End Of Days

43: Experiment

"He's an idiot." Techno hissed, palms scrubbing at his face as he willed the frustration away. This was not the time to let his emotions control him. He sucked in a harsh breath."A fucking idiot."

Across the room, Phil rummaged through a cabinet in search of documents and papers that had been retired a couple of weeks ago. He had hoped they would never need to look at them again. Now he found himself glad that he hadn't thrown them away.

"Why did we leave him alone?" Tubbo demanded, pacing back and forth across the living room. "That was rule one of surviving; don't split up. It's common sense, isn't it?"

"You'd think." Dream murmured his agreement, eyebrows furrowed as he thought over their options.

"Surely he didn't just take himself off to die." George put in, leant half against Dream with a mug of tea in his hands. "Even for Tommy, that's stupid."

"He probably wanted to see Wilbur's place." Ranboo said quietly, perched on the end of the sofa with his eyes trained on the floor. Beside him, his sister sat leant gently against his arm. "The notebook was open to the page describing it."

"Idiot." Technoblade repeated, shoulders lined with tension.

—

Tommy woke slowly, to bright lights and an ache in his shoulder.

He sat up groggily, surprised to have even woken up at all. He was pretty sure he was a goner. Landon injecting him with the drug was a death sentence. He hadn't been expecting to open his eyes again.

The cot he was on was thin and made of metal, with a mattress so thin it was practically a sheet of cloth. The room was barren, with stone walls and bright lights shining down on him from the ceiling. There was a camera in each corner, watching constantly. One wall was made of glass, somewhat scratched from past occupants. Tommy suppressed a shiver, looking away from what was essentially a viewing platform.

Because that's why he was here, wasn't it? To be watched. To be studied.

To die.

He stood on wobbly legs, only to find a tug on his foot. He glanced down, frowning at the shackle around his ankle. "Seriously?" He muttered, giving an experimental yank. His ankle ached slightly from the motion, but he couldn't move any further.

Great. This was great. He was locked in a room made of stone, chained to a wall, and watched from above. Fucking fantastic.

If the disease didn't kill him, Phil definitely would.

Tommy tested out his range of movement, going slowly to avoid hurting his ankle. He had access to about half the room before the restraint stopped him. He glared up at one of the cameras. "I'm gonna fucking get out of here. And then I'm gonna make it your problem, dickhead."

The camera offered no response.

—

Wherever Tommy went, Tubbo would follow.

Even when Tommy was a complete fucking idiot and went to the most evil place on the face of the planet without any semblance of a plan, or bothering to leave a fucking note–

Tubbo was a little ticked off.

He'd been gone for at least twelve hours. That's how long it had been since Tubbo first woke and went to find him. In the time since he had managed to keep himself mostly in check as the group pulled together what they had, stopping by Haven on the way to their destination to pick up supplies and fill Puffy in on what had happened. But now, there was no big distraction to keep him busy, and Tubbo finally had time to feel his emotions.