Something wasn't right.
From the moment that stupid blue pen met the sheet of paper he signed a few nights prior, nothing had internally sat right with Quackity. Sure, he was completely ecstatic about coming out on top with the election results, but something was just nagging at him. Only he couldn't pinpoint what. He truly admired the bold strokes Schlatt chose to take on L'Manberg, how every aspect of their country could be up for renovation- but it all seemed so sudden. Everything just kept rolling, one needless change after another. It almost felt as if Schlatt's actions were just petty jabs at their enemies instead of services for the betterment of their nation.
"Where is that damn kid?"
Quackity was abruptly ripped from his conscience by Schlatt, practically scaring him out of his skin. He stood like a soldier next to the president, slowly re-entering reality. "No idea," was all he managed to muster up. It was the truth. He hadn't seen Tubbo once all morning. Though he would never say it, he wished Schlatt would cut the kid a break these first couple of days, the banishment seemingly hitting him harder than most.
"Never here when I need him, always here when I don't. It's like he has some kind of fucked up radar," Schlatt jammed his right hand in his pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. Half-past noon. Things weren't looking too good for Schlatt's newest scapegoat. Quackity gave a brief side-glance in Schlatt's direction in an attempt to pry into his mind, but it was no use. An unreadable expression was plastered across the president's face as the two of them watched L'Manberg's beloved walls turn into mountains of rubbish.
"You should put a tracker on him," Quackity joked, expecting Schlatt to laugh along. Instead, he feared he had just given him an idea.
"Not bad. Maybe there is more to you than just a nice ass."
Quackity parted his lips to speak but nothing came out. Instead, he was left with nothing but an amalgamation of confusion, distaste, and that sticking feeling of discomfort. "What?" His words were barely audible, completely taken aback by such a remark. He watched as Schlatt pulled out his wallet and slipped him a one-hundred-dollar bill, Schlatt's face being the centerpiece of the paper bill. Somehow, a simple piece of paper added salt to the wound. It was so difficult to process- the whole situation felt like a slap across the face.
"A hundred bucks says it never happened," Schlatt teased, waving the bill in front of his face. Rolling his eyes, Quackity snatched the bill from the air and jammed it in his pocket. It was a half-assed apology, but money was money. He decided it was best to keep his mouth shut. After all, he had gotten what he wanted. Power, wealth, and adoration all wrapped up in a pretty little bow. Before he could give it any more thought, Tubbo was spotted weaving in and out of the crowds of workers, completely out of breath. He looked like he had just ran for miles on end, sweat pouring down his face.
"My apologies, Schlatt," the boy folded over to catch his breath. "I'm afraid I slept in late this morning."
Quackity watched as Schlatt's gaze retraced Tubbo's path, realizing that he entered through the forest which lie in the opposite direction of his home. Quackity silently wondered if Schlatt would catch Tubbo in a lie. To his surprise, the president's eyes gleamed, his mustache curving into a smile as he gently pat Tubbo on the back. "Glad you cared to pay us a visit, kid! Now, grab a pickaxe and get to work." Tubbo stood puzzled, calculating the logistics in his head.
"But I'm a minor, sir," he tripped over his words. "I believe that would be considered child labor."
Schlatt stood unbothered. "And? You're lucky I didn't make you a chimney sweep, Tiny Tim."
Tubbo stammered in disbelief. "Wouldn't that be illegal?" Certainly, this was pushing it a little far. Schlatt rolled his eyes, completely ignoring the concerns of his right-hand man. Quackity raised his brows as his prediction played out, Schlatt dropping the 'mister-nice-guy' façade a little sooner than expected.
"Look, if you're so fuckin' interested in the law, why don't you go out there and apprehend Wilbur and Tommy before I hire someone else to take your place." Tubbo went quiet. He had to maintain that position since it gave him an excuse for running off in search of his friends. "Everyone's replaceable, Tubbo. So you might as well make yourself useful instead of bitching. Capiche?"
Tubbo didn't utter a word, his only response being a quick nod of his head. He began to turn around before Schlatt stopped him by grasping his shoulder, his body tensing in response. "And get changed out of that stupid uniform, you smell awful."
Everyone's replaceable, huh? Quackity's lips drew into a thin line as he wondered how far the boundaries of that statement stretched. He watched as Tubbo scurried toward the pickaxes, beginning to chip away at the wall with the rest of the crew. Crowds of people tore down the bricks, a cleanup crew following close behind, piling up the rubble. The cycle repeated itself until a good third of the wall was completely wiped from history.
"Schlatt," Quackity began to speak before his brain could have a moment to process. "I know you mean well, and I'm sure we're doing the right thing by expanding," he scratched the back of his neck, "but...shouldn't the vice president have some kind of a say in this whole thing?"
Without bothering to give him the time of day to even turn around and speak to his face, Schlatt merely responded. "I mean, I'm not gonna care. You still can try, though," he chuckled, finding his cruel remark rather amusing as he removed himself from the conversation. Schlatt strolled over towards Eret's crew, clapping his palms together to startle the group. "Chop chop, Eret! These walls aren't going to destroy themselves!"
Just like that, Quackity was left with a handful of time to sit and think. His relationship with Schlatt had always been a tricky one. They were friends, they always have been. Lately, Schlatt's demeanor had drastically changed, going down a path he was not particularly fond of. He was fairly certain he didn't swing that way, nor did he believe Schlatt did. A part of him felt that Schlatt was only acting this way to have an unbalanced sense of power over him- one where the scale would never be tipped, but another part of him didn't hate it either. It was such a giant mess, and it certainly was not worth the hassle of speaking up for himself either. He wanted this, he might as well put up with it. He just wished Schlatt never dabbled in this gray area of their partnership. Not now. Not to mention, that comment earlier made him feel queasy- or was he just overreacting?
He continued to walk up the prime path, the light wood creaking under his shoes. If he really had no say in any congressional decision made by Schlatt, what was his true role in all of this? Perhaps he could be the voice of reason. The exile seemed a bit harsh, especially considering the fact that neither Tommy nor Wilbur had anything else to their names except a caravan and an acre of land. At the end of the day, Quackity cared for the people. Surely Schlatt shared that same goal.
As he approached the top of a nearby hill, a flicker of blonde hair caught his eye. He glanced up, meeting the eyes of none other than the boy who he cast out mere days ago.
"Tommy?" he questioned in bewilderment. That kid had a lot of guts to show his face at a time like this.
Quackity watched the boy freeze like a deer in headlights. He stood there looking like a kicked puppy, a look of desperation in his tired eyes. He hoisted a leather satchel over his shoulder that appeared to be jammed with stolen items. At a closer glance, he noticed the boy had stashed food, his leather bag practically bursting at the seams with bread, apples, and vegetables.
"Quackity, please..." Tommy pleaded. It was certainly ironic that Tommy was yet again at his mercy, but something inside him decided that the boy had suffered enough. He turned around as if nothing had happened and let Tommy escape out of sight. The vice president himself had just broken one of the strictest laws in the country, but that didn't bother him. He didn't want them killed. He just wanted them out.
---
After managing to find just the right time to slip away from the crowd, Tubbo darted into the caravan, gently closing the door behind him. He needed to get away from all this commotion. Losing his friends, tearing down their walls- it was all too much for him.
His heart ached as he looked around. What was becoming of their home? The walls were gone, who knew what would come next? The brunette bit back tears as he came to terms with the emptiness of the van, Tommy's absence hitting him like a freight train. His other half was suffering and he could hardly do a thing. Running his fingertips against the rim of the brewing stands, he took in the nostalgia of just simply being in the van, fond memories rushing back into his mind. Through the hardship of it all, the war created some of the strongest bonds. Now he stood alone, but it didn't last long.
"Tubbo."
The boy whipped around to face his boss, grasping a brewing stand that nearly toppled over and rested it back in its place. His emerald eyes grew wide with caution, his hands trembling as he collected himself. "Oh, Schlatt! Sorry, I was just-"
"Could I have a word with you?" Though it was disguised as a question, he knew this wasn't up for debate as Schlatt was already making his way into the caravan, taking a seat on one of the tables with crossed arms. He knew right off the bat this wasn't going to be pleasant in the slightest. Tubbo cleared his throat, unable to make eye contact as he swiftly nodded. "Sure, what's up?"
"I wanted to make sure everything was going according to plan, and I noticed you slipped away into this...drug lab," his eyes moved upward, taking in the scenery of the tarnished metal ceilings and scarred linoleum. Tubbo calmed himself, finding the best response he could think of that could excuse his absence. "Well, I was just...reminiscing about the revolution." It wasn't a lie, which made it just a tad bit easier to look Schlatt in the eye.
Schlatt sucked the circulating air through his teeth. "That's fine, Tubbo, but there's a time and a place for everything," his cordial tone shifted into one of aggravation. "You are on the clock, so I do expect you to carry out your duties as my right-hand man and secretary of state." Tubbo swiftly nodded his head up and down, signaling that he understood Schlatt's requests without daring to utter a single word.
"And those duties do not include reminiscing," Schlatt studied Tubbo's meek, sheepish behavior, analyzing each wince and recoil. Keeping secrets was never something that came easy to him, but since Wilbur and Tommy were on the line, Tubbo tried his hardest. "Yes, I understand," Tubbo muttered, finally gathering the courage to not only face Schlatt but to speak his mind. "As your right-hand man, I want to be someone you can lean on," he spoke, his confidence building. "And...if I'm going to be totally honest with you, I'm not sure tampering with history is the best way to get the people on your side." After seeing how Schlatt constantly dismissed Quackity whenever a government decision was at hand, he was certain his opinion would be unwanted. However, to his surprise, Schlatt allowed him to be heard, seemingly taking his advice into some form of consideration.
"So, you don't think it's worth it?" Schlatt sniffed, his mustache shifting.
"Well," Tubbo bit his lower lip in thought, "in terms of this potentially damaging your public image- no. I don't think tearing down the walls is worth it." His heart thundered in his chest. Did he just challenge Schlatt? Hopefully, he was more open-minded than he initially thought, or else this conversation would go south really quickly.
"Right, right." Schlatt pulled out a thick cigar from the inside of his coat, placing it between his thumb and index finger. "Well, it sounds to me you're not worried about the people," he slipped his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a small lighter. "You're worried about yourself."
"That's not what I meant at all!" Tubbo stammered, putting his hands up in defense. "I'm just saying you need to put the consequences of your actions into consideration, or else you're putting your reputation at risk." Tubbo's frayed nerves got the better of him as he began pacing back and forth around the caravan leaving the occasional scuff mark on the floor.
Schlatt placed the cigar in his mouth and allowed the flame to touch the tip of the paper, creating a cloud of dingy smoke around the rim. "You do raise a good point," he admitted, "However, there's one last thing I need to talk to you about." Tubbo stopped his pacing, turning his body towards his boss. "Yes?" he questioned meekly.
"Frankly, this is a conversation I would rather not be having," Schlatt's voice suddenly got gruff and stern. Tubbo hated where this was going, a nasty feeling stirring in his gut.
"You know those conch shells at the beach? The ones where you put them up to your ear and you hear the ocean?"
Entirely lost, Tubbo nodded slowly. "Yes, I've done that before."
"Tubbo," he laughed. "It's the craziest thing. Whenever I get close to you," Schlatt gradually cornered him, Tubbo backing away in response. He stepped backward until there was nowhere left but against the edge of a table. "Instead of hearing praise from my right-hand man," he grit his teeth, "I hear a bunch of whining brats that are somehow upset with me and the great things I'm doing for this nation," he blew a ring of smoke that grazed past Tubbo's button nose, causing his face to recoil in disgust.
"Schlatt!" Tubbo coughed, completely unsure of how to please his boss. "I'm just trying to offer advice, I'm not-"
"Tubbo, I see it with my own two eyes," he used his index and middle finger to point to his eyes, a visible fire raging behind them, "They work, mind you!" Tubbo froze. What did that mean? Did Schlatt know?
"If I hear one more peep out of you, we're going to have another conversation," he eyed the embers at the tip of his cigar.
"And next time I'm not going to be so forgiving."
---
As he re-entered L'Manberg, Quackity noticed a rather robust figure sporting a thick cape as red as blood, a pointed gold crown resting at the peak of his head. Long, pink locks of hair strung down his back, flyaways shifting in the breeze. The biggest fright was when the figure turned around. The face of a hog mask stared back, milky-white eyes penetrating Quackity's soul. Similar to Dream, there was still a man that lie beneath. Nonetheless, it was a deeply unsettling sight. The figure appeared to be carrying a crossbow with a maroon-tipped arrow lodged in between the spokes. An arrow of instant harm- outlawed in the Dream SMP for anything other than hunting and war. Such a lethal weapon was meant to bring a gruesome end to its target. It would be a moral violation to let it fall into the wrong hands, though it seems it already has given the figure was standing next to Schlatt.
"Everyone, I'd like to introduce you to Technoblade. My secret weapon." Tubbo's head shot up, a gut feeling forming in his stomach. Despite it being only a day, Schlatt had grown impatient with Tubbo's inability to fulfill his requests in due time. Technoblade was his replacement. Not as a right-hand man, but as a hunter- which was somehow worse.
"And for some, a replacement," Schlatt sneered in Tubbo's direction, taking pleasure in watching the color drain from his face.
"Now, Techno. I have placed a rather large bounty on the fugitives that go by the names of Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit." Quackity felt his heart sink lower and lower until it practically hit the floor. This was too far. They were already off his property, there was no need for hired murder. "If you can hunt them down for me, I can guarantee you a great position of power here in L'Manberg."
To everyone's surprise, Techno shook his head, seemingly denying Schlatt's offer. "Uh, I really have no interest in the power part," he shrugged with indifference. "I'll take the money, though."
"Whatever you like!" Schlatt grinned, "Just see to it that Wilbur and Tommy are taken care of." This time, he wasn't focused on Techno. His eyes were instead fixated on Tubbo, glowering at his failure of a right-hand man. Tubbo had to warn his friends, but could he even get there in time? Worst of all, would he die trying? He watched as Techno quickly left the scene, but not in the direction Wilbur and Tommy were. He sighed in relief, but he knew he didn't have much time.
"Oh, and one last thing," Schlatt raised a finger to hold the current conversation gesturing for the group to gather by the main stage. He took his time climbing the side stairs, everyone on edge with anticipation. Tapping the mic, he towered over the podium and cleared his throat.
"Ladies and gentlemen of this great nation!" The masses stopped their work on the walls, wiping the beads of sweat that poured down their faces as they turned to face their leader. What now?
"The cage that has held back the citizens of this country has been successfully demolished." Where there should have been a cheer, there was only silence. Not a single soul was in agreement about demolishing the walls.
"And you know what? Enough living in the past."
Fundy's heart fluttered in excitement. If there was one thing he admired about Schlatt, it was his forward-thinking mindset. He broke tradition, something he knew Wilbur would rather kill over than let happen.
"I say," he paused, "we rename this country."
A giant uproar spewed from the crowd, everyone in collective disagreement. Renaming the country was entirely unnecessary. Their nation could not afford to undergo any more change in a single day. Though its name came from foolish and rather immature origins, L'Manberg itself was still an iconic piece of history, one among many things that should never have been meddled with.
"You have no right to do that, Schlatt!" Niki cried, her heart aching for what could no longer be. With Wilbur and Tommy gone, their world had fallen into the hands of an irresponsible tyrant- and this was only day one.
"No longer will this country be called L'Manberg," Schlatt mocked with air quotes, prodding on the stupidity of the country's name. "I say it's a little...outdated." Then it clicked. Not just the perfect title for their nation, but the perfect way to tear down Wilbur just a little more.
"From here on out, effective immediately," he grinned with spite, "our great nation shall henceforth be known as..."