Chapter Text
Phil woke up at six am to the cawing of crows. This didn’t strike him as unusual for several moments, until he realized that the mattress he was lying on was far too low-quality for this to be his bedroom. After blinking a few times, the fog of sleep finally lifted from his mind enough for him to process where he was. Right, he’d gone to camp MCC for the summer.
It had been a headache and a half making it to camp in the first place. He nearly thought he wouldn’t get to go at all.
His parents hadn’t actually wanted to send him to the camp. It was sort of expensive, and had a history with lawsuits which they viewed as a red flag. But, after several days of begging, flattery, and attempted bribes, they finally relented.
The only reason he’d decided to go was because of Techno. When Phil’s best friend of many years had stomped into his room without warning one day bearing the most defeated expression he’d ever seen, Phil had been understandably concerned. Who wouldn’t be?
When informed that the cause behind Techno’s morose expression was summer camp, he’d initially laughed. After all, what’s so bad about camp? But, as Techno explained his reasoning, Phil started to understand. While it may seem fun to him, it was practically Technoblade’s worst nightmare. Right up there with the one where his parents turn into large gummy candies and go outside and get dissolved by the rain.
Frantically trying to think of something, anything, to lift his best friend’s spirit, Phil had blurted out the first semi-comforting sentence that came to mind. Unfortunately, those amazing and inspirational words just so happened to be “Don’t worry mate, I'm going to camp MCC too! We’ll be together!”
An utter lie. But, seeing the way Techno had immediately lit up like a christmas tree, he couldn’t exactly admit that. It would’ve just been cruel. Like kicking a puppy.
So, Phil’s only alternative had been to spend the next few days desperately scrambling for anything to convince his parents to send him to camp alongside his best friend. While ultimately successful, those days where he wasn’t sure if he’d actually be able to stay true to his word and accompany Techno had been a mess of anxiety and doubt.
At least he didn’t have to admit to lying, though. What Technoblade didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. That entire debacle was a secret Phil could, and absolutely would, take to his grave.
He glanced at the cabin clock. 6:03. Everyone else in the cabin was still sleeping. Phil would consider himself a bit of a morning person, but even he didn’t want to be waking up at six after staying up so late plotting. Why wasn’t he still asleep, again?
Caw! Caw!
Ah, right. The crows. For most people, hearing wild birds shouting at them early in the morning may seem like something that is more likely to happen when the place they’re staying is located in the middle of the woods. For Phil, though? The opposite would be true.
Being pestered and harassed by corvids with far too much intelligence and stunningly little regard for his sanity was practically a given in Phil’s day-to-day life. The local crow population in his neighborhood had taken a liking to him years ago. It was debatable whether this was due to the hours he spent talking to them, the shiny objects he’d find to leave to the birds as offerings, or the birdseed he carried with him most of the time. (Probably the last one, though.)
At age four, he’d heard a story about a girl who fed the crows in her neighborhood every day and befriended the local flock. With all the dedication and passion of a very small child, he’d made emulating that specific girl his new life mission. About thirteen years later, and he could say without a shred of doubt that it was a horrible success.
The birds weren’t too bad, most of the time. They certainly fueled the rumors that allowed him to maintain his reputation as the school’s resident cryptid. Perks of the situation included the way he got to feel incredibly cool whenever a wild crow chose to perch on his shoulder or arm. The flock would also occasionally bring him gifts, ranging from dented bottle caps to entire wallets. (The latter had only happened once, but it was an experience he doubted he’d ever forget. The feeling of being presented some poor bloke’s wallet held in the proud beak of a crow was pretty fucking memorable.)
But, for all the benefits that came with befriending a flock of wild birds, there were also some… downsides.
Each crow was 15-odd ounces of pure chaos, bundled up in fluffy black feathers and alarmingly clever. While scientists praised crows for being the smartest member of the corvid family and possessing an incredible knack for problem solving, they tended to leave out that the little terrors were equally adept at problem causing. The fact that there were at least a couple of them hanging around Phil at any given instant, each individual bird perpetually mere moments from deciding to make his life a waking nightmare just for the hell of it? You can do the math on that one.
It was only his second morning at camp, and he’d been woken up by a painfully familiar chorus of caws. Shifting his curtain to the side, a quick glance confirmed that the birds were perched on his windowsill.
It could be a coincidence. He was nearly two hundred kilometers away from his own home, to think any of his regular flock had followed him would be nothing short of ridiculous. It really would make most sense if this was all a coincidence, that they had chosen his window to perch outside solely by chance.
Somehow, Phil didn’t really believe that.
Like any good scientist, he decided to test his hypothesis. Reaching forward, the way the crows didn’t startle even slightly was a point in favor of this situation being a bit less than random happenstance. After a minute or two of struggling with the stubborn window frame, he managed to pry it open far enough for the birds to enter the cabin if they felt so inclined.
Without hesitation, the slightly larger of the two crows hopped onto his knee. Phil winced as it pecked his leg a couple times.
An obscenely loud flutter of wings, and the second crow landed on his head. The descent had been less than graceful, leaving it to scrabble frantically at his scalps with its tiny talons until it managed to regain balance. He’d heard the saying “your hair is a bird’s nest” before, but this was just ridiculous! Solely to be a nuisance, crow number two leaned over and pecked him a single time on the forehead. The action elicited a deep sigh from the tortured teen.
“Agh-! You little shits!”
Yeah, they were a part of his flock alright.
From somewhere in the cabin, he heard faint mumbles paired with the sound of fabric rustling. Eyes flicking upwards, Phil looked around to check if another member of the cabin was finally joining him in the waking world. Idly petting the crow on his leg, he watched as Niki pulled open the curtain surrounding her cot.
The sakura-haired girl blinked the bleariness from her eyes, brows knitting together as she finally processed the scene in front of her. “Is that… birds?”
Phil nodded, disturbing the crow on his head and causing another round of noisy wingbeats as the animal fought to maintain its perch. Even without looking, he could tell that it was glaring at him. Maybe that would finally teach it not to peck him.
Probably not, though.
Niki opened and closed her mouth a couple times, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally, she settled on an emphatic “why?”
He chuckled softly. “They don’t call me ‘The Crowfather’ for nothing!”
“...Do people actually call you that?”
“Mmmhm. Among other things. Like ‘creepy fuck’ or ‘horror movie side-character reject.’”
Niki frowned slightly. “I don’t see how people can be scared of them. They’re-” she paused to let out a long yawn “-They’re so cute!”
“Ohhhhh no. Don’t let the feathery faces fool you. Each and every one of these little fuckers is an absolute menace.”
“But they’re just so small!”
“Small things are the most aggressive. Have you ever met a chihuahua?”
In response, Niki just laughed. The noise was almost immediately interrupted by a drawn-out irritated groan. Glancing to his right, Phil watched the curtain surrounding Techno’s bed ripple slightly. He winced. Over the course of their little conversation, they may have forgotten to keep their voices down. It was still only a couple minutes past six AM.
While he didn’t have enough information to predict Ranboo’s potential reaction, Phil knew that if Techno was awoken even a single second before strictly necessary, the anti-social nerd would simply start killing. He loved his best friend dearly, but Phil wasn’t afraid to acknowledge that Techno’s primary character flaw was his ever-burning rage. While that wasn’t the most positive personality trait, it was admittedly hilarious how it always managed to startle unsuspecting bystanders who didn’t know the guy beyond his quiet demeanor, deadpan quips, and incredibly non-threatening pink hair.
Keen to avoid drawing his best friend’s ire, Phil pulled his curtain shut again and quickly got dressed. He paid no mind to the way the crows grumbled and growled at him when he evicted the pair from their seats on his person. He needed to change out of his pajamas, a task that would’ve been made at least twenty times harder if he’d attempted to maneuver on the articles of clothing while working around a pair of unruly corvids.
Finally clambering out of his cot, he turned his attention back to Niki. She was sitting up now, but even a single glance at her slumped posture told him that she was still exhausted. That was without acknowledging the way she rubbed her eyes, yawning every once in a while. It was only now that it occurred to Phil that the birds had probably woken her. He winced, suppressing the tiny twinge of guilt that accompanied the thought.
“You can go back to sleep if you want. I’m heading out, because these tiny fuckers” -he gestured to the crows, who were now clinging onto his shoulders like a couple of parasites- “have decided they just need attention right fuckin’ now and will not let me get another second of rest as long as they have functioning vocal chords.”
Niki leaned forward at an awkward angle to cross the vast distance between them, giving Phil’s forearm a comforting pat. “Have fun! I’m going to” -another yawn- “to sleep more. I’ll see you at breakfast?”
He nodded, and headed outdoors to ensure the rest of the syndicate members would actually be able to get decent rest. If only he had that luxury. Tragically, he had a problem. A minor inconvenience really, that sounded so much more dramatic than it really was if he stated it in a certain way.
Murder followed wherever he went.
Murder in this instance, of course, reffering to the more specific collective terminology for a flock of crows. “Murder always follows me” is perhaps the most intentionally confusing way he could phrase an explanation of his issue. Saying crows constantly pestered him, while equally accurate and far clearer, just didn’t prompt such hilarious results. After all, very little was funnier than intentionally leading people to a false conclusion without directly lying to them.
Was that manipulation? Was Phil a manipulator?
Nah, probably not.
Because of the slight flair for the dramatic which he swore up and down was a side effect of being friends with Techno, paired with his strange connection to the birds people liked to treat as harbingers, for whatever reason, many saw Phil as a mystery. A riddle just waiting to be solved. Though he outwardly appeared to be a generic white boy, with blond hair and blue eyes to boot, they loved to theorize that something stranger lurked beneath the surface.
If only they knew the truth…
The truth being that he was a lot less cool than they gave him credit for. Phil had no dark secret or connection to darker forces or whatever other bullshit the bored highschool student that watched too much Buzzfeed Unsolved managed to cook up.
The truth, plain and simple, was this: Phil was Just Some Guy, except he happened to get bullied frequently by a flock of wild birds.
L.
With two of the aforementioned birds perched on his shoulders and warbling cheerfully, he headed off in search of somewhere to spend the next hour or so. After getting turned around a couple times (navigation was Techno’s thing, not his!) Phil managed to settle on a clearing that he deemed far enough from the cabins. If he had no other choice than to play the role of court jester for a couple of crows, he’d at least have the decency to do so in an area where he wouldn’t accidentally rouse anyone from their peaceful slumber.
Plopping down on the ground and making himself comfortable, (or at least, as comfortable as was possible with the amount of pebbles and twigs littering the forest floor) he settled down and started humming a random melody. It was surprisingly tranquil, considering the feathered menaces inhabiting the space on his shoulders. They seemed content for now, though. He wouldn’t argue with that.
Phil leaned his head back against the smooth-ish bark of a large pine. His friends (yes, he felt Niki and Ranboo had earned the title) would wake up soon enough. They’d get to chat.
For now, though, it was just him and the crows.
Ranboo and Niki had joined Phil for breakfast, with Techno trudging behind grumpily. Phil was unsurprised to see the discontentment on his face, knowing how strongly his friend despised being present for the hours of the day falling prior to noon. Were it not for Scott putting the four of them on dish duty for a prank that was literally not a big deal, he could’ve slept until lunch. By the malicious glint in Techno’s eye, it was clear he was more than aware of that little fact.
While he was decidedly not thrilled to be there, Techno still pulled his weight when the group was herded into the kitchen for their punishment. Say what you would about Technoblade, but he always did his best for the people he somewhat cared about. It was admirable, really.
The very insant that last plastic bowl had been dried and returned to the storage cupboards, though, Techno immediately and wordlessly split off from the group. With the confident strides of a man on a mission, he was out of hearing range before any of his cabin-mates had a chance to react.
“Oh he’s- he is going.” Ranboo exclaimed incredulously.
“Where is he…?” Niki trailed off, frowning very slightly.
“If I know anything about Techno, he’s headed right back to bed.” Phil informed the pair, making no attempt to disguise the amusement he felt at his friend’s antics.
Ranboo nodded in understanding. “Mans got priorities. Good for him, honestly.”
“Pop off, king?” Niki said, inflection rising towards the end of the sentence as she stared blankly in the direction Techno had marched off.
“Yeah, he’s just like that. Sleep is one of his top three favorite things of all time, probably.”
“Understandable.” Ranboo commented “So… Do we have any plans until lunch?”
Niki shrugged “it’s… kind of strange how this camp only has one big activity every day and nothing else scheduled besides meals, isn’t it?”
“Eh, maybe. I wouldn't know, mate. Never been to camp before.”
“This is your first camp?” Ranboo asked. After receiving a nod from Phil, he gave a dramatic gasp. “And Scott is forcing you to wash dishes like some kind of peasant? On your first ever time at summer camp? That’s just” -he interrupted himself with a laugh- “That’s just bullying. There should be rules against that, or something!”
Shaking her head in mock-disappointment, Niki replied “I don’t know what you expected from an evil tyrant.”
“Ah yes, twelve signs you may be a tyrannical dictator! Number one: Bullying children.” Ranboo stated dramatically, prompting loud laughter from the two syndicate members present and earning strange looks from some of their fellow campers.
The three continued to hang around the dining area tables even long after everyone else had cleared out, cracking jokes to make eachother laugh and generally wasting time until lunch. As much as he respected his friend’s decision to get some rest, Phil couldn’t help but wish Techno was here.
Lunch came and went, with Techno complaining passionately about the sub-par potatoes that had been used to make the fries. It was only after they reached the general area in front of the stage that the syndicate members fully processed why Scott had assigned them dishes after breakfast and dinner specifically. While it was still annoying, and a major over-reaction, at least they wouldn’t have to miss out on the camp games.
A small mercy. Or, if Phil knew Techno, (which he very much did,) the only reason that Scott wasn’t currently being mauled by a feral teenager fueled by hours of hyperfixation on the art of combat with improvised weaponry and otherworldly amounts of spite. Though that would undoubtedly make for an entertaining spectacle, it would also most definitely result in some call to parents which Phil would like to avoid. He’d had enough stress getting them to send him here in the first place, he didn’t need this turning into an example that they could drag back up anytime he asked for something in the future.
Scott strutted back onto the stage, carrying his signature air of bitchy confidence. “Alright, children. Today we -and by we I mean you, because I’m too pretty for physical activity- are going to be playing battle box! Yaaay!” The head counselor made jazz hands, briefly flashing them an incredibly artificial smile.
Phil rolled his eyes, and a quick glance to his left and right revealed that both Techno and Niki were glaring at Scott with genuine malice. The sight caused him to release an amused snort.
While Phil may not feel as strongly about all this as they did, he was always willing to go along with whatever crazy scheme Technoblade cooked up. Regardless of whether Techno wanted him to be involved or not. That was just how their dynamic functioned. Plus, this whole “overthrowing the counselors” thing did sound quite fun.
Was it a good idea? Absolutely not. That did absolutely nothing to deter the members of the syndicate.
Blinking a couple times, Phil realized he should probably be paying attention to Scott’s little speech. He wouldn’t really be able to play whatever “battle box” was if he didn’t even understand the rules. Or, technically he could, but not well. Phil knew how much Techno loved winning, and wouldn’t do anything to hinder that.
“This is a fun one. For me to watch, let me clarify. I don’t know if it’s actually fun for you. I also don’t care, so please don’t try to talk to me about it afterwards.” Scott paused to give the audience a stern look “Anyways! This one is simple, so if you don’t understand it… That’s not my problem.”
The rules were slightly more complicated than Scott had implied, but still relatively straightforward. Two teams would face off at a time, with every member of each team receiving a padded foam weapon. If you were hit in a limb, you “lost” it and couldn’t use that limb until the next round. A hit to the head or chest meant you were dead and had to sit out the rest of the battle.
It didn’t escape Phil’s notice the way Techno’s eyes glittered at the mention of combat. However, that light dimmed when Scott informed the crowd that the main goal wasn’t to win the fight. No, a win was determined by… bandanas. The why of it all was unclear, but each player would receive a bandana and only when all four bandanas were tied to the pole in the center of their “battlefield” did they win. Unless there were bandanas from the other team on the pole as well, in which case they couldn’t win until those were removed.
In addition to this, each battle would be timed. At the end of three minutes, the round was over regardless of if someone had managed to secure a win. If the round ended because of time, the winner would be whoever had more bandanas on the flagpole. In case of a tie, neither team would get the point.
Yeah, actually not simple at all. Phil had the faint impression that Scott had just been saying that to be judgemental. From what little he’d seen of the man, it would be entirely unsurprising.
To Scott's credit, though, he’d managed to explain it all pretty well. The insults peppered throughout the instructions were uncalled for, but at least Phil understood what they were supposed to be doing. More than he could say for a couple of his teachers last year.
The campers were led to the same clearing where they’d played grid runners, though the large tape rectangles and assorted objects had since been removed. Two long strips of the same neon-blue tape from the day before sat on either end of the bare patch of land, each having a pile of “weapons,” which seemed to just be various lengths of pvc piping padded with foam and decorated with duct tape to vaguely resemble medieval weaponry. The near side sported a pile of blue bandanas, while the other pile were a magenta-pink.
In the approximate center of the clear was the thing they most had to watch out for: a long, thin metal pole that seemed to be about seven or eight feet tall.
It stood proudly, though Phil couldn’t help but doubt how well it was actually held in place. After all, it hadn’t been there the day before. It was probably just shoved into the ground with nothing to secure it. That seemed like something of a safety hazard, and he made a mental note to keep an eye on that. Just in case.
OSHA would not approve of this.
The game started, and the syndicate hung around the sidelines with the majority of the other campers as the first two groups stepped forwards. Techno was watching the teams clash with a keen eye, likely trying to pick apart each combatant’s strengths and weaknesses to formulate the perfect battle plan. Part of Phil really wanted to call his friend out for being a massive nerd, but he valiantly managed to resist the dark temptation.
As for Niki, she seemed to view this as the perfect opportunity to discuss battle plans of a different variety. After a quick scan of the crowd she determined that the counselors, along with the rest of the campers, were all either distracted by the game or preoccupied with their own conversations.
“I think we should recruit more people.” She suggested, glancing at each of her teammates to gauge their reaction.
Phil frowned. “I don’t think that’s how the game works, Niki.”
“No no no!” She shook her head quickly. “Not for this. For the… you know!”
He did not, in fact, know. Confusion was plain to see in Techno and Ranboo’s eyes, and Phil didn’t doubt it was mirrored in his own. Tilting his head slightly, he wordlessly prompted Niki to elaborate.
Her hands gestured wildly as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. “The- the… The ‘Sic Semper Tyrannis?’ That?”
Phil made a faint “ah” of understanding, nodding his head slightly to indicate his understanding. Judging by Ranboo’s “Ohhhhhh!” and the way Techno quickly flashed a thumbs up, they had gotten it too.
“I think we need to recruit more people for that.” She clarified.
“Y’know, I hadn’t thought of that!” Ranboo replied, suddenly thoughtful.
Technoblade frowned, eyes never straying from where the battle box players swung foam weapons at one another with reckless abandon.
After a few moments of silence, he finally turned to look at Niki. “In war, numbers alone confer no advantage. It is sufficient to estimate the enemy situation correctly and to concentrate your strength to capture him.”
Ranboo blinked a few times in rapid succession “Ummm… ex- Excuse me?”
“Sun Tzu, Art of War.” Both Techno and Phil replied in perfect unison. However, while Technoblade’s tone was completely flat, Phil spoke in a silly voice that could only be interpreted as mocking. Techno whipped around to glare at his best friend, prompting a cackling laugh from the blond.
“Don’t you dare-” Techno started, only for Phil to immediately cut him off.
“You’re a nerd!”
“This coming from the guy who has poured hours of research into crow diets and their digestive systems?” Techno shot back.
“They’re always demanding snacks! I didn’t want to accidentally poison any of ‘em!”
“Just sayin’. Pot,” -Techno pointed to himself- “kettle.” He jabbed a single finger in Phil’s direction.
Having spectated the entire playful argument, Niki was currently giggling into the palm of her hand. “Are you guys always…”
“Like this?” Phil finished the question for her. Receiving a quiet confirmation, he grinned and nodded. “Oh, absolutely.”
He shot Techno a sideways glance, before leaning forward in Niki’s direction. In a stage-whisper, he dutifully informed her: “Techno is still in denial about being a nerd. It’s been very hard for his loved ones. We think we may have to hold an intervention.”
“I- okay, Phil. At least I don’t get regularly beat up by two-year-olds.”
“Regularly-!?” Phil protested. “That was one time!”
Techno leveled him with a Look. “Phil, the fact that it happened at all speaks volumes.”
“Well what was I supposed to do, punt a fuckin’ toddler?” he questioned, becoming increasingly exasperated.
“Exactly!” Ranboo cut in with a smile that said ‘I live for chaos.’
Technoblade chuckled, now grinning widely. “Officer, I drop-kicked that child in self-defense. You gotta believe me!”
Phil ran a hand down his face. “Oh, you are ridiculous.”
Techno made no attempt to deny the claim, instead replying “Again! Pot, meet kettle!”
The duo’s banter, and consequently Ranboo and Niki’s free entertainment, was rudely interrupted by the sound of a certain head counselor aggressively clearing his throat.
“I said, next up, The Syndicate versus… ‘The Four Muffinteers.’” Scott snapped. With a scoff, he added “God, I hate reading these team names. They’re all so stupid. I should just make the names myself next time.”
Techno grinned. Argument completely forgotten, he excitedly grabbed Phil’s arm and started to drag him towards the nearest pile of foam weapons. The blond couldn’t help but chuckle at his friend’s enthusiasm.
It was a bit funny. After how much he’d played up the dramatics, complaining to Phil for what felt like hours about how torturous the camp activities would surely be, Techno was the one who seemed to enjoy them most out of the entire group. Phil had suspected this would be the case. Techno was nothing if not consistent, and he absolutely thrived on competition.
Still being dragged, Phil glanced back at their two other teammates. Niki seemed eager to play, sporting a cheerful and enthusiastic expression. In direct contrast, every detail of Ranboo’s posture screamed “hesitance.” He was trailing a couple paces behind the group, wringing his hands together with a nervous frown. The second he noticed Phil was watching, though, Ranboo forced something that was probably meant to be a normal facial expression. It was even less convincing than Techno attempting to persuade Phil that spending hours staking out the home of his “agricultural rival” was a normal and reasonable thing to be doing.
Phil gave his most reassuring smile. “It’ll be alright, mate. Just let Techno take the lead, he loves this sort of thing.”
Ranboo nodded twice, taking a deep breath and standing up a bit straighter.
Almost immediately, Phil’s words were proven true. By the time they reached their starting point and armed themselves, Techno’s face held a grin that could be described as nothing short of feral. Ranboo shuddered slightly at the sight of it, mouthing what looked like “thank god we’re on the same team.” Phil could understand the sentiment.
The “Four Muffinteers,” as they apparently chose to call themselves, faced them from the other end of the clearing. Taking a page from Techno’s book, he tried to harness the many lessons his best friend had given him on combat strategy. Survey the enemy, catalog every detail.
At the forefront was a kid who looked like the clear “leader” of the group. Phil hated him on principle, for trying to steal his brand of “generic blond white guy who wears mostly green clothing.” Honestly, this was just copyright infringement! The nerve. So focused on his own indignance, Phil totally failed to try and discern that particular opponent’s combat capabilities whatsoever.
Oh well, surely that information wouldn’t be important or helpful at all in the immediate future.
Directly to trademark-violater’s left and about a half-step back was a slightly taller boy with dark hair and large white-rimmed circular sunglasses. While he wasn’t visibly muscular, Phil had absorbed at least enough of Techno’s rants to quickly clock that this one was not to be underestimated. He had the build of a soccer player, and would probably play decent agility.
Speaking of visible muscles, the guy to Mr. Soon-to-be-hearing-from-Phil’s-lawyers immediate right was actually decently buff. He had long-ish messy black hair, sloppily held back by a white bandana. From the intensity in his eyes, Phil could tell this guy actually cared about winning. Probably not as much as Techno, but then again basically no one was that competitive. Still, he seemed like somebody to look out for.
Last but not least, was the team member standing towards the back and completing the Muffinteers’ diamond formation. He was tall, height rivaling Ranboo’s. Just at first glance, Phil could tell he was not a reasonable person. After all, what sensible human being would wear a baggy black hoodie in this summer heat, especially if they were going to be running around? Absolute madlad!
All in all, Phil figured this was going to be a bit harder than he’d initially anticipated. Techno was good, sure, but even he wasn’t quite capable of carrying the entire game against a team that was actually competent. While Phil had learned a thing or two about several different types of combat just by simple virtue of being Technoblade’s best friend, he had no clue how Ranboo or Niki would fare.
Techno gestured for everyone to huddle together, and immediately laid out a strategy. It was simple, yet effective. Phil, Ranboo, and himself would engage the opponents in combat immediately. As for Niki, she would be responsible for holding all four of the team’s bandanas. While their enemies were distracted, she would rush forward and tie the bandanas, winning the game.
Like all great plans, it immediately went off the rails.
Well, not immediately. There was a brief, blissful moment of time before the game actually started where all four of them felt confident and prepared.
They had given rushed introductions, with the opposing team doing the same. Scott began to count down the seconds until they started. He reached zero, and that was when things started to go wrong.
Sunglasses guy, or George, as he’d introduced himself, must’ve noticed that Niki held all the Syndicate’s bandanas because he targeted her right off the bat. Either that, or he just hated women. Regardless of his motive, the fact that Niki was unable to slide under the radar threw their entire strategy out the window.
Phil winced, trying to pull George’s attention so Niki could be free to go for the pole. This plan too was quickly foiled, as the guy in the hoodie (Bad) tried to attack him from behind. As risky as it was to shift focus away from the immediate threat, Phil quickly glanced at the other players in an attempt to gauge how well his team was doing.
Techno and Dream, aka Knockoff Phil, were circling each other and occasionally trading blows. No progress was being made on either end, as every strike was expertly parried before they could make contact. From what little Phil could catch without risking his own neck by being overly distracted, the pair were too evenly matched to make any real progress. As for Ranboo, he was fighting for his life against Sapnap and barely holding out. He’d already lost an arm, and it didn’t look like he’d be turning the tides at any point in the foreseeable future.
Phil muttered a curse, earning an offended “Ay! Language!” from Bad. Ignoring the scolding remark, he lunged forward without warning. Caught off guard by the sudden ferocity, Bad stumbled, giving Phil an opening to take him out.
The small victory was short-lived, however, as he heard a disappointed “Aw, man!” from Ranboo across the clearing. A hurried glance confirmed that his ally had been defeated.
It was currently an even 3v3, and Sapnap looked like he was about to interfere with the match between Technoblade and Dream. Glancing between the two fights currently occurring, Phil was momentarily paralyzed by indecision as his mind ran in circles trying to determine the best move.
On one hand, Techno was sure to be overwhelmed if Dream and Sapnap ganged up on him with no interference. With their best fighter taken out, the syndicate would be as good as finished.
However, despite what the name may imply, combat was only a secondary aspect of battle box. If he took out the guy currently distracting Niki, that might buy her enough time to tie the bandanas and win the game.
But that failed to consider how if Talon was taken out, it would leave both Dream and Sapnap free to come and attack them, and Phil highly doubted that he and Niki would be able to beat those two. There was absolutely no guarantee Niki could tie all four bandanas to the pole before Techno got eliminated.
But also if he did interfere on Techno’s behalf, it was pretty likely it’d just bring the game to an impasse. Locked into three separate 1v1 battles, both sides would be unable to gain any ground and the timer would run out, with nobody actually winning at all.
He was painfully aware that every second wasted agonizing about his course of action was time that could be better spent aiding his teammates. Panic overwhelming his ability to form rational thoughts, Phil acting purely on instinct and lunged towards Sapnap with his sword extended.
He nearly got a clean kill with a strike towards Sapnap’s back, but the enemy turned at the very last moment and managed to bring his own weapon forward. Time seemed to slow down, as both attacks headed towards their targets with deadly precision. Phil gasped as he felt a poorly-cushioned pvc pipe slam into his stomach, at the exact same moment a jolt through his forearm informed him he’d made contact.
Looking up with wide eyes and lips slightly parted, he saw that Sapnap was in a similar state of shock. The two stared at one another, frozen, as the awareness of what just happened dawned on them both. Unable to believe what he was seeing, Phil’s gaze wandered back to his own blade. It was still there, resting shakily against the exact area he’d made contact. On Sapnap’s ribs, mere inches below his left arm. Any higher, and that determined foe would still be in the game.
Time returned to normal, and both of them dropped their weapons to the floor as the realization of what they’d done slammed itself into their minds. Really, what were the odds of that?
They’d eliminated each other at the exact. Same. TIME.
Brushing a couple locks of hair from his face with a disbelieving laugh, Phil offered his other arm forward for a friendly handshake. Sapnap accepted, smiling at him as the pair headed to spectate the rest of the game from the sidelines.
Niki seemed to be tiring, having spent the entire game nimbly dodging the flurry of blows that George rained on her from all directions. If the cocky grin on his face was any indicator, George knew she couldn’t keep this up for much longer. Phil winced. That was… really not good. Niki had all their team’s bandanas on her person, and if she went down Techno would need to run all the way back to their team’s starting point just to retrieve them.
Speaking of bandanas… Phil’s eyes darted around the field, landing on the four innocuous strips of cobalt-blue fabric hastily tucked into George’s waistband.
Ah, shit.
If he defeated Niki, not only would it become practically impossible for Techno to retrieve their team’s bandanas, but it would be pretty pointless too. While he was busy with that, George would have more than enough time to secure the win for his team. Plus, Techno still had Dream to contend with.
Shifting focus over to his best friend and the guy who had the absolute audacity to also be generic, blond, and wearing a green shirt, Phil frowned to see there was absolutely no development on that front. Both fighters had decent endurance, with neither showing any sign of fatigue.
Unless something suddenly changed, it looked like the syndicate was fresh out of luck. If there was one thing anyone who’d met Techno even in passing could tell you, it was that he didn’t take kindly to losing. Phil pulled a face as he realized that it was seeming very likely he’d have to sit through his friend endlessly bemoaning the cruelty of fate and how lady luck simply must loathe him, specifically, for events to have unfolded in such a manner.
Or, in simpler words, he really didn’t want to deal with Techno going full drama-queen and bitching at him for hours on end.
Phil loved his friend, he did, but sometimes Techno could be plain fucking annoying.
A sudden flicker of movement caught his eye, yanking Phil’s attention back to the duel between the two bandana-holders. While he had clocked Niki’s flagging energy earlier by the way her dodges had begun to grow sloppy, he was only now noticing the increased ferocity to George’s attack. It appeared as though both of them were running on fumes.
A slight and sudden upwards tilt to the corner of Niki’s mouth ignited a spark of hope in Phil’s chest, and he hoped the scheming glint in her eye wasn’t just his own imagination. But, as he focused a bit more, he noticed the way her fists tightened around the hilt of her foam shortsword. Niki had been playing defense almost exclusively throughout the match, and he suspected that may be about to change.
Those suspicions were proven correct just a couple of seconds later, when Niki ducked beneath a sweep aimed for her head, rather than bouncing backwards and out of harm’s way. Now far too close for George to swing at without some serious contortion, Niki didn’t allow him a second to recover as she abruptly jerked her sword upwards and slammed the rounded point directly into his chin.
Reeling backwards, George clutched his face at the point of impact and winced in pain. Niki chirped out one of the least sincere apologies Phil had ever heard in his life, before dashing towards the flagpole with single-minded focus. Her eyes blazed, with such a wildness to her expression that she actually caused a few of the match’s spectators to unconsciously shuffle backwards a half step.
The sudden movement, unfortunately, was enough to draw Dream’s attention. Jumping backwards, he disengaged to pursue Niki and prevent her from tying the syndicate’s bandanas. Techno’s eyes widened, realizing what his opponent was going for but reacting just a beat too slowly to prevent it.
Niki yelped a high-pitched “fuck!” when she saw the enemy barreling towards her, realizing too late that she had no way to defend herself. Her eyes fell to the dusty forest floor, where her only weapon had been carelessly abandoned in favor of using both hands for knotting the bandanas.
Exhausted as she was, she probably couldn’t dodge more than one or two attacks. Especially not from Dream, who had clearly taken some sort of fencing lessons by the expert way he wielded that foam sword in smooth, practiced strokes like a conductor leading an orchestra. Niki could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d play-fought with pretend swords before, whilst Dream navigated the battlefield as though it were his life’s sole purpose, the very reason he’d been born.
While they had complimentary fighting styles which allowed them to stay deadlocked for so long, Dream was far faster than Techno. Even as the pink-haired boy poured everything he had into chasing down the opponent and protecting his last surviving ally, it wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t make it.
It was over, and the defeat in her eyes told the enemy that Niki knew it as well as he did. It was the end of the road for her, and she was fresh out of options. The fraying piece of magenta fabric clutched in her white-knuckled fists, the scrap of hope that had been meant to win them the entire game, would still do nothing to save her from the certainty of an unforgiving blade.
Head tilted downwards, Niki made the choice to accept her end with honor and courage. Dream gave her a slight nod of approval before delivering her fate. Privately, she just hoped he’d make it swift and painless. A small mercy, but one she’d accept with gratitude.
A single slash to her chest, and it was all over.
Niki was dead.
That is to say, she got eliminated from the game and had to jog back to her team’s starting area to drop off the bundle of bandanas she’d been holding onto since the start. Task completed, she quickly located Phil and Ranboo in the crowd and rejoined them with a cheerful greeting.
They patted her on the back, congratulating her for lasting so long and gushing over the absolutely sick play she had executed to take down George. She glowed at the praise, in turn complimenting Phil for getting two eliminations, and Ranboo for staying in the game so long despite his anxiety towards the whole thing.
Glancing back at the clearing, Phil blinked rapidly in surprise when the sight that met him was not the clashing of foam swords he’d expected, but rather a heated verbal argument. Sapnap was in the middle of the field again, physically restraining Dream. The bear-hug he was kept in by his friend seemed to be the only thing preventing Dream from lunging at Techno like a rabid chihuahua.
As for Phil’s friend, he was staring down his former opponent with one of the most unimpressed looks in the long and colorful history of humankind.
Based on the lack of actual gameplay, Phil assumed the timer must have brought the round to a close while they weren’t paying attention. Still, it puzzled him how there was a camper visibly being held back from starting a fistfight in the presence of at least half the camp’s staff, and not a single one had bothered to intervene. Scanning the crowd, he spotted Scott watching the entire ordeal with unmistakable amusement, seemingly content to just let it play out.
Hm, maybe Techno had actually been onto something when declaring the employees here were a bit mad with power.
Grabbing the attention of his fellow syndicate members, he stepped forward to try and determine what was going on. As he stepped into hearing range, the words that greeted him were enough to make Phil do a double-take.
“Bruhhh. It’s just a game.” Techno drawled, head inclined ever-so-slightly downwards so he could point that flat stare directly into Dream’s eyes.
“Oh fuck. Off!” Dream snarled, glaring at Techno as though he were personally the root of all evil. “You’re only saying that because you- you managed to waste my time the entire game and made me look like an idiot in front of everyone!”
“I was literally just vibin’, I dunno what you want from me!” Techno exclaimed, raising his hands in exasperation.
“Bullshit! Just admit it! You- you want to make me look bad! Techno rolled his eyes. “I wanted to make you lose. Y’know, by winning?reason you’re actin’ like a politician about this, or is that just your personality? Because if so, my condolences.”
Phil tried and failed to suppress a snicker at that last statement. Dream shot him a nasty look, but it wasn’t nearly enough to make him lose focus on the hissy-fit he seemed to be throwing about Techno being able to evenly match him. God, and Phil thought Techno could be dramatic about stuff like this. At least he was never such a sore loser.
The confrontation ended when Dream gave a dramatic little villain monologue straight out of a knock-off Disney film, declaring Techno his nemesis, sworn rival, mortal enemy, and whatever other cliche terms for “guy I really don’t like” he’d managed to think of. While Phil and Sapnap were both visibly cringing at the entire thing, Techno absolutely ate it up.
Knowing his friend’s penchant for drama it was unsurprising, but Phil still couldn’t help but judge at least a bit for how cheesy the whole thing was. First the long pink hair, uncanny knack for picking up new skills, and outcast/loner status at school, now a Rival™? Phil had no idea when Techno’s life goal had shifted to “become an actual anime protagonist,” but at least he seemed to be succeeding.
Each team got to play three games, though none were nearly as tense or dramatic as their first. Of the cabins they were faced off against, the Muffinteers had been the only ones to provide them any real challenge.
The two other two games were practically childs’ play, with Techno quickly and efficiently cutting down opponents like a scythe in a field of wheat. There was no real competition to them, but it was still fun watching the panic on their faces as they struggled to stand their ground against the force of Techno’s attacks. Their opponents had a success rate comparable to a picket fence blocking out a tsunami. All the while, Niki and Ranboo chatted idly and tied the bandanas to the pole, lacking the decency to even bother pretending it was a difficult fight.
The only other highlight of the game had been a match the syndicate wasn’t even participating in. There was a team who they had not faced off against, one that caught Phil’s interest. Not for the reasons one would expect a person to become captivated by a group of players in a game like this one, either. It wasn’t for their inspiring teamwork or unbelievable skill.
Quite the opposite, really.
The team -L’cabin, they called themselves, earning more than a little mockery from the dearly detested head counselor Scott- was carefully treading the fine line between a bit disorginazed and downright incompetent. One member in particular fell firmly into the latter category. A tall, lanky fucker named Wilbur with dark, curly hair. Wilbur had a decent height, a pretty face, and not much else. His performance throughout the game was so comically atrocious that it bordered on absurd, and Phil couldn’t help but pity the guy.
While he was visibly not the athletic type whatsoever, Wilbur had performed far worse than even Ranboo. They had about the same build, with Ranboo being slightly less balanced, and yet Wilbur had only about a fiftieth of Ranboo’s competence. That was by a generous estimate.
It was almost painful watching Wilbur stumble across the field without accomplishing anything, surviving as long as he did only through dumb luck and the efforts of his team. While this guy was realistically no more than two or three years younger than Phil himself, he bore a striking resemblance to a lost child in desperate need of a guiding hand. The emotion he felt spectating Wilbur’s games was that same instinctual protective drive he’d experienced when seeing a helpless baby bird on the sidewalk that had fallen from the safety of its nest.
So, just like he’d done for that baby bird, Phil stepped in to help. Obviously, he couldn’t intervene directly, since the game did have pretty clear rules and there was at least a 50/50 chance Scott would enforce them. Instead, he shouted out advice and encouragements from the sidelines.
He began to aid Wilbur at some point in the middle of the kid’s second round, garnering some odd looks from the rest of the syndicate who watched as he transformed before their very eyes into a personal cheerleader for some guy he’d never met. In Phil’s defense, Wilbur really fucking needed it.
To Phil’s delight his coaching actually resulted in a slight yet very noticeable improvement to Wilbur’s ability. Whether this was owed to the moral support or the actual advice itself was honestly irrelevant in Phil’s eyes. After all, the end result was the same. With a gentle nudge, he’d helped that baby bird to take flight. Sure, it still wasn’t particularly quick or graceful, but at least it was no longer careening off the edge of a cliff in a helpless freefall.
Ah, there Phil went, unnecessarily waxing poetics about something that was absolutely not that deep in his head for the private audience of his own thoughts. Since when did he do that? God, Techno was a horrible influence.
Wilbur’s final game had ended, with L’cabin actually managing to secure their first win. Phil had been ready to move on with his day, content at having accomplished a charitable act. But before he could back away from the spot on the very edge of the clearing he’d been using to spectate, none other than Wilbur himself dashed forwards.
They exchanged generic greetings followed by quick introductions, and Wilbur enthusiastically thanked Phil for the show of faith. Biting his tongue, he just managed to wrestle up enough self-restraint to keep from admitting it had only been because Wilbur reminded him of a sad and pathetic baby animal. Instead, Phil told this random guy, a near-perfect stranger, that he could tell he had worked very hard, and he was proud of what a good job he’d done.
Now, a normal person would consider this a strange sentiment to share with somebody you were meeting for the very first time. But, though there were a great many words one could use to describe Wilbur, “normal” was notably absent from the list. Instead of reacting with some hint of confusion or discomfort, he simply beamed and informed Phil that he’d earned the prestigious status of father-figure.
At the declaration, it all started to make sense. Like an incredibly thin and nearly transparent veil had been lifted from above his eyes. The puzzle pieces slotted together perfectly in Phil’s head, and he was able to easily decipher the strange behavior, seeing it for what it truly was.
“Ah,” he thought. “Wilbur has daddy issues.”
It appeared Phil had stumbled into fatherhood, at the ripe old age of seventeen. He always knew this day would come. He may not be a perfect dad, end of statement. Phil was literally still a child himself, and it would be foolish to expect much from him. It wasn’t like he was going to just devote a bunch of hours to maintaining the health and happiness of his son, because honestly. Who has the time?
Still, he would take to his new role with gusto. He could already imagine his parents’ faces when he casually announced that they now had a grandchild. As a person who lived and thrived off of chaos, (though he was somehow almost always forced into the “voice of reason” role despite his own wishes) Phil was more than thrilled to have an excuse to start referring to himself as a single father and refusing to elaborate. This was great news for him, overall.
Looking into the eyes of his brand new son, Phil reached upwards to pat him on the head. He was so damn ready for this. Exactly as anybody else in a similar situation would, Phil immediately formed a single thought.
“Oh hey, this could turn out to be really helpful for that coup I’m helping to orchestrate!”