. Between the fight and his unexpected heart-to-heart with Bravo, he’s physically and emotionally worn out. But even though the immediate threat has been nullified, he knows they aren’t done yet.

Tango pulls back just enough to meet Jimmy’s gaze. “I’m sorry for all this,” he murmurs, reaching a hand up to cup Jimmy’s face. “I thought… if I came here by myself, I’d be protecting you- protecting everyone- from suffering the consequences of my mistake.”

Jimmy covers Tango’s hand with his own. “Did you… did you come here with the intent of givin’ yourself up?” he asks quietly.

Tango winces. “Well, I didn’t- that wasn’t my main goal, no, but uh- I- I knew it was a possibility,” he confesses. “I mean, ideally I would’ve patched things up with Bravo and- and somehow gotten the key from Atlas on my own, but… I was prepared to fail, yeah. I’d accepted it.”

Jimmy looks sad, but not surprised. “Y’know,” he starts softly, “you- you always talk about, uh… not wantin’ to hurt us, not wantin’ us to suffer for your mistakes. But I don’t think you realize that for us, the thought of losin’ you is far worse than whatever else might happen. I mean, I- I’d go through that battle with Hels Tek a hundred times over if it meant not losin’ you. And I know the others feel the same way.”

“Oh.” Tango’s throat tightens. “I… hadn’t thought of that.”

“I know.” A bittersweet smile spreads across Jimmy’s face. “I know it’s hard for you to believe sometimes, alright, but you- we’re rather fond of you, mate. So, um… d’you think you could give the self-sacrificial nonsense a rest?”

Despite everything, Tango feels himself grin. “I can try, yeah,” he says, leaning up to give Jimmy a kiss.

(On the inside, Tango is still terrified at how this might turn out. Hels is a dangerous world, and tangling with Atlas and the rest of Hels Tek is no small order. A horrible painful death is the least of his concerns- if Jimmy or any of the other Double Lifers ended up in a farm, Tango would never forgive himself.

But if today taught him anything, it’s that the people he cares about are just as stubborn as he is. No matter what he says or does, they’re going to be determined to help him, because that’s just the kind of players they are. And he could continue to try and fight it, to try and go it alone, but he’s sure they’ll still somehow put themselves in harm’s way.

So rather than fight it, maybe he can accept that they’re able to make their own decisions and take their own risks. And that working with them, rather than against them, might give them all the best chance of having a favorable outcome. They’ll certainly have an easier time dealing with Atlas if they don’t have to worry about Tango pulling another dirty, reckless move like this.)

Behind them, Bravo coughs into his fist. “Uh, hey, are you two done…?”

Jimmy breaks away with a huff of annoyance. “What?” he demands, keeping an arm around Tango’s waist.

“Just thinkin’ out loud here,” Bravo says, holding his hands up, “but uh, you- there’s no way you two are gonna be able to take on Hels Tek alone. I mean, you’ve already lost the element of surprise, I- he’s probably noticed your arrival in chat by now. And Hels Tek is several days away on foot, how- what, are you just- are you just gonna walk there? You’d barely make it a hundred blocks before gettin’ killed, what with your abysmal PVP skills.”

Jimmy scowls at the slight against them, but Tango frowns. “You’re right,” he amends. “I uh, I honestly didn’t have much of a plan besides ‘winging it’ when I came through, I- I was on a bit of a time crunch.”

“So what do you propose we do?” Jimmy asks Bravo pointedly.

Bravo rolls his eyes. “I mean, I just wanna get the fuck out of here. But if you guys are tryin’ to get the key to that collar skadoodler from Atlas, you’re gonna need help.”

“From you?” Jimmy’s distrust is evident in his voice. “Why?”

Bravo crosses his arms, shoulders hunched defensively. “I dunno, I- maybe I feel bad about the part I played in all this and feel like I owe you guys one?”

Jimmy scoffs. “Doubtful.”

Bravo opens his mouth to retort, but Tango intervenes. “Hey, I know you probably couldn’t hear everything from the bottom of that pit,” he tells Jimmy, “but uh, I- I really think we’ve worked it out, now.” He glances over at Bravo, smiling. “I think we can trust him.”

Shock flares in Bravo’s eyes, his expression sobering. He gives a slight nod.

Jimmy purses his lips. “Fine, but I still don’t like it-”

Ca-clunk.

Pistons activate, making all three of them whirl around to face the wall. Tango’s mind is already racing through the different possibilities- maybe Bravo was actually just stalling until backup came, or maybe Atlas was able to track them down on his own, or maybe it’s even a completely random player who stumbled across the base- but that all comes screeching to a halt as soon as he sees the player who steps out into the room.

Because that’s Jimmy.

Or- well- not exactly. It’s obviously not Jimmy because he’s still standing next to Tango. But it’s immediately apparent that, despite the several major differences between them, this is Jimmy’s doppelgänger, his Hels counterpart.

It seems impossible. Or at least, highly improbable, that Jimmy’s doppelgänger would be here, of all places, and now, of all times, when Hels is a massive, infinite world full of nearly infinite players.

But there’s no one else he could be.

“Bravo!” the player calls in Jimmy’s voice. “Did you- oh.” He draws up short when he sees them, seeming just as thrown by this turn of events as they are.

The first thing that jumps out at Tango is how skinny the player is. He’s practically emaciated; despite his tall frame, his limbs are no thicker than Tango’s, his big, watery eyes sunken into a hollow face- a face that, aside from the lack of a crooked nose, is almost identical to Jimmy’s. The large wings that trail behind him are black in color and poorly kept. He’s a lot paler than Jimmy is, too, almost a sickly sort of complexion. His ratty hair is a dull black, and- based on the sharp angles of the ends- was cut short very recently.

Now Tango knows how Jimmy must’ve been feeling this whole time. It’s fucking weird.

Beside him, Jimmy’s breath catches. He takes a single, tentative step forward- though Tango is quick to throw an arm out in front of him. The player doesn’t look very threatening. He’s barefoot and dressed in rags, carrying no weapon or armor. But Tango’s still on guard. This is an unknown Hels player, after all.

The player stares at Jimmy, entranced. “Oh,” he breathes, a trembling hand coming up to tug on a strand of hair. A jumble of emotions flash across his face, too fast to read. “I see… you must be Jimmy.”

“And you’re Timmy,” Jimmy says softly, dawning realization settling over his features. “Aren’t you? Gosh…”

Tango recognizes the tone of their voices; they’re experiencing the same strange sensation he did, the first time he laid eyes on Bravo. That abrupt and absolute recognition of the self in the other. Despite meeting for the first time, there hadn’t been a doubt in Tango’s mind that Bravo was his doppelgänger. He’d known it as surely as his own name. It was something instinctual, almost primal- grounding and disorienting all at once.

Timmy. That’s the nickname that Grian and some of the other guys call Jimmy. A practical joke played on them by the universe, no doubt, to have spawned with the names they did.

Bravo finally unfreezes. “Timmy! I told you to wait for me to come get you!” he hisses, but Tango can see the guilt and shame on his face.

“Sorry…” Timmy murmurs distantly, still fixated on Jimmy. “I was just… gosh, I- everythin’ makes sense now…” He finally turns to look at Bravo, and the faint, knowing smile on his face is devastatingly sad. “I… get why I wasn’t good enough.”

Bravo flinches. “No, no I- I didn’t mean-”

“Ey,” Jimmy cuts in, voice gentle but firm as he moves past Tango to approach Timmy. “C’mere, mate, it’s alright. Ignore him a second, hey?” He fans out a wing to block Bravo from view, nonverbally conveying that he’d like a private moment with his doppelgänger.

“Yeah, come on.” Tango takes the cue to grab Bravo by the arm, leading him to the other side of the room. “You- you wanna explain him?” he asks lowly, putting his hands on his hips. “I mean, how- where did you even find him?”

Bravo exhales heavily. “At spawn. Actually, I- we met the first time I ended up at world spawn, all those years ago. Go figure. He- he’d been livin’ there for god knows how long, just… starving to death, over and over again, ‘cause he was too scared to leave.”

Damn.

“Huh.” Tango nods slowly. “So… what were you sayin’ about all Hels being evil monsters…?”

Bravo tenses. “Shut up. He’s different.” He glances over his shoulder at the pair of avians. “I… after I was killed on your world, and- and escaped from Hels Tek, I ended up at spawn. He was still there, and this time… he agreed to come with me, so he could leave Hels with me once I got my portal working.”

“Mhmm.” Tango’s voice is terse, even to his own ears. “You, uh... didn’t happen to keep him around just ‘cause he’s my soulmate’s doppelgänger, did you?”

Bravo winces. “... maybe at first,” he admits. “But then- I dunno, I- I didn’t- things changed, alright?”

Tango folds his arms. “That’s pretty fucked up, to use him as a- a replacement Jimmy.”

“I know, okay?” Bravo hisses, but it’s lacking its usual venom. “I- I’ve had a lotta realizations in the last few minutes, alright, gimme a break.”

Tango snorts but says nothing else, looking over to check on Jimmy.

He’s speaking to Timmy in low tones, eyes shining with concern. His demeanor is reserved, gentle, unthreatening- he’s matching Timmy’s curled-in posture, just with less of the anxiety, more reassuring. And it seems to be working; even from this distance, it’s apparent Timmy’s slowly growing more comfortable, less afraid.

Sudden warmth swells in Tango’s chest. It’s overwhelming, meeting your doppelgänger, but Jimmy’s put all those complicated feelings aside to help a player who seems to sorely need it. His experience with Hels players thus far has been nothing but flat-out terrible, and yet it didn’t even occur to him to be wary of Timmy. Some might view that as foolish naivety or ignorance, maybe even stupidity. But to Tango, it’s a testament to Jimmy’s incredible kindness.

He couldn’t be more proud of his soulmate.

Eventually, Jimmy waves them over. “Hey, so uh, you got somethin’ to say to Timmy?” he asks Bravo, one hand resting protectively on Timmy’s bony shoulder.

Taken back, Bravo looks at Tango, who simply raises an eyebrow.

Bravo swallows. “Look,” he starts hesitantly, “I- I uh, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you, alright? It… wasn’t fair for me to compare you to Jimmy.”

Timmy’s avoiding his gaze, fidgeting with his hands, but there’s a hopeful light in his eyes. “Thanks,” he says softly.

Satisfied for the moment, Jimmy turns to Tango. “We can’t leave him here,” he says, completely resolute. “I- I think we should head back through the portal for now, regroup with the others and come up with a- with an actual plan? So long as we don’t break the portal, we’ll still be able to come back through. Even if he,” he nods at Bravo, “is with us.”

Tango rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “Right, right, yeah. I’m- the others are bound to notice we’re gone soon, so we should probably-”

“Oh!” Timmy gasps suddenly, smacking his forehead. “The others, right! Right, sorry, I uh- the reason I came to find you, Bravo, is that a- a whole buncha players just joined the world.” He cringes, apologetic. “I- I think it’s those guys you were tellin’ me about.”

“What?!” Bravo demands, sounding alarmed.

Tango whips out his communicator, eyes widening at the chat.

The entire Double Life server has joined Hels. Which means they’re probably up by the portal right now, wandering around and looking for him in a dangerous world they’re entirely unfamiliar with, full of hostile mobs, hidden traps, and certain ruthless scientists who’d love to add a few hybrids to their collection.

Shit.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player types furiously on a communicator.

“No,” Atlas calls over his shoulder distractedly, “they won’t be at world spawn. Get me the last coordinates searched by Alisker’s mercenaries, we’ll start from there.”

“Yes, sir,” the scientist says quickly before rushing off.

It’s only been a few minutes since Atlas was alerted to Tango’s arrival in chat- him and one other player. The avian, he thinks. Obviously, this development necessitated that they drop everything and immediately pivot towards an effort to recapture Tango. Amidst giving orders to prepare the flying machines and gather weapons and armor, he’s been frantically trying to reach Alisker via whispers- without looking like he’s too desperate, of course, but he knows that having Alisker’s support in this endeavor will be critical to its success.

All the while, part of his mind is dedicated to puzzling out Tango’s motive.

He had a feeling they’d return to Hels eventually, to try and get the key for Tango’s collar from him. No doubt Tango’s finding its properties rather disruptive to normal life. The only question was whether or not Alisker’s mercenaries would find Bravo before then, allowing them to open a new portal and strike first. The latter option would’ve certainly been ideal, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter. He’s confident they’ll succeed this way, too.

(Failure isn’t an option. Not again.)

What’s most confusing, however, is that Tango seems to have come without any real backup. The other players from his world were quite formidable as a group; Tango must know that leaving them behind will considerably lower his chances of success. So perhaps he doesn’t intend to confront Atlas at all, and is simply content to live with the collar. After all, he’s still wearing the cuffs, all these years later.

The only way to open a portal to Hels- that they know of, at least- is by using a player’s data to lock onto their counterpart’s coordinates. So Tango must’ve opened a portal to Bravo. Perhaps that’s all his goal is- an attempt to make amends with his doppelgänger and provide an escape from Hels. If that’s the case, then they’re working with a limited time frame.

Because if Bravo leaves Hels with Tango, then Atlas is truly out of viable options. All he’ll be able to do is open random portals to any of Hels Tek’s counterparts in the overworld, giving them access to random worlds that Tango is highly unlikely to inhabit. That won’t satisfy Alisker, and Atlas is already on thin ice as it is. No, they need to move now if they have any chance of-

Chat is suddenly jumping with join messages, and some very familiar usernames.

Ah, there’s the rest of them.

Atlas’s runaway train of thought screeches to a halt. If the other members of that world are here now, then it seems like they’ll be going for the key, after all. Which means he can breathe again. They’ve got a difficult conflict ahead of them, sure, but he rather likes their chances here in Hels. And he’s got a much better idea of what they’re up against this time- they won’t be defeated again so easily.

Oh, and Alisker’s finally returned his message. Yes, things are shaping up quite nicely, indeed.

Atlas quickly makes the arrangements, rising from his chair and heading out of his office. The halls of Hels Tek are bustling with activity as everyone scrambles to get ready. Anticipation bubbles in Atlas’s chest. This is his last chance to be victorious; he won’t rest until Tango is locked back in that farm. And, if he plays this right, he’ll have several new additions to his hybrid-farming initiative as well. Already his mind is racing with ideas..

The minutes pass in a blur. Atlas is standing before the flying machines and barking orders, his voice echoing off the garage’s high ceiling, when his communicator beeps again. He glances down, expecting to see another message from Alisker, and draws up short.

Grian tried to swim in lava.

PearlescentMoon tried to swim in lava.

InTheLittleWood tried to swim in lava.

impulseSV tried to swim in lava.

Smajor1995 tried to swim in lava.

Etho tried to swim in lava.

ZombieCleo tried to swim in lava.

bigbst4tz2 tried to swim in lava.

Smallishbeans tried to swim in lava.

GoodTimeWithScar tried to swim in lava.

BdoubleO100 tried to swim in lava.

Renthedog tried to swim in lava.

Atlas blinks in surprise. The messages are almost simultaneous; a massive die-off like this can’t be anything other than a trap. How curious... he knows Bravo is rather fond of setting traps, as Alisker’s mercenaries have discovered firsthand. And if the portal they came through was spawned near Bravo’s location… perhaps this was accidental friendly fire?

Another message flashes.

SolidarityGaming was slain by Bravo.

Oh. Nevermind.

Atlas watches chat with bated breath. It hasn’t escaped his notice that, as of right now, Tango is still alive. And if his hunch is correct…

Bravo whispered to you: hey. I’ve got an offer for you.

Atlas grins.

~*~

Chapter Text

from eden, part XI - honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror years ago

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player kneels on the ground with his hands chained behind his back.

He’s instantly recognizable, of course. A blaze hybrid, with pointed black-tipped ears poking out from messy blond hair, dull blaze rods hovering around his temples. His red eyes are downcast, sharp teeth bared in a slight grimace. His face, from what’s visible, is discolored by bloodstains and fresh bruises. An iron collar is still locked around his throat, red light shining out like a solitary eye.

Atlas is gratified to see that they were unable to dismantle his handiwork. He had a feeling they wouldn’t; not if they actually cared about not causing Tango harm.

“Well, well, well.” Atlas grins as he approaches. “Hello, Mr. Tango.”

“That’s close enough.”

Bravo’s voice rings out across the valley. He’s standing beside Tango, sword at the ready. Despite being the one to have extended this invitation in the first place, he’s evidently not taking any chances.

Atlas stops, raising a hand for his convoy to do the same. Separated by a distance of ten or so blocks, he can see just how poorly Bravo seems to be doing; haggard and blood-stained, yet still rife with tension, his wary eyes ringed with dark circles. Clearly, the last couple weeks haven’t been kind to him.

(Of course, Atlas had a hand in that.)

He’s alone, as promised- though Atlas knew that already from the unseen scout he sent ahead ten minutes ago. The place Bravo’s arranged their meeting isn’t where his base lies, that much is certain. It’s a large nether waste biome, lifeless and smoldering, surrounded by steep blackstone cliffs on either side. Probably at least an hour from where Bravo’s been hiding, and where the portal must’ve spawned when Tango arrived.

(Of course Bravo wouldn’t lead Atlas to his front door. He’s too cautious for that. Especially if he’s still protecting that ragged black-winged avian that some of Alisker’s men have reported seeing with him. Atlas is mildly disappointed by his absence. But it’s just as well; he doubts those feathers were in good condition, anyways. Would’ve made for shoddy arrows.)

Bravo’s keen gaze sweeps over Atlas’s assembled company. The two dozen armed thugs would’ve been enough to make anyone hesitate, but the effect is much greater with their small fleet of flying machines hovering overhead. Each ship has a dedicated gunner; a player with a crossbow positioned at the front. Their supply of slowness arrows would efficiently incapacitate anyone attacking from the ground or sky. Just one of the extra security measures Atlas prepared for this trip, to say nothing of what he’s set up back home.

Another such measure was the addition of weighted nets to their arsenal, woven from thick chains and studded with wither rose thorns, to ensnare any mob hybrids or monster players they might encounter. It’s not often that Atlas sees a player so much bigger and stronger than the average, like the massive zombie or the wolf, but he won’t be caught off-guard again. That plus respawn anchors on the ships and chests stocked with potions has left him fairly confident in their chances, should this turn out to be an ambush.

Almost a shame that doesn’t seem to be the case. But as always, he’d rather have such defenses and not need them than need them and not have them.

“Mr. Bravo,” Atlas greets him politely. “I must admit, I was rather surprised that you reached out to me, considering we left on… shall we say, less than friendly terms.”

(A generous way of putting it, to be certain. Their last encounter ended with Bravo killing himself to escape to spawn after Atlas was forced to finally show his hand. He does regret that the circumstances had required him to go against Bravo’s wishes; it would’ve been preferable to keep him as an ally. But when he refused to let them take the avian back to Hels Tek, well, Atlas hadn’t been left with much of a choice. Nor had he when Bravo insisted he wouldn’t help them open another portal. Such is life.)

“Oh, shut up,” Bravo snaps. “I- I’m not in the mood for the fuckin’ small talk, alright? You want Tango, you’ve got him. Now take him and leave me the hell alone.”

“Ah, short-tempered as ever,” Atlas hums. “Very well. However, forgive my prying, but I was hoping you wouldn’t mind regaling me with the details of how exactly you came by our friend, here?”

(He can infer certain things well enough from chat, of course. He assumes Tango and that other player, SolidarityGaming, came through the portal first and attempted to make contact with Bravo before the rest of the server showed up. It appears that Bravo killed them all in order to capture Tango, but Atlas would rather hear it from him firsthand.)

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah so, he opened a portal from his end, and tried to… I dunno, reason with me? I guess? He gave me this whole sob story about how he didn’t mean to send me here, apologizing, all that nonsense, but I uh, I don’t buy it.” He scowls down at Tango. “I think he was just tryin’ to win me over, so I’d help him get the key to that collar thingie from you.”

Tango tenses at his words but says nothing, gaze still fixed on the ground before him.

“Anyway,” Bravo continues, looking up at Atlas again, “it wasn’t hard to beat his ass. And his avian buddy who came through after him, I beat his ass, too. They’re shit PVPers.”

Atlas nods sagely.

(He’d noted a wide variation of skill level amongst the players of Tango’s world, but even the most skilled of them would likely have trouble taking on the average Hels player in one-on-one combat. A group ambush with a large pack of wolves is a rather different thing.)

“Got all the others in a lava trap after the fact,” Bravo says, “but uh, then the avian broke free and tried to stop me, so uh, you know, push came to shove and…”

Atlas gives him a knowing look. “You lost your temper again?”

“None of your damn business,” Bravo hisses, but he looks away as he says it.

“Mmm.” Atlas folds his arms behind his back. “You’re rather fortunate that the bond they shared didn’t transfer to this world, or you would’ve lost Tango as well.” He’d never seen or heard of players sharing health, but then again, he’d never been to worlds outside of Hels before. Whether or not the connection existed off-world was anyone’s guess.

Bravo rolls his eyes at that. “Yeah, thanks, I- I figured that out while I was fightin’ them. Give me a little credit, jeeze.”

“Of course.” Atlas inclines his head. “Well, I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Bravo. I suspect you’ll be taking your leave, then?”

“Yeah, I’m leavin’ through their portal,” Bravo says, lifting his chin. “But uh, once I’m gone, I’m gonna break it so- so you shouldn’t have to worry about anyone else from that world showin’ up again.”

(A small part of Atlas wonders if the overworld players might’ve done that themselves already. It’d be the smart thing to do, to prevent any unwanted visitors. But he’s also aware that overworld players seem far too sentimental for their own good. If they cared enough to come here after Tango, then they would be loath to eliminate their best chance at finding him again.

No, they would leave that portal open at any cost. Bravo ought to be prepared to fight them in order to break it. But no matter- if he is unsuccessful, and the overworlders come through again, Atlas will find out via chat long before they arrive at his doorstep. He has nothing to worry about in that regard. He would even welcome the addition of a few more hybrid-powered farms. After all, with Tango back, he can once again set his sights on plans for the Phase Two expansion.)

“Excellent,” Atlas says. “Then I suppose that concludes our business.”

“Sure does.” Bravo picks up a foot and plants it squarely against Tango’s back, sending him face-first into the ground. Tango grunts in pain, but remains where he is. “Now, you can have your guys come grab him, okay, but don’t- don’t try anything shifty, alright? I’m not in the mood for another fucking backstab.”

Atlas idly waves a hand, permitting the two guards at his side to move forward. “Oh, no need to concern yourself with that, Mr. Bravo,” he says. “Your usefulness to me has always started and ended with leading me to Tango.”

Bravo’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing as the guards drag Tango away. He simply watches, grip tight around his sword; he’ll likely wait until they’re out of sight before returning to his base, just in case.

(His continued caution, while generally wise to have in Hels, is unfounded. Atlas has no further need of him, and there’s no reason to waste any more time or energy going after him. Some of the pettier, more short-sighted residents of Hels would try to get a kill in, just out of spite. But Atlas is quite satisfied to have won in the end, and has no desire for payback. Not when Bravo could so easily become a problem again. No, best to let it end here.)

Tango, for his part, remains silent as well. It’s evident that he took quite a beating; he’s limp in their grasp, head hanging forward, making no movement as he’s brought before Atlas. It’s oddly reminiscent of the last time they were face-to-face back in the overworld. He’d been just as resigned then, and that was before they even put the collar on him.

“Not going to fight, Mr. Tango?” Atlas asks, mock surprise dripping from his voice.

Tango finally lifts his head, glaring weakly up at Atlas. “What’s the point?”

Atlas’s grin sharpens.

(And here lies the beauty of his trap. His real trap, not the one they set for Tango back in the overworld. The trap of the mind. Decades in the making, represented by the still-present cuffs on his wrists, the collar locked around his throat. A broken spirit is a far more effective prison than anything Atlas can build in a lab.)

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he hums, turning towards the ships. “Now, let’s get you home. Farewell, Mr. Bravo,” he adds over his shoulder.

Bravo doesn’t reply, but Atlas can feel his eyes burning into his skull the entire walk back.

~*~

Tango scans his comm with wide eyes, his heart starting to pound.

All the Double Lifers are here. In Hels. Once again, despite his best efforts, his friends have insisted on putting themselves in danger for his sake. He really shouldn’t be surprised. And sure, it’s touching, but it’s also scary as hell. While he might’ve warmed up to the idea of actually letting the people who care about him help solve his problems, that doesn’t mean he wants them traipsing around Hels on their own.

“What is this?” Bravo demands. His gaze darts around the cavern, as if the others are going to appear out of thin air around him. “What’s goin’ on?”

Jimmy inhales through his teeth. “The others must’ve seen that we left and came through the portal after us.”

Tango nods. “Yeah, I- I didn’t get a chance to break it, so-”

“Wait,” Bravo says, “you were gonna break the portal?”

Tango gives him an incredulous look. “Uh, yeah, of course I was gonna break the portal!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up. “I- I wanted to avoid this exact situation, them comin’ here after me, or- or any Hels players goin’ through to Double Life! Breakin’ the portal was the only way.”

Bravo’s eyes narrow. “Are you- that would’ve trapped us here, are you insane?” he hisses. “If you’re here, I can’t open a portal to you. I mean, I- Timmy could’ve done it, instead, but- but you didn’t know he was with me!” He takes a step forward, placing himself between them and Timmy. “Did you even think about that? What did- how were you plannin’ on getting us outta here, huh?”

The sudden suspicion in his voice takes Tango aback. It’s a borderline accusation, almost implying that he came here under false pretenses. As if he could hate Bravo enough to willingly strand himself in Hels forever, just to screw Bravo over.

It’s a very Hels kind of thought.

“Hey, back off!” Jimmy warns, his wings puffing up defensively.

Tango holds his hands up. “Woah, woah, take it easy! I knew the risks, yeah, but I- I figured between the two of us, we could reconstruct a portal and- and then find some random Hels player to use? We’d escape Hels to some random world, wherever their counterpart was, and at that point, our comms would be able to open portals again.” He clears his throat. “I uh, I wasn’t about to let you back into Double Life after everything, okay, but I- I wasn’t gonna let you stay here, either.”

“Oh.” Bravo looks away. The tension leaves him as quickly as it came. “Right, right, sorry.”

Tango exhales slowly. “It’s fine.”

He knows better than to take it as a personal insult; after all, he keenly recalls a time when he used to be paranoid like that, too. When he’d first joined Hermitcraft, he’d second-guessed everything, even though the Hermits had given him absolutely no reason to do so. It was just something ingrained in him from growing up in a world where everyone was out to get him.

Evidently, Bravo’s learned that lesson during his time in Hels, too.

“Uh, guys,” Jimmy interjects, “we should go get ‘em before they get hurt, or- or stray too far from the portal.”

“Right, right.” Tango glances at Bravo. “Uh, can you trigger that dropchute skadoodler from down here? To open the top?”

Bravo nods. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, hang on…” He turns and hits a well-camouflaged deepslate button on the wall. Pistons churn, and the wall opens up into his hidden entrance, a dimly-lit hallway stretching beyond it.

Tango’s abruptly reminded of how he used to hide his own Hels base. “Nice,” he says, before he can help himself. “The uh, secret button thing. Very smart.”

Bravo squints at him for a moment, as if debating whether the compliment was genuine. “Sure,” he finally settles on, before looking over his shoulder at Timmy. “Give a shout if you need anything.” Then he disappears around the corner.

“I’ll send Impulse a message,” Tango says, pulling up his chat. “Jimmy, can you fly up there and get ‘em? They can just drop down through the chute, we’ll put some water down or somethin’ in case they land where the cobwebs have been cleared.”

“Right, good call.” Jimmy presses a quick kiss to Tango’s forehead before turning away. “Back in a flash.”

Wings flaring, he takes off up the dropchute. Tango quickly drafts a whisper to Impulse- just a quick ‘stay put, jimmy otw’- before turning to the pit. He normally doesn’t care much for water, but he’d made sure to bring a bucket with him. Even though he’s not good at the whole MLG bucket clutch thing, he knew it could help in a pinch, and water-containing biomes in Hels are few and far between.

“Oh!” Timmy pipes up. “I have water, too!”

Tango looks over in surprise. “Oh, thanks. Yeah, here, just… fill in where the gaps are, okay?”

Timmy nods, shuffling over to stand beside Tango as he pulls a water bucket from his inventory.

It really is strange. They have the exact same voice, only Timmy’s is slightly fainter. Like he’s afraid to speak at full volume. He’s also got this nervous, hesitant way of moving- as if Tango’s going to reprimand him for getting too close. Even though he’s not Jimmy, it pulls at Tango’s heartstrings to see someone so similar to the man he loves in such a desperate state.

It’s a stark reminder of what Tango already knows. Hels has plenty of violent, cruel players that like to throw their weight around, but there are plenty of victims, too.

“There.” Tango puts his empty bucket away, surveying their handiwork. “That should do it.”

Timmy eyes the dropchute apprehensively. “Are they... all comin’ down here? All at once?”

Tango softens. “Hey, it’s alright. These are good friends of mine, okay, you- they aren’t gonna cause trouble.”

“Yeah.” Bravo pokes back out from the hallway, crossing over to them. “I wouldn’t let ‘em hurt you, anyways.”

Tango snorts. Distrust notwithstanding, the protectiveness is kind of cute to see. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bravo asks, immediately on-guard again.

“Nothing!” Tango insists, exasperated. “Gosh, would you- can you maybe chill out a bit? There’s no sneaky double-cross here, alright, I- I’m not like Atlas.”

Bravo blinks. “I know that,” he says uncertainly.

Tango wisely chooses not to point out his tone. “Okay, then.”

Timmy looks anxiously between them. “Are we… is everythin’ alright?” he asks, fidgeting with his hands. “There’s not gonna be anymore fightin’, is there?”

Bravo grimaces. “No, no, sorry. We’re good.” He glances sidelong at Tango. “I uh, I think some of these other guys might have… mixed feelings, seein’ me again, but I’m not gonna start anything.”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise. “Don’t worry, I- I’m sure Jimmy will give them the low-down. None of them would just attack on sight, anyways.”

Bravo tenses, like he’s taken it as another slight against him, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Right.”

Before an awkward silence can descend, Jimmy’s voice echoes down the dropchute.

“Incoming!”

Tango puts an arm out, prompting Bravo and Timmy to back up from the edge of the pit. Jimmy swoops out from the chute a second later, followed closely by Grian and Pearl, wings fanning out to glide. The rest of the Double Lifers plunge behind them, landing amongst the cobwebs and water streams in a cacophony of shouts.

From there, it’s a chaotic few minutes as they work to help everyone else out of the pit. Swords make quick work of the cobwebs, hastily-placed blocks serving as a makeshift stairwell. There are lots of overlapping questions and exclamations, of course, as Tango reunites with his friends- demands to know what he was thinking and why he decided to tackle Hels by himself, which he expected.

But there are lots of tight hugs, too. Their anger is short-lived, fueled only by the fear that they’d lost him for good. It’s a mix of emotions. He’s humbled and relieved, sheepish but reassured by his friends’ care for him. All the while, though, he’s keeping an eye on Bravo and Timmy out of the corner of his eye, part of his mind keenly aware that they’re working with limited time.

“Hey, so,” he says eventually, clapping his hands, “uh- I hate to cut the reunion short, guys, but we gotta get goin’ here.”

Jimmy slips into place beside him, draping a wing over his shoulders. “Right,” he says, lifting his voice to address the room. “Um, so you guys already know Bravo. And uh, this is Timmy, my- my doppelgänger I was tellin’ you about.”

Bravo merely offers a nod, Timmy shyly peeking out from behind him- which is almost impressive, considering their height difference. The chorus of greetings that resounds from the Lifers makes him shrink back even further, so the room quickly hushes again. Tango can tell that everyone is incredibly curious about Timmy, but they’re kindly holding back for his sake.

Jimmy gives a half-hearted smile. “He’s, uh- he’s a bit shy, you see.”

“So.” Impulse steps out from the group, walking right up to Bravo- who steps forward to meet him. “Jimmy uh, he told us that you and Tango came to an understanding,” he says, staring Bravo down, “that you’re gonna help us out.”

Bravo lifts his chin. “That’s right.”

“Well, I wanna hear it from you,” Impulse says evenly. His golden eyes are hard in a way that Tango rarely sees. “I wanna actually hear that uh… you’re sorry for everything you did.”

Tango puts a hand out. “Impulse, now’s really not the time-”

“No,” Bravo says, unexpectedly. “No, I- I suppose that’s fair.” He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flitting over the group. “I mean, I don’t blame you for not trustin’ me, it was your home that I helped invade.”

“And our friend you hurt!” Scar adds indignantly. He’s got an arrow notched in his bow, though he has yet to draw it.

Bravo winces. “Right. Well, I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to help Atlas attack you, and to say all that stuff about Tango, and blame him for this whole Hels situation.” He exhales heavily. “I’m sorry.”

Impulse studies Bravo for a moment, his forked tail lashing back and forth, before he eases back. “Alright, then.” He folds his arms, evidently satisfied, and turns to Tango. “So, what’s the plan?”

Tango lets out a breath, grateful for the change of topic. “Well, we know Atlas has the key to this stupid collar thing. But I mean, I’m not sure how we’re gonna get it from him.”

Grian raises his brows, eyes wide behind his tinted shades. “Um, hang on a second… so- so you dipped through the portal on a mission to Hels, by yourself, in the middle of the night… and you didn’t even have a plan?”

Tango feels himself flush. “Hey, I- I was under a lotta stress, okay!” he defends. “I wasn’t thinkin’ that far ahead!”

Luckily Impulse cuts back in. “Do we know where Atlas is now?”

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “Hels Tek is a few days away on foot, but they’ve got flying machines. They can make the trip in a fraction of the time. They’re probably already out there looking for Tango- or, at least, they’re gonna be real soon.”

Impulse rubs his chin. “Why don’t we just lure him here, then, and jump him?”

“Oh hey, yeah,” Jimmy chimes in, “we could have Bravo send him a message askin’ him to meet, like he’s sellin’ Tango out?”

Bravo frowns. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Jimmy asks, rounding on Bravo. “We made quick work of ‘em last time.”

Bravo holds his hands up. “Look uh, no offense,” he starts, immediately making everyone tense, “but you guys only won last time ‘cause Atlas didn’t expect much of a fight. He brought all those guys just for Tango. Didn’t help that they were some of the dumbest grunts I’ve ever seen. Plus, you uh, you had about a gazillion wolves to act as cannon fodder, so.”

Ren pins his ears back in obvious offense. “Uh, really?”

“Excuse me?” Pearl demands, crossing her arms. “I dunno ‘bout cannon fodder, now…”

“Yeah,” Joel jumps in, “uh, I’m pretty sure we destroyed those guys.”

“Yeah!” Bdubs echoes, puffing out his chest. “We- we ain’t scared’a no punks!”

Bravo scowls. “You guys are missing the point-”

“And you’re not helpin’!” Jimmy retorts.

“No,” Tango says, “Bravo’s right.”

The sudden surprise that falls over the room is palpable. Even Bravo seems taken aback by Tango agreeing with him. But despite the combined attention from each pair of eyes in the room, Tango doesn’t shy away.

He normally hates being in any sort of leadership role. Taking charge over a large group of people? No thanks. It’s tempting to just go with what his friends want to do, to let them help the way they want. But the stakes here are too high to let self-consciousness interfere. While he trusts his friends, he also knows that he and Bravo are the only ones who actually know Atlas, and know what Hels Tek can really do.

It’s up to him to make sure they don’t go with a bad plan, just because it’s the easier route.

“Listen,” Tango says, spreading his hands, “Atlas knows you guys are here, okay, he would’ve seen you join in chat. He- he’s not gonna- even if we lure him here under the guise of handin’ me over, alright, he’s gonna be on guard and much better prepared than last time. That fight ain’t goin’ our way, trust me.”

Jimmy gives him a searching look. “Are you sure?” he asks softly, putting a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “Y’know, we- we aren’t afraid to fight.”

“I know,” Tango assures him. He reaches up to squeeze Jimmy’s hand, offering a faint smile. “And I appreciate it. But I- I’m not gonna just let you guys walk into certain death. We gotta be careful about this, okay? ‘Cause this,” he gestures at his collar, “is what Atlas came up with the last time he was able to plan ahead, and uh, that’s barely scratching the surface of what he’s capable of.”

Jimmy sobers at the reminder. Thankfully, the sentiment appears to sink in for the other Lifers as well, reflected in their expressions and dissipating tension.

Bravo gives Tango an acknowledging look- probably the closest thing he can muster to a ‘thank you.’ “Yeah, Atlas is a crafty bastard,” he says. “He’s- the only time he’s really vulnerable is when he thinks he’s got the upper hand. That’s when he slips up, when his hubris gets the better of him.”

Tango nods. “Atlas isn’t gonna relax ‘til I’m locked back in that farm.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, it hits him. Tango inhales sharply, and he can tell from the way Bravo’s eyes widen that they’ve both had the exact same thought.

“... oh.”

~*~

Relief floods through Bravo as the netherrack hill finally comes into view.

Before he and Tango left to meet Atlas, they’d decided to hide the portal in case anyone happened upon it. Neither of them had much skill in the way of terraforming, but they’d managed to scrape together a crude mound of netherrack that could pass as naturally-generated terrain, sloped to meet the surrounding landscape. He’d even lit a few pieces on fire with flint and steel as a final touch to help it blend in. It was probably overkill, considering he’d chosen to hide in this area for its seclusion in the first place, but better safe than sorry.

His feet are starting to ache from all the walking he’s done today, but he breaks into a jog as he closes the final distance. “You there, Timmy?” he calls, as loudly as he dares.

A block of netherrack pops out from the side of the hill, Timmy’s pale face appearing in the gap. “Bravo! You’re back!” Despite the faintness of his voice, he sounds overjoyed to see Bravo- like he always does, every time Bravo is apart from him.

Like he’s never certain if Bravo will come back.

“Hey.” Switching to his pickaxe, Bravo mines another block away to make an entrance. “You uh, you didn’t see anyone snoopin’ around here, right?”

Timmy backs up to let him inside. “No, all quiet.”

“Good.” Bravo quickly puts the blocks back into place behind him. Stashing his pickaxe in his inventory, he leans against the wall, blinking as he adjusts to the green-yellow-red light from the portal.

“Did it- did it go okay?” Timmy asks, wringing his hands together. Colored light swirls in the hollows of his cheeks.

Bravo nods. “Yeah, he bought it. They’re on their way back to Hels Tek now, should be there in a couple more hours.” He checks his clock and sets a timer on his comm; the day-night cycle is world-dependent, so they need to make sure they come back at the right time.

“Oh, that’s good.” Timmy’s wings ruffle behind him; even after Bravo trimmed the lower feathers, they still drag on the ground. “So… it’s all goin’ to plan so far?”

“Yep. Don’t worry.“ Bravo puts his comm away and pushes off from the wall, clearing his throat. “So uh, are- are you ready to leave?”

“Yeah.” Timmy lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I… I think so. It’s… hard to believe it’s finally happenin’, you know?”

A bittersweet smile tugs at Bravo’s mouth. He’ll be returning to Hels within the day, but at least Timmy can get out. “Yeah, I know.”

“You promised me we would,” Timmy murmurs, his eyes soft. “Remember? You promised me we’d leave Hels, and now… now we are. I’d never- if it weren’t for you, I never would’a had the courage to leave, I- I’d still be at spawn.”

Bravo glances away, shrugging. “Maybe.”

“No, I know I would be.” Timmy dares to take a step forward. Even with his shoulders hunched and wings curled around him, he towers over Bravo in the cramped space. “Thank you.”

Bravo looks up at him, his throat tightening. “I don’t… you know I- I didn’t help you for the right reason,” he makes himself say. “Right?”

Timmy makes a noncommittal noise. “Maybe. Does it… does it really matter, now?”

Bravo’s eyes trace the sharp edges of Timmy’s hair; hair he’d cut in the misguided pursuit of a projected ideal. “It does to me.”

Of course Timmy wouldn’t hold it against him. Half a lifetime spent alone has left him desperate for any kind of love, just as starved for it as he is for food. He would probably tolerate far worse than Bravo’s done if it meant not being lonely again. But that doesn’t make it okay. Just because Timmy might be willing to forgive him doesn’t mean he deserves it.

Timmy’s face falls. “Oh. Oh, okay…”

Bravo pushes down his guilt. He doesn’t have time to hash out this kind of personal business, not when the whole Hels Tek mess still needs to be resolved. “Now let’s get goin’, the others are waiting.”

“Right.” Timmy backs away, gaze downcast to hide his disappointment. “After you, then.”

Squaring his shoulders, Bravo turns and walks into the light.

~*~

As soon as the words leave Tango’s mouth, Jimmy immediately realizes what they’re thinking.

“No,” he says. “No, no, no, no, no, no way.”

Tango turns to him, beseeching. “Jimmy-”

“No!” Jimmy insists, sweeping an arm out. “We aren’t- there’s no way we’re gonna let him put you back in that farm, Tango, it’s absolutely not happenin’!”

It’s insane to even consider it. After all the time Tango spent withering away in that farm, chained up like an animal, Jimmy would rather pull his feathers out than let Tango step back in there for even a second. He still has nightmares about that place a decade later; Jimmy fears this would completely break him.

(Come on, where’s your sense of drama?)

(What, do you have a better plan?)

(You can’t protect him forever.)

Bravo takes a step towards them. “Just hear us out-”

“You stay out of it!” Jimmy snaps, wings bristling. “I didn’t ask-”

“We’re on the same side, here!” Bravo protests.

“Don’t you start with that-”

“Hey.” Tango puts a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “I know it’s not ideal, alright, but think about it. If we try to jump Atlas when he gets here, things are gonna turn out badly. He’ll be expecting it. But if we make him think he’s won, he’ll let his guard down. That’s the best chance we’ll have at pullin’ this off.”

Unfortunately, it makes sense. Jimmy hasn’t spent that much time around Atlas, while Tango and Bravo both worked with him for years. He has to trust their judgement.

(Ooh, this should be interesting.)

Jimmy swallows. “I… you’re probably right, but does it have to be that?” He cups Tango’s face, gently brushing his thumb over a darkening bruise. “I don’t- you’ve been through enough already, I- I don’t want you to suffer.”

Affection glimmers in Tango’s eyes. “I know,” he says, covering Jimmy’s hand with his own. “But I uh, I wouldn’t suggest it if I thought I couldn’t handle it, alright? It won’t be for that long, I’ll be okay.” He glances at the rest of the group. “I promise.”

(Famous last words…)

Some of the Lifers exchange worried looks or uncertain murmurs, but ultimately, they seem to come to the same realization as Jimmy.

“If you’re absolutely sure…” Impulse relents.

Bravo clears his throat. “Good, that’s settled.” He doesn’t sound very sympathetic. “Now we just gotta make Atlas think you guys are out of the picture.”

Jimmy crosses his arms with a huff. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“Simple,” Bravo says. “You all jump in a lava pit, and I tell Atlas I got you in a trap.”

The reaction is instantaneous, several voices protesting at once.

“Absolutely not!”

“We aren’t gonna just leave you in Hels-”

“This is outrageous!”

“- can’t be serious?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Tango lifts his voice to quiet them, holding his hands up. “It’s the only way, alright? If Atlas sees your deaths in chat, he’ll know you respawned back home, so- so he won’t have any reason to suspect an attack when Bravo offers me up on a silver platter. If you guys don’t die, he might not even agree to meet.”

Jimmy fights to keep his voice steady. “So what, you just get thrown to the wolves? No backup at all?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Tango shrugs. “I don’t like it either, but making Atlas think he’s won is the best way to get one up on him.”

Jimmy frowns at his tone. He’s once again slipped into feigned nonchalance, acting as though he isn’t bothered at all by the prospect of being locked in the farm- the inhumane, painful, extremely traumatizing farm. Whether he’s pretending for their sake or his, Jimmy isn’t sure. The thought sits poorly with him either way.

But they don’t have a lot of options. If they don’t do this, the alternative would mean giving up and returning home, resigned to having that collar stuck on Tango forever- just like his cuffs. And he’s actually letting them help him this time, instead of trying to deal with it alone. Jimmy knows they can’t pass up this chance.

“Alright,” Jimmy sighs, running a hand through his hair, “so then… how are we gonna save you once you’re in Hels Tek?”

(Oh, go on then.)

(This should be good…)

(They just don’t know when to quit.)

Tango gives him a grateful look. “You’ll come back in the middle of the night, attack when he’s least expecting it.”

“Okay… sure,” Jimmy says hesitantly, “but once we come back through the portal, won’t our names show up in chat again, givin’ us away? I mean, even during the night, surely he’s got someone lookin’ out for that sorta thing?”

“Yeah, we’d be right back at square one,” Impulse points out, “except it’d be even worse ‘cause you’ll be locked inside Hels Tek.”

Grian knits his brows together. “Without flyin’ machines, it’s days away, right? They’ll have plenty’a time to mount a defense before we get there.”

“You won’t be coming back through that portal,” Tango says, jerking his head at the ceiling. “After the hand-off, Bravo’s gonna leave through it, and you’ll use him to open a new portal to me once I’m in the farm.”

Bravo folds his arms, nodding. “We’re gonna attack Hels Tek from the inside.”

~*~

It’s a long flight to Hels Tek.

Tango knew it would be, of course, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. His body aches from the cramped position he’s in, stowed in one of the minecart seats with his hands still chained behind his back. The jostling of the pistons rattles his bones, ringing in his ears and pounding against his skull.

Worst of all is the constant gleeful malice he’s subjected to from Atlas. The doctor chatters almost constantly throughout the entire trip, pausing only to type the occasional message on his comm. He goes on and on about how Hels Tek will finally return to its former glory, how they’ve proved all those doubters wrong, how this just goes to show what hard work and determination can accomplish, yada-yada-yada.

Tango tries his best to tune him out. Just listening to that voice makes chills break across his skin.

(Whenever he has nightmares about Hels Tek, Atlas is always the face of it. There were plenty of other scientists that tortured him, of course. Honestly, Atlas had very little to do with the hands-on side of things. But he was always there to oversee it. Always looming in the background with that sickly grin, observing every test, every new cruelty with his sharp gaze.

But more than that, he was the one who brought Tango to Hels Tek in the first place. Under the guise of offered allegiance, of guidance, of belonging. He was the one who first made Tango believe that he could be capable of more than he ever dreamed of. The one who told him there was another way, a better way, than the chaos and violence of Hels. He’d promised Tango a home, then turned around and betrayed him.)

It won’t be for very long, he reminds himself. He just needs to hang on for a few hours.

Eventually, Hels Tek emerges from the red mist. The facility has expanded in Tango’s absence. There’s a new addition built onto one side, and another floor added to the central structure- if the extra height is anything to go by. It towers before him imposingly, like a great, toothed maw ready to consume him.

The convoy of flying machines steers around the side of the building, over the surrounding lake of lava, and into the garage. There’s another team of players waiting for them inside, the cavernous room quickly filling with noise as they begin to unload. Tango keeps his head down as he’s man-handled from the flying machine, two guards taking up position on either side of him. Their thick hands nearly encircle the entire width of his arms, rendering any hope of escape null and void.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to escape, he just needs to wait.

Atlas nods at them. “Off we go, gentlemen.”

Hels Tek is a maze of hallways and doors, as always. Tango’s eyes track the polished quartz floor as they make turn after turn, mapping out the route in his mind. It’s gotten a few detours here and there, presumably to accommodate all the new expansions, but he recognizes their path as soon as they turn towards the south wing.

Despite himself, his heart starts to pound. He forces a slow breath through his nose.

He can do this. It won’t be for long. They have a plan- his friends will come for him soon. It’s not for forever.

Atlas opens the final door for them with a grand sweep of his arm. “Here we are!” he announces, ushering them inside. “I’m sure you’ll recognize it, Mr. Tango.”

The farm hasn’t changed that much since the last time Tango saw it- but with the way it’s burned into his memory, he’d notice any change, no matter how small. The glass in the front has been replaced- or maybe just cleaned- and there are quite a few more chains attached to the back wall than he remembers, including a short one that looks about neck height.

For the collar, he assumes. So he can’t repeat his last escape act.

He hadn’t intended to fight. He wanted Atlas to think he was resigned to his fate, completely and utterly defeated. That’d be the safer move, for sure. But then one of the guards equips a shimmering pickaxe, mining up the glass blocks to open the farm. And suddenly he’s being dragged towards it, towards the beckoning wither roses within, and every other thought and intention flies clean out of his mind.

Tango screams.

“No! No, no, no, don’t-” He writhes in the grip of his captors, mindless and desperate. “Don’t put me back in there! No, please!”

It’s futile, of course. His pleas go unanswered, his feeble escape attempts easily overcome as the guards shove him into place. The first pricks of wither rose break skin. Panic threatens to overwhelm him. He screams with a voice that’s foreign to him, shrill and harsh in his ears, vision blurring with tears that are already starting to run cold and black.

“Oh dear,” Atlas tuts, somewhere behind him, “you know you’re simply delaying the inevitable, don’t you?”

Tango fights with all the remaining strength in his tired body, twisting and thrashing to the point of rubbing his own skin raw, trying in vain to lash out, to claw or strike or bite. But the guards are bigger, and stronger, and seem to have been expecting this. They pull one of his hands to the respawn anchor, forcing his spawn to reset. Then they wrestle the chains around him, overlapping the old cuffs around his wrists and locking new ones into place around his ankles, arms, and legs, and clipping onto his collar. Altogether, it renders even the slightest movement impossible.

“Honestly, I thought we trained you better than this. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Tango doesn’t think he’s even screaming words anymore. It’s almost animalistic, a wail of pure terror and desperation, his inner fire trying but failing to respond.

“You may have fooled your new ‘friends,’ but I know what you really are. What you’ve always been.”

As a final touch, they wind the wither rose vines tightly around his body, their thorns digging into his skin. The wither effect is in full force now- that choking blackness consuming him from the inside out. There was a time he’d gotten so used to being withered that he’d scarcely noticed it, not unless it went unchecked and overpowered his health enough to kill him. But after going so long without it, it’s far worse than he remembers; like being plunged into an icy lake.

“And we can’t have you living a lie anymore, can we? Now you’re finally back where you belong.”

Satisfied with their handiwork, the guards step back and replace the glass wall of the enclosure, sealing Tango inside. His reflection stares back at him helplessly, a distorted sense of self.

Atlas steps forward, grinning broadly, and hits a button on the wall.

The hoppers above Tango unlock, immediately siphoning away the blaze rods hovering around his skull. The dispenser beside him spits out a potion of regeneration, particles fluttering around him as his health begins to even out.

Tango dissolves into broken sobs. The dread that envelops him is almost suffocating, all-consuming, stealing his breath as completely as the wither rose flooding his veins. Distantly, he tries to hold on to a shred of hope, the reminder that his friends will be coming to save him. But it’s hard to believe it, amidst the haze of crushing, freezing agony.

Atlas leers at him from behind the glass.

“Welcome home, Tango Tek.”

~*~

Jimmy chews his lip, his wings shuffling uncertainly behind him.

Invading Hels Tek in the middle of the night is a solid plan, he supposes- if a bit vague. But it’ll certainly put them in a much better position than meeting Atlas on an even playing field. If they open a portal to Tango, they can just show up in the heart of the facility, with no warning whatsoever. Then it’d just be a matter of finding Tango to break him out, finding Atlas to kick his ass, and then returning home through the portal without getting caught.

Simple.

“... I still don’t like it,” Jimmy says, “but if you think that’s the best way to get the drop on Atlas, then I’m with you.”

(Oh, I was hoping they’d go this route.)

(Hels Tek vs Double Life, round two? Yes, please!)

(Can’t wait to see this…)

Tango gives him an appreciative- though slightly apprehensive- smile. “Good. Good, that’s… the best chance I can see us havin’, yeah.”

“There’s one problem,” Bravo says, frowning. “I’m sure once Atlas has you back in the farm, he’s gonna assign a guard to watch you. And as soon as that guard sees a portal spawn in the room, he’s gonna alert Atlas or- or set off an alarm or somethin’, and by the time everyone’s through, our presence will already be known.”

Tango tilts his head. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he amends. “But it’ll give us a hell of a better head start. It’s still our best shot.” He crosses his arms. “Unless there’s anyone else here who’s got a doppelgänger in Hels Tek?”

He sounds like he’d meant it as a joke, but Bravo scans the group before shaking his head. “No, I- I only recognize a couple of you from your doppelgängers, and uh, they aren’t at Hels Tek.”

Jimmy only has a second to feel confused before Etho chimes in. “Oh, yeah, you mentioned that last time,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “That you’ve met my doppelgänger before?”

Bravo huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Your Hels is probably somewhere on the other side of the world right now, and he’s an asshole.” He nods at Impulse. “Your Hels might help us if we show up at his place, but uh, I- I don’t fully trust him. Think he’s got ulterior motives. And his place is still days from Hels Tek, we’d lose the surprise advantage, anyway.”

Impulse looks stunned. “Oh. Okay, then…”

“Hey!” Bdubs barks suddenly. “That’s- what’re you- hyaugh, you- what’s the big idea? Callin’ people- other people’s counterparts bad?” He puts his hands on his hips. “Like- like you’re a barrel a’roses, yourself?”

Bravo shrugs. “Well, sorry, but it’s true.”

An abrupt thought grabs Jimmy. The way Bravo’s acting right now- everything from his terse posture to his bored expression to his flippant tone- is exactly how Tango acts when he’s trying to pretend that he’s unaffected. It’s so obvious, now that Jimmy’s actually looking.

Clearly, his friends’ counterparts have made a greater impression on Bravo than he wants to let on. Must’ve been some pretty… intense experiences, to have left such an impact.

That’s… an uncomfortable thought for another time. Not that it would reflect at all on Etho or Impulse, of course- Jimmy knows better than anyone that all doppelgängers are their own people. It’s just… he hasn’t really given much thought to what his friends’ counterparts might be like, whether any of them would be as nasty and cruel as the players who invaded from Hels Tek.

Tango seems just as uneasy about this topic. “Okay, so- so what are you sayin’?” he asks shortly.

Bravo spreads his hands. “Hey, openin’ a portal to you once you’re inside is still our best option, okay, I mean- I’m just sayin’ we’ll just have to be ready to move, quick.”

“Um yeah, we got that,” Jimmy says, managing not to roll his eyes. “I- I wouldn’t expect any of us to be lollygaggin’ anyways-”

“Hey,” Bravo snaps, “we’ve only got one shot at this, alright? I’m just-”

“Actually,” Grian speaks up unexpectedly, stepping forward. “I… might know a better way. But uh, not unless everyone gets real cool about a bunch’a stuff really quickly.”

Jimmy exchanges a look with Tango, seeing his surprise mirrored in his expression. The room’s attention shifts to Grian, equal parts curiosity and confusion.

(No, surely he’s not gonna…)

(Oh wow, did not see that coming!)

(It’s about time, huh?)

Scott folds his arms. “Go on,” he says cooly, his eyes narrowing. For some reason, it almost seems like he knows what Grian’s about to say.

Grian swallows. “So, I... have this ability to uhh… kinda, sorta... see between worlds? Like, if I know what I’m lookin’ for, I can uh... project myself, in a sense, and view players without them knowin’.”

Whatever Jimmy might’ve been expecting to hear, it certainly wasn’t that. “Are you jokin’, mate?” he asks, knitting his brows together.

“No, no,” Grian says carefully, “I… I’m bein’ serious.”

Scar gasps. “Wha- Grian, you never told me you were a hacker!” he says indignantly. “You know how good spectator mode would be for pranks?”

Grian presses his mouth into a thin line. “It’s not spectator mode, Scar… though, I- I guess the idea’s similar.”

Jimmy’s mind races. He knows there are quite a few things in the universe that he doesn’t understand- mainly those in the game-breaking and modding communities- so he supposes this wouldn’t be completely out of the question. He’s just shocked that Grian’s never brought it up before now.

Though most of the group seems to share his surprise, there are a couple odd reactions among them. Scott merely nods, expression stony, while Martyn looks bewildered- except, not in the expected way. It’s less like he’s surprised to hear this ability exists, and more that he’s surprised to hear Grian has it.

But whatever’s going on with those two can wait. One thing at a time.

“Oh,” Bravo says, sounding somewhere between confusion and annoyance. “You, uh- is there a particular reason you didn’t mention this earlier, or…?”

Jimmy shoots him a look. “That’d be well helpful, then,” he tells Grian. “If you don’t mind?”

Grian looks away. “I uh, I don’t like to do it,” he says, by way of an explanation. “For- for a few reasons. And I can’t do it for very long. But um… if there’s a chance I’ll find someone else we can open a portal to, that would let us sneak in undetected… yeah, I don’t mind.”

Tango blinks, his eyes wide. “Um. Okay, wow, I- I mean- sure? That’s…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve never even heard of that before, how did- do you know how or- or why you’re able to-”

“Uh, Tango,” Jimmy cuts in gently, “maybe now’s not the time?”

He can tell from the way Grian’s wings are drawing up, feathers ruffled, that he’s uneasy with this line of questioning. Even though Tango has no ill intent, just the excitement of puzzling out a new discovery, there obviously must be reasons Grian’s kept this to himself for so long. It’s his right to decide when and how to share that information.

(Ah, gonna make that mistake again?)

“You’re right,” Tango says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re right, sorry.”

Jimmy offers Grian a smile. “Thank you, for tellin’ us. We could use all the help we can get, so, I- I’d welcome some recon. Don’t really see how that could be a bad thing.”

Grian cracks a wry grin, his eyes flashing behind his glasses.

(You sure about that, Tim?)

The sudden echo of Grian’s voice in his head makes Jimmy jump. Realization crashes into him shortly after; he did hear Grian in his thoughts that one time! Well, that’s… kind of creepy, he’ll admit, but it’s a relief he’s not completely cracking under the stress. Not yet, anyways.

Grian falls silent and completely still- save for his breathing. He doesn’t even blink. It almost feels like he’s staring through Jimmy, rather than at him, and his eyes have definitely changed color- though, from behind the tinted lenses, Jimmy can’t tell which one. Maybe that’s the point.

A chill runs down his spine. Seems like Tango wasn’t the only one here living with a secret. But if this whole journey with Tango has taught Jimmy anything, that doesn’t mean Grian’s any less trustworthy. His past is his own business; Jimmy’s sure he’ll explain more when he’s ready.

After a few moments, Grian pushes his glasses up and grins. “I think I know a guy who can help us out.”

~*~

“Right,” Mumbo says. “Okay, uh- lemme see if I understand this.”

(The Double Lifers have settled in what he’s been told is Tango and Jimmy’s house- or, rather, their ranch? It’s charming, in a rustic sort of way, but also a bit cramped, if he’s honest. Especially in the basement, where they’re all gathered around a glowing red portal. A hacked nether portal, apparently. Goodness, what shenanigans they’ve gotten up to…

He’s familiar enough with the Double Life roster. Save for Lizzie and Skizz, it’s everyone else from Last Life- many of them Hermits he’s known for ages. The only one missing is Tango. Despite the fact that they joined Hermitcraft within a short timespan of each other, he regrets that he hasn’t actually gotten to know the other redstoner all that well. They’re friendly, of course- just as much as any of the other Hermits.

But Mumbo certainly didn’t know about any of… this.

So when Grian turned up on Hermitcraft out of the blue- after none of the Double Lifers had been seen ‘round in the last two weeks or so- and insisted Mumbo needed to join Double Life immediately to help Tango, he hadn’t known what to think. He’d agreed, of course, but the rapid-fire explanation Grian provided at the time is still… struggling, a bit, to sink in.)

Grian nods. He’s perched on top of the portal, his upper set of wings just barely brushing the ceiling. “Go on, then.”

Mumbo runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. We-” he gestures to the gathered players, “all have these... alternate-world doppelgänger versions of ourselves called Hels? Like- like Helsknight and Welsknight?”

“Yup.” Grian discretely wipes a purple-stained tear from behind his glasses. He must’ve done something his eyes didn’t like; Mumbo will privately check in later, make sure they don’t need any repairing while he’s here.

“And Tango is one of these Hels,” Mumbo continues, “for- for some guy named Bravo?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy, leaned against one side of the portal, has got an uncharacteristic glower on his face. His wings are drawn-up and ruffled in a way that Mumbo recognizes as unhappy. Seems he isn’t fond of this Bravo character, though Mumbo isn’t sure why he’s so personally invested- “He had this ridiculous notion that Tango ‘stole’ what should’ve been his life,” Jimmy scowls, “even thought we would’a been soulmates.”

(Oh, that’s right. He’s Tango’s soulmate, at the moment. That was the gimmick of this world, Grian explained, but for some of them it’s turned into something more. Yet another surprise; from what little time Mumbo spent around Jimmy in previous seasons, he hadn’t noted any feelings of that nature towards Tango. But then again, they don’t often have time to focus on feelings amidst the throes of a death game.)

“But he’s come around, now, right?” Impulse prompts from back of the room. He’s stood beside a sugar cane farm shoved in the corner, golden eyes shining in the dim light.

Jimmy glances away. “Right, yeah.”

“Right,” Mumbo says haltingly. “Which is… well, it’s a bit- it’s a bit strange, isn’t it? This whole idea of doppelgängers, and a just absolutely wild prison world, and…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Anyway. Right now, Tango is trapped on his home world, in an evil redstone lab that’s… usin’ him for a blaze farm?”

(The thought turns his stomach. Having spent much of his life living and working among all manner of mob hybrids, he can’t imagine ever doing such a horrible thing. Mobs- true, naturally spawned, full-coded mobs- are completely different entities from players. Anyone with even a basic understanding of data analysis knows that.

If these are redstone scientists of a supposedly high caliber, then either the state of technology in this Hels world is far behind that of the rest of the universe, and they truly believe Tango to be more mob than player… or they do understand, and just don’t care.)

Jimmy’s eyes darken. “Yeah. They’re evil, alright.”

Guess it’s the second thing, then.

Mumbo’s eyes trace the redstone circuitry surrounding the portal. “And you need my data in order to open a portal to my uh, my- my Hels guy, doppelgänger fella, who’s a scientist at said lab, so you can rescue Tango?”

“That’s right.” It’s Etho who confirms this time, his mismatched gaze staring down from atop the sugar cane farm. “The explanation’s kinda involved, but there’s like, a weird connection between counterparts that can be used to lock onto coords and open a portal, ‘cause uh, normal comm portals don’t work goin’ in or out of Hels.”

“Right.” Mumbo exhales slowly. He starts tugging at his mustache before he can remind himself to stop, snatching his hand back down again. “Um, well- well that explains a lot, actually, about Tango, and why we’ve gotten radio silence from Double Life for the last couple’a weeks.”

Grian winces. “Yeah, sorry, it’s uh... a bit of a long story. I’ll fill you in later, but right now, we gotta work out a proper plan to rescue Tango.”

“Oh, right.” Mumbo blinks, taken aback. He fusses with his tie. “Alright, um, I- I- I’m not sure how much help I’d be with PVP, but…”

Grian shakes his head. “No, you’re gonna stay here,” he says, to Mumbo’s immense relief. “Y’know, to make sure the portal stays up and runnin’. And if we’re not back by tomorrow, we’ll… need you to go get X.”

“Hang on,” Jimmy cuts in, craning his head up to look at Grian. “I- I thought Tango specifically didn’t want to involve-”

“If we all get stranded in Hels, or worse, then we’ve got no other choice,” Grian says plainly.

Jimmy rubs the back of his neck. “I… guess not.”

(Mumbo’s still catching up on all the dynamics at play, here. But from what he’s seen and been told, it wasn’t Tango’s choice to share his Hels heritage with the Double Lifers. He’d kept it secret all these years for good reason, apparently. Though, whether it was genuinely a good reason or it was something that Tango felt like was a good reason… Mumbo isn’t sure.

Everyone’s entitled to their own past. It’s not as if they often host group sharing circles on Hermitcraft. But spend enough time with someone, and certain things are bound to come up eventually. Mumbo’s gotten the sense before that Grian was far from the only Hermit keeping secrets. And he’s seen that squirrely, backed-into-a-corner look in Tango’s eyes enough to know he likely came from… less than ideal circumstances.

But that’s never been his business. After all, when Grian turned up on his redstone world one day with empty, bleeding eye sockets, Mumbo had helped him with no questions asked. The rest of the story came gradually, piece by piece.)

“Now,” Grian says, gaze flicking back to Mumbo, “Bravo and Timmy should be comin’ back through in a bit. We’ll close the portal behind ‘em, and then when the time is right, we’ll have you open another.”

“Right, okay…” Mumbo hesitates, scratching the back of his head. “Um, who’s Timmy?”

Grian groans. “I knew I forgot to mention somethin’.”

~*~

“Oh, I can’t believe it!” Tango cries, smacking his forehead. “Mumbo’s Hels was workin’ at Hels Tek this whole time? I- I- I can’t believe I never realized- oh wow, that’s- the powers of observation are just…”

He’s never recognized any of his friends as the counterpart to a player he knew in Hels. But how could he? It was so long ago- back then, he didn’t even know that Hels had overworld counterparts. He wouldn’t have assumed anything based on random similarities. And it wasn’t like he ever had a close, personal relationship with any of the people at Hels Tek…

Still, though. He feels incredibly foolish for never making the connection.

“Wow.” Bravo raises his eyebrows. Evidently, he became well-acquainted with Clear during his own time at Hels Tek. “Small universe, huh?”

Grian coughs into his fist. “Yeah, I uh, I don’t blame you for not recognizing him,” he tells Tango. “He’s… quite a bit different from Mumbo.”

That’s an understatement. Everything he remembers about Clear Cut is so different from Mumbo Jumbo- they’re almost opposites, right down to their names. Even their voices are different; Clear always had a thick, slurred way of speaking, his voice lower and rougher than he’s ever heard Mumbo’s. But maybe that’s less an inherent trait and more a reflection of the poor care he took of himself.

It makes Tango wonder what dictates how different a Hels will be from their counterpart. How much of it is based on codes and data, and how much is a result of the world they grow up in?

“Right. No, that- that makes sense.” Tango runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “And uh, that’ll actually work out pretty well. Clear has always been uh… out of the loop, we’ll say, for as long as I’ve known him. He’ll probably have no idea what’s goin’ on, so portaling in front of him shouldn’t raise any alarms.”

Bravo nods. “Yeah, plus he usually spends his time alone, ‘cause no one else can stand to work with him. Sounds like as good a plan as any.”

“Well, that’s settled then,” Grian says. He casts a look over the rest of the group. “After we respawn back on Double Life, I’ll hop over to Hermitcraft real quick and grab Mumbo. And while I’m at it, maybe I’ll see if any other Hermits wanna-”

“No,” Tango interrupts quickly. He can already see where this is going. “Look, I don’t- it’s bad enough that you all got mixed up in this, okay, I- I don’t wanna drag anyone else into Hels if I can help it.”

Okay, so maybe he hasn’t completely warmed up to the whole ‘asking people for help’ thing yet. But it’s different. Everyone on Double Life sort of became a part of this the moment Hels Tek invaded their world. They’re already at risk just by proxy, so of course they want to do all they can- despite the danger it puts them in.

He knows Atlas has already been eyeing other hybrids for his farms, and Hermitcraft is full of those. As of right now, there’s no feasible chance that he’d ever encounter them on his own. But if Tango rallies the rest of Hermitcraft to his aid, then he’s putting a target on their backs. That’s the last thing he wants to do to the place and the people that were his sanctuary for so long.

Jimmy frowns. “Tango, you know they’d all feel the same-”

“I mean it,” Tango says firmly. “I’m fine if you guys wanna help, alright, but don’t- no calling in the other Hermits.”

Grian purses his lips. “Fine. I’ll grab Mumbo and come straight back.”

Bravo looks between them before clearing his throat. “Okay, are we- I think we’re ready to get goin’ here, right?”

“What, now?” Jimmy asks, turning to him in surprise. “Hang on, we haven’t worked out the full plan yet-”

“The longer it takes for you guys to die, the more suspicious Atlas will be when I reach out to him,” Bravo explains impatiently. “We can hash out the rest of the details once we’re back in your world, alright, but it’s gonna take time for Atlas to get here. We should get the ball rollin’ now.”

Jimmy looks like he wants to argue, but Tango steps in. “Yeah, you guys should have plenty of time to work somethin’ out. You’ll have to wait ‘til night time to portal back, remember?”

“Right,” Jimmy says uncertainly, “but you won’t know the plan-”

“That’s okay.” Tango shrugs. “I trust you guys.”

It’s a scary proposition, sure. He’ll be completely at the mercy of his friends, simply having to just wait and hope their plan works. But they’ve more than proven their capability and commitment over the last couple weeks. If he can’t trust them with this, then he can never trust anyone else in the universe ever again.

Jimmy softens at that. “Alright, then,” he says, sounding touched.

“Good,” Bravo says, sounding decidedly less so. “Let’s draw your lava bath, then.”

“Does it have to be lava?” Joel complains, screwing his face up.

Bravo gives him an annoyed look. “It’s the most believable method for traps like this.”

“We’re gonna lose all our stuff,” Scott chimes in, arms folded. “We’re still kinda in th’ early game back on Double Life, so it’s not like we’ve got plenty’a resources ta’ spare.”

Bravo rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine, just- you can give whatever you wanna keep to me and Timmy, we’ll be comin’ back through the portal, alright?” Crossing the room to the pile of chests, he rummages around in one for a second and then pops a couple of yellow shulker boxes down. “Here.”

Tango whistles. “Shulkers, huh? I uh, I didn’t even know shulkers existed ‘til I got out, how… where did you get shulkers in Hels?”

“Like I said, I’ve got a new sponsor.” Bravo shrugs, but there’s an underlying tension in his voice telling Tango to drop it. “You guys get your stuff sorted. I’ve got lava buckets in here, we can just fill the pit… so uh, you all can go for a nice little dip.”

A quiet murmur fills the air while the Lifers set to their task, shuffling around the cavern as they load up the shulker boxes and pour lava into the pit from the buckets Bravo provides. Tango gives his own inventory a quick look-over, but none of the supplies he brought are really worth sending home.

Apprehension gnaws at Tango’s stomach. It’s all starting to feel real, now, the weight of the task set before him finally sinking in. However this ends, he’s going to have to face his past head-on. Back to where this nightmare started. No more running, no more hiding, no more lies.

He’s not sure if he’s ready for it. Even after ten years. But this life he’s built for himself- with his friends, with Jimmy- means enough for him to try.

“Alright,” Bravo says, studying the new lava pit with an approving nod, “I think we’re about ready-”

“Um, hang on,” Jimmy interjects, holding a hand up. “I arrived here well before the others, wouldn’t it be strange for me to get caught in the same trap as them? I mean, if we want him to think Bravo trapped near the portal- it’d be too convenient.”

“Oh, good point,” Tango says, dismayed. His and Jimmy’s join messages will have shown up earlier than the others’ in chat. “Atlas will definitely pick up on that.”

Bravo makes a noncommittal noise. “Well… maybe I could, uh…” He makes a stabbing motion. “You know.”

“What, kill him?” Tango asks, raising his eyebrows. Oh, he doesn’t like the thought of that at all. “Nuh uh. Not happening. We’ll figure somethin’ else out-”

“It would help convince him I’m not workin’ with you guys,” Bravo points out. “Just sayin’...”

“He’s right.” Jimmy puts a hand on Tango’s shoulder, resolve glimmering in his deep brown eyes. “If this plan is gonna work, we need Atlas to fully believe the story Bravo gives him. There can’t be any doubts or questions that would put him on edge, you know that.”

Tango does know that. But it doesn’t make him like the idea any more.

“I… I guess so,” he relents. “If you’re okay with it. I- I feel bad-”

“Tango, one quick death is nothin’ compared to what you’re takin’ on,” Jimmy tells him.

Tango jerks his shoulder in a shrug. “I guess.”

Jimmy studies him for a moment. Then he puts a wing up to shield them from the rest of the room, taking Tango aside. “Are you… sure you wanna do this?” he asks quietly. “We can just go back home, take some more time. Long as Bravo’s out of Hels, we know Atlas can’t come after us, so we can wait ‘til we’re good and ready.”

Once again, Tango is taken aback at how seriously Jimmy treats his feelings. It’s the sort of consideration he’d never expected to receive before he left Hels. This entire mess is solely his fault, and yet here Jimmy is, wanting to make sure he’s comfortable.

“No, I’m sure,” Tango says, giving him a reassuring smile. “I wanna finally be done with this- this whole thing. Like we said, it’s- the more time Atlas has to prepare, the less likely we’ll be to come out on top. I’d rather do this now, on our terms.”

“Alright, then.” Jimmy lowers his wing and looks over at Bravo. “We’re doin’ it.”

Bravo merely nods, but Tango catches the flash of surprise in his eyes. He probably expected Jimmy to be a lot more resistant to the idea, considering the tension between them. Just goes to show the lengths Jimmy’s willing to go for Tango.

(Whether or not he deserves it remains to be seen.)

Grian claps his hands together, drawing the attention of the room. “Okay, everyone ready?” he asks, surveying the group gathered around the pit. Seeing no objections, he continues, “Good. We’ll go all at once, now, so it looks like a trap.” He glances at Bravo. “You’ll message Atlas after you kill Tim- I mean, Jimmy, right, and then head back through the portal after the hand-off?”

Bravo pulls out his communicator. “Yep.”

Tango clears his throat. “Uh, real quick…” He steps forward, his gaze slowly traveling over the group. “Thanks, you guys, for doing this for me. I swear, I’m gonna make it up to you-”

“Just stop it,” Cleo huffs, looking down at him with a bemused expression. “It’s- it’s- it’s fine, we’re all fine. This is- it’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, we’ve got your back, buddy,” Impulse says warmly.

“Yes!” Ren pumps a fist in the air, lips drawn back into a fanged smile. “We shall show those heathenous scoundrels who they’re freaking messin’ with!”

A chorus of cheers and similar sentiments rises up from the group, and Tango feels his heart swell. He really can’t fathom how lucky he was to find such amazing friends. Even though they’re staring down a painful death and about to embark on an insanely dangerous mission, just for his sake, they harbor nothing but well wishes and high spirits.

Is it really any wonder he learned how to be a good person just by knowing them?

“Right, then.” Grian meets Tango’s gaze, offering a grin. “Good luck.”

Tango manages to smile back. “You too.”

“Okay, guys…” Grian turns to the pit, the lava below glinting in his lenses. “Here goes. Three, two, one… go!”

Tango doesn’t let himself look away as his friends jump into the lava, despite how upsetting it is- the screams of pain, the scent of burning. These deaths are on him. However this goes, he needs to make sure that all the strife he’s brought them is worth it. That, after today, none of them will have to worry about trouble from Hels ever again.

Their deaths are quick, thankfully, leaving the room in abrupt, unsettling silence.

“Okay, looks good,” Bravo says, glancing up from his comm.

Timmy, standing back against the far wall, peeks out from behind his hands, his ragged wings drawn around him like a blanket. “Is it over?” he asks meekly.

“Yeah, almost.” Bravo’s expression is unreadable, but it seems to Tango that his tone might have softened- just ever so slightly. “You can uh, head on up through the portal if you want.”

Timmy hesitates. “Um, I… think I’ll wait ‘til you come back from the hand-off,” he says, ducking his head. “If that’s alright.”

“Oh.” Bravo rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, sure.”

Jimmy knits his brows together. “You sure you’re gonna be alright here by yourself, mate?”

Timmy smiles faintly. “Yeah, I’m... used to being alone.”

It doesn’t quite have the reassuring effect he might’ve been hoping for, as Jimmy exchanges a pained look with Tango. The guilt in his eyes is startling; it’s almost like Jimmy’s blaming himself for all the misfortune his doppelgänger suffered. As if it’s his fault Timmy was spawned into a prison world.

Yeah, Tango’s gonna have some words with him later…

“Well, that’s settled,” Bravo decides. He swaps out his comm for his sword, giving Jimmy a searching look. “Okay, uh… you ready to do this, then?”

Jimmy eyes the sword. “Yeah, just gimme a second,” he says, turning to Tango.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Tango beats him to it. He surges forward to wrap Jimmy in a fierce hug. “I love you,” he breathes, “so much.”

Jimmy responds instantly, wrapping his arms and wings around Tango just as tightly, sheltering them. “I love you, too,” he whispers. “And I promise you, we’re gonna get you outta there, alright, and- and we’re gonna take those jerks down. I’m not gonna let you get trapped there again, I promise.”

“I know,” Tango murmurs, tilting his head up to meet Jimmy’s gaze. “And I- I’m so sorry that you got caught up in all this, all this- this craziness and all the pain it’s caused-”

“Ey, none of that, now,” Jimmy says lightly. “It’s okay. We’re soulmates, remember?”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise. “That was just random chance-”

“But I’d choose you again, you know.” Jimmy takes Tango’s face in his hands, somehow steadying yet impossibly gentle. “Even knowin’ what would happen, I’d choose you a million times over.”

Tango’s throat tightens.

(God, what he wouldn’t give right now to feel this love through their soulbond instead of that constant, underlying static. It’s not that he doubts Jimmy’s love for him, not at all. Jimmy has made it abundantly clear through everything he’s said and done, even through the hardship of these last couple weeks.

But when Tango was able to feel it, the actual physical sensation of that emotion being sent through their bond, it had given him something more tangible to ground himself with. Something he could cling to in the face of his worst fears and insecurities. Something he could almost point to and reassure himself, ‘Yes, this is real.’

It’s yet another thing Hels Tek has stolen from him- and at the same time, it’s a reminder of what he’s fighting to get back. Not just safety and peace of mind, not revenge for the pain he’s suffered, but the gift of pure, unfiltered love that Jimmy’s given him.)

There’s so much more he wants to say, but he knows they’re out of time. So he simply closes his eyes and leans up to meet Jimmy’s lips. He lifts a hand to cover Jimmy’s, letting the claws that he was once so ashamed of curl around Jimmy’s fingers, pouring all the emotion he’s left unsaid into the kiss.

He’s pretty sure Jimmy gets the message.

All too soon, Jimmy’s pulling back to face Bravo- though he doesn’t let go of Tango’s hand. He lets out a shaky breath. “Alright, I’m ready.”

Bravo, to his credit, doesn’t seem overly keen to murder Jimmy. “I’ll uh, I’ll make it quick,” he says, drawing his sword back. “Here goes.”

Tango squeezes Jimmy’s hand. He holds Jimmy’s gaze even as the glint of metal flashes in his periphery, and he doesn’t flinch when the blood sprays his face.

~*~

Bravo sits back, studying his handiwork with a discerning eye.

“Now this is rough, okay,” he starts, “but it’s- it’s a general idea of the layout.”

‘Rough’ is putting it nicely. The diagram he’s scrawled across several blank maps is hardly recognizable as a floorplan, and there are certainly parts of it that are lacking detail. But there are just some areas he never became that familiar with during his time at Hels Tek, for one reason or another, so it can’t be helped.

It’s better than nothing, anyways.

“This is Hels Tek?” Jimmy asks, his eyebrows shooting up. “It’s massive!”

He’s standing on the other side of the table across from Bravo- where he can keep an eye on Bravo without being too close. Though, space is a bit of a luxury at the moment. The living room they’ve gathered in isn’t all that much bigger than the basement where the portal was. Bravo thinks it’s the same ranch house where he confronted Jimmy and Tango for the first time; clearly, they rebuilt it after Tango burned it down.

Or, after it burned down in a fire that Tango accidentally started, while defending himself from Hels Tek. He’s not the one to blame for that, Bravo reminds himself.

It’s a quaint little home. Even though the room is packed full of players, Bravo can still make out all sorts of personal touches. Framed embroidery pieces hanging on the wall. Discarded golden feathers collected in a glass jar. A well-crafted rocking chair sitting in the corner, with ashen claw marks carved into its arm.

The Bravo of a few hours ago would’ve been tempted to attribute all the warmth in this place to Jimmy. All these sentimental, human touches… it’s beyond what should be capable for a blaze hybrid like Tango- at least, for the blaze hybrid Atlas portrayed him as. But looking around, Bravo can see his doppelgänger’s mark on this place clear as day, and he knows Tango had just as much a role in making this house a home as Jimmy did.

“Yep.” The avian with the quadruple set of wings and freaky spectating abilities, Grian, has perched atop his broad-shouldered companion, Scar- the one with the itchy trigger finger. “I- I didn’t see much of it when I was uh… havin’ a cheeky look, but I got that impression.”

Guess ‘a cheeky look’ is his way of saying ‘astral-projecting my consciousness through time and space to invisibly spy on unaware players.’ Whatever. Why not? This whole situation is already so goddamn weird…

“It’s a bit of a maze, yeah,” Bravo says. “Which is why we’ve gotta have a game plan worked out before we just go runnin’ in there all willy-nilly.”

Jimmy’s wings are hitching up around his shoulders, which Bravo only notices because he’s seen Timmy do the exact same thing when he’s uncertain. “Okay, then… so where do we start?”

“Well,” Bravo says, “if we open a portal to Clear, I- I bet we’ll spawn in the garage. He’s always in there workin’ on the flying machines, and I’m sure he’ll wanna tune ‘em up after Atlas gets back with Tango. I mean, there’s a chance he’ll actually go to sleep at a decent hour and we’ll spawn in his room, instead, but uh. It’s a small chance.”

“Ah.” Clear’s more sightly and hygienic doppelgänger, Mumbo, is standing beside Scar and fidgeting with his tie. There’s a knowing, sympathetic look in his reddish eyes. “Hard worker, is he?”

Bravo snorts. “Bit of an understatement, yeah.” He points at the map. “So let’s assume we spawn in the garage, here.”

“That’s a nice, big space,” Grian says approvingly. “Should let us get our bearings.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Bravo traces his finger along the lines. “The back wall here opens up to the lava lake that surrounds the whole place, and the entry to the rest of the facility is here. I think once we all spawn in, we should leave a couple people to guard the portal, make sure no one else stumbles across it.”

“I dunno,” Jimmy says, frowning. “Is splittin’ up really the smartest thing to do?”

Bravo shrugs. “I mean, we might be able to spawn another portal if we had to, but it’ll be our fastest way out of there and I’d like to keep it that way.” He gives Jimmy a sidelong look. “You really wanna risk someone breakin’ it before we can get back through?”

He knows exactly how hard it is to build a portal in Hels with the combined forces of Atlas and Alisker in pursuit. If it weren’t for an unexpected sponsorship agreement, it would’ve taken god only knows how long for him to gather all the necessary resources.

“I guess not,” Jimmy sighs. “Um, who should stay, then?”

Bravo’s mildly surprised at Jimmy’s willingness to defer to his judgement. He isn’t foolish enough to think Jimmy’s forgiven him, of course. But it seems like pulling off this mission matters more than holding a grudge.

He looks around the room, slowly examining the gathered players. Proper introductions were a rushed affair after he and Timmy came back through the portal. In an ideal situation, he would be better informed of each player’s strengths and weaknesses in order to determine what role they should play. But he remembers seeing at least some of them in action during Hels Tek’s invasion, and he can infer a couple things fairly well.

For example; the giant zombie player and the dog hybrid are too tall to even stand upright inside this average-sized room. That’ll definitely cause a few problems.

“My vote is on you two,” Bravo says, nodding at them in turn.

The blond guy with the eyepatch- Marty, was it?- squints at Bravo suspiciously. “Uh, Ren and Cleo are some of our heaviest hitters, what’re you playin’ at?”

Bravo spreads his hands. “Hels Tek isn’t exactly built with players like you in mind,” he explains. “The hallways are only three high. It’s gonna be pretty cramped and hard to navigate for you, so I think you’d be the most help standing guard in the garage.”

“Uh, seriously?” Ren asks flatly, his ears drawn back. “Sorry, my dude, but I’m not the kinda person who lets his friends go out on the frontlines alone.”

Cleo seems similarly displeased. “Yeah, I- I- I don’t- I mean, I- I’ve never particularly claimed to be good at PVP before, but surely I can do more than just… just stand guard?”

“Hey,” Jimmy cuts in gently, “I don’t like it either, alright, but Bravo knows Hels Tek the best outta all of us. We should do what he says.”

Cleo huffs, blowing her bangs out of their face. “Fine.”

Bravo blinks at Jimmy. “Uh- okay, good.” He clears his throat, turning back to the map. “The farm they’ll be keeping Tango in is here. So we’ve got a little bit of a trek, but we’ll be able to avoid the residential district where most of the staff will be sleeping. As we make our way through, stealth should be our number one priority- at least on the way there.” He glances up. “So uh, needless to say, this will be a dog-free mission.”

He directs it towards the red-hooded moth lady, who’s got a dog seated at her side. It’s only one, but Bravo recalls her having an entire pack; he can hear them outside, even now.

“What?” Red objects, her fuzzy wings puffing up indignantly. “But they’re so helpful!”

Bravo doesn’t budge. “Dogs are loud, and they wander,” he says plainly. “You wanna come, you leave the puppers at home.”

“Oh, alright,” Red pouts.

“Now,” Bravo continues, “most of the staff should be asleep. But if we encounter anyone, we need to neutralize without killing, or they’ll just respawn in their room and raise the alarm.”

Marty raises his hand. “I can brew up some splash potions of slowness.”

“Oh, that’d help, yeah.” Bravo tilts his head. “Uh, can you craft some slowness arrows, too? We can have the archers in the group take point, so they’ll get first shot at anyone we come across.”

Scar’s eyes light up. “Oh! That’s a wonderful-”

“Not with your crazy bows of one-shot-kill ridiculousness, though,” Bravo warns. “We’re just tryin’ to get the jump on ‘em, remember? So- so bring somethin’ a little less lethal.”

The blue-haired man standing beside Cleo clicks his tongue. “Boo, you’re no fun.”

There doesn’t seem to be any real objection behind the complaint, though, so Bravo continues. “If we hit ‘em with slowness and knock ‘em out, some basic chains would probably be enough to restrain them. Far as I know, it’s just plain ol’ humans workin’ there.” He scratches the back of his head. “For uh, for obvious reasons. So we should all have a bunch of chains on us, just in case.”

Impulse nods. “We’ve got an iron farm, shouldn’t be a problem.” The less-demonic counterpart of Bravo’s new sponsor seems to have cooled down, but his presence is still a bit unnerving.

“Great.” Bravo turns back to the map. “So we’ll proceed to the south wing, and then-”

“Uh, hey, I got a question.” The speaker is a short man with green antennae and sharp teeth. Jeeze, what was his name- something with J? “Why are we even botherin’ with sneakin’ along all these corridors when we can just mine our way through?”

“Hels Tek has a built-in security system,” Bravo says, trying to be patient. “The walls are four blocks thick, and the middle two layers are fed by an instant cobble generator. Soon as a block is mined away, it’ll be replaced- and not only that, but the update will be read by their security system. Same for breaking down any of the locked iron doors.”

“Oh.” Mr. J crosses his arms. “Well, you could’a bloody started with that…”

“So wait,” Etho cuts in, “how are we gonna get past the doors, then?”

Bravo fights back his annoyance; of all the people to look and sound so similar to their counterpart, why did it have to be Patho’s? It’s incredibly grating. “Each Hels Tek employee has an ID card that grants them access through the doors, so we’ll just snag Clear’s. Should get us where we need to go.”

Etho quirks a brow. “Should, huh?”

Irritation flickers through Bravo. It was said in a light and teasing tone, but in that voice, and with those mismatched eyes peeking over his mask, it just rubs Bravo the wrong way. He opens his mouth to retort-

“So we get to the farm,” Jimmy says quickly, redirecting the conversation. “Once we get Tango out, then what?”

Bravo lets out a breath, willing the tension from his body. He’s not in Hels anymore, he reminds himself; devolving into bickering won’t help anyone. “Then our target will change. We’ll have to find Atlas, preferably before he even knows we’re there.” He points at the map. “This is his room, here.”

Jimmy knits his brows together. “So we just… kill him, then?”

As enticing as that sounds, Bravo shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy. My gut says he’ll have the key in his ender chest, not his inventory. So we’ll have to overpower him, make him open it.”

“Then we can kill him?” Shorty McShouty asks in that impossibly loud voice of his, big eyes sparkling with equal parts excitement and bloodlust. It’s not very intimidating.

Bravo sighs. “Sure, whatever. But once we have Tango and the key, everyone’s priority should be gettin’ the heck outta dodge. We need to get back through the portal and close it behind us as soon as humanly possible, or else this whole thing is gonna backfire spectacularly.”

“I think it’s a solid plan,” Jimmy says appraisingly. “Is there anythin’ else?”

“Yeah, actually.” Bravo folds his arms. “We should get a couple chests of backup gear to leave by the portal in case anyone’s killed and respawns back here. And I want one more person to stay here, on this side of the portal. Y’know, to keep an eye on things.”

Jimmy looks confused for a moment before he follows Bravo’s gaze to Timmy, who’s currently doing a very good job of trying to blend into the wall.

Realization settles in Jimmy’s eyes. It’d been an unspoken agreement between him and Bravo that Timmy would stay here. He’s obviously not a fighter, and even if he were, he’s in no condition for this sort of thing. But Bravo doesn’t want to leave Timmy alone with no one but Mumbo. Even though he seems more sensible and capable than his disaster of a doppelgänger, Bravo would rather be sure they have at least some backup, in the unlikely event any Hels players manage to get through the portal before the rest of them return.

“Yeah, good call,” Jimmy says. “Who d’you think?”

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “Your choice.”

He’d noticed the immediate sense of protectiveness Jimmy felt towards his doppelgänger, and he knows these players far better than Bravo does. He’s the best judge to decide who should stay and look after Timmy.

Jimmy gives him an appreciative look. “Alright. Hey, Bigb,” he says, turning to the dark-skinned man standing beside Ren, “would ya mind keepin’ these two company?”

Bigb breaks into an easy grin. “Sure, no problem.”

Bravo nods his approval. Bigb is a goat hybrid- if the curved horns and floppy ears are anything to go off of. A fellow prey animal will definitely put Timmy more at ease, especially one as un-intimidating and approachable as Bigb. Plus, he seems fairly reserved; Bravo hasn’t heard the man speak once before now. If Timmy’s going to feel safe with anyone here, it’s him.

“Alright.” Bravo pulls out his communicator, checking the timer. “Sunset in Hels is in T-minus three hours, so make whatever preparations you need and meet back here then. I wanna run over the plan again, make sure everyone’s got a good sense of things before we go through.”

Jimmy exhales slowly, determination settling over his features. “Right. Sound good, everyone?”

General murmurs of assent ring out around the table. Bravo rises to his feet.

“Okay. Let’s get goin’, then.”

~*~

Tango swallows the lump in his throat. “So, that’s done.”

It was strange, watching Jimmy die. Despite knowing better, Tango had half expected to die with him, seized by a sort of anticipatory phantom pain. Though he knows it’s only temporary, the loss is immediate and severe- a yawning chasm of ice in his chest. He can almost feel Jimmy’s hand still squeezing his own. And he can feel still-warm blood on his face, but he doesn’t bother wiping it off; it’ll help sell his ‘beaten and defeated’ look to Atlas later.

“Yeah.” Bravo stashes his sword in his inventory, pulling his comm back up. “Right, okay, sending the message now…”

Tango takes a few breaths to steady himself. Unfortunately, that was the easy part. The hard part still lies ahead of him.

The cavern seems a lot bigger with just the three of them, the air filled with nothing but the low bubbling of lava. Tango feels unnervingly exposed, just like he did when he and Jimmy first fell down here. God, was that really only a few minutes ago? Ten, fifteen at the most? After the physically draining fight and emotionally draining conversation, it feels like days. He’s really regretting not getting a full night’s sleep before coming here, but sneaking off in the middle of the night had seemed like his best bet at the time.

A lot of good that did.

“He bought it,” Bravo announces suddenly. “He’s agreed to come get you. I know a spot between here and Hels Tek, ‘bout an hour’s walk away. Should give us plenty of time before he arrives.”

Tango’s heart jolts. While he’s relieved their plan seems to be working, it’s hard not to feel dread. “Oh. Oh, great, yeah. Set it up,” he says, like he hasn’t just signed off on his own arrest warrant.

If Bravo’s picked up on his tone, he graciously doesn’t mention it. He merely nods and resumes typing.

Looking around the cavern, Tango casts about for a new topic before an uneasy silence can settle. His gaze falls on the empty portal frame, and a thought occurs to him. “Hey, uh, if the portal’s gonna be open for a few more hours, we should cover it up before we go. Just in case.”

“Sure,” Bravo says, green eyes still fixed on his comm, “I’ve got plenty’a netherrack just lyin’ around, we can- we can do something.”

Tango glances sideways at Timmy, who’s doing that anxious little weight-shifting dance of his, like he’s torn between moving closer or staying put. “So uh, I guess you’ll just hang out by the portal ‘til Bravo gets back, then?”

“Oh!” Timmy jumps a bit under Tango’s gaze, sending a couple wayward feathers to the ground. He offers a shy, slightly apologetic smile- and god, if that isn’t Jimmy’s expression on his face. “Um, yeah,” he says quietly, “I… I think that’d be best. Lemme just get my inventory sorted…”

He shuffles over to the side of the room with piles of chests and shulker boxes, wings dragging behind him. Tango’s heart tightens; he isn’t the most well-versed on wing care, but even he can tell Timmy’s are in rough shape.

The only reason he hasn’t brought it up yet is because he’s certain Jimmy noticed, too, and is already planning on doing something about it once this is all over. Taking Timmy under his wing, so to speak. The immediate sense of responsibility that Jimmy felt upon seeing his doppelgänger was plain as day.

All that remains to be seen is whether or not Bravo will agree with that sentiment. Things are still… complicated, to say the least. While Tango’s pretty sure Bravo doesn’t hate them anymore, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’d want to stay with them- or leave Timmy with them.

And Timmy’s feelings on the subject are another matter, too. He might not realize just how much help he needs- and not just in the physical sense, either- but they can’t force it on him. After they get back to Double Life, they’re gonna have to have a pretty frank discussion about what to do next-

“You know, you’re takin’ a pretty big risk, here.”

Bravo’s sudden voice jolts Tango from his thoughts. He gives Bravo a sidelong glance as he comes to stand next to him; he’s still looking down at the communicator in his hands, brows pinched in an uneasy expression. He looks as tired as Tango feels- but still tense. Always tense.

Tango makes a noncommittal noise as he taps his collar. “Well, I know Jimmy won’t be happy if I just leave this thing on, so.”

Bravo’s frown deepens. “No, not that. It’s just- for all you know, I could hand you off to Atlas and then be on my merry way. Like, once I’m through the portal, I can make a new one with my comm and just bail, leavin’ your friends high and dry, or I could even rat out your plan to Atlas.” He finally looks up at Tango. “And you’d have absolutely no way of knowing.”

The sincerity in his voice is striking. Tango tilts his head. “Huh. Guess that’s true.”

Bravo’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wh- you didn’t- it didn’t occur to you that I might pull a double-cross?”

“Not really,” Tango answers honestly.

Bravo runs a hand through his hair. “Jeeze. You would’a thought I was the one spawned here…”

Surprise flickers through Tango. He’s spent the last ten years constantly feeling more ‘Hels’ than all his overworld friends- more monstrous, more violent, more untrustworthy. Rage and sadism, deceit and paranoia. Yet somehow it hasn’t occurred to him that by all accounts, he’s probably more ‘overworld’ than the vast majority of Hels players.

And apparently, more than his actual overworld counterpart.

“Yeah,” Tango laughs, “yeah, maybe I’m a bit lacking in the uh, healthy Hels skepticism department. Or maybe I’m just tired of makin’ decisions based on what I’m afraid other people might do. There’s only so much you can control, you know? We’ve all gotta make our own choices. And as long as I can live with mine, I’m good.”

“Really?” Bravo asks, sounding doubtful. “If you agreed to walk into a trap only for me to betray you, you’d be good with that?”

Tango shrugs. “Sure. But uh, just ‘cause I don’t think you would be.” He clears his throat. “Now, if we’re done with waxing hypotheticals, how ‘bout we get goin’?”

“Yeah, alright,” Bravo says, putting his comm away. “Hey uh, you ready to head up, Timmy?”

“Just about,” Timmy calls back, gathering up the last of the shulkers holding the Double Lifer’s gear.

Tango follows Bravo over to the passageway in the wall. “Yeah, this netherrack hut ain’t gonna build itself.”

Bravo huffs a dry laugh, hitting the button to open the passage. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Timmy can help us out with that.”

“Who, me?” Timmy asks in surprise as he comes up behind them. He has to duck to avoid hitting his head on the way up the stairs. “Um… I’m not good with building at all, Bravo.”

“What?” Bravo’s head whips around, his mouth falling open. “I- I just assumed- you’re not the builder?”

Timmy shakes his head. “No, no, I- wait, are you not the builder?”

Tango barely manages to hold back his laughter. Oh, he can wonder all he likes about the fate and random chance behind doppelgängers and soulmates, but at least some things stay the same.

“No!” Bravo groans. “No, I’m not- I mean, barely, okay. I can do like, the bare minimum, and- and certainly not terraforming or anything- and what are you smirkin’ at, skippy?” he demands, rounding on Tango.

“Nothing,” Tango hums, feeling surprisingly lighthearted despite the fact that he’s literally marching to his own doom. “Don’t worry about it.”

~*~

Jimmy flattens his wings out as the ranch comes into view, slowly gliding towards the ground.

He’s been all over the world in the last few hours, checking on the other players and helping them with preparations. Not that any of them really need his help to craft gear or stock up on food. It’s more for his benefit, honestly, to speak to them one-on-one.

Overall, everyone’s feeling pretty good about their plan. Some of them are rather keen to go on the attack, while others have their reservations. Jimmy’s relayed his and Tango’s encounter with Bravo quite a few times, now- though he knows even he doesn’t have the full story, having been stuck down in that damned pit.

It’s led to more than a couple questions regarding Bravo’s trustworthiness. Jimmy’s done his best to dispel their fears- but in all honesty, he isn’t even sure they should be trusting Bravo like this. Tango’s insistence is the only reason he’s agreed to this insane plan in the first place. He seemed to believe, with every fiber of his being, that they were capable of pulling this off.

And Jimmy will be damned if he lets Tango down.

He takes in the scene as he descends upon the ranch. Bravo’s on the porch with Bigb, leaned against the front railing as they chat. He acknowledges Jimmy with a nod, which Jimmy returns with a raised hand. He doesn’t want to interrupt so he steers off towards Timmy, landing a couple yards away from the other avian.

Timmy’s standing in the field, gazing out over rows of wheat and the distant pastures. His arms hang limply at his side, wings drooping behind him, his face upturned slightly into the late morning sun. There’s a fragile stillness to him. Like a glass bottle on the edge of a table.

Jimmy clears his throat as he approaches, so as not to startle him. “Takin’ in the view?” he asks softly.

Despite his forewarning, Timmy shrinks back a little. “Y- yeah. I’ve… never seen the sun before, you know?” He wraps his arms around himself. “It’s so… warm, and bright…”

Jimmy’s heart aches. “Right.” It hurts to think of how his counterpart- how every Hels player- was deprived of something as simple as sunlight. Living under a bedrock ceiling twenty-four-seven would drive him insane. “Well, I- I’m glad you get to see it now.”

Timmy smiles faintly. “Yeah, me too. I- I can’t believe you guys have… so many passive mobs…”

“Oh yeah,” Jimmy realizes, “Tango mentioned those were uh, pretty scarce in Hels.” He jerks his chin at the pasture down the hill. “Um, d’you wanna meet our cows?”

Timmy follows his gaze and cringes. “Sorry, I… don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jimmy says quickly, “they won’t hurt you! They’re really friendly-”

“No,” Timmy murmurs, licking his lips, “no, I- I’m not worried about that.” The hungry look in his eyes is suddenly unnerving.

Jimmy hesitates. Back in Hels, Timmy had assured him that Bravo was looking after him. Jimmy had assumed that meant Bravo was feeding him, working to slowly repair the damage that years of starvation had done. But looking at him now, Jimmy’s not so sure that’s the case.

He pushes down a flare of anger; that won’t help right now. “Oh, uh- hey,” he says, as casually as he can muster, “I’ve got food, if you’re interested. Got some steak with me, actually, and-”

“Food?” Timmy’s head snaps around, eyes going impossibly wider. “Can- can I have some?”

Jimmy startles at his sudden intensity, managing a laugh as he pulls some steak from his inventory. “Uh yeah, yeah. Here-”

“No!”

Bravo’s voice, somewhere behind him. In the second it takes Jimmy to glance over his shoulder, Timmy lunges for his hand.

But Bravo’s already there- pushing past Jimmy, he grabs Timmy and yanks him back, out of reach. “Don’t give him that!” he snaps at Jimmy. “Put it away!”

“No, please!” Timmy cries, wings flailing as he struggles against Bravo. His eyes are wild and desperate. “I- I’ll be careful this time-”

“Hey, hey!” Jimmy shouts, putting the steak back in his inventory only to free his hands and pull Bravo off Timmy. He shoves Bravo away, flaring a wing out to block him from Timmy. “What is your problem?”

Bravo holds his ground, getting right in Jimmy’s face. “He still can’t handle solid food, he’s on a strict refeeding regimen! You’re gonna fuck him up-”

“Refeeding?” Jimmy jerks his head back. “What d’you mean?”

Bravo has the audacity to look annoyed, his green eyes narrowed. “Uh, hello? He’s been starving to death for years, any substantial food comes right back up and puts him off the rest of the day- learned that the hard way.”

“Bravo, c’mon…” Timmy seems to have calmed down, now that the food is no longer within reach. “It- it isn’t that bad,” he tries, voice sullen.

Bravo steps back from Jimmy, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Timmy, you know the rules.”

Jimmy folds his arms, letting his wings settle. “So what are you feedin’ him, then?” he demands.

Bravo bristles under his accusation. “Suspicious stew, saturation. But he can only have it a couple times a day, ‘cause his stomach’s not used to like, actually being full yet. Next meal isn’t for a few more hours, I- I’ve already explained all this to your goat buddy.”

“Huh.” Jimmy frowns. “Wait, where’d you get stew from? You need flowers for that, right? Poppies, or… daisies, right? Not a lotta those in Hels.”

“I told you,” Bravo huffs, “I found a new sponsor.”

The last of Jimmy’s anger falls away, leaving him a bit sheepish. He shouldn’t have assumed Bravo was just letting Timmy starve. They might still have their differences, but everything Bravo’s done has been out of a sense of justice- albeit twisted and horribly misinformed. And despite it all, Timmy still seems to care about him. That ought to count for something.

(Way to go, idiot.)

(Getting all worked up over nothing…)

(Man, you really can’t do anything right.)

Jimmy rubs the back of his neck. “Oh. Right.” He turns to Timmy, who’s giving him a hopeful look. “Sorry, Timmy,” he winces, “I don’t wanna make you sick.”

“Just a bite?” Timmy pleads.

“No,” Bravo says firmly. Then he softens. “Sorry. We can try solid food in a few days, alright?”

Timmy sighs, glancing away. His wings droop even further, defeated. “Okay…”

“Hey, Timmy!” Bigb’s suddenly calling from the porch, beckoning Timmy over with that soothing voice and dazzling smile of his. “You mind helping me out with something inside?”

(Thank the universe for Bigb.)

Timmy hesitates and looks at Bravo, who waves him off. Giving them a final apologetic half-smile, Timmy shuffles back to the porch, following Bigb inside.

The front door closes behind them, leaving the ranch in relative calm and silence; a warm breeze rifling through the wheat fields, animals calling from the pastures and barn. Clouds float lazily across the blue sky. It’s peaceful, the way the ranch always is- except Jimmy can recall another time, not very long ago, when they stood in this very spot on a day much like this one, and he choked on smoke as the ranch burned behind them and his world fell apart.

He wonders if Bravo is thinking about that day, too.

“Sorry,” Bravo says after a moment. “I should’a said somethin’ before, there just… wasn’t a good time.”

Jimmy coughs into his fist. “Yeah, no, it’s fine. Sorry for jumping to conclusions.” Speaking of… he debates with himself for a second before deciding to bring up something Timmy told him when they met. “So… you uh, you trimmed those feathers of his?”

Bravo gives him a sidelong look. “Yeah?”

Jimmy pauses. “Well, did you know you made it so he can’t fly ‘til they grow back?”

“What?” Bravo’s eyes widen. “I- I only trimmed the lowest ones, to keep ‘em from draggin’ on the ground!”

He sounds genuine, at least. “You took his flight feathers, mate,” Jimmy says as gently as he can, stretching his own wing to point them out. “These ones.”

Bravo stares at the feathers, stricken. “I- I didn’t know- I was just tryin’ to clean him up a bit!”

“To make him look more like me, right?” Jimmy asks.

(Oh, shit!)

Bravo closes his mouth with a click and glances away. “Look, I- I already… I know I messed up with him, alright?” he grits out. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I’m not- I mean, I’m not tryin’ to,” Jimmy sighs. “Just… what, exactly, are your intentions with him?”

Bravo’s head whips around to look at him, bewildered. “Are you- are you seriously givin’ me the shovel talk right now?”

The absolute disbelief in his voice inexplicably makes Jimmy flush; he’d sounded smack like Tango just then. “Well- I- I mean,” he stammers, “in a way, I guess? You- you can’t blame me, alright? He’s my counterpart, I just-”

“You wanna protect him,” Bravo finishes, realization settling in his eyes. “You look at him, all frail and stuff with those big sad eyes, and you wanna protect him. I get it.”

Jimmy blinks. “Um, yeah. Is… that why you brought him with you?”

Bravo works his jaw for a moment, evidently rejecting the first thing he’d tried to say. “... not really,” he admits. “Not at first, anyway. I mean- I- I don’t fully understand it, myself, I was just… I don’t know. Trying to claim… some amount of the happiness that you two found? I- I thought I was owed it, I guess. But it was stupid, you can’t- you can’t force these things.”

Jimmy’s surprised that Bravo’s actually confiding all this in him. And even more surprised at the sincerity in Bravo’s voice, the raw ache of it. Seems like he’s gotten over the righteous fury that had its hooks in him. Whatever Tango said to him, back in Hels… it must’ve really hit him.

(Wow, plot twist of the century!)

(You know what that is? Growth.)

(Aw, my problematic fave…)

“Anyway,” Bravo continues, “when this is over… I want him to stay with you. I mean, not necessarily you, specifically, just… here. In this world.”

Jimmy raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting that. “Isn’t that up to him?”

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “I mean sure, yeah, he doesn’t have to stay but… you got a good group here. This world isn’t crazy full, it’s not super dangerous or overwhelming… you’ve got some infrastructure set up, a good supply of food and resources. I think it’ll be a nice introduction to normal life for him.”

Jimmy nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I uh, I was actually plannin’ to offer, once this Hels business is over.” He studies Bravo. “What about you?”

A dry smile tugs at Bravo’s mouth. “I… think I’m gonna go my own way, at least for a little while. I’ve got some uh, you know, some thinkin’ to do… about stuff. After all this craziness, I think I just need to go hang in a solo world for a bit, you know? Figure my shit out.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Yeah.”

They fall silent for a minute. Jimmy knows it won’t be long before the other Lifers begin to gather back at the ranch, ready to start the final preparations ahead of their mission to Hels. It’s a daunting task that lies before them, so strangely enough, he’s glad to have had this time with Bravo. If nothing else, he’s at least more certain of Bravo’s intentions.

“You know,” he starts, “you didn’t have to do all this. Soon as you came through the portal, you could’a gone wherever you wanted. So I guess… I’m tryin’ to say thank you. For helpin’ us.”

Bravo snorts. “I uh, I figured I owe you guys one. And y’know, it doesn’t hurt that we’ll be sticking it to Atlas. Fucking guy could stand to be taken down a peg.”

Despite himself, Jimmy grins. “That’s somethin’ we can agree on.”

~*~

Tango hangs limply in his chains, still and silent.

He’s long spent all his tears. Atlas left hours ago, but two guards remain posted outside the iron door. Every now and then, one of them will poke his head back in- just to briefly monitor- before leaving Tango in darkness again. Everything seems to be running like clockwork; the blaze rods floating above his head are snatched away right as the wither effect shudders through his body, triggering more to spawn. Regeneration potions smash at his feet on a regular interval, combating the damage just enough to keep him alive.

Just another day at Hels Tek.

The physical pain is intense- the prick of thorns in his skin, the sting of ice in his veins, the burn of wither rose in his lungs. Every passing minute seems to stack more weight onto his iron chains and shackles, setting a deep ache into his stiff joints and muscles. But his prison allows him no respite, not even the slightest movement to seek a more comfortable position, to ease the pain, so he retreats from his body altogether and withdraws into his mind.

That’s no escape, either.

Inside his mind is a storm. Tall, black waves of terror crash against each other- a churning, roiling froth, swallowing up the horizon of his mind’s eye. Despair howls on the wind. Any attempt at rational thought is consumed by it, panic shrieking across the sky like lightning.

There’s no way out.

Tango is a small light on a vast, dark ocean. He fights to stay afloat in the storm’s wake. It is entirely without sense or mercy, tossing him violently, head over heels. Weightless. Insignificant. Worthless.

You were made to suffer.

He opens his mouth to scream, but he has no voice, no breath. There’s only water, bitter and freezing- it rushes to sink him from inside, seeping into the hollows of his bones. Drowning him in his own blood, his own tears.

Everything you did was for nothing.

No! He tries to cling to hope; his friends are coming for him. They’re coming for him, they won’t leave him here, he just needs to hang on-

They’ve abandoned you.

The storm rages, smashing his hope to splinters. He kicks desperately for the surface. They wouldn’t abandon him. Jimmy-

He deserves better.

No, he loves him! He does-

Like a fish loves a hook? You will only cut him.

He can’t breathe. Where’s the surface-

Like a moth loves a flame? You will only burn him.

God, it’s so heavy. So cold-

Like a canary loves a coal mine? You will only choke him.

He’s sinking, slipping ever deeper below the waves. Engulfed in the inky void. There are no stars to guide him here, no sun or moon- the storm has blotted them out. Without them he has no direction; he can’t tell up from down, left from right, right from wrong-

This is all there is.

He’s so tired…

All you will ever have.

Maybe he could…

Give in.

He stops fighting. The relief is immediate; the water cradles him, extinguishing all his light. There’s no more struggle, no more pain- everything is still and cold and dark. He can hear the storm but it’s far away, thunderclaps mere echoes in his ears…

Give in.

Nothing can hurt him here…

Give in.

It’s so familiar…

Give in.

… he knows this darkness. It-

Give in.

It was so long ago-

Give in.

So long ago yet-

Give in.

He remembers it. He’s lived with this darkness before, he still carries the scars it left in him. And it never left him, not completely. It stalked him from every shadow, lurked around every corner-

Give-

No. He escaped it before. How did he do it? What did he have back then besides darkness-

You have nothing-

A light. That was all that changed, one small light in the face of the storm-

There’s no way out-

He chose the light. Again and again, against every downpour, every flood-

It’s pointless to-

He remembers. Nerves alight with electricity, breaking through the haze. His limbs become his own again, striking out through the dark, thrashing among the stillness, burning against the cold-

You can’t-

He breaks the surface. Chaos roars around him- the sting of wind and salt in his eyes, water grabbing him up and rolling him, thunder rattling through his bones. Half-blind and gasping, the shock and pain of it all almost sends him under again but he persists, fighting to keep his head above water.

Back then, all it had taken was a single light. The light of his respawn anchor blinking out. It hadn’t been easy; he’d needed the strength to seize his chance to free himself, to free his body as well as his mind. He doesn’t have that same chance right now. His body remains imprisoned, and the only strength he needs is his faith.

So he’ll have to bring his own light.

He reaches out into the black ocean for a fragment of hope- and he finds one. It nudges into his side, hard and small. It might be a short piece of wood, splintered from the whole by the storm. But as he blindly reaches for it, numb fingers scraping against its surface, he recognizes it instantly.

A memory; Jimmy next to him in bed, smiling beneath a curtain of golden feathers.

No, let go-

He curls his claws into it. His memories. That’s something he didn’t have back then, to help him face the darkness. Ten years of a better life, a better way. Ten years of sun and happiness. All the light he created, all the love he found, all the good he did- that’s something they can never take away from him, even if they chain his body forever.

More memories brush up against him. He gathers them up in his arms, stacking each damp board on top of each other, willing the structure to take shape against the crashing waves-

All you know is rage-

His creations; netherbrick towers looming from the mountain, higher than he ever thought he could build- a block of TNT hissing in the water streams of Boombox- the sizzle of golems in the Iron Titan- rooting through the spaghetti redstone underneath Decked Out- anvils launching through the air at Toon Towers- nether stars glittering against a black sky- darting past falling lava in Dare to Flare- hordes of drowned shuffling through tinted glass corridors- the leering silhouette of his cyclops under the Big Eye mountain- gazing up at the ranch with pride in his heart- clever farms- creative games- cozy homes-

Good things aren’t made for you-

His experiences; the softness of his first bed- twisting through the air at breakneck speed with an elytra- the hoofbeats of his horse trotting around their eighth world- sweetness of a golden carrot on his tongue- the big moon glimpsed through the window of his spaceship- redstone torches gripped in blackened claws- the thrill of dodging ravagers- infinite horizons stretching before him- the scent of freshly tilled dirt- fireworks lighting up the night sky- the warmth of sunlight on his skin- freefalling without fear- the comfort of a full belly- music blaring from a jukebox- the deafening shrieks of a dying dragon- boundless freedom- endless fun- ceaseless friendship-

You are alone-

His friends; Xisuma waving from across the ravine they’d just exploded- proudly handing Zedaph a piece of renamed string- Skizz cheering and clapping him on the back- whooping as he and Impulse run beside a ghast in a minecart- Mumbo grinning at him from atop a witch farm- sneaking between quartz pillars with Grian- Impulse and him collapsing in laughter as Bdubs fumes at them from the shipwreck- scrambling to build a TNT launcher shoulder to shoulder with Etho- Cleo- Scar- Pearl- Joe- Bigb- Keralis- Gem- Scott- xB- Doc- Joel- Cub- False- Wels- Lizzie- Ren- Hypno- Jevin- Beef- Martyn- TFC-

You’re a monster-

His love; staring down at Jimmy through the branches of a tree, a creeper explosion ringing in his ears- soft feathers tickling his cheek- Jimmy’s hand squeezing his own- a wing draped around his shoulder- humming as Jimmy spins him around in their kitchen- strong hands that are impossibly gentle- sunlight catching in Jimmy’s brown eyes- whispers in his ear- Jimmy holding him as he cries- a smile against his lips- the sound of Jimmy’s laughter, light and joyful- patience- kindness- love-

There’s nothing-

A portal filled with ever-changing light.

Give-

No. This won’t break him.

He clings to his memories, letting them carry him. A glowing ship riding the dark storm. The ground beneath his feet becomes solid again, walls rising up to shelter him from the waves as sails unfurl to catch the wind. The ship rocks and groans, surging up to crash back down again and again, but it doesn’t falter.

The storm howls, terrible and hungry, but it can’t reach him anymore. He turns his face into the wind and screams his defiance.

And back in the farm, Tango opens his eyes again.

The room beyond the glass wall of his enclosure looks the same as it always does. Everything is dark and still, lit only by the flickering glow of blaze rods above him and the sole light of his respawn anchor. Regeneration particles dance across his vision, competing with the encroaching blackness of the wither effect. Nothing has changed on the outside, of course- he hasn’t suddenly become freed from his prison, hasn’t miraculously escaped the constant pain that gnaws at him.

But he can see the change in his eyes, mirrored in the glass before him, and he bares his sharp teeth in a fierce, triumphant smile.

~*~

Bravo emerges from the portal, blinking.

It takes a second for his eyes to adjust from the dim basement to the brightly-lit garage. It looks just like he remembers it, save for a few scattered chests lying about. The floor-to-ceiling bay doors that lead out to the surrounding lava lake are closed at the moment, leaving the iron side door as the only access point.

The portal behind him now has that same red-yellow-green light as the old one, flickering as the other players begin to appear. Jimmy follows closely after, then Ren the dog man and Cleo the zombie take up their positions on either side of it, weapons at the ready.

“Well, what’s this, then?”

Clear’s alone, just like Grian reported before they came through. He’s crouched by one of the flying machines, a slimy rag tossed over his shoulder, black lab coat stained and rumpled as always. He doesn’t look particularly shocked to see them or the portal- mildly surprised, at best.

So far, so good.

Bravo takes a step forward, hoping to keep Clear’s attention on him as the rest of the others come through. “Hey, hey there, how’s it goin’?”

Clear straightens up and puts his hands on his hips, nonplussed. “Open House day already, is it? Could’a bloody reminded me, how am I meant ta’ keep track of all this rubbish…” He sighs, wiping his hands on the rag. “Right. Suppose you lot will be wantin’ the tour, then?”

“Uh, don’t worry, I’ve got it,” Bravo says quickly, holding his hands up. “You can just stay here, keep doin’ what you’re doin’... don’t let us interrupt you, I- I know your work’s important. But uh, mind if I borrow your ID? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

Clear blinks. “Oh, alright then. Sure.” He reaches into his inventory, fishing out a slip of paper. “Makes no difference t’me if-” He stops abruptly, his mouth falling open as he stares at something behind Bravo. “Scáil?”

Confused, Bravo follows his gaze- and his heart jolts. Grian’s just come through the portal, and Clear’s looking at him like he’s seen a ghost.

Grian seems similarly confused. “What?” he asks, startling under the sudden attention.

“Oh, Scáil!” Suddenly Clear is running to wrap Grian in a hug, sobbing. “God, I- I thought I’d never see you again-”

“Um?” Grian’s voice is strained, eyes wide as he goes rigid in Clear’s arms. “Hello?”

Jimmy and Scar rush forward to help, but Bravo holds out a hand to stop them. He knows Clear is harmless; there’s no reason he’d be trying to hurt Grian right now. But what is this about? Scáil… he feels like he’s heard that name somewhere before-

Oh, no.

“Really?” Bravo demands, exasperated. “Of- of all the Hels in this world, you chose his to fall in love with?”

Clear ignores him, of course, continuing to blubber. He’s fallen to his knees at this point, face buried in Grian’s sweater- which is quickly growing damp with tears. It’s kind of sad… in a gross, pathetic way.

“Come again?” Jimmy asks, eyebrows shooting up.

Bravo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Atlas mentioned once that Clear used to have a boyfriend named Scáil who up and vanished on him, and he’s had trouble tellin’ me and Tango apart before, so…” He shrugs. “Guess he had a thing with your doppelgänger.”

Surprise flashes across Grian’s face, followed quickly by sympathy as he exchanges a glance with Scar. “Um- look, buddy,” he starts, wincing, “I- I’m not… whoever you think I am, alright, I need to get goin’-”

“No!” Clear pleads, voice tinged with panic as he clings even tighter. “No, no, p- please Scáil, don’t go! Please, stay.”

Bravo can see Grian’s resolve falter. Hands that he’d raised to push Clear away instead come down to rest on his shoulders. “Ey,” he murmurs, wings curling around them, “it’s alright.”

Jeeze, he must be closer to that Mumbo guy than Bravo thought. “We don’t have time for this,” Bravo huffs. “Let’s just knock him out and get movin’.”

Jimmy hesitates. “Grian?”

Grian seems to make up his mind. “Just go, okay? I’ll stay with him.”

“You sure?” Scar asks worriedly.

Grian nods. “Yeah, I got Cleo and Ren to back me up if I need, okay.” He reaches an arm around to pluck Clear’s keycard out of his grasp, holding it out to Bravo. “Here.”

Bravo takes the keycard, mind racing. He would’ve liked Grian to stay with them- his ability to fly is a huge asset, especially when combo’d with Scar’s ace shooting, and not to mention his weird spectating ability. But if this is how he wants to handle his friend’s doppelgänger, then Bravo has to respect it.

And they certainly can’t waste any more time arguing about it.

“Alright, let’s go.” Bravo turns away, and is relieved when he hears footsteps behind him. Approaching the door, he slips Clear’s keycard into the dispenser, picking it back up as he steps through and holds the door open for the others.

Now that they’re inside the facility itself, the group is instantly alert, moving down the hallway as quickly yet quietly as they can.

Bravo leads the way, with the archers- Scar and Scott- at either side. Jimmy and Pearl follow closely behind, in case they need to fly ahead, and Martyn so he can lob a slowness potion if needed. Joel and Bdubs are next, with Etho between them, and Impulse bringing up the rear.

The hallway soon splits and veers off into multiple directions; a virtual maze of identical quartz walls to the uninitiated. But Bravo spent years learning these halls, and he hasn’t forgotten, despite his last couple weeks spent on the run. He swiftly takes them on the shortest path to the south wing, where the blaze farm is located.

As they creep through the halls, he tries to keep an ear out for anyone approaching, but it’s difficult to hear above the pounding of his heart. Being back in this place is more unnerving than he expected. After all, it was basically his home for five odd years, so he would’ve thought he’d be perfectly at ease here.

But maybe it’s a good thing that he isn’t.

“Wait,” Pearl breathes.

Bravo halts the group, looking over at Pearl. Her fuzzy antennae are twitching, her eyes wide, and she meets his gaze and mouths the word ‘one.’

Now that they’re standing still, he can just make out the faint echoes of footsteps down the hall, around the corner. They’re getting closer but they aren’t rushed; sounds like someone is just strolling. Likely one of the night guards on patrol.

Scott’s on it right away, creeping forward a few steps to crouch and draw his bow. Bravo shifts over to gesture Martyn forward- which he does while pulling out a splash potion of slowness.

For a few, brief moments, they’re all frozen, waiting with bated breath.

Then the guard rounds the corner.

Scott fires almost immediately- an arrow appears in the guard’s leg. In the same heartbeat, Martyn launches the potion through the air. By the time it shatters at the guard’s feet, showering them in particles, Martyn’s closed the distance.

The guard opens their mouth to shout, raising an arm to block, but between the arrow and the potion, they’re too slow. Martyn slams the pommel of his sword against their head, and the guard crumples to the ground.

Bravo lets out a breath and advances the group forward. They come up on Martyn right as he’s securing the unconscious guard with chains.

“Good work,” Bravo murmurs before glancing at Pearl. “You got super hearing or somethin’?”

Pearl nods excitedly. “It’s these halls,” she whispers, “the way they echo- I didn’t expect it to amplify the vibrations so much, but…”

Bravo exchanges a look with Jimmy. “Well, that’s handy.”

He can see the same hesitant relief reflected in Jimmy’s eyes and recognizes what he’s feeling. Their plan for encountering guards worked like a charm, but they’ve still got a way to go, so they can’t get complacent. The night’s not over yet.

Bravo unlocks a random lab for them to shove the guard inside before pressing on.

They continue through the facility in tense silence. It’s eerie being here at night, the rooms behind the endless iron doors all dark and quiet. A far cry from the bustle of noise and activity Bravo recalls from his time here. There was always so much going on at Hels Tek, countless projects being tested and reworked, all manner of redstone farms and contraptions.

It makes him wonder why, exactly, Atlas was so dead set on recapturing Tango for the blaze farm. He had already been chasing the idea for years before Bravo arrived on the scene with his own motivations. Surely, at a certain point, it would’ve been more trouble than it was worth? Especially since he knows good and well that Atlas wasn’t after portals.

But then again, why does anyone in Hels do anything? They all seem to be insane in one way or another. Maybe that’s just how it’s manifested in Atlas; single-minded obsession, like a dog with a bone.

Soon enough, Pearl is signaling the group to stop again. Another guard incoming, but they’re prepared for this. Everyone takes up their positions, waiting for the guard to appear… and then-

Arrow, potion, knockout. The guard is groaning from the floor in the blink of an eye.

Bravo is just starting to feel reassured when something on the ground flashes; a dropped item disappearing. It looked like a slip of paper- an ID keycard, like the one they took from Clear, was in the guard’s hand when they were knocked out. And now it’s gone- but how? It’s been nowhere near long enough for it to despawn, and it landed too far away to be picked back up into the guard’s inventory. It almost seemed like it was sucked beneath the floor, like into a hopper… but why would there be hoppers here?

Frowning, Bravo steps forward to investigate, opening his mouth to warn the others. But before he can, a faint yet distinct sound reaches his ears; the clicking of an observer and the churning of pistons.

Then the ceiling opens up, and a ravager drops on their heads.

~*~

One second, Jimmy’s thinking maybe things are going to be alright, and the next, he’s looking up at the underbelly of a ravager.

Pure instinct kicks in. He grabs Bravo by the arm and takes off into the air. The ravager lands with a heavy thud right behind him, close enough for him to feel the wind through his feathers, and crushes Joel and Bdubs into a cloud of respawn smoke.

Immediately, it’s chaos.

Shouts of alarm mix with the ravager’s roars, echoing off the walls into a deafening din. Pearl’s followed Jimmy into the air, struggling to hold Scott steady enough to shoot amidst her slightly erratic hovering-

Martyn’s thrown against the wall as the ravager charges, head slamming against quartz with a resounding crack. He’s in the ravager’s jaws before he can recover, before he can even scream, respawning away to leave only bloodstains and scattered items-

Etho manages to put some cobblestone down. In a hall that’s only three-by-three, it’s just enough of a barrier to keep the ravager back; with the consequence of it now standing between him and the rest of them-

Beneath Jimmy, Scar’s backing up, firing arrow after arrow, but at this close of a distance and with his less powerful bow, it’s barely affecting the ravager. Walled off on one side, the ravager turns and lunges forward to close its jaws around Scar, killing him with its crushing bite-

Everything seems to slow down.

The ravager has now set its sights on Jimmy, and his wings can’t pump fast enough to escape it. He’s flying as close to the ceiling as he dares but he knows it won’t be enough, certainly not to keep Bravo out of its reach in such close quarters.

“Back up, back up!” Bravo’s shouting, fumbling for his sword, and the ravager lowers its head to charge-

Impulse appears in the air above it. He’s in full demon mode; with a powerful sweep of his leathery black wings, he launches himself onto the ravager’s back, sinking his claws deep into its flesh. The ravager bellows in pain and rage, thrashing to try and throw Impulse off, and his glowing golden eyes snap up to meet Jimmy’s gaze.

“Go!” Impulse snarls, his deep voice booming through the air.

Jimmy doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes off down the hall, Pearl right behind him.

It’s a frenzied flight, breathless and panicked, the ravager’s fading roars echoing in his ears. Wings and lungs burning, it’s only thanks to Bravo’s directions that he manages not to crash into a wall, twisting and turning through the maze-like halls. His mind is racing on an endless loop of ‘oh gosh, oh gosh, what now?’ as the reality of the situation starts to sink in.

The jig is up, that much is for certain. There’s no shot that Atlas doesn’t know they’re here. Jimmy would be less concerned if this was after they got Tango free; now, there’s a chance they’ll be stopped before they even reach him. Especially since it’s just the four of them. Pearl and Scott are both skilled fighters, to say nothing of Bravo, but there’s strength in numbers and no telling how many guards they might face.

(Well, that was exciting!)

(Ooh, things are getting spicy.)

(Can’t see this ending well…)

It’s not long before Jimmy has to stop, dropping Bravo to his feet and stumbling to an ungraceful landing. He leans against the wall to catch his breath, his wings sagging with exhaustion. Pearl seems similarly winded, landing heavily beside him. For a few moments, no one speaks.

“Fuck,” Bravo says, which sums up the situation fairly well. He kicks the wall. “Fucking- fuck!”

Scott rolls his shoulder, but seems none the worse for wear. “I take it tha’ ravager is new, then?” he asks, quirking a brow.

“Yeah, no,” Bravo snarks, “I- I just completely forgot about their aerial ravager deployment system, yeah.”

“Oh man,” Pearl wheezes, doubled over. “I haven’t flown like that in ages…”

“Well, this’s bad,” Scott drawls. “What’s tha’ plan?”

“We press on,” Bravo says, his expression steely. “Now we’re on a time crunch. No doubt that little trap also sent off a warning to Atlas, so- so I expect we’ll be seein’ more guards any minute now.”

As much as Jimmy would like to rest longer, he knows Bravo’s right. “Okay,” he huffs, pushing off the wall. “Lead the way.”

They set off again on foot, moving quickly now that stealth is out of the question. Jimmy spares a moment to be thankful that Bravo is with them. These halls all look the same to him, but Bravo seems to know where he’s going, even after their chaotic flight.

Jimmy pulls his communicator out as they go. Glancing down at chat, he winces; Impulse and Etho were killed by the ravager as well, so they’re truly on their own here. Even though the others will have come back through the portal after respawning on Double Life, they won’t be able to find their way through this facility to meet up again.

In fact, Bravo had advised against it. Their contingency plan, in the event that anyone was killed, is to stay by the portal. Now that Hels Tek knows they’re here, it’s more important than ever to defend it and make sure it stays open. Besides, if people started wandering off on their own, it would only increase the likelihood of someone getting captured, lost, or left behind.

So right now, the four of them are all Tango’s got.

(Oh, I can’t wait for-)

(Shh, don’t ruin it, just watch.)

That’s not worrying at all. This is fine. This is fine, they can handle it. He just needs to keep his head, stay the course. Failure isn’t an option. Failure would mean leaving Tango trapped here, and Jimmy refuses to let that happen. So he’s got to keep going, stay alert, stay focused-

“Stop,” Pearl says suddenly, grabbing Scott by the arm. “We’re ‘bout to have company.”

No sooner has she finished her sentence than five guards turn the corner at a sprint, swords bristling.

Wings unfurling, Pearl jumps into the air, allowing Scott to rain down arrows from above. They hang back to provide aerial support, giving Jimmy and Bravo the floor.

Jimmy spreads his wings, shooting forward to scoop Bravo beneath the arms. He flies straight at the guards, gaining speed, before spinning mid-air to launch Bravo at the nearest of them.

Bravo comes down on the guard with his sword, stabbing through the curve where their neck meets their shoulder. Jimmy dives after him and slams a foot down on the sword, driving it deeper into the guard’s body- deep enough to slip into their chest cavity.

Blood splatters on Jimmy’s face. The guard explodes into a shower of respawn smoke and items.

Jimmy lands on his feet in a crouch, and Bravo vaults over him to kick another guard back. Straightening up, Jimmy equips his sword and catches Bravo’s eyes for a heartbeat, understanding passing between them.

There’s no discussion. They charge forward together, fighting side by side.

The last time Jimmy fought Hels players, it didn’t go well, and he’s still got the crooked nose to prove it. He’ll be the first to admit his PVP skills are lacking. But this time, the slowness from Scott’s arrows makes all the difference.

Dodging the next guard’s swing, Jimmy retaliates with a wide sweep of his own, their swords locking with a screech and a shower of sparks. In the same breath, Bravo ducks in between them and plunges his sword up- under the bottom of the guard’s chestplate, into their stomach.

Poof.

Jimmy uses the momentum to charge forward, bringing his sword down on the next guard’s helmet. It’s a clumsy but heavy blow- the guard staggers, and Bravo whips around to slash through their neck. Blood sprays through the air.

Two down, three to go.

On any other day, under any other circumstances, Jimmy knows he wouldn’t have stood a chance. Even now, he hasn’t miraculously developed the strength to overpower these bigger Hels players, nor the speed and knowledge to execute those clean, skillful attacks like Bravo.

But he doesn’t need to. All it takes is a strike to unbalance his opponent, to keep their attention, draw their defense. He’s the larger target, and with the slowness arrows doing their part, the guards can’t react fast enough as Bravo twists around them to deliver the killing blow.

Slash, jab- poof.

The last guard’s slowness has worn off at this point, but it’s too late. Jimmy’s already there; a powerful flap of his wings takes his feet off the ground to strike out at the guard, kicking with all his might.

Clang!

It hits the guard square in the chest, toppling them backwards. They land hard, and Bravo springs on top of them, plunging his sword down right between their eyes.

Splat, poof.

Bravo straightens up, wiping the blood off his chin with the back of his hand. Jimmy braces his hands on his knees for a moment as his heart rate comes down. They’re both bloody and out of breath, but they managed not to take a single hit. And sure, the slowness arrows helped a lot, but Jimmy will take his wins where he can.

Bravo gives him an appraising look. “Nice job.”

Jimmy cracks a grin. “I have my moments.”

“Oh-kay,” Scott whistles as he and Pearl catch up, “go off, Timmy!”

Oof, that feels strange- but it’s just a force of habit, Jimmy knows. He glances over his shoulder at them. “Thanks for the cover fire. You guys good?”

“Yep.” Pearl nods expectantly. “Lead on.”

Bravo flicks the excess blood off his sword, speckling the white walls. “Alright, the south wing is just through here.” He nods toward the iron door at the end of the hallway. “Let’s go.”

They start moving again. Residual adrenaline itches across Jimmy’s skin, the metallic scent of blood clogging his nose. He’s surprised with their brutality himself, but he doesn’t regret it. There’s no reason to hold back here. These players are standing between him and getting Tango back, so it has to be done.

He’s honestly more surprised at how well he and Bravo fought together- as if they’d rehearsed it. Not what he would’ve expected, considering the way they butt heads, his own lack of expertise, and the fact that they were on opposite sides of a fight just earlier today.

But privately, he’s just glad he didn’t make an absolute fool of himself. There’s a reason he’s always been out first in their death games.

Once they reach the door, Bravo motions for them all to crouch before nodding at Pearl. She listens for a moment, antennae twitching, before she holds up two fingers.

Bravo doesn’t bother with the keycard this time. Pulling out his pickaxe, he breaks the door down- and Pearl and Scott swoop through.

There’s an aborted shout, the sound of arrows flying, and the clang of a sword. By the time Jimmy’s through the doorway, Pearl is standing down the hall amidst a scattering of dropped items, sword lax at her side and a fierce grin on her blood-stained face.

“Jeeze, Pearl!” Scott says, raising his eyebrows and lowering his bow.

Pearl glances over her shoulder at them, expression growing sheepish. “I’m sorry, I think I got a little bit crazy…”

Jimmy flutters over to them, Bravo in tow. “No, no, I- don’t be sorry, I’m…” he trails off as he takes in the sign next to the door, the one the guards were posted outside.

It says ‘Tango Tek.’ Jimmy feels his blood boil.

“Well, this is it.” Bravo glances at Pearl and Scott. “You two keep watch out here, alright?” Then he unlocks the door, holding it open for Jimmy. “Come on.”

Jimmy rushes inside, Bravo following after him. But the sight that greets them makes him stop cold, anger quickly giving way to shock and horror.

He knew, roughly, what all the blaze farm entailed. But he’s still not prepared to actually see it.

Behind a wall of glass, Tango’s suspended by iron chains inside a little one-by-two chamber. Wither roses sprout from the soul sand beneath him, long vines wound tightly around his body, thorns digging into his skin. Particles of regeneration bubble around him, but the withering is clearly causing damage; the blaze rods above Tango’s head respawn as quickly as they’re sucked away by hoppers.

Tango looks absolutely miserable. He hangs limp and lifeless in his chains- but as the door clicks shut behind them, he lifts his head and manages a tired smile.

“Hey, honey,” he rasps, “good to see ya.”

“Tango!” Jimmy flies over, his eyes stinging with sudden tears. Their health might not be linked in this world, but his heart aches for Tango all the same. “Tango, oh gosh, I- I’m so sorry. I’m here, I’m here.” He pulls out his pickaxe and sets to shattering the glass wall.

“Sorry we took so long,” Bravo adds, walking up beside Jimmy. “We had a uh, unforeseen complication… there may have been ninja ravager airdrop-ification involved.” As soon as the glass is gone, he starts cutting the wither rose vines off Tango with careful slices of his sword.

Tango huffs a hoarse laugh. “Oh, oh great. Guess our buddy’s Atlas has been busy these last few weeks, huh?”

With the wither roses cut away, he seems to be breathing easier, now. And thankfully, they don’t look to have left any new wither stains on his skin. Jimmy hopes that the lingering regeneration effect will take care of the rest.

“Okay, okay, hang on…” he murmurs, turning his attention to the chains. His eyes widen as he realizes just how many are locked around Tango’s body- his arms, his legs, the collar around his neck. “Jeeze, this is- they went absolutely mental with these. Overkill much?”

“I know, right?” Tango snorts. “It’s- it’s almost flattering, in a way.”

Fortunately, they all seem to be made of regular run-of-the-mill iron with no complicated redstone bits. It’s easy enough for him and Bravo to slip their tools in between the links and give a sharp twist to snap them. Working quickly but methodically, they break the chains in an order that won’t awkwardly drop Tango to the ground- or choke him out by the collar around his throat. And as the last chains fall away, leaving only his old cuffs around his wrists, Jimmy’s right there to catch him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, easing Tango to the floor. “I mean- sorry, that’s- that’s a dumb question-”

“No, no, I’m okay,” Tango says. He’s trembling slightly and clinging to Jimmy so tight it’s just shy of being painful, but his red eyes are bright, and he grins at Jimmy with all his sharp, lovely teeth. “I’m okay.”

It’s hard to imagine how Tango is still functioning after what he’s been through. From the emotional side of things, too, not just physically. Being locked back in that farm must’ve not only been painful, but the realization of his worst nightmare, the one that’s chased him for nearly a decade. The culmination of all his deepest fears and insecurities, his self-hatred and feelings of worthlessness… being reduced to nothing more than a mob whose only use is in a farm. Even done intentionally, as part of a plan, it takes a lot of strength to overcome something like that.

Yet strangely enough, Jimmy believes him. There’s a change in Tango’s eyes- it’s like nothing Jimmy’s seen before, not even back in those peaceful days they spent together before this whole Hels mess started. Back then, Tango had been hiding from his past. Haunted by it. Only through hindsight has Jimmy realized just how badly it was affecting Tango all that time, the host of subtle little things he’d brushed off suddenly clicking together and making sense.

So only now does he see what Tango looks like without that fear hanging over him. The shadow that’s gone from his eyes. They’re fierce and determined and alive in a way that sends chills across Jimmy’s skin. While he knows for a fact that they’ve found joy and contentment and love together, it’s apparent that only now does Tango feel free.

No doubt there’s still a long road ahead of them. But for this step, right now, Jimmy couldn’t be more proud of his soulmate.

He presses a kiss to Tango’s forehead. “Well- good, but it’d be okay if you weren’t, y’know?”

Tango’s smile turns fond. “I know.”

Bravo clears his throat. “Hey, uh, if you two are done cuddling, we need to get moving. Most of the others got wiped out,” he explains, putting his pickaxe away, “so they’ll be waitin’ for us back at the portal. But first, we gotta find Atlas.”

Tango knits his brows together. “All this excitement probably drew him out of his hole. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on his way here right now.”

“Good.” Bravo nods. “Saves us the trouble of trackin’ him down. All we gotta do is make him open his ender chest to get the key, right, and then we’re outta here.”

Jimmy helps Tango to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Tango assures him. “That regen is powerful stuff.”

He’s still a little shaky for Jimmy’s taste, but true to his word, he stands on his own. Jimmy turns to the door. “Right. Let’s-”

“Watch out!”

Pearl’s voice cries out from the hallway. There’s the distinct twang of a bow firing, a shout from Scott- only to be cut short.

Jimmy sprints through the door, followed closely by Tango and Bravo.

Two more piles of items are on the floor. Down at the end of the hallway stands Atlas with a raised crossbow and an arrow in his shoulder, flanked by half a dozen guards.

Atlas’s black lab coat cuts a sharp figure against the quartz walls, like a shadow come to life, light flashing in his shades. Slowly, he lowers his crossbow and reaches up to pull the arrow out, unflinching, as that sickly grin splits across his face.

“Well, well, well.”

(Speak of the devil.)

~*~

As soon as Tango sees Atlas, he steps in front of Jimmy, a low growl starting in his throat.

Now that he’s out of the farm and away from the wither roses, his adrenaline is kicking into overdrive. His muscles are rife with tension, ears twitching, and his heart pounds against his chest.

He takes in the scene quickly. Behind them is a dead end, and the other direction is blocked; Atlas, tossing a bloody arrow to the ground, and six guards. They’re all big, burly humans with mean faces. Most of them brandish swords, while two of them have tridents with what looks like a net of chains strung inbetween. Do they have net launch-ification technology?

“I was hoping I’d catch you three together,” Atlas drawls, folding his arms behind his back. Slowness particles bubble out of his shoulder wound like blood. “Mr. Bravo, I must say, I was rather disappointed to discover your treachery.”

Bravo scowls. “Yeah, well, I don’t give a shit what you think about me.”

Amused, Atlas’s gaze slowly travels over to Tango. “And how did you manage to turn him to your side, hm, Tango?” His lip curls. “Manipulative little monster.”

Tango hardly processes the insult, but Jimmy’s wings puff up indignantly. “Don’t call him that!”

“You know,” Atlas continues, unbothered, “all that’s going to come of this little escape mission is the addition of some new farms to my collection.” He grins at Jimmy. “Starting with you.”

The guards throw their tridents in tandem, launching the net across the hall.

Tango dives out of the way, but Jimmy isn’t fast enough. The net knocks him flat onto his back, pinned into place by the weight of the chains and the tridents embedded in the floor. He cries out in pain, and only now can Tango see that the net is studded with wither rose thorns, piercing Jimmy’s skin.

Tango sees red.

A snarl tears itself out of his throat. He charges forward to meet the attacking guards, leaping into the air and slashing the nearest one across the face.

The guard howls with pain, striking out blindly. Their sword grazes Tango’s arm but he hardly notices it, hardly even feels the sting, too focused on sinking his teeth into their throat. The instant the guard disappears, he’s darting away, on to the next one.

Tango’s senses are hyper-alert, nose flaring at the scent of blood. His pulse thrums in his ears. He’s scarcely aware of Bravo fighting beside him, just a blur in his periphery. A distant part of him is aware of how savage he’s being, but he can’t bring himself to care.

If they want to treat him like a monster, then he’ll fight them like one, too.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question the feel of his claws tearing through flesh. There’s something primal inside him shrieking with bloodlust, and he’s more than happy to oblige it. It feels good. It feels natural. Like he’s been fighting with his right hand all his life only to discover he’s a leftie. No wonder traditional PVP has never been his strength; in this one way, perhaps he is more mob than player.

And he’s perfectly fine with that.

By the time Tango reaches Atlas, his slowness effect has worn off. He’s locked in combat with Bravo, swords clashing in a series of rapid jabs and slashes- a skillful and deadly dance. It’s clear he’s got plenty of experience with PVP, trading blows with Bravo like it’s nothing, as simple and instinctive as breathing.

But he isn’t prepared for Tango to leap at him like an animal, claws outstretched and teeth bared.

Atlas dodges, but it’s a near thing. He’s thrown off-balance, scrambling to back up as Tango advances with another wild swipe- it tears through the front of his lab coat, carving a shallow gash across his chest. He brings his sword up to parry but it doesn’t catch Tango’s claws like it would another blade- a costly miscalculation that sends his sword flying from his grasp.

It clatters loudly to the ground. Bravo takes the opening; he jabs the point of his sword into Atlas’s leg, behind the kneecap, and twists.

Pop!

This time Atlas doesn’t hold back his scream. He goes down instantly, his right leg no longer able to support him. Bravo kicks Atlas’s sword away, out of reach, before grabbing Atlas by the collar and throwing him at the wall. He slumps against it, injured leg curled awkwardly beneath him, breathing raggedly but making no move to rise again.

All six of the guards are dead, respawned away and leaving behind a blood bath.

It’s over.

And just like that, Tango’s calm again, pausing to catch his breath. He hasn’t lost himself completely to the rage of a bloodthirsty animal. He hasn’t surrendered his rational thought or his sense of being. It happened, and now it’s passed. Just like if he’d fought with sword and shield over claws and teeth. He almost feels silly, to have ever feared otherwise.

He glances at Bravo; they’ve both sustained a few minor cuts and bruises, but overall, nothing serious. “Hold him there,” he tells Bravo, before turning to run back down the hall. “Hang on, Jimmy!”

Jimmy is right where Tango left him, struggling beneath the chain net. He’s managed to work one arm out from under it, trying in vain to free himself, but he can’t get the right leverage on the tridents anchoring the net to the ground. Tango falls to his knees and rips one of the tridents away, tossing it aside, and starts pulling the net back.

Jimmy pushes himself upright with a pained grunt, shoving the last of the chains off. There are dozens of little marks dotted across his skin, like a constellation of inky pin pricks- leftover from the wither thorns.

Tango throws his arms around Jimmy. “God, are- are you okay, honey?” he asks frantically, pulling away to study Jimmy’s face.

Jimmy shudders. “Man, that wither rose is brutal,” he says, aghast. “How’d you stand it?”

Despite it all, Tango manages to crack a smile. “Well, you know, I’m basically part furnace,” he says, straightening up and offering Jimmy his hand.

Jimmy huffs a faint laugh, letting Tango pull him to his feet. The black spots are already starting to vanish, to Tango’s immense relief. He doesn’t think he could handle it if Jimmy ended up with permanent wither stains.

He doesn’t let go of Jimmy’s hand as they walk down the hall together. Bravo steps back when they approach, though he keeps his gaze and his sword trained on Atlas.

Atlas’s face is pale and sheened with sweat, but he still grins at them. “Well, well,” he breathes, struggling to his feet. His right leg won’t support him; he braces a hand against the wall. “Seems you caught me off-guard, Mr. Tango. I wasn’t expecting you to embrace that monstrous nature of yours so willingly.”

Tango shrugs. “Sure, why not? Some of my best friends are monsters.”

Clearly, Atlas wasn’t expecting that response. But he only falters for a moment before his grin returns to full strength. “This is pointless. You’ll never make it-”

“Hey, hey, no one asked you,” Bravo snaps, placing down an ender chest. “Now no funny business, okay, or I’ll break all your fucking fingers.”

Atlas eyes him for a moment, as if debating the validity of the threat and whether or not he’d be able to escape. But ultimately he must decide it’s not worth it, because he flips the ender chest open, reaches inside, and withdraws a familiar iron key.

Tango’s breath catches. Despite how well their plan has worked so far, part of him wasn’t expecting to actually make it this far. It’s almost too good to be true, but it seems like Atlas has finally run out of tricks.

Atlas holds the key out with a flourish. “Your prize,” he sneers.

Jimmy’s quick to snatch it from him, shooting him a glare. He softens as he turns to Tango. “Here, can I…?”

“Please do,” Tango hums nervously, lifting his chin.

“Alright, here goes.” Jimmy puts a hand on Tango’s shoulder to steady him, reaching forward with the other to slip the key into its lock.

There’s a click, and the collar falls away, clattering to the ground.

Tango inhales sharply at the feel of wither thorns pulling out of his skin. The relief is immediate; his blaze rods ignite with renewed fire, warmth spreading through his body all the way to the tips of his clawed fingers. It’s tingly, like moving a limb after it’s fallen asleep, but he’s glad for it.

He sees his relief reflected in Jimmy’s expression- though it’s quickly replaced with a wince as his gaze traces Tango’s neck.

Tango exhales. “It stained, huh.”

Jimmy swallows, eyes full of anger and sorrow. “I’m so sorry.”

Tango’s almost surprised by how little it bothers him. “Hey, no problem,” he says easily, reaching up to squeeze Jimmy’s hand. “I mean, I’ve got such a unique style already, I- I feel like it’ll fit in perfectly. A little studded choker action, right?”

That manages to get a laugh out of Jimmy, though he wipes at his eyes. “Right, yeah. You pull it off well.”

Bravo clears his throat. “Okay, so, we good?” He jerks his chin at Atlas. “Let’s kill this asshole and get moving.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” Atlas says mildly, leveling his gaze at Tango. “You’ll always be nothing more than a monster-”

“Shut up!” Jimmy takes a step forward, gripping his sword, but Tango puts a hand out.

He knows they don’t have time to linger very long, but he’s got unfinished business with Atlas. Before he walks out of here, he needs to say his piece, because if he doesn’t, he knows he’ll never fully shake Atlas’s hold on him.

“You know,” he starts thoughtfully, “I- I’m startin’ to think that term isn’t the uh, the moral condemnation that you think it is. The way I see it, it’s like- okay, I’m a blond, I’m a redstoner, I’m a monster, yada-yada-yada. They’re just… traits, right? Like, sorta… physical descriptors without any, er- particular positive or negative connotation attached. ‘Cause uh, bein’ a monster doesn’t automatically make me a bad person- same way being a human doesn’t make you a good one.” He tilts his head. “I mean, you’re one of the shittiest people I’ve ever met, so.”

Atlas is still grinning, but there’s a sudden shiftiness in his eyes that makes Tango pause. Almost like he’s hiding something. The gears start to turn in Tango’s mind.

“So uh,” he continues, “if you genuinely think our biology or- or data is what determines the choices that we make, and the kinda person we become, then… you’ve gotta be pretty stupid.”

There- Atlas’s face twitches.

Bravo seems to pick up on where Tango’s going. “Yeah, same for Hels players,” he says, crossing his arms. “I mean, basing the whole idea of ‘the inherent evilness of Hels’ on a little bit of data analysis? I- I can’t believe I bought into such a poorly supported theory, it’s just- it’s shoddy science.”

Jimmy gives Atlas a reproachful look. “Tango has shown himself to be one of the most caring, generous, and brilliant people I’ve ever met,” he spits. “You think that’s not possible, just because he’s part mob? Then honestly, I feel sorry for ya, mate.”

Tango’s heart swells; Jimmy doesn’t seem to realize what they’re doing, he’s just coming to Tango’s defense anyway. “I know, right?” he laughs. Then, just to really drive the point home- “And here I always thought you were the smart one-”

“Of course I know that!” Atlas finally explodes, throwing an arm out. “I’ve always known that! You think I grew up in this world truly believing that humans weren’t just as capable of depravity? That hybrids weren’t our intellectual or moral equals? No, I’ve always known. But portraying you as a vicious, mindless monster makes you easier to exploit. And I’ve not only convinced my sponsors, clients, and employees of that, but I even got you to believe it, yourself!”

His grin is truly manic now, eyes wild and blazing with fury behind his shades. “Do you know how clever I had to be to pull off such a degree of dehumanization? How methodically and painstakingly I wove that narrative over decades of work? ‘Shoddy science’?! It was my magnum fucking opus!”

A stunned silence follows his outburst. Tango lets out a slow, heavy breath, and Atlas’s anger quickly drains from his face as he realizes the weight of what he’s just revealed.

It wasn’t Tango’s fault.

He was never too monstrous, too chaotic, too evil. Sure, he’s got his vices, but who doesn’t? Claws or not, no one is perfect. Now he knows that it was never anything he did to bring Atlas’s torture onto himself, nothing he ever did to deserve it, because even Atlas doesn’t believe that. Atlas did it because he’s evil, and cared more about producing a revolutionary new farm than considering the harm it would do to a fellow player. He could’ve done the same to any other mob hybrid- and in fact, still fully intends to.

It’s nothing to do with who Tango is as a person, and all to do with the blaze rods floating above his head. Nothing else. Tango can live with that.

Bravo shakes his head, incredulous. “Son of a bitch…”

But Tango smiles. “Thanks, Atlas,” he says sincerely, “I needed to hear that.”

Then he punches Atlas in the face.

The resounding crack is immensely satisfying. Atlas’s head snaps to the side, glasses and spit flying as he falls backwards. Tango’s hand is aching but it’s worth it to see Atlas look so… human. Gone is the unnatural grin and that tall, dark figure who always loomed so large in Tango’s mind. Right now, he’s just a man sprawled on his ass whose blood is staining Tango’s knuckles.

(He’s got a feeling Atlas won’t be showing up that much in his nightmares from now on.)

Atlas pushes himself up and spits out a tooth- one of his upper incisors. Blood streams down his nose and trickles out of his parted mouth. He stares up at Tango, and without his tinted glasses, Tango realizes their eyes are exactly the same shade of red.

“Clever devil,” Atlas breathes.

Bravo steps forward to deliberately crush Atlas’s shades under his shoe. “Always gotta be the smartest one in the goddamn room, huh?” he asks, twirling his sword in his hand.

Sching!

Tango briefly glimpses the inside of Atlas’s skull before he respawns away, blood and brain matter painting the wall.

“Good riddance,” Jimmy sniffs.

Bravo glances at Tango. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Tango grins. “After you, good sir.”

The three of them take off, leaving the south wing- and the farm- behind.

Their pounding footsteps echo loudly in the empty halls. It doesn’t take Tango long to recognize where they’re headed. The garage makes sense, considering they used Clear to open the portal. He’s surprised, however, that they don’t encounter any guards along the way. There’s plenty of evidence of them; items littering the hallways, blood smears on the floor. But not a single player to be found.

If Tango didn’t know better, he’d chalk it up to good luck. But of course, once they burst through the door to the garage, the true reason immediately becomes apparent.

Nearly the entire workforce of Hels Tek, scientists and security guards alike, are embroiled in battle with the Double Lifers. It’s a chaotic scene, the air filled with shouts and screams and the clashing of metal-

Cleo stands tall beside the portal, bodily throwing any opponent who attempts to sneak through, while Ren slashes at them with his massive claws-

Grian and Pearl are airbound, zipping around the garage while carrying Scar and Scott, respectively, who fire arrows into the crowd-

Etho and Joel fight back to back, shields raised against the heavy blows of their bigger opponents, while Martyn tosses a potion into the air-

Bravo whips around to decapitate the player that charges through the door behind them. “We can’t stay here!” he shouts above the noise.

Heart pounding, Tango scans the room. Movement catches his eye; Impulse, waving at them from behind a parked flying machine.

Tango makes a beeline for it, trusting that Jimmy and Bravo are following. Dodging swords and arrows alike, they manage to reach their target unimpeded, diving behind the cover of the large contraption.

Impulse pulls Tango into a quick hug. “You made it!”

He’s crouched beside Bdubs, who’s got one leg stretched out, riddled with arrows. “Well, look here- lookie who it is!” he crows. “Nice’a you guys to join us!”

Tango manages a breathless laugh. “How we lookin’?”

“Not great,” Impulse frowns, “we can’t go through ‘til they’re all dead, or else they’ll follow us before we can break the portal on the other side. But we can’t kill them fast enough- they just keep respawning and coming back.”

Tango dares to peek around the flying machine. The fighting is pretty thick, and centered in the middle of the garage. If there was a way to create some sort of barrier in front of the portal that would hold Hels Tek back long enough for everyone to escape… something that they had full control over, and would persist even after they left…

Sudden realization seizes him.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says, turning away. “Get everyone through, now-”

Jimmy catches his arm. “Hold on, where are you going?” he demands.

Tango shakes him off. “Don’t worry. Just get to the portal, alright-”

“Uh, ‘scuse me? We’re in this together, right-”

“There’s no time-”

“I’m not leavin’ without you!”

“- you to get hurt!”

“Please, Tango.” Jimmy grabs his shoulders, voice filled with desperation. “I- I can’t lose you.”

Tango softens. He takes Jimmy’s face in his hands and pulls him into a kiss, slow and reverent. “You won’t,” he murmurs, easing back to smile at him. “I promise.”

Jimmy searches his expression for a moment before relenting. “Alright,” he whispers, squeezing Tango’s hand. “Go get ‘em, babe.”

Steeling himself, Tango steps back out onto the battlefield.

A strange sense of calm settles over him. All the noise is muted in his ears, like he’s underwater, the sea of movement a blur. He moves with an ease that’s entirely foreign to him, lightly twisting through and around the writhing mass of bodies until he’s standing alone in front of the portal.

Tango closes his eyes and reaches for his fire.

Flames erupt from his blaze rods, swirling madly and spitting embers. It grows into a cyclone around him, ebbing and flowing with his breath, expanding to envelop him completely. The flames wash harmlessly over his skin; his own fire can never hurt him. There’s no hesitation inside him- no doubt, no fear.

He’s entirely in control, the captain of his own personal firestorm.

Tango opens his eyes and pushes his hands out and up, directing the flames to spread and rise into a great, fiery wall. Arrows shot his way are incinerated instantly, exploding into ash. As he concentrates on his task, he’s aware of his friends in his periphery, and is careful to keep the fire from reaching them.

The Hels Tek players receive no such care. Anyone too slow to react or too bold to flee is readily consumed, the room filling with their screams and the scent of burning flesh. Using smooth, delicate movements, Tango closes the wall into a ring of fire around the portal, as focused and steady as an artist composing a painting.

This is his magnum opus. Blaze and player perfectly united as one being, at peace in mind and body.

Once it’s complete, he steps back out of the flames. He takes a long, final look around the place. The remaining Hels Tek players watch from behind the firewall, furious but helpless to stop him. All the Double Lifers have departed, with the exception of Jimmy, who is waiting by the portal. Firelight glimmers in his deep brown eyes, face glowing with awe and pride.

Smiling, Tango turns his back to Hels Tek and walks over to his soulmate, taking the offered hand.

“Ready to get outta here?” Jimmy asks softly.

“Yeah,” Tango says, “let’s go home, honey.”

Together, they step into the portal. Tango turns his head just in time to see Atlas burst into the room, frantically shoving his way through to the front of the crowd. He locks eyes with Tango through the flames.

“No!” he shouts, and Tango is much gratified to see that Atlas’s front tooth is still missing after his respawn. His trademark grin is gonna look so goddamn stupid now.

Tango turns away, looking into Jimmy’s eyes as light swirls around them.

~*~

Atlas sits hunched on a rock outside, cast in the shadow of Hels Tek.

The facility is still burning, thick smoke billowing out of shattered windows that flicker with light. He can hear the distant roars of a ravager inside; the guards he sent in to recapture the beast have thus far been unsuccessful. The flames will likely take it soon, along with all the other mobs locked away in their various farms.

What a waste.

Most of his personnel have given up on trying to stop the fire. They mill about uselessly, stained with soot and blood, speaking in low tones and casting not-so-subtle glances in his direction. Clear is running around in a panic, ranting to anyone who will listen about how he needs to find Scáil. It was his doppelgänger they used to open the portal, as Atlas has come to find.

Of course.

Part of him is aware of what a poor sight he makes; his lab coat rumpled and dusted with ash, his sweaty hair mussed and plastered to his forehead. Without his shades, there’s no hiding how tired his eyes must look, set into his haggard face. And his normally commanding posture is weak and weary, entirely lacking any presence of control.

Worst of all, though, is that he can’t bring himself to care.

His communicator lies forgotten in his lap, chat blinking up at him. He’s scrolled through it all a dozen times already, mentally replaying the sequence of events over and over again- though he has yet to make sense of it.

Absently, he presses his tongue into the gap left by his missing tooth.

(All the while, his mind is spinning. How had he missed it? How had he missed it? To be outsmarted by Tango and Bravo, of all people… they’d shown him exactly what he wanted to see, and he hadn’t thought to question it. He was too eager to believe that his manipulation had paid off, that he’d turned Bravo against his own doppelgänger and convinced Tango to give up.

His shame is rivaled only by his hatred. All the work he’s done in the last ten years, all his patient waiting and careful planning, his effort, his progress, has gone up in smoke. It’s not just the physical damage to the facility that concerns him; no doubt word is already starting to spread. He rebuilt himself from bedrock bottom once before, and he isn’t sure if he can do it again-)

“Hey man,” a familiar voice calls. “Rough day?”

bX is walking up to him, followed by a large group of players- hired muscle from Alisker. Their appearance quickly gets everyone’s attention, a sudden hush falling over the area as all eyes turn their way.

Heart jolting, Atlas jumps to his feet. He hastily smoothes the front of his coat. “Mr. bX, I can explain-”

“Save it.” bX waves him off. “We already know what happened. And uh, I gotta say… Papa Al isn’t happy.”

Atlas’s stomach drops. He folds his arms behind his back, trying for a placating smile. “I’ll admit, the situation got slightly out of hand, but-”

“I don’t think you get how bad this is,” bX says lightly, tilting his head. He raises his voice to address the gathered crowd. “Papa Al is repossessing all of Hels Tek’s resources and assets, effective immediately. We’ll honor the contracts of anyone who wants to stay employed, but uh… yeah, we’re done here.”

He lifts a hand, and the group behind him disperses. Setting up piles of chests and shulkers, they descend upon Hels Tek with pickaxes in hand, throwing down splash potions of fire resistance as they go. Then, to Atlas’s horror, they start to dismantle the facility, block by block.

“No, stop!” Atlas protests. He tries to rush forward, but bX casually steps forward to block his path. “This is my life’s work, you can’t do that-”

“Oh, yeah?” bX puts his hands on his hips, amused. “Are… you gonna stop us? ‘Cause uh, looks to me like your employees don’t mind.”

Atlas hates that he’s right; no one is lifting a finger to stop them. In fact, a few of them move forward to help. “Mr. bX, please reconsider-”

“Sorry, but you’re out of chances, Atlas,” bX chuckles. “From now on, all of New Helington’s redstone needs will be fulfilled by someone else. I actually think you know him, it’s Instinct E.V., over at iRaid?”

Fuck. “What?!” Atlas demands, eyes widening. “You can’t be serious! Instinct is a charlatan- all he cares about is churning out the cheapest, quickest product for the masses. He’s not an innovator, he’s not interested in expanding our scientific horizons-”

“So?” bX shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to Papa Al so long as it’s profitable.”

“But he’s already invested so much into Hels Tek, into hybrid farming-”

“Yeah, uh... about that…” bX inhales through his teeth. “He’s not, like… super attached to the whole idea.”

Atlas splutters. “What do you mean? How could you possibly say that-”

He stops. bX just blinked sideways, a clear membrane sliding across eyes that suddenly have slitted pupils. He grins with teeth that are inexplicably sharp, and for a brief moment, the skin on his neck flaps up to reveal gills.

Then he blinks again, and his appearance shifts back to that of a human.

A chill runs down Atlas’s spine. “You..?” he breathes, taking a step back. “But… why? Why would Alisker fund me if he knew I was after hybrids?”

bX hums noncommittally. “Y’know, when an up-and-coming redstone entrepreneur comes to Papa Al with a revolutionary new idea, it can go a couple ways. If he turned you down, he knew you’d just go get sponsored by one of his rivals, and then he wouldn’t have any power over you. You’d become a threat. So he took you up on it, making sure he’d be able to keep you under his thumb. And hey, if your idea was successful, then he’d make a nice profit while also making sure you never came close to me. No harm, no foul.”

“But if your idea wasn’t successful?” he continues, quirking a brow. “If you failed again and again, despite all his generous support? Well, then clearly the problem lies with you, and no other bigshot in Hels would be crazy enough to give you another chance. Not after seeing how much time and effort Papa Al sunk into you, with no return on his investment.”

“And sure, yeah, he could’ve tried to shut you down at the start with threats and intimidation.” He scratches casually at his beard. “Could’ve had me break every bone in your body, or trap you in a death loop ‘til you got the message. But that’d be too suspicious- why would Papa Al have a reason to be against hybrid farming? It’d be exposing a weak spot for his rivals to strike. So instead he decided to do things this way, and kill you in the only way that matters.”

Without warning, bX swings his fist into Atlas’s stomach. Gasping in pain, Atlas doubles over, and bX leans in to speak lowly in his ear.

“Your name is dirt, now. I hope you enjoyed your time at the top of the redstone game, ‘cause you’ll never reach it again.” He turns his back to Atlas, pausing to call over his shoulder, “But hey, cheer up... they’re always hiring at iRaid.”

bX walks away, laughing.

Atlas falls to his knees. He watches helplessly as his entire world is destroyed and, despite the hatred churning inside him, he knows that he’s the only one to blame.

~*~

Somewhere in Hermitcraft, a player stands before a crowd.

“So, uh- that’s pretty much it,” Tango finishes, clapping his hands together. “Any questions?”

The Hermits look back at him, speechless. It took a while to get through the entire explanation, to manage the waves of shock and anger and sorrow as they came. But now that the story’s finished, and he’s emphasized just how okay he’s doing now- while also announcing he’ll be taking a little vacation to Double Life, they seem to have finally settled on acceptance.

It was easier than he thought it’d be, to tell the rest of his friends about his past. But having a few of them already aware of the situation helped a lot- Impulse, Bdubs, Etho, Cleo, Ren, Pearl, Grian, Mumbo, and Scar were very supportive the whole way through. They even hang around to answer questions about the whole Hels Tek ordeal, offloading some of the work from Tango.

As Tango mills about among the Hermits, there’s still plenty to talk about. He gets some apologies for things said or done that might’ve unknowingly harmed him- “I’m so sorry for puttin’ you in a lab,” Zedaph cringes, “I- I feel so foolish!”- which are unnecessary but appreciated. There are technical questions about the portals and counterparts- “Do you think I could get a look at your comm, sometime, maybe?” Doc asks, trying and failing to not sound suspicious- which Tango answers as best he can. A few of them even say things that make him raise an eyebrow- “Hey, uh, d’you think you could swing by my base when you get back?” False asks lowly. “For- for no reason.”- which makes him think he’s far from the only Hermit with secrets.

And of course, he gets a lot of reassurances and condolences, which doesn’t surprise him at this point. But still, it’s nice to know he’s fully accepted by his friends, and it feels amazing to finally come clean about it all.

Later, Grian takes him aside. “See? I told you, nothin’ to worry about.”

“Oh yeah, fly boy?” Tango asks, folding his arms. “So are you- does that mean you’re gonna tell everyone what’s up with you?”

“Nah, nah, nah.” Grian shakes his head with a wry grin. “Later. I- I don’t wanna steal your thunder, here.”

Tango snorts. “Oh, trust me, I- I would love to have some of my thunder stolen right now.”

All the attention is a bit uncomfortable- but he knows it comes from a genuine place of sympathy and concern. He was prepared for it as soon as he decided it was time to fill the rest of the Hermits in. Talking about it all isn’t as hard as it was before, even just a couple weeks ago, and he has a feeling it’s only going to get easier from here on out.

He’s looking forward to it.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player lounges in a pool.

Water laps at Alisker’s shoulders. bX’s scales are warm against his skin, the other man draped lazily across Alisker’s chest. His tail curls behind him, orange fins cutting through the water while his legs float listlessly. He’s stopped breathing, letting his gills take over respiration for now; a stillness that, while eerie at first, Alisker has grown familiar with over time.

The lavish private pool, tucked away through a hidden door in his office, has become a sort of sanctuary for them both. A place where Alisker can escape the pressures of his work, and bX can safely indulge his guardian hybrid instincts. Today, though, it’s a celebration of sorts.

“Tell me again, queenie,” Alisker coos, lightly stroking the spines along bX’s back. His fingers trace scars from the Arena, transferred from skin to scales.

“He looked like shit,” bX chuckles. “Missing a tooth, front and center. I told him- I said, ‘sorry, bud, you’re out of chances,’ and punched him in the gut for good measure.”

Alisker hums with satisfaction. Seeds of doubt he’d planted in Bravo’s mind years ago, regarding Atlas, have since flourished- nurtured further by Instinct’s aid during his time of need. In the end, he helped Tango escape Hels Tek, giving Alisker the ammunition to take Atlas down once and for all.

“He couldn’t do anything,” bX continues, “and he knew it. He just watched us take it all down. Oh, man, if you could’ve seen his face…”

Alisker tips bX’s chin up to kiss him, deep and languid, unflinching against his sharp teeth. “It’s about time,” he grins. “I been sick’a dat guy for years. See ya, Hels Tekky! Buh-bye!”

“Buh-bye, that’s right,” bX laughs.

The future of New Hellington is bright.

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player stands in front of a portal.

It’s a standard comm portal, filled with swirling green light. Whenever Bravo looks at it, apprehension bubbles in his chest. A new solo survival world awaits him. He’s excited for it- the peace and solitude- but he’s scared of it at the same time. There won’t be anyone or anything to distract him from everything that’s happened. Just him and his thoughts.

“Do you… really have to go?” Timmy murmurs, fidgeting with his hands.

Bravo sighs. “Hey, c’mon, you’ll be alright. You got Bigb and Ren lookin’ out for you, okay?”

Jimmy had offered him a place at the ranch, of course, but Timmy thought it’d be better for him to get a little distance from his doppelgänger. A chance to really grow himself as a person, rather than a shadow.

With all of the Double Lifer’s support, he’s already made considerable progress in just the span of a few days. It’s amazing what a bath, a new set of clothes, and a good preening can do. His wings are now smooth and glossy black, to match his silky hair, with the faintest shimmer of blue when the light hits just right. It’s caused a significant change in the way he carries himself; nowhere near as closed off and afraid.

There’s still a long way to go. His feathers haven’t grown back in yet, so he’s been limited to ground exercises with Jimmy to start building up his strength. And while he’s finally been reintroduced to solid foods, it’s slow going, hardly making a difference in his emaciated condition. It makes Bravo anxious, to know just how much farther Timmy has to go without him here to oversee it.

But it’s for the best.

“Yeah, but…” Timmy exhales shakily. “I’ll miss you.”

Guilt gnaws at Bravo. “Look,” he says quietly, putting a hand on Timmy’s shoulder, “I’m not- you deserve better, okay? I- I don’t want you held back while waitin’ for me to work my shit out. You just focus on yourself, and maybe someday… we can try again.”

The hope glimmering in Timmy’s big eyes is a miraculous thing. “Okay,” he whispers, a faint smile pulling at his lips.

Bravo leans in- slowly, carefully, giving plenty of time to react- and presses a light kiss to Timmy’s cheek. He pulls away quickly, turning before Timmy can see the sudden tears in his eyes. “So, uh,” he clears his throat, “see ya later.”

“Bye,” Timmy says softly.

Taking a deep breath, Bravo steps into the portal and vanishes into the light.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, two players walk through a jungle.

“I- I’m tellin’ ya,” Dbubs insists, holding his communicator out to Patho, “somethin’ weird is going on. I was just scrolling chat, you know, just- uh, just catchin’ up on today’s news. And I saw- there’s a- a- name in chat, same- similar name, and it’s… eeugh, it’s freaking weird! I got a bad feel- um, you know, dev- deja vu?”

”Yeah?” Patho asks, amused. “Like- is this like the time when you told me Herobrine had joined in chat?”

Dbubs flushes. “Oh, for goodness- can you just- can you please just check?” he pleads. “For me?”

Patho sighs good-naturedly, taking the comm. “Okay, okay…” He stops short as he processes the words staring up at him from chat.

BdoubleO100 has joined the game.

Patho has read a lot of player data over the years, enough to recognize the inherent patterns that translate to a player’s gamer tag. He’s memorized Dbubs’s player data by heart, enough to recognize its inverse pattern in this player’s name. That can only mean one thing.

He scrolls further.

Etho has joined the game.

This one sends a jolt of electricity down Patho’s spine. Abruptly, a series of images flashes through his mind- fishing rods and jungle leaves- a scarred hand holding a redstone torch- mismatched eyes peeking over a black mask. It’s an instinctive thing, shockingly familiar yet wholly unexpected.

“Well?” Dbubs is looking up at him, his big red eyes shimmering with apprehension.

“It’s nothing,” Patho says with an easy smile, handing the comm back. “Don’t worry about it.”

He’ll leave tonight, as soon as Dbubs is asleep.

~*~

Somewhere in Hermitcraft, a player slips through a hidden door.

The bookshelf pushes back into place, sealing False in darkness. She pulls a torch out as she creeps down the stairs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Excitement bubbles inside her. Her mind is still reeling from all that Tango disclosed. To think, they might finally get some answers, after all this time…

“Hey, Sym?” she calls, stepping into the lab. “I- I think I know what’s wrong with you.”

Her mirror image stares back through the glass, giving her a baleful look through the curtain of hair in her face. Hanging limply in her chains, she says nothing.

False isn’t discouraged, though. She presses a hand against the glass, a small, earnest smile playing across her lips.

“And I think I know someone who can help us.”

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player sits in a cave.

Clutching his knees to his chest, he rocks back and forth, wings drawn up around him like a cocoon of feathers. His vision is long gone, blind, damaged eyes scarred over and caked with dry blood from his most recent episode. That doesn’t stop him from seeing, of course. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop seeing fragments of other worlds, fractured images that make up a chaotic sort of mosaic, flashing rapidly through his mind, nonstop.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, how long since he’s heard another player’s voice- for real, not the disjointed echoes from across time and space. Existing without end, without the slightest glimpse of light or taste of food. The universe sustains him now, like an unwitting parasite. His physical body is an afterthought at best, and a prison at worst.

It’s all suffering.

But something different happens today. He feels a sudden presence brush past him, oblivious, and it’s like looking in a mirror. It’s gone before he can react, before he can think to reach out to it, and he wouldn’t know how to even go about finding it again. He’s never had any control over what he sees. But there’s a name swirling in his mind; he clings to it, at once certain of its importance, though he doesn’t know why.

“Xᒷꖎᑑ⚍ᔑ,” Scáil whispers.

~*~

Somewhere in Hermitcraft, a player lands outside the perimeter.

“Doc?” Stress calls out, the echo of her voice immediately swallowed up by the massive bedrock-floored hole that stretches before her. “Are ya ‘ere?” She fires off a couple of the rockets in her hand for good measure. “Dooooc!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Doc gripes, emerging from the building behind her. What’s he calling it, the Hall of the Goat? Hall of the Geezer, more like. “Calm down.”

“Doc!” Stress spins around, running to jump up and throw her arms around his neck, beaming. “‘Ello, luv!”

Doc begrudgingly tolerates the show of affection, stiffly patting her on the back before prying her off. “I’ve been researching,” he says without preamble, dropping her to the ground, “through the Hivemind, you know, and I looked through Tango’s communicator… comparing, doing calculations…”

“Yeah?” Stress looks up at him eagerly. “So, what’d you reckon, ey?”

Doc makes a noncommittal noise. “This, eh, doppelgänger thing…” His face screws up; though only the organic half, as his cybernetics can’t mimic such an expression. “I don’t think either of us have one.”

“Oh, fank gawd.” Stress clutches her chest, exhaling. “Tha’s a relief, innit!”

A frown tugs at the corner of Doc’s mouth. “Is it?”

“Of course!” Stress says incredulously. “Dont’cha fink? I- I don’t want an evil Stress Monstah runnin’ round, luv! Or an evil Doc Monstah, for that matta’.”

“Me either. But it feels, eh, kind of… strange, no? To be the only players without a counterpart out there. I mean, are we now lacking something else that every other player has? We’re more alone than ever.”

“Well, look a’ it this way, yeah? If Axis did’n know ‘bout countah-parts, then it must’a been overworld data what he made us wif. So we got the good stuff and none’a the bad!”

“Hm. Good, bad…” Doc grumbles, flicking his ear. “It’s subjective, alright…”

Stress clicks her tongue. “Aww, don’t you worry your gorgeous lil’ head ‘bout it,” she says, reaching up to playfully tug on his horn. “Way I see it, we just carry on, alrigh’? An’ if you eva decide you wanna tell the others where we came from, well… now we know it’ll be fine!”

Doc glances away. “Yeah, maybe,” he says, like he always does whenever she brings this topic up. “Anyway, just wanted to let you know…”

“Well, fank you!” Stress hums. “I’m always ‘ere if you wanna talk, ‘kay?”

As she flies away from the perimeter, she can’t help but think they’ve all been rather silly about this whole thing. ‘Poor Tango,’ she thinks. ‘Don’t he know he’s on a server of plonkahs? Oh, bless ‘im.’

Someday, they’ll have a lot to talk about.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player watches from the shadows.

Golden eyes gaze out over the iRaid display floor, Instinct’s forked tail idly flicking through the air behind him. His longtime- rival-turned-underling is doing work, wheeling and dealing his fifth client of the day.

“Wonderful!” Atlas is saying to the player admiring the auto-sorting storage system. “I can promise you won’t be disappointed. If you’ll follow me to my office, we can work out all the pesky little details, including our flexible down payment options and brand new extended warranty…”

As he ushers his client towards his office, he notices Instinct watching him. Quickly excusing himself, Atlas hurries over, breaking into a wide grin. Its impact is somewhat diluted, however, by the gold tooth that features prominently in the front.

“Ah, Mr. Instinct,” he greets, straightening his yellow plaid suit jacket, “I’ve been meaning to speak with you!”

“Hey, man!” Instinct says cheerily- his tone a sharp contrast to his deep, growling voice. “Just uh, wanted to congratulate you on having the highest sales in the department- and in your first month, might I add!”

“Well, about that,” Atlas says haltingly, fidgeting with his clip-on tie. “If I may be frank, I’m not just some two-bit salesman. This is hardly a good use of my talents.”

“You think so, huh?” Instinct asks thoughtfully. He claps Atlas on the shoulder- the gesture nearly knocks him off his feet. “Could’a fooled me. Your numbers are great!”

Atlas readjusts his shades and summons his grin again; his teeth are gritted so tightly, it’s a wonder he doesn’t break them. “Mr. Instinct,” he starts, “while I am of course grateful for the opportunity you’ve given me, there’s so much more I could be doing for the company. If I were permitted to work with your research and development team, I’m certain I could come up with something revolutionary.”

‘Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Instinct thinks. He knew it was only a matter of time before Atlas began trying to climb the corporate ladder. But Alisker was quite clear on the terms of their agreement; Atlas can be useful however Instinct sees fit, so long as he isn’t allowed any degree of power or authority.

That suits Instinct just fine.

“Nah,” he says with a fanged smile, “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

~*~

Somewhere in the universe, a player watches a video on their comm.

“Heyyy, everybody!”

A redstone tutorial from Tango Tek, of Hermitcraft- but it’s unlike any tutorial he or anyone else has ever published, titled ‘Hels Portal Tutorial.’

“So, this is a bit different for me. Long story short, I’m originally from a world called Hels. It’s like, a super secret hidden world where normal portals don’t work? And it’s filled with doppelgängers of every other player in existence. Yeah, probably even you, watching this video right now.”

The video has already been viewed millions of times since it was uploaded. Word is spreading through the multi-net like wildfire as experts in data analysis debate the validity of its claims.

“I know it sounds hard to believe. So uh, I’d like to present: counterparts Jimmy and Timmy! Say hi, guys.”

Two more players enter the frame; two avians, one black and one gold. It’s immediately apparent upon first glance that, despite a few key differences, they were cut from the same cloth. They both wave shyly at the camera before it pans back.

“Uh, bit of a disclaimer; Hels players can be pretty intense, alright. And- and not all of them are interested in becoming better people. But if you give them a chance, I- I think there’s a whole lotta good to be done.”

Here’s the part that’s caused a lot of discourse. Do all players have a responsibility to seek out these so-called counterparts? Why would they be locked in a prison if they weren’t meant to stay there?

“Remember, your comm won’t work there. Just don’t set your spawn, okay, so if you die, you’ll end up back in whatever world you left. I- I don’t wanna be responsible for anyone gettin’ stranded, alright. Portal at your own risk.”

Though some can’t deny the intrigue. It’s a fascinating concept, after all. To see yourself reflected in another being. The curiosity alone is enough for some players, while others respond to the moral obligation. The desire to make things right.

“So uh, with that, let’s- let’s get to building. Here’s a list of all the materials you’ll need…”

All over the universe, players pause the video.

~*~

Somewhere in the universe, a player joins a world.

The first world.

The player has been here many times before over its long life. It’s well familiar with the spawn town; a massive medieval village that sprawls for thousands of blocks in every direction, overlooked by a castle on the mountain. The build is humble, comprised mainly of cobblestone and oak wood variants, painstakingly detailed with plain glass windows and red wool banners. A fossil of a bygone era.

Looking around with eyes of white light and a permanent smile, the player notes the distinct lack of a gamer tag. Its target isn’t here. Rising into the air, it leaves the village behind in an instant.

As it travels through the world, the player passes countless unique areas, each one another step in the evolution of building. Sleek modern cityscapes with towers of concrete and glass. Futuristic quartz utopias. Oceans full of pirate ships and krakens. Cozy forest cottages. Zoos filled with a combination of captured mobs and hand-crafted animals. Whimsical copper airships. Fantasy lands of mountains and dragons. Haunted mansions. Endless redstone farms and contraptions, fine-tuned over rows and rows of previous models. Entire custom biomes.

The player doesn’t stop to admire any of the builds. It’s seen them all before.

It keeps flying until the builds start to peter out as the world’s generation stutters, creating ever stranger landscapes. Chunk errors and floating islands, infinitely falling sand. There are few builds here. Small huts for a night’s sleep, denoting a more nomadic lifestyle. It follows the trail until it can’t go any farther, arriving at its destination.

The far lands.

Walls of stone stretch all the way up to build height, whereupon they flatten out and transition to dirt, peppered with trees. The cliff face is completely smooth, carved out into great tunnels in a nonsensical pattern.

There’s a familiar gamer tag floating inside. Another player. It slowly sinks down to meet him, hanging motionless in the air before the mouth of the tunnel. The other player is leaned back against the slope of stone, his arms behind his head. He’s not at all surprised by its presence, not even turning to look at it. Brown haired and blue eyed, he has a plain face.

The first face.

“Hello, Adam,” Steve says.

He’s the only person who calls it that, anymore.

Even though it hasn’t spoken, Steve inclines his head. “Sorry,” he amends. “Herobrine. I take it you know about the universe’s little experiment?”

Even now, after all these years, Herobrine envies Steve’s connection to the universe. He achieved this through enlightenment. He left his worldly possessions behind and communed with the universe for lifetimes, tasting it, talking to it, reading its code.

Herobrine connected to the universe like a virus. It tore through the universe’s skin and entered the datastream through a glitched end portal, traveling in the realm between worlds. It left its physical body behind and fused itself with the universe’s code, corrupting it, consuming it, but never truly becoming it.

W̶̠̮͓͍͕̰͂̌̄͜͝͝⍑̷͔̪͇̀͊̈́̍͝͝͝ͅᔑ̶̢̧̩̙̗̉̇͝ℸ̴̢͚̟̣͈̏̄̎́͜ ̸̺͙͎̤̘̼͂͊̔̐̕ ̵̯̖͍̙̮͒̋̄̇̆ ̸̛̤̗̦̃̂̓̀̋͘リ̷̧͚̣̲͕̑̈́͛͒̊?̶̛̫͍̗͐͐̇?̸͈̯̻̦͍̰̒̅͗̄̒ͅ∴̴̨̞̰̼͈̄̀̈̉͌͐̕?̷͚̻̋̋̄͌ Herobrine asks.

Steve knits his brows together. “The universe is about to become a much more confusing place. With the firewall down and word starting to spread through the multi-net, players will be making portals in and out of Hels at an exponential rate.” He finally turns his head to look at Herobrine. “Hels could really use its admin back.”

Herobrine stares back impassively. I̵͕̘̻͓̅ ̶͉̙̰̣͝ᒲ̶̦͙̆̔̀͒́́ᔑ̷̲̹̓̋͋↸̴͔̮̤̻̋ᒷ̶̛͎̬̃̿̂ ̴̙̂̓̾̓̾̈͝ᒲ̷͓̀́͛̉|̸̢́̐̕|̷̡̙͔̺̜͂͆ ̷̛͈͇̯̬̈́̿̐͝ᓵ̸̡̂̌⍑̸̖̹͛̉̄͌̀͝?̵̛̞͇̯͕͌̉̓̔?̴̙́̌͆̕╎̴̣̠̹̙͙̙̐̔̏̿͝͝ᓵ̷̥̱͕̹̔̓͛̀̓̀ᒷ̸̦͔̟̈́.̵̪̩̬̖̝͙̙̿̊̓

“Very well.” Steve pauses for a moment, listening to the universe. “From now on, new players won’t be split into their counterparts anymore. They’ll be left whole.” He smiles. “The first one just spawned, actually. Her name is Alex.”

I̷̧̋͆͘ ̶̳̈̊̇ꖌ̶̨̛̦̤̲̰̩̀̇͊͑͘͜リ̵̢̭͓̞̙̓?̶̛͙͎͔͂̒͂̔?̶̼̹̐̀͜͜∴̶͙͍͊͂͠.̸͇̤̳̇͐̈́ Herobrine says. That’s why it’s here.

“The universe isn’t sure how this will go,” Steve continues casually. “She could turn out to be more dangerous, more powerful than any other player in existence. Or she could turn out perfectly fine.” He shrugs. “It won’t spawn any more until it knows for sure.”

Herobrine tilts its head.

“No, no, not yet,” Steve warns. “We have to let her grow up like any normal player. No meddling. But once she’s ready for inter-world travel, we can go meet her.”

Herobrine doesn’t move.

Steve reads its silence clearly. Letting out a good-natured sigh, he slowly gets to his feet, popping stiff joints with a groan. “You sure you want to do this?” he asks, equipping a diamond sword. “Took you decades to respawn after our last battle.”

He’s the only person who is able to kill it. But even so, Herobrine has never feared its counterpart.

“Alright, old friend,” Steve says, cracking a grin. He’s never feared Herobrine, either.

And for all their differences, neither of them have ever feared death.

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, two soulmates sit under a tree.

They’re nestled against one of the big oaks in their wheat field, Tango leaning back against Jimmy’s chest. His arms and wings are draped loosely around Tango, chin resting atop his head, unflinching from the blaze rods lazily swirling around him.

“Y’know,” Jimmy says softly, “you don’t have to do it right now. You can- we got plenty of time.”

“No, no,” Tango murmurs in his raspy morning voice. “I’m ready.”

It’s early- earlier than Tango’s usually awake, but as soon as he opened his eyes this morning, he knew today was the day. The sun is just cresting above the rolling hills that stretch beyond the ranch, washing everything in gold. Wheat sways gently in the warm breeze. Animals call to each other from the pastures, a comfortable soundtrack to a gorgeous day.

Sunlight filters through the leaves above them, casting dappled shadows across Tango’s face. It’s as peaceful a moment as he’s ever known. He closes his eyes, takes a slow, deep breath, and wraps one of his hands around the shackle on his other wrist.

A small, controlled flame ignites in his palm. Metal heats up against his skin. After a couple seconds, he feels it soften in his grasp, pooling into liquid iron that drips onto the grass beneath him. He exhales, and the cuff falls away.

Tango repeats the process on the other side before he opens his eyes, and when he sees his hands unshackled for the first time in ten years, his first thought is of how much lighter they feel.

(He hadn’t realized just how much weight he was carrying.)

Tears spring to his eyes unbidden, a wave of emotions crashing over him; relief and happiness, of course, but there’s a little apprehension, too- the fear of the unknown waters he’s treading, the new horizon that lays before him.

Healing. True healing, not hiding.

Tango flicks the last drops of molten iron from his clawed fingertips, managing a hoarse laugh. “Well, that was easy.”

Jimmy’s embrace tightens around him, his head dropping down to kiss Tango on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers.

The love pouring through their soulbond is almost overwhelming. Tango turns his face up to catch Jimmy’s lips. “Us,” he corrects Jimmy, pulling back to look at him. “I mean, I don’t- I couldn’t have done any of this without you, I don’t think. So, you know.”

Jimmy hums, settling again. “We’re good for somethin’,” he jokes.

Tango sighs happily, looking out over the ranch. He can scarcely believe he gets to have this, after so much pain and turmoil. This simple life, of love and peace and freedom. The sky set to burst above them. He knows darkness will always creep back into the corners, and there are still hard days ahead, but that fear doesn’t control him anymore. This journey has changed him forever, and he’s never going back. He’d rather stay here, with his soulmate, basking in the light.

The first light of a new day, a new life.

“Yeah,” Tango says, smiling. “We’re good for something.”

~*~

This must be the end, then.

The end of one story, yes. But the start of many others. This is how it’s always been. You know as well as I do, L⚍リᔑ∷.

I still don’t get it.

What?

Why would the universe switch them? If they were meant to be somewhere else, why not begin there? Does the universe not design all worlds and all players?

Does the universe not praise players for slaying the dragon in her nest and calling it freedom?

Take care, Aᑑ⚍ᔑ. There is a player with us.

I see them. They’ve reached a higher level now.

You think they’re ready for this story?

That’s why they’re here, isn’t it?

Tell them, then.

You know the universe as light, and warmth, and love. But it is also darkness, and cold, and hate. It is endless patience and it is senseless cruelty. It is the truth and it is the lie. It is the leap and it is the fall. It is the lamb and it is the wolf whose teeth have sunk into wool, red blood on white snow. It is the sword against the shield. It is life and death, good and evil, and everything in between. It is constantly evolving, tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code-

That’s an old story. They’ve heard it.

It’s the same story. They haven’t heard it this way.

Very well then.

There was a time when the universe loved its players so much, it sought to protect them from themselves. It removed all their darkness, their cruelty, their hatred, and locked it away into separate beings, in a world between realms they could not escape from, so the players could be free of them.

Those are the Hᒷꖎᓭ.

Yes. But this player cannot read that thought. This player knows them as counterparts. They are also known as doppelgängers, analogues, doubles, alter egos, equivalents. Clones, copies, shadows. The yin and yang. The same word in different languages.

So what happened?

Players are not as simple as the universe thought. They are not all the same. Some slipped through the cracks, some weathered over time, and some were so full of darkness that the universe could not remove it all. And the Hᒷꖎᓭ no longer fit the definition the universe had given them. And the players evolved beyond the simple divide between good and evil, and so did their counterparts.

So the universe does not love them as much now?

No. It loves them even more.

Why so?

Does the universe not evolve too? Is the universe not always expanding, growing, changing? Dreaming of new colors and new trees and new creatures? It dreams of new ways to play the game, and new players to play it. But it cannot determine what kind of player a player will be. That’s up to them.

They surprised it.

Yes, in a way. It didn’t realize they were ready for a higher level yet. But once it did, it decided to test them.

Why did it choose those two? Surely there are better players in Hᒷꖎᓭ, and worse players outside of it.

There are some things only the universe knows.

Did the players pass?

Yes. It took time, and effort, and sacrifice. It wasn’t easy or straightforward. It was messy. The players did not pass on their own, either, and not on the first try. But they got there eventually.

Different players might’ve done better.

Yes. But this is what the universe chose. And it proved that players are ready to accept their darkness, and that Hᒷꖎᓭ can learn to embrace the light. The universe doesn’t need to protect them anymore, not from themselves and not from each other. Maybe it never did.

So what will it do now?

The universe cannot change the past. But it can amend the future. I imagine new players will be left whole, spawned with all their good and evil, their light and darkness in one.

What will become of Hᒷꖎᓭ?

Hᒷꖎᓭ will always remain. Whether or not the players will depends on them. The first door has been opened, and many will follow.

What was the point of it all?

Do you not see it yet?

No.

Then let me tell you. It’s a story about the dichotomy of good and evil, about strength and weakness, about nature versus nurture. It’s about how every player has a dark side, but some see it as a separate entity while others see it as their shadow, and it’s about the debate of whether one can exist without the other. It’s about having sympathy for the ugliest parts of yourself, and how making peace with them is the only path to true growth. It’s about rejecting predetermined fates and roles and destinies in order to pave your own way, for better or for worse. It’s about how heroes and villains are constructs of their societies and their own expectations, about the double-edged sword of self-hatred, about the two sides of the same coin. It’s a story about mirrors.

I see. That’s quite a good story.

This player seems to think so.

Hah, if you do say so yourself, Aᑑ⚍ᔑ.

Someone has to tell it.

And what would you tell the players now?

I would tell them that their universe is about to become a bigger, wilder, louder place, but that it is beautiful. I would tell them to not be afraid, that the only way forward is to confront the past and embrace it. Some will fail, and some won’t even try, but for every one of them there are countless more who will do better, and that will be enough. I would tell them all players have the capacity for great good or great evil, no matter what world they spawned in. But if they’ve been watching closely, they already know.

And what would the universe say to them?

What it has always said. That hasn’t changed.

Some things never do, I guess. Through it all, it is the same game. All that changes is how they play it.

Now you’re getting it.

I’ve grown quite fond of those players. What will become of them now?

We’ll just have to watch, as always.

And this player?

They will return to their game. There will be more stories, I’m sure. In the meantime, I’ll tell them to dream of a world where love and hatred are twins, not opposites. A world where heroes and villains can look the same, based on where you’re standing. A world where happiness is fought for and held onto as fiercely as vengeance, where love can be a blessing and a curse, where soulmates are chosen, not designed.

Dream of a world where a canary falls in love with the coal mine.

And if you listen, you can hear it sing.

H𝙹リᒷ||, ||𝙹⚍'∷ᒷ ⎓ᔑᒲ╎ꖎ╎ᔑ∷, ꖎ╎ꖌᒷ ᒲ|| ᒲ╎∷∷𝙹∷ ||ᒷᔑ∷ᓭ ᔑ⊣𝙹

╎↸ᒷᔑꖎ╎ᓭᒲ ᓭ╎ℸ ̣ ᓭ ╎リ !¡∷╎ᓭ𝙹リ, ᓵ⍑╎⍊ᔑꖎ∷|| ⎓ᒷꖎꖎ 𝙹リ ╎ℸ ̣ ᓭ ᓭ∴𝙹∷↸

╎リリ𝙹ᓵᒷリᓵᒷ ↸╎ᒷ↸ ᓭᓵ∷ᒷᔑᒲ╎リ⊣, ⍑𝙹リᒷ|| ᔑᓭꖌ ᒲᒷ, ╎ ᓭ⍑𝙹⚍ꖎ↸ ꖌリ𝙹∴

╎ ᓭꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ↸ ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ ⎓∷𝙹ᒲ ᒷ↸ᒷリ, ⋮⚍ᓭℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᓭ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹⚍ℸ ̣ ᓭ╎↸ᒷ ||𝙹⚍∷ ↸𝙹𝙹∷