The Childrens Rebellion

Those Voices Are Making You Crazy, Mr. Blade

"Don't do it," the self-righteous, stupid part of him said—cried out.

(The selfish part of him begged Techno to not let Chroma hurt him.)

He was not worth it.

(Don't let him hurt me.)

Hundreds of secrets—

(—NOT AGAIN —)

—hundreds of people could die because of the things a high-level officer of the Galactic Rebellion knew, could possibly know. Codes and locations of secret bases—fortunately, this wasn't the Arachnids; Chroma was a third party and—

—maybe the Arachnids were evil and Deo was lying—

Technoblade blinked once. Twice. Tilted his head. "What do you mean?" he asked calmly.

Chroma clashed his teeth. "I'll hurt him."

"Who is 'him'?" Techno said—and Tommy saw it, then, the scared look in his eyes as the half-Piglin went through every decision he could make and stalled for time.

Chroma rolled his eyes. "God, I thought you were dense, but I didn't think you were that dense."

"Hey, now," Technoblade, sounding genuinely offended, though Tommy knew better. "That's insultin' to a man's consciousness."

"That's the point," Chroma said, annoyed, and Tommy snickered slightly before remembering the awful situation they were in. "It's almost like you want Tommy to die."

Technoblade didn't respond, didn't twitch an eye—and Tommy's heart dropped before he vividly remembered Technoblade sitting him down and telling him that one should never give up their weaknesses to their enemies because of exploration.

Wait, no. Exploitation. Yeah.

Technoblade was faking.

At least, that was what Tommy was dreadfully trying to convince himself. Because Techno cared, he did.

Clearly, Techno's lack of reaction was not up to Chroma's standards, because Tommy watched as without so much as the Avian lifting a finger, Techno's head slammed against the harsh metal behind him, the half-Piglin letting out a pained grunt as his pupils dilated.

"Do you not care?" Chroma hissed, annoyed. "Tommy Innes will die without your intervention!" Tommy bit his lip until he tasted iron.

"I think you're bluffin'," Techno rumbled dangerously. "And I hope you're recordin' this so he might watch this and understand why I made my choice. He's cool like that."

"I do," Tommy whispered, pressing his cheek against the glass and letting the tears roll off his face. "I understand."

Because galactic secrets were more important than the safety of one boy—even if that one boy was Tommy Innes, son of Sam and Clara Innes, leader of the Children's Rebellion, and the youngest member of a dwindling Avian species. Because there was no guarantee to Tommy's safety, no way to know if Chroma was telling the truth or not. No way to know if he would keep his promise.

"I will hurt him," Chroma warned Techno. "Just as I will hurt you."

Techno hung his head slightly, and there was unwavering regret in his eyes. Tommy saw it. Tommy knew that he was right—that he wasn't worth decades of knowledge and secrets—that even though Techno cared for him, loved him—that if he were to give those secrets away, thousands of others could die because of it.

He was one kid in a galaxy primed for war.

And if he died, it would be to protect others. If Techno died from this, it would be to protect others. He accepted that. He was...mostly ready.