Work Text:
The lady in front of him smiled, roughing up his hair. It had grown kind of long, but he wasn't sure if he'd have to cut it after this process.
"Techno, I'm sure you are absolutely tired of having this... monitor. We'll be removing it today!" The voice was so sickenly sweet to Techno's ears, he'd swear that it was far from good news. The smile must have tried to be reassuring, but it seemed to be doing the opposite. The lady seemed to notice his expression.
"Ahah, don't worry! It won't hurt a single bit." He nods in response. That sounded so fake, he wondered who she was trying to convince. What? A two year old? Techno was no fool.
The lady motions for Techno to follow, and he does. Of course, not without a long minute of silence and hesitation. The monitor, gone from the spot under his hair. He tries to imagine the thing in his neck removed, he'll be able to sleep on his back again and feel like nobody's watching. Finally, Wilbur won't try anything anymore. He won't have any sign of distates, showing that Techno had flopped out like he did.
And of course, the Lady had very much indeed lied. It hurt a lot. It hurt a lot, a lot. He'd scream quite loud, very loud. It felt like something stabbing him, but after the process Techno immediately went to touch the spot where the monitor used to be.
Walking out, he glances at everyone around him. No faces he could even recognize, his vision blurring slightly - hot liquid almost spilling out of his eyes. It felt like he just lost a part of him, yet it was a part that didn't fit but molded into him over time. Now that it was gone, he didn't feel quite as whole even if he was now "normal".
"Your monitor...," Techno heard someone say behind him. He shrugged in response.
"Look... his monitor is...," they continued to others as if he couldn't hear them. He reached up to touch the spot where the piece was missing again, feeling a rough bandaid that was lazily pasted on his neck. A sharp chuckle was heard.
"Washed out, Third?" A boy taunted. Was sitting across from Techno. He remembers the face, but can't put it to a name. Wilbur? No, it was not Wilbur. Who then? It was someone else. The world went hazy. All he could hear was an interjection from someone.
"Quiet, boy," The teacher scolded. Names felt distant, words felt light-years away, and reality felt like a hazy dream. He lets himself zone out, leaning back on the chair. It felt like hard plastic, obviously. It also felt like every muscle in his body was numb, yet also angrily asking to move. He didn't want to move.
When he eventually did, Techno walked aimlessly around the school, ending up in a trophy room. Who was the kid earlier? The one who acted like Wilbur... It was someone named... uh - Schlatt? Can't remember, still hazy.
He might just about pass out, yes that would be nice. Just lie down right and her-
Techno practically jumped at the sound of someone coming in. He could sense it, they weren’t particularly quiet about it. Techno is already on guard- knowing full well anyone approaching him is probably in ill intent. He searches for a weapon frantically, his eyes drawing spots across his vision from the speed he’d been glancing everywhere.
“Come on, let’s congratulate a certain,” He can hear the person, not Wilbur, spit.
“Let us congratulate this pig, give him a round of applause!” Multiple people started joining the room, around four? Five? The fact being people were circling around him, growing closer and closer, or was that an illusion? Just effects from the monitor. His eyes still had black spots dancing around in a mocking manner. Was there something they were telling him? Techno shakes his head, looking at a particularly sharp trophy in the room.
“This pig here seems to think that he’s really good at combat - good at everything!” Venom was laced in those words, poison on the tip of a deceased man’s tongue. Fight, fight, blood, blood, it’s what he deserves. Techno’s thoughts are scattered.
“Is it really fair? Your little gang seems to be...,” Techno trailed off. He bit his lip. No, it wasn’t fair. Both of them knew that well. Techno was far from a large build, merely a six year old adolescent. This… bully(?) Was that the word for it? He can’t decide. The fact being that the “bully” scowled.
“Fine, fine. I’ll take this hog on its own,” It stung, really. It might have even the playing ground slightly, but the “bully” was already twice, three times? The size of him. Techno looks at the trophy again as the “bully” advances. He feels the air grow chillier- his head pounding. It was as if an intrusion suddenly thrust into his mind, like this thought was not there before and never should’ve been. The bully landed a hit. Time seemed to fall slower, but Techno processed it as fast as possible.
He wasn’t thinking, or was he? Was it him thinking or someone else? Who was he? But, nonetheless, it happened. Techno gripped the trophy after snatching it from the case behind him. With all his strength, he beat the “bully” — person, person? Monkey, uncivilized ape? Child? What was he doing? Was he a pig, no thought no feelin- The strike landed, the “bully” stumbled backward. It was a person. Techno was blinded, never able to see again. And if he did, his senses were to be overwhelmed.
Strike, after strike, after beating, after strike. His cloud slowly drifted away, feeling numb. The liquid, tears, began to unnoticeably bubble in the corner of his eyes.
“H-hey! That’s enough man!” He could hear something, someone, the same thing. Hands came over his own, with a force he couldn’t repel. He growls, animalistic fury? Couldn’t tell, mind foggy, daze still there but only momentarily before he looks at the disfigured head of a shallow-breathing person.
The fog cleared, the slow realization dawning onto him. Techno forced himself to swallow the air going into his gaping mouth. What had he done? Something… Wilbur, Wilbur , would do. Wilbur, the brother he seeks validation from. What a storm he’d get if he makes it home.
Breaking free from the grip restraining him, he sprints. Couldn’t think, this day flew by. Everything was going past his head and he couldn’t wrap his brain around anything that just happened.
Right, did he kill someone? No, then he’d be like Wilbur. Sadistic, conniving Wilbur. He is not Wilbur (but then again, he wasn’t Tommy either). Who was he? He was the third, Technoblade. Techno, the third. The third child, the shunned - the doomed. He felt like slumping down and falling to the floor and getting run over or falling off a bridge. It would probably just be temporary, a dream that would be over once he wakes up. So if it was a dream, nightmare , then why did the hot, sticky red fluid, blood, remain on his hands as much as he wipes it on the sidewalk or pinches his face?