151. (credit to Lyrmony)

Dream opened the door of his house and paused.

His Tommy-senses were tingling. The other looper had been through here at some point, which inevitably meant. . .

He surveyed the foyer. Yup, there it was - a tripwire, hair-thin and barely visible in the light. Tommy should have known better than to try such primitive pranks by now, but maybe he hadn't felt like being too high-effort this loop. Or maybe-- nope, there weren't any pressure plates or traces of redstone beyond the wire. It was just a tripwire. A bit disappointing, but at least Dream could avoid it.

With a sigh, Dream stepped over the tripwire-- only to freeze when he felt something brush against his hair. A second wire, even thinner than the first, suspended at just the right height to tug at his hair when he walked past it.

Dream had one second to feel mildly impressed before a bucket of glue and feathers was upended upon his head.

~~~

"Technoblade?"

"Hey, Phil," Technoblade answered. He did not turn away from the bonfire in front of him. "What brings you here?"

Philza eyed the torch in his hands. "Are you. . . burning down your house?"

"The animals are safe," Technoblade assured him. "I already moved my valuables to my backup house."

"Okay, but why. . .?"

Technoblade fixed him with an inscrutable stare. "Tommy did some breakin' and enterin' while we were gone. I'm decontaminatin'."

"By burning the house? Seems a bit. . . excessive, mate."

"He plastered the walls with bacon-themed wallpaper. Strippin' it will be a waste of time if he can just break in again, so I'm burnin' the abomination down and movin' on."

". . . Ah." Philza took a moment to digest that, then blinked. "Wait, bacon-themed wallpaper? Where did he even get that?"

"Looked handpainted to me. Whoever drew it was pretty good." Technoblade relit a piece of wood that had died down to a smolder. "Shame it's gettin' burnt."

His tone made it very clear that he didn't think it was a shame at all.

~~~

"You too?" was the first thing out of Tubbo's mouth when he opened the door. A rather glittery Quackity stared back, a bristling (and bright pink) Fundy at his side.

"Too?" the duck hybrid demanded, only to do a truly impressive triple take when he caught sight of Tubbo's living room. "What the fuck? How--"

"Dunno." Tubbo shouldered his way past the two of them and shut the door, concealing the thick layer of googly eyes covering his walls. "I do know, however, that I need a new house. Whoever did this used some sort of superglue - I can't hack away the eyes without hacking away the wall, and I'm not sleeping with that monstrosity staring at me."

"Shit, it's in your bedroom too?"

"And my kitchen. And my basement." At Quackity's wince, Tubbo nodded. "Yep."

~~~

"Hm," said Ranboo. "This. Might be a problem."

The chickens crowding his halls seemed to collectively stop and shoot him a look of 'no shit'. Or maybe Ranboo was hallucinating now. This certainly felt close enough to a fever dream.

With a sigh, he began the tedious process of slaughtering his way through the poultry. Unfortunately, he realized halfway through that his home had been littered with pressure plates that, when sprung, would release more chickens. Furthermore, the damage the birds had caused to his house's structural integrity was pretty extensive. It would be easier to move.

With a put-upon sigh, Ranboo vaulted out the window, kicked off his guano-stained shoes, and pulled out his memory book. If he woke up in an unfamiliar place tomorrow, at least he'd know why.

~~~

"How do you keep findin' my cabins?!"

"I'm just that good," Tommy sang, tossing a glitter bomb at Technoblade's head. Technoblade, being the seasoned warrior he was, easily dodged. His couch was unfortunately not as mobile, and thus suffered great damage.

"It's impossible!" the piglin hybrid insisted. "I made like-- ten different places-- how are you doin' this?!"

"I'm a mind reader, Techno." The statement was spoken with two parts empty boasting and one part complete bullshittery, just the right combination to confuse any attempt to discern whether it was truthful or not. "I know where your houses are, because you know where your houses are."

"Heh--?!" was the last thing Technoblade got out before the other glitter bombs planted around his house went off.

Tommy made his escape before he could get mauled.

~~~

"I hate this," were the first words out of Fundy's mouth.

"You and me both," Quackity groaned into the wooden table of the cabinet meeting room. "Seriously, who the fuck does stuff like this?" he peeled his face off the table long enough to squint at Fundy. "Nice color, by the way. Red looks good on you."

"Thank you," Fundy said automatically, reaching up to pat his burgundy-dyed hair. Then he shook himself. "Anyways-- we need to stop this. My entire house is bright green!"

"At least you can still live in your house," Quackity grumbled, only to wince when Fundy growled. ". . . That bad, huh?"

"New windows show up when I'm sleeping. My west wall is completely gone. "

". . . Ah." To avoid Fundy's death glare, Quackity turned to Tubbo. "Tubbo, what happened to your new house?"

Tubbo had a thousand-yard stare directed at a point over Quackity's shoulder. When the duck hybrid nudged him, he shuddered. "The spiders. . ."

Quackity cleared his throat. "Okay, uh. . . sounds like we've got dyeing, glitter bombs, paint, general griefing, and. . . something with spiders. Does that sound like anyone we know?"

"I mean, anyone could do that," Fundy pointed out. "Who's been untouched? I know Niki's house is fine. . ."

"Because nobody with a brain cell is going to mess with Niki. What about Tommy?"

"Tommy doesn't have a house. But it is true that we haven't seen him in a while. . ."

"And he did have that thing with glitter back when we first started, right?"

"Guilty as charged!"

The three cabinet members screamed in unison as Tommy dropped from the ceiling, executed a perfect flip, and landed on the table feet-first. "Tommy!" Quackity wheezed, scrabbling at his chest. "What the fuck, man!"

"Sorry," Tommy sang, not sounding sorry at all. "But yes, you're right! I'm the one rigging all the houses!"

"Why?" Fundy asked with the inflection of someone whose soul had long since exited their mortal frame. "Why are you doing this?"

"You know how a lot of conflicts stem from griefing?" Tommy shrugged. "Everything would be so much more peaceful if there weren't any houses to grief--"

"You're the one that does the most griefing!"

"--so I thought everyone should be homeless. Except for Niki. Her bakery can stay."

"You realize," Quackity said slowly, "That you're the Vice President. You could've just put rules in place to prevent griefing."

"But what's the fun in that?"

Fundy inhaled, pressed his face into his hands, and screamed.

~~~

"This place is underground! Phil blindfolded me when he took me here! There's no way--"

"You're not the only mind I can read, Techno."

Tommy was treated to the rare sight of Technoblade burying his face in his hands and screaming. Just a single, monotonous "aaaaaaaaaaaa" that paused only when Technoblade had to take a breath.

He filmed the entire thing, of course. Dream would want to see it.

~~~

Dream stepped into the community house, smug satisfaction oozing off his every movement. Technoblade, who had previously been moping in an armchair beside one of the windows, turned at his entrance and raised an eyebrow.

"Dream," he greeted, then looked him up and down. "You look. . . well."

Which is to say that he looked completely normal - as opposed to Technoblade, who appeared to have gone through hell and back. If hell had a lot of craft supplies. And glitter. And was run by a demented toddler.

"Hey Techno," Dream chirped. His grin widened at the narrow-eyed stare he received. "Just dropped by to say something."

"And that something would be. . .?"

"Now who's homeless?"

Technoblade opened his mouth. Closed it. Blinked a few times, then opened it again. ". . . Did you set this up with Tommy just so you could say that?"

"No comment."

Technoblade took a deep, deep breath, then calmly rose from his seat, walked over to one of the beanbags, and faceplanted in it. "That's it," he said into the fabric. "I'm done. No, Chat, no blood for the blood god. They beat me fair and square."

Dream dropped down into a beanbag beside him, shoving his mask aside to reveal a wide grin. "Honestly, I'm surprised you took so long to crack. I knew you were stubborn, but. . ."

Technoblade rolled over and fixed him with a dull stare. "Congratulations," he deadpanned. "You finally beat me. What was our score again? Dream, one, Technoblade, three?" He counted off his fingers. "There was that duel, then the incident with the chihuahua--"

"We agreed to never speak of that again."

Technoblade looked him in the eye. "--the incident with the chihuahua," he repeated, "and the chess game."

Dream rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. How does it feel to lose for once?"

"Terrible. Horrible. I will never recover from this loss. To compensate, I vow burnin' hatred upon you and your ancestors until the third generation."

"Love you too, Techno."

152. (credit to Smallest)

"Wait wait wait, hold up." Dream held up a hand. "I said no minors. Tubbo, go back to L'Manberg."

"I-- wha?"

"No minors," Dream repeated. "It was one of the rules I set out on the server. No minors get involved in wars."

"You can't just do that," Wilbur protested. "We'll be down a fighter!"

"It's the rule."

"And if we don't obey?"

Dream narrowed his eyes. "Look, I've been pretty okay with playing along with the whole L'Manberg shebang up until now, but if you try to send Tubbo in I'll be forced to take drastic measures. The kids stay out. Don't involve them."

"I can fight!" Tubbo snapped. "I've been learning since I was six--"

"I know you can fight. Skill isn't the problem here, it's L'Manberg using child soldiers."

Wilbur opened his mouth. Closed it, considered the statement for a moment, then turned a shade paler. ". . . Yeah, that's. . . pretty bad, isn't it."

"'Pretty bad,'" Dream mocked in a high-pitched voice that sounded closer to a chipmunk than Wilbur. "Ah yes, making children fight wars is just a little teensy tiny bit bad. A normal childhood? What's that?"

"Wait, why aren't you kicking Tommy out?" Sapnap asked. "He's a kid too, right?"

Dream coughed, dropping back to his normal voice. "No? He's older than all of you."

"What?"

"What?"

"No, what did you just say?"

"Tommy's older than all of you?"

"What do you mean he's older than us?!"

". . . Exactly what I said?"

Sapnap looked at Tommy, who still very much appeared to be a teenager. Tommy shrugged. "Don't ask me how old I am. I lost count around the two hundreds."

Wilbur's head snapped around so quickly, something audibly cracked. "What? Tommy, this isn't-- this isn't the time for jokes--"

"I'm not joking! I'm over two hundred." Tommy frowned at the stares he received. "I thought you knew?"

Wilbur floundered, apparently trying to decide between calling out the discrepancy in Tommy's claim and L'Manberg's dire need for fighters. The decision was taken out of his hands by George, who stepped forward. "Dream, you can't be serious."

"I am?" Dream affected a look of perfect confusion. "Tommy's almost as old as Philza Minecraft. We've been over this."

"We haven't!"

"Oh. Well. Now we have." Ignoring the truly flabbergasted noise George made, he turned to the others. "So. Tubbo, get out. The rest of you, get up here and fight. Or run away like cowards, that works too."

"You can't just--" Sapnap started, only to be cut off when Tommy launched himself at Dream with a war cry. The rest of the onlookers (sans Tubbo) were soon dragged into the fray, albeit unwillingly, and by the time the dust had settled both Tommy and Dream were ignoring any questions in favor of hashing out a deal for L'Manberg's independence - much to the disappointment, annoyance, and overall confusion of everyone else.

Needless to say, this L'Manberg's Independence Day was significantly more chaotic than the one in loop zero.

153. (credit to curry_powder)

"You fucked up for the last time, Dream."

"Tommy," Dream began, lacing every bit of condescension he could gather into the word. "You said I'm not going to kill you, and you're not going to kill me."

Tommy glowered. "And why would I kill you-- "

He was interrupted by a loud squeaking noise, akin to a duck on helium. When he tried to speak, Dream squished the Taboo squeaker again. Tommy pointed at him.

"Okay, first of all the buzzer is completely unnecessary--"

"Oh, it's very necessary--"

"--I noticed the mistake, you bastard-- and second of all, it was one word!"

"Still a mistake either way! Add it to the board."

"I hate you," Tommy decided, yanking a whiteboard from his inventory and scoring another tally under his own column. "I hate you so much."

"Sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of you forgetting your lines."

"Oh, you f--" Tommy's expletives were cut off when Dream squeezed the Taboo squeaker again.

"Um," someone said behind them. Both loopers turned to see their audience, which consisted of a good part of the server - decked out in full netherite and all staring at them in various stages of bewilderment.

"Well shit," said Tommy. He turned to Dream. "Back to normal?"

"Back to normal."

"Right." Tommy stowed the whiteboard away and cleared his throat. "Why would I not kill you?"

"Axe," Dream reminded him. "And no, that doesn't count as a line mistake."

"Cheater," Tommy complained. He pulled out the Axe of Peace. "There. Okay, for real this time--"

"From the top?"

". . . Sure, why the fuck not."

Both loopers proceeded to repeat the scene, ignoring their baffled audience.

154. remix, pt. 10 

It had been nearly two hours since Quackity had told them everything, and Sapnap was still in denial.

Last he'd checked, Tommy was a good kid. Traumatized, angry, and a little misguided, but at the end of the day he was just a teenager who'd been through too much shit.

Hearing that he'd-- fuck, that he'd threatened George and Sapnap to get Dream to cooperate, that he'd messed with Dream's head in Exile, that he'd killed-- no, executed him, because there was a difference--

He'd known that this server took good things and twisted them beyond recognition. But some part of him had never thought that it would happen to Tommy. Tommy, the sunshine child who'd remained determined in the face of Dream's rage, who'd sacrificed so much for the ones he loved. Oh, Sapnap was furious that Tommy had burned down George's house - because no matter whatever the fuck had gone down at that sham of a trial, Sapnap believed George - and doubly as furious that Tommy had pinned it on Dream, but at the end of the day, he knew that Tommy was just a kid who took pranks a little too far. Dream had played along, even, and Sapnap had laughed with George because they'd thought this was another bit, another moment when Dream humored Tommy's games.

Except it hadn't been a game. And this? This went against everything he knew about Tommy. Tommy was supposed to be a constant, a teenager that would never grow into shoes too big for him. Except Tommy had grown into those shoes , then outgrown them, and was now teetering on the edge of the same chasm Wilbur had fallen into.

Looking back now, that belief had been stupid. Tommy had been involved in almost every major conflict, had suffered at the hands of nearly everyone on the server. He was bound to snap at some point. Sapnap just hadn't thought that he'd break like this.

A weight settled against his side. "You okay?" Karl asked, his voice laced with concern. Sapnap let out a dry laugh.

"No," he admitted. "It's just. . . Tommy. He wouldn't-- he wouldn't do that, would he?"

"I don't know," Karl admitted. "But Quackity wouldn't lie to us. You saw how torn up he was."

Grim silence settled over them. Sapnap slumped, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Shit," he muttered. "Shit. He was close to Tommy, right? I shouldn't--"

"None of that." Karl pulled his hand away from his face and rubbed circles across the back of his palm. "Just because you weren't as close doesn't mean you're not allowed to feel upset. He threatened you and George to get at Dream, Sap. That's not okay."

"I know that, " Sapnap whispered. "But-- Tommy. And Dream-- fuck, Dream, we thought it was a bit, we thought he was just going along with Tommy. We haven't been too close recently but he's still-- he lost a life, Karl. I need to-- I don't know where he is. Tommy killed him, Karl-- Tommy. How could he do that? Why would he do that? It's Tommy, he's not supposed to be-- to be. . ."

Karl was silent for a moment. "He's not," he agreed at last, then sighed heavily and tugged at Sapnap's shoulders. "C'mere. You need a hug."

"This isn't a hug," Sapnap muttered, but he let himself flop across Karl's legs. Karl hummed, amused, and began running his fingers through his hair. They sat in quiet peace for a while, simply enjoying each others' presence.

At last, Sapnap reluctantly peeled himself away and sat up. ". . . Where's Q? I know he said he wanted to be alone, but it's been over two hours."

"Still in his room." Karl brushed his hair out of his face so he could squint at Sapnap. "You want to check on him?"

In answer, Sapnap began pushing himself off the couch. Karl rushed to help him, only to nearly crack his head open on the coffee table when his legs refused to cooperate. Sapnap winced. "Your legs fell asleep?"

"Yup," Karl confirmed. He held out his hands in a silent plea for assistance, which Sapnap gladly gave. Together, they hobbled towards the stairs. Karl giggled as they nearly tripped on the first step, and Sapnap found himself smiling.

Still, even as his heart grew lighter, he couldn't help but remember the bright grin Tommy had sent him on the first day on the server. His boisterous laughter, and his childish delight in juvenile pranks. How could Tommy - Tommy, the endearing nuisance that grew on people like a fungus - use him as a bargaining chip? And then there was Dream, the friend that had grown into a stranger - the friend Sapnap had drifted away from, even as he grew closer to George - if anything, Dream was the one who'd been set to become the villain of Tommy's story.

A tiny part of his mind murmured that things weren't so black and white anymore.

~~~

Technoblade nearly tore the door off its hinges in his haste to get inside. His heart pounded in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out the clamor in his head. Philza was a step behind him, wings fluffed up with agitation. "Dream?" he called. "Dream, are you here?"

A thump reverberated through the ceiling. Muffled cursing floated down from above, and Technoblade felt a part of him relax. He wasted no time throwing himself up the ladder, scrambling through the door and into the guest bedroom.

"Dream?"

Dream was sprawled on the ground, presumably due to a fall. He'd managed to prop himself up against the bed and was in the process of rearranging himself into a seated position. At the sound of Technoblade's voice, he froze, then slowly looked up like a child that had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Technoblade heard Philza hiss behind him, feathers rustling against cloth as he recoiled. New scars spiderwebbed across Dream's face like cracks in an eggshell, ugly, jagged things radiating from a point in his hairline. They continued down his neck and into the collar of his shirt, and Technoblade would bet a good portion of his wealth that the rest of his body was in a similar state.

He looked like a piece of broken pottery, shattered and haphazardly glued back together.

"Hi?" Dream said, and Technoblade startled when he realized that the silence had dragged on for a moment too long. Giving himself a mental shake, he swept forward, already drawing a potion of Regeneration from his inventory.

"Does it hurt?" he asked. Dream hesitated, flexing his hands, then shook his head and waved the potion away.

"I'm fine," he said. Technoblade let out a displeased rumble, but he set the potion aside in favor of helping Dream back into the bed. "No, really-- the respawn fixed most of it."

"Not all of it," Technoblade muttered. Once Dream was properly settled against the headboard, he snatched the potion back up and shook it in front of Dream's face. "Drink."

Dream rolled his eyes, but took the potion and downed it like a shot. Then he shuddered at the sudden magic overload. Technoblade snatched the empty bottle from his hands before he could drop it.

"Slowly," he chided. Dream made a face at him, like the mature adult he was. Technoblade snorted and turned away to stow the bottle in a chest.

"So," Philza said. "Tommy."

"Tommy," Technoblade grunted. He dragged a chair from the corner of the room and settled into it. "He's a problem. Big one. Better fighter than I remember - didn't even notice he was baitin' me."

"Invented new potions too," Philza muttered. "Never seen paralysis before." Which, given Philza's lifespan, was quite a concern.

Dream hummed, twisting his fingers in his blankets. "He's dangerous, but I don't think killing him will solve anything? Like," he added hastily when Technoblade's eyes narrowed, "It'll just get Tubbo and the rest of L'Manberg mad at us. Tommy's the vice president, you know?"

". . . Then what if we destroy L'Manberg?" Philza asked, and Technoblade straightened because he knew that tone, knew the barely-hidden rage straining beneath it. This was personal. This was something beyond Dream, and Technoblade understood because Philza hated L'Manberg for taking Wilbur away from him, for trying to take Technoblade as well.

"That. . ." Dream chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Won't it just end with all of L'Manberg fighting us?"

"Look Dream, we're gonna be fighting L'Manberg either way. If you're worried about losing, I think the three of us can take them. Not to brag or anythin', but we're kinda the best fighters on the server."

"Not right now, I'm not."

Technoblade paused, studied Dream for a moment, and was forced to concede that that was a fair point. "Well then, Phil and I are the best fighters on the server. We can take 'em, and I've been stockpilin' some--"

"Techno," Philza interrupted, and there was such panic in his voice that Technoblade threw himself to his feet, spinning to face him. But Philza wasn't looking at him-- he was looking at the window. Technoblade followed his gaze, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

The area around the house was ringed with TNT, the walls similarly plastered with explosives. At the center of it all stood Tommy, Dream's mask set firmly over his face. He stared directly at Technoblade even as he struck a flint and steel over the first fuse, then waved mockingly before vanishing in a burst of ender particles. Technoblade snarled, grabbing Philza and Dream and lunging for the window, but it was too late.

The TNT detonated, and the world went up in flames.

155.

Tommy stumbled as powdery snow crunched beneath his next step. Shaking off the usual start-of-loop disorientation, he surveyed the area. He appeared to be in a spruce forest, walking steadily in one direction. The sky had been smothered in a thick layer of clouds, leaving a chill in the air that stung at his exposed fingertips. Directly in front of him, another figure marched along, her pink hair tied back in a ponytail.

Tommy narrowed his eyes at Niki's back. He'd begun to suspect that she hated him at this point in the timeline, but because she hadn't ever said or showed it outright, he couldn't be sure. From what he could remember, this was the day when she'd offered to help him gather spruce - and the day he'd gotten radiation poisoning. Better to avoid the nuke crater, then, or at least grab a suit before he headed in.

In the meantime, he could test the waters. See if she really was mad at him. He hadn't interacted enough with her later in the timeline to get a concrete idea, so this was a golden opportunity.

"So, Niki," he began, noting how her shoulders hiked up. "Are you, uh. . . okay?"

Niki didn't turn around. "Fine," she snapped, speeding up. Tommy winced at her tone. He'd been pretty miffed by Sam Nook's demands that day, and he'd partially taken it out on her - amping his obnoxious act up a few levels and ignoring her discomfort. It was still pretty jarring, though, to end one loop on good terms with Niki only to be dropped into this one.

"You sure? You sound a little, uh. . ."

"I'm fine," Niki insisted, then took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice no longer strained on the edge of a shout. "Really, Tommy. It's just, uh, the cold."

"Oh. You want a jacket?"

"No, thank you."

They walked in silence for another minute. Tommy glanced at the copses of spruce they passed, but didn't attempt to chop any of them down. Something had begun gnawing at the back of his mind, a warning. A premonition. Tommy trusted his instincts, but he needed to see this through to the end.

When the quiet stretched on for a moment too long, Tommy scrambled for the first conversation topic that came to mind. "So. . . seen any women lately?" Not the greatest conversation topic for a conversation with Niki. Oops. "Uh, not that-- I mean, uh, besides you, Niki. You're a woman too, yes. But like--"

"Prime, just shut up," Niki growled under her breath, and Tommy stopped in his tracks. Niki stopped too, as though suddenly realizing she'd said something she shouldn't have.

"Niki. . .?"

Niki remained silent, fingers curling and uncurling like she was debating whether or not to wring his neck. At last she sighed, long and low, and turned to face him.

Tommy found himself recoiling at the sheer hatred burning in her eyes. Her previous smile was nowhere to be seen, replaced with a scowl sharp enough to cut.

"I said, shut up."

Tommy felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs. A distant part of his brain noted that at least he could confirm that she hated him now, but knowing it and facing it were two entirely different things. "N-Niki--"

Niki exploded. "I HATE YOU!" she screamed. "I HATE YOU! YOU'RE SO SELFISH AND STUPID AND YOU JUST DO WHATEVER YOU WANT TO AND YOU NEVER THINK ABOUT THE CONSEQUENCES! YOU USE PEOPLE AND THROW THEM AWAY WHEN YOU DON'T NEED THEM ANYMORE! YOU LEFT ME IN MANBERG, LEFT ME WITH SCHLATT WHEN YOU KNEW WHAT HE WOULD DO TO ME!"

"Niki--"

"SHUT UP!"

Tommy shut up.

"You started so many conflicts," she hissed, furious tears welling up in her eyes. "All because you couldn't let go of two stupid fucking discs. How many people suffered for your petty power struggles? How many people died?!"

Her last words rang out against the snow-laden branches. She glared at him, panting with the exertion of her words, waiting for an answer-- but Tommy couldn't give her one. Couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

What could he say to that? He knew now that Niki hated him, but her reasons-- had she always felt like that? Had those been the thoughts cycling through her mind every time she looked at him, talked to him, smiled at him? Had this been how she felt since Manberg, when he and Wilbur had left her behind? Were her accusations fair? Had he abandoned her? Was he selfish? Was he responsible for the unending conflict on the server?

The heavy silence hanging between them was interrupted by the distant drone of a fast-approaching object. Tommy managed to recollect himself just enough to look up, spurred on by the realization that they were too early. Already he could see the shadow through the clouds, a black speck growing steadily larger.

"N-Niki," he croaked. "I'm--" sorry, he didn't say, because that didn't even begin to cover what he was feeling. He needed more time to reflect, to think about her words and his actions. So instead he focused on the more immediate issue. "We have to go. We have to go now."

Niki threw her head back and laughed, loud and angry and more than a little tear-crazed because she knew he knew he was avoiding the issue but Tommy couldn't think about it right now. So he staggered to her and shoved her in the direction of the path, ignoring how his heartbeat pounded in his ears. "Niki, run! RUN!"

Niki was openly sobbing now, her legs folding under her. Tommy tried to drag her away, but she was practically deadweight in his arms. He wouldn't be able to get out of blast range fast enough to get her out, but abandoning her was not an option.

"Niki, please," he begged. It was useless.

Overhead, the clouds parted. Sunlight glinted off the silver shell of the nuke as it descended from the sky. Tommy stared up at it, entranced, right before déjà vu rammed into him like a minecart. He'd been here before, staring up at a nuclear bomb. He'd been in this exact position at the final--

The world went white, and Tommy knew no more.

Loop Notes
151. Technoblade had many, many backup houses. Unfortunately, Tommy had many, many more pranking materials.
152. Sapnap, George, and Tubbo make a temporary truce to figure out how old Tommy is. This devolves into government conspiracy theories, and by the time Schlatt arrives on the server, over half the server has been dragged into the mess and are too preoccupied with 'uncovering the truth' to care about elections.