The Chained Watcher

Vandalism- Wait, What?

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(One week after previous chapter)

Pointing at a mark on the map, Jimmy argues, "No, this one has a higher priority. It's the closest to Minecraft's portal, so taking it out means we're less likely to have a Watcher accidentally discover it."

Gesturing to the other marks that've already been struck through, Martyn counters, "I get that, but if we go after that one then we'll start leaving a pattern one of them could notice and use to narrow down where we're coming from. C'mon Tim, we've used this to track down Watchers before."

"No, I know that, I'm just saying that this one is too close to leave! They've started searching, and if we leave this one alone, they could very well find Minecraft and kill a bunch of players before we get back! We can break the pattern next temple, but this one has got to go."

"Yeah, I know, but we should still get this one first. That way it'll end up with the search area being focused further away from us."

The map the two Listeners are arguing over isn't overly detailed, but the important thing about it is the marks they've made on it. Every Watcher compound they've found, every 'Origin Temple', as the locals call them, has its location marked on this map. And every compound they've hit is crossed off, leaving just the un-raided ones they're arguing over.

Jimmy jabs his finger against his preferred target. "We have to go for this one next. So what if they find out where the portal might be? They're used to thinking of a month as a short period of time. By the time they start searching in earnest, Minecraft will be gone, and there'll be nothing to find. They'll start by skirting the edge of the area they think we might be basing at. Only after they've checked the perimeter will they start checking closer in. And if we run into a patrol? We just kill them! The only reason we haven't gone after all of them is because we want to keep an eye on Grian and make sure he doesn't realize we're Listeners."

"That's... Fine. We'll go after this one next. But we break the pattern after that, got it? Just because we can kill any of the Watchers here doesn't mean the other players can handle them. If someone is exploring and runs into a Watcher, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so'."

"Yeah, that's fine. Let's go already! The longer we wait, the higher the chance of something going wrong."

Decision made, the two Listeners set out for their next target, ready to give a bunch of Watchers a really bad day.

They had barely reached the compound when their plan went askew.

Dumbfounded, Martyn stares at the carnage, wondering aloud, "What... happened?"

There are no cries of alarm or outrage upon their arrival. Neither are they set upon by furious Watchers who've realized they're the ones who killed the Watchers in the other compounds. All there is is a deafening silence, made more desolate by the whistling wind blowing through what used to be a temple.

There's no way around this. Someone got here before them. But who? Who would be able to find this planet, a planet that's not even on the private Listener maps, and be capable of killing this many Watchers, and motivated enough to do that?

The temple is completely ruined. Anyone with eyes can see that. The remains of the roof are over a football field away, for goodness' sake! The only things not destroyed are some of the statues, with the only ones left standing being of various animals in vigilant poses. And the Watchers... The Watchers are all dead. Every single one of them.

If not for the lack of smoke or other technological discharge in the air, they'd be tempted to say some high-tech civilization sent down a prototype mech to test it against Watchers. Every single one died from a single wound. Some lie on the ground, a perfectly circular hole erased straight through their chests and hearts. Others are mangled and broken, as if smashed into the ground or nearest object by an overwhelming bludgeoning force. More still have their heads in a state that gives the impression of having been used as a stress ball, squeezed until no longer in a working state.