Chapter Text
Technoblade has been living the past five years as a ghost.
He wakes up, he goes to work, he returns to the small apartment he calls home that seems unbearably empty without his twin brother in it. And all around him, life goes on as normal. He remembers the moment when Ranboo's name was pulled as vividly as if it happened yesterday. Techno isn't one for tearful goodbyes, but watching Ranboo be taken away broke something inside him. He cried that day, and screamed, and punched the wall so hard his knuckles bled.
If you have a family member or friend chosen in the Selection, everybody around you will usually extend some grace for the grief you're going through. At least for a little while, Techno's teachers didn't care if he came to class late or not at all. The neighbors would drop by with food, condolences, and if Techno didn't react to their knocking because he couldn't pull himself out of bed, they would leave stuff on his doorstep. Community was a valued thing, and those sacrificed as part of the Selection were admired, for their deaths served a greater purpose. Looking back on it, Ranboo was probably more well-liked than Techno was. Bright, cheerful, not exactly an extrovert but perhaps a smidgen more social than Techno could ever bother to be. He wonders if people thought it was a pity that Ranboo was chosen instead of him.
Techno himself definitely chipped away at that theoretical often enough for the certainty of it to become a fixture in his mind.
In time, however, you're expected to just… carry on. The Selection is a constant in human life. Actually, it's a condition for human life. The only reason relative freedom is still on the table at all. Nobody has to like it, but everybody is raised to accept it. Techno was too, as was Ranboo. He didn't protest or throw a fit when he was chosen. He made an effort to smile at Techno, brittlely, wavering, and raised his chin when he was taken away.
But the anger inside Techno festered for all those five years.
He walks down the street, which feels unusually deserted considering it's not close to sundown yet. But today is the day of the Selection, and everybody must be glued to their radios or television screens. In less than an hour, about two hundred names will be pulled out of a registry. And everybody fears that their name or the name of a loved one could be among them.
When he walks into the store - one of the few stores still open, considering how many of them close on Selection day - the cashier doesn't glance up at him. Even they have their phone propped up against the register, presumably watching the live stream. Techno ignores it - honestly, he prefers not getting any additional attention - and walks down the aisles. He has been spending so much time preparing himself for what he knows will happen tonight. And in all that chaos, it didn't cross his mind what he wanted his last meal to be.
Techno used to cook all their food, because Ranboo wasn't too good at that so the chore naturally fell onto him. But after Ranboo's death, Techno hasn't bothered with much beyond frozen stuff and takeout. Since he's not going to survive his plan, he supposes he should put some thought into what he wants to eat beforehand. He stares for a while at the vegetables and meats, never putting anything in his basket. The only notion that really sticks is that Ranboo's favorite dish was the chicken stew their parents used to make before they died.
Techno's fingers flex around the basket's handle, and he reaches out for a plastic package full of the diced, soft pink poultry. Techno never liked the stew that much. The texture is kind of gross to him, straddling the line between too soggy and too chewy. And their mother used to add an overabundance of pepper whenever she made it.
But he can't think of anything else.
He gathers the remaining ingredients, realizing halfway through that he's buying enough to make an entire crock pot worth, as if he's still feeding two people and accounting for leftovers. But he doesn't put anything back.
The cashier has pulled away from their phone by the time Techno makes it to the front of the store, face pale and expression some mixture of relief and disgust. Techno supposes that means this person slipped through the eye of the needle. He can't imagine they'd be this calm if their death warrant were signed tonight. They look relatively young, but Techno knows they've been working in the store full-time for as long as Techno has been going there and don't have a higher education. Their name is definitely in the registry multiple times.
They scan his products silently, forgetting to force a greeting when their eyes keep flicking back to the screen. A long list of names is scrolling past, simple white font on a black backdrop. Techno didn't realize the Selection was already that far along. First, the names are read out loud as they are pulled. Then, they're all showcased again like this. After about ten minutes, the list can also be found online on the official website maintained by the government that tracks the process.
"Uh, that will be $29.40," the cashier says distractedly, finally pulling their gaze forward again. Techno always liked them. They are polite, and never engaged him in annoying small talk. He grabs a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket.
"Keep the change," he says.
The cashier blinks in confusion. "Wha- Seriously?"
Techno is already shoving his groceries into a plastic bag. "Jup. Don't need it anymore."
He cannot read the names of the chosen that are scrolling past on the screen, the text too small to make out. But Techno doesn't need to, to know that his name is on there.
He made sure of that.
Before he makes the stew, he cleans his apartment.
The place has always been a mess, to be honest. Where Techno took most of the cooking onto his shoulders, Ranboo was the one who did more for tidying around their living space. Techno didn't care if things were neat or not. As long as nothing was actively growing mold.
In the wake of Ranboo's death, he slacked off even further, and he has to admit it's looking pretty bad by now. Techno doesn't really mind for his own sake, but somebody will need to come in and throw away their crap so a new tenant can rent the place. Maybe Skeppy will also come by and collect some trinkets. Techno wants his only friend to not need to pick through a bunch of trash to pick out his belongings.
When he's done with that, he cuts and cleans the vegetables. Techno got extra potatoes to put in the stew, in the end still giving it a personal touch. Somehow, it feels right. To make a dish that will always remain intrinsically linked to Ranboo in his mind, but to change it so it'll suit his tastes more. Techno is glad he went through the effort. It'll be a perfect last meal.
His phone starts ringing when he's almost done eating.
"I told you not to call," Techno says as he picks up, having seen the name on the display.
"Seriously, Techno?" Skeppy replies, and his breath already hitches. Speak of the devil. Skeppy did text him earlier when the Selection was over with. As soon as he found out Techno's name was one of the chosen.
"Have you been crying?" Techno asks, smiling. In a strange way, it's rather touching. Skeppy has been his best friend - and only friend - since high school, pretty much. Outside of Ranboo, he has been one of the most important people in Techno's life, especially since he was there through Techno's parents having their accident.
But neither of them is good at overt emotional displays. Which is why Techno would really rather have skipped this conversation.
"Shut up," Skeppy says half-heartedly. Somehow, it makes Techno chuckle too.
He puts his bowl into the sink, filling it with water. He's not going to do the dishes, there is no point.
Skeppy doesn't say anything more for a moment, only his unsteady inhales coming through, a little congested noise as if he's trying not to break down again. Techno grimaces. "Did you really call me just to make me listen to your sobbing?"
"No," Skeppy says. "No, I… Fuck, Techno, don't be a dick."
"Sorry." He's not.
He walks into the bedroom and starts grabbing his stuff. So far, his entire plan has been going off without a hitch, but this next part is where things get shaky. Everything that happens to the chosen after the Selection is left purposefully vague. Maybe because the reality of how horrible their fates are would make more people protest the circumstances of humanity's deal. Then again, Techno doubts it would make too much of a difference when the alternative is complete enslavement.
"I just wanted to hear your voice," Skeppy mutters then, uncharacteristic in its softness. Something vulnerable and honest. Techno's hand hovers over the vial on his bedside table for a moment before he shoves it into a pocket.
Skeppy was the only thing that ever made Techno reconsider whether this entire plan was worth it. Even if, in the end, he decided to go through with it regardless.
"Yeah," he says. "I'm happy I'm hearing yours too, snot and all."
Skeppy manages another shaky laugh, a rustling sound tells Techno that his friend is dragging his sleeve over his face. Definitely crying.
"It's not fair," Skeppy adds. Techno opens his mouth, but Skeppy continues before he can interrupt. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're going to say. 'Life isn't fair', right? Being- Being fucking subjected to the sadism of a bunch of leeches isn't fair. But that's just how things are."
"Right," Techno agrees. More or less, that's how people are raised. To find peace in knowing that the status quo is a necessity for their continued freedom and survival. "The Selection is as fair as they can make it." That's what the government would have them believe, anyway.
Everybody who is eighteen or older is guaranteed to have their name in the registry at least once. But so many other factors are at play. The older you get, the more times your name is duplicated in the registry. But if you have children, one parent per child is allowed to ask for a special exemption that reduces the number of times their name will be in the list, lowering their chances of being chosen and creating orphans. Other things that might influence how often your name is in the draw can include your employment status, whether you're married or not, if you have any dependents, your criminal history, even your physical health. All carefully weighed to determine your worth to society.
Techno had been pushing Ranboo to try and get into medical school since they were teens. Doctor is one of the main professions that benefits from a decrease in how many entries their name takes up in the registry.
"Still," Skeppy says, "what are the odds that Ranboo and you both-" He stops himself. They barely ever talk about Ranboo. Techno never wants to. "I mean… Fuck, Techno."
"The odds are very small," Techno answers honestly. Though it's also a lie, sort of.
The odds would be astronomical if it weren't for Techno rigging them.
"I-" Skeppy starts. But then somebody pounds on Techno's apartment door.
"They're here," Techno says. "I have to go."
"Y-yeah, I'm- Sorry. Uh, thanks, Techno, for being my friend and stuff."
"I know," Techno replies.
He hangs up as the pounding on his door grows more insistent. They're probably scared he ran away. There are a few such stories each year, people who are trying to avoid the consequences of their name being pulled in the Selection. That's why all roads in and out of the city are closed today. Techno grabs the last few things he needs and goes to open the door.
He already wrote a more in-depth letter that will be delivered to Skeppy's home later. One that contains all the gooey sentiments he'd never be able to express over the phone. Techno started writing it two years ago, when he first conceived of his grand plan.
Hopefully, it will bring Skeppy some comfort when he's grieving Techno's death.
There is one thing that could have made Techno's entire plan of action fall apart, and surprisingly, it doesn't happen.
Techno spent hours on research, trawling through forbidden dark web forums, digging into old library books, listening to rumors that are only circulated in particular underground organizations. The hardest part was separating the myth from reality. There is too much information about vampires that is passed around so carelessly, it becomes nearly impossible to know which bits are true.
But after he did his due diligence, Techno became confident that what he managed to gather up were facts, no matter how badly the government - both human and vampiric in nature - attempted to bury them. And he knows how to kill a vampire.
In theory, that is. In practice… Techno couldn't find a lot of records of it ever being done. But he will succeed. He's determined. He will kill the vampire responsible for Ranboo's death, or die trying himself. If he succeeds, he'll obviously also die. He'll be able to take one vampire out using the element of surprise and his tricks, not multiple. But it'll have been worth it.
That's why he brought all the items he'll need, and why the only thing that could have made his plan fall apart is if the chosen are thoroughly searched before entering the vampire's feeding grounds.
Techno doesn't know what he expected. For them to be herded around like cattle, maybe? For them to arrive and be shoved through the doors straight towards a mob of hungry leeches waiting to pick out a snack.
No, they're led through the hallways of this huge manor estate, brought into separate rooms. Two hundred humans. Techno becomes one person in a sea of terrified, washed-out faces. The room he's eventually led into is simple. A bedroom by design, though they took away most of the furniture. There is an ensuite bathroom. They are told to clean up and pick formal clothes.
Techno obeys the simple instructions. He washes himself, he braids his hair. He goes through the trouble of getting the dirt out from under his nails. The coven he needs to appeal to is one of the older ones, rich and sophisticated. They won't be impressed by just any human. Techno can help himself by making the right choices here. He needs an opportunity to get close to them, within striking distance.
His mind still wanders as he looks at the large array of clothes available, unable to not let his thoughts drift to his twin brother. What did Ranboo feel during all this? What sort of outfit did he pick to walk towards his demise in?
Techno opts for a simple pair of black pants and a white button-up shirt with wider sleeves and lace around the collar and cuffs. He needs layers to hide his tools in, so he puts a corset over it, lacing it himself in the front so he won't have to go looking out in the hallway if anybody is around to help. Then he sucks in his breath and rotates the garment so the ribbons are at the back. He wears a long, parted skirt under it, the waist cinched with a cloth belt over the corset. This allows the pretty, layered chiffon fabric to drape down from there, concealing even more from view.
Lastly, Techno adjusts the necklace he is wearing. The chain is made of silver, dangling from it is a simple locket shaped like a circle. A necklace sent to him after the Selection from five years ago. Vampires do not return the bodies of the chosen for funeral rites. Horrifically, the reason is probably that the corpses are drained dry and won't transport well. But any family member is eligible to receive some of their ashes upon request.
The door opens without a knock this time.
"Number 128, are you-" the man stops talking when his eyes dart up from his list. A small frown crosses those wrinkled features, not truly confusion but something close. "Oh, it's you."
Techno inclines his head at Schlatt. "Means you weren't scamming me, I suppose."
Schlatt scratches at his beard. "Course not. You're batshit fucking insane, though. There are easier ways to kill yourself." He gestures with his clipboard, and Techno starts to follow him with a hum.
Schlatt is the man who handed Techno the locket. He's the man who told Techno what coven is responsible for claiming Ranboo's life - a small token of mutual respect that was negotiated by the human government back when their deal was made, is that covens publicly acknowledge the names of the chosen they kill. Schlatt works for the state and is involved in the entire process. From the moment a name is put down in the registry to the small monetary compensation extended to the family after the vampires have consumed their fill.
And for the right fee, Schlatt will thoroughly involve himself in what names are drawn during the Selection.
"You know, usually when people offer me a bribe, it's so I'll take their name out of the running. Not the other way around," Schlatt says callously. He seems unconcerned that anybody could overhear. Maybe because the only other people inside this mansion are vampires who couldn't care less about his corruption and humans who will be dead by dawn.
"I've always been known to go against the grain," Techno drawls. Schlatt snorts a deep laugh.
"Yeah, whatever." They arrive outside the ballroom. Schlatt gestures at a long table, where a series of strange-looking masks draw Techno's attention. "Pick one," Schlatt says. "Don't take it off unless told to by a sire. Don't speak unless spoken to. And just, don't cause any trouble, yeah?"
Wordlessly, Techno picks up the mask nearest to him and fits it onto his face. The material feels oddly leathery to him, though with some soft pieces of velvet on the inside to make the fit more comfortable. The shape reminds Techno of the Venetian masks he read about in a history book once, curling and painted in vivid red and black. It covers his forehead, eyes, parts of his cheeks and nose. He can look out through it, but gets the distinct impression that other people will have a hard time seeing those features. He wonders if there's a specific reason for that.
Before Techno gets much of a chance to dwell on it, the double doors are opened, and he steps inside.
When he was younger, Techno read books about time travel sometimes. The older, classic ones, not modern fiction where that sort of plot always revolves around going back and preventing vampires from becoming as numerous as they currently are. No, Techno liked stories about going into the past and stepping into a different world.
Such as what he's experiencing right now. He enters the ballroom, and suddenly it seems that not a day has passed between the Renaissance and the sight before him. The room is enormous, and completely lit up with candles rather than electric lighting. The ceiling is high and vaulted, surrounded by stained glass windows too high to look out of. Guests in ancient clothing fill the space. Music drifts through the air from the direction of a live orchestra, though the insistent chattering going on indicates not a lot of people are appreciative of the performance.
For Techno, it turns into static rather quickly as he gets a proper scope of how many vampires are in the room. Techno knows that the number of names drawn during the Selection is decided by the relative size of the vampire population in a city compared to the human population. But he supposes he never stopped to consider if the humans and vampires would be an equal one-on-one ratio. Do covens share their meals? How much blood does a vampire need to survive?
Shaking his head, Techno takes a few steps into the ballroom. He needs to focus. He has to find his target.
Techno sticks to the walls, skirting around a large dance floor where a handful of couples are engaged in a waltz. Tables loaded with glasses of wine and small canapés greet him. Techno's stomach turns at the sight. Besides, he wouldn't want to eat anything anyway. He had his stew.
The masks clearly are not intended to make it more difficult to distinguish between human and vampire. The difference is obvious at a glance. The vampires glide across the room, movements as elegant as waves, like fish through water, they are not ill at ease in this place. Techno can tell who the other chosen are simply from how they hold themselves, hunched in or turning away from everything, running scared. Rabbits already caught in a snare.
Some are being approached by vampires, who are striking up conversation or simply looking at them. The entire ritual is… inexplicable, to Techno, who had always assumed something far more straightforward and barbaric. All a vampire needs from a human is their blood. So why all this fanfare for them to choose who to feed from?
Grimly, he thinks of the lobsters you see in some seafood restaurants, crammed together in a small aquarium so a customer can point one out to end up on their plate.
Though Techno will admit this has made things significantly easier for him. The other major hurdle he saw in his plan, outside of not being able to bring his anti-vampire tools into the ballroom, was the possibility that he'd be snatched up and killed by any random vampire long before he'd have a chance to find the one he actually wanted to see. The one who killed Ranboo. Techno walks around, eyes sweeping over archaic clothing with heavy emblems and rings on fingers that are curled around crystal glasses. Vampires are conveniently narcissistic. They care so much about coven status that they wear the symbol of the one they belong to in plain sight. All Techno has to do is identify the coven he's looking for, walk up to their sire, and kill them before they have a chance to blink.
Anything that happens after that is negligible.
"You!" A cold grip yanks on his wrist suddenly. Techno stumbles, right into the arms and chest of a vampire. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"I'm-"
"How old are you?" the vampire asks, not waiting for an answer to their first question. They grab Techno's chin roughly, tilting his head up a bit to study him better. "You're young."
Techno bites his tongue on the first snarky responses that bloom in his mind, aching to slip out. He'll be at a huge disadvantage in every interaction he can get into in this ballroom. So he has to keep his calm until his goal is accomplished. "I'm twenty-three," he forces out.
"That's young," the vampire affirms. Their skin bunches up beneath the mask, and while Techno can see most of their teeth, including the sharp fangs waiting to rend flesh, their expression is hard to read. "We don't get young blood here often. How about you stick with me tonight?"
"I was kind of hoping to mingle," Techno says flatly, squirming when their grip grows painfully tight in response.
"I wasn't asking, human."
And then a long, pale finger taps on the vampire's shoulder. They turn their face toward the intrusion, Techno getting a glance at how a scowl morphs beneath their mask, only for them to immediately release Techno when they see who it is.
"Sorry for the interruption," the new vampire says, voice so icily cold that the words hold about as much weight as a feather. "I'd like a moment with him, please."
"Yeah, sure," the vampire who accosted Techno mumbles, hurrying to take a few steps back. Techno frowns at their retreating back.
"Don't mind Jerry," the other one says. "He's a fucking idiot. And so unmannered. Getting into the main course when they're not even done serving the appetizers?" A shiver runs down Techno's spine at a soft touch to his elbow. Something about it makes him feel sick.
"Why did you help me?" Techno asks, tone sharp. The vampire has long blond hair, and his mask is pointed near the front like a bird's. The image isn't helped by the black feathers attached all around it, and the dark mesh that keeps his eyes invisible. The mask is more elaborate than those that the humans are wearing, and even the other vampires. This, combined with the odd reaction Jerry had to the interruption, allows Techno to conclude this man is a sire, the leader of his own coven.
"You looked like you were about to punch him, mate," the vampire laughs, as if they're making a joke between the two of them. When Techno doesn't engage, he draws back, arms returning to his side. "That is to say, you looked uncomfortable. I was merely trying to avoid an incident."
"Thanks," Techno says flatly. Even if he actually does want to know why this man would care.
"You can thank me by doing me the honor of joining me this fine evening," the man says. "My name is Philza." He extends his hand for Technoblade to shake. At that moment, the chandelier above them allows the obsidian ring around the man's finger to catch the light, and engraved in it lays a symbol of twisting silver and gold, revealing to Techno this vampire's identity.
The sire of the Antarctic Coven. The man Techno has come here to kill.