probably poor timing but please take the first 400 or so words from my prison stream fix-it bc I struggled hard with it
Technoblade was a weapon, once. He didn’t like to list his regrets -- if you spent all of your time beating yourself up over your past mistakes, well, you’d never move forward. It was a year ago. But he’d be lying to say that the guilt had never weighed on him, even now. Not anymore, he told himself. Whatever he did would be by his own admission. He was not a loaded gun, he was the gunman.
In truth, he was neither. He’d graduated to the bystander.
He was right, once. It was all pointless. He learned, and he grew, and it didn’t matter. Whatever he did -- whatever anyone did -- all roads lead back to the same place. It was a lesson he could learn again, and again, and again, until he’d finally grow calloused to it all. The only universal language is violence. And no matter how many times they could have the same conversation, over and over, it would rear its ugly head once again.
He’d been the bystander before. They were lucky, then, that it worked out as smoothly as it had. Even still, Techno remembered how Ranboo froze, looking up from the hole that he was dropped in. There was nothing that could be done except give Ranboo the tools to get himself out, and hope that he could manage. Had Badboyhalo really been out for blood that day, they would have been in a very different situation.
In a horrible echo of their past misadventure, Ranboo was stuck. Something invisible tethered him to the spot. He looked to Techno with helpless acceptance. He spoke simply and solemnly: Sam had Michael. It was reason enough for Ranboo to remove his armour, deliberately and carefully, perhaps in a feeble attempt to not startle the warden who hovered an axe dangerously close to his neck. He didn’t dare move another inch.
Technoblade was powerless. He stood at the front of the crowd, pleading -- what was Sam even doing? There was no reason to hurt him, he hadn’t done anything, he wasn’t even a good bargaining chip, not with Dream. Dream tried to nudge him along. His stomach turned. There was nothing he could do. The rest of the crowd stood motionless, watching the spectacle. It would be a tragedy, later, but for now no one cared to act.
