Chapter Text
It’s winter in the Dresmpii; snow covers the sidewalks and the roofs of each building, the frigid wind bites at everyone's skin, and it's only going to get colder until March finally comes around.
A figure with the name Cryptic sprints across the concrete buildings; sirens echo through the once quiet streets, lights flashing blue and red follow the figure, and helicopters gush wind down upon the buildings. Cryptic stopped running as the trail of the buildings ended, and now he was stuck between a long fall and the whole police force. Cryptic, with blood still clinging to his suit, sighed and turned around.
Three detectives stood in front of him.
“Give it up, Cryptic.” The one in the middle speaks with a gruff voice from running so much. The man’s name is Clay; the top detective in the country, and he was one of the detectives that were assigned to arrest Cryptic.
That was almost 9 months ago.
“Ugh, but I love this game of cat and mouse.” Cryptic sneered at three detectives; one of the trio, Sapnap, stepped forward with a glare.
“You're surrounded, and there is nowhere for you to go. You can come with us willingly, or we can simply drag you to Pandora.” Sapnap threatened, and Cryptic made a hm sound while tapping his finger on his chin as if he was considering his options.
“Nah!” Cryptic laughed, and made his way toward the edge. The detective's eyed his movements warily.
“Cryptic, you have killed more people than I can count. Do you think you don't have to pay for those lives? Those poor people's bodies left out on display because of your bloody hands?” The last detective, George, stated. His voice cracked at the end due to the obvious battle of emotions within his heart. Cryptic just looked at them; his expression unknown to the trio because of his mask. But if they could see his face, they would shiver at the killer's smile.
“Do you think I care?” Cryptic asked, tilting his head as a giggle slips through his words. The detectives seemed shocked at his question, and the killer giggled some more.
“Oh my XD, you do think I care!” Cryptic’s giggles turn into laughter; a very disturbing laughter. It sent chills down the spines of the detectives.
“Look, I understand that it might be insane to you that I don't feel guilt for those people's death, but I kill with a purpose.“
“… What is that purpose then, Cryptic?” Clay asks cautiously, and all Cryptic could do was stand there thinking about every single reason why those people don’t deserve another breath.
Cold rooms.
Bruises.
Training.
Fighting.
Running.
Blank stares.
Empty faces.
Empty bodies.
Death.
So much death.
Cryptic stepped back further, and fell off the roof.
The detectives run towards the ledge and looked over it seeing… nothing. No movement. No sound. Nothing.
Clay stepped back with his face blank, but his mind swirling with emotion and tangled thoughts. What was Cryptic’s reason for killing all those people? What do all those people have in common? What does Cryptic want from this?
“Why is he doing this?” Sapnap mumbled to himself, but it gained the attention of Clay and George. Clay hesitated before answering.
“I don’t know, but if it’s big enough for him to kill all those people...” Clay started, his hands clenched onto his sleeves.
“Then it’s a reason that none of us could imagine.” Clay finished, and all he got was silence and worried glances.
~
“BREAKING NEWS: The killer, Cryptic, was spotted late this night in Mayor Puffy‘s house. 15 guards were found dead within her home, but Mayor Puffy was unharmed during the break-in. In an interview with Mayor Puffy, she stated that Cryptic did not touch or enter her room, and nothing was taken out of the house. The mysterious Cryptic has once again escaped the scene before Mayor Puffy’s son, Detective Clay, could apprehend him. Why did Cryptic take the lives of all those guards and spare Mayor Puffy? Is this a warning or an unexplained hatred for the guards? Will Cryptic ever be arrested for his horrendous crimes? Stay tuned for an interview with the detectives on the case.” The news channel cuts to an advertisement, and a boy named Tommy sits on his couch smiling to himself.
“Fat chance, if they ever catch me it's because I finally died of old age.” Tommy chuckled to himself, and threw a piece of popcorn in his mouth.
The blonde had already changed out of his suit, and was in his lounge clothes. He took a shower to wash off the stench of blood and sweat; he will wait for tomorrow to come before he tackles the hard job of getting out those pesky blood stains in his suit. For now, Tommy sits there for a second, and thinks about what the detective asked. He wonders would have happened if he actually told him the truth. The reason to all his effort…
Never reveal your true intentions.
Tommy knows he shouldn't have even hinted that he has a reason to kill all those people, but there isn't anyone telling him what to do anymore. He’s his own person now with a hobby he’s skilled in. So it should be okay... Right? There is doubt sitting in his stomach. He knows he is becoming weaker and softer due to the conditions the blonde has become familiar with.
Tommy has only escaped his past a few months ago, and yet, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he hasn't fully escaped the tight grasp on his mind.
The blonde ceased his thoughts and turned off the TV, making his way toward his bedroom. He tries to ignore the lingering memory of cold hallways, and colder figures that walked beside him.
~
“We need a new plan.” Clay stated, slamming his hands onto the wooden table. The other two just stared at him with tired eyes, coffee being the only thing that was keeping their brains from cutting out on them.
“Clay, we have run out of ideas. We’ve stormed, surrounded, trapped, and pulled every trick in the book known to man. We don't have any other plan to work with, and the rest of the police force is starting to get pissed off at us.” George clarified, drinking his coffee slowly. Clay sighed, and looked down at the very thin file of Cryptic. This file shows the very little information they have on him, and all they can conclude is that he is a 6’1 bitch with no mercy. Clay looks back up at the two with regret already sinking into him.
“Then we need to close the book, and try… our last option.”
“No!” Sapnap yelled, slamming his mug down which sent droplets of coffee onto the table. He already had an idea of where his friend’s mind was going to, and it set a fire in his bones.
“We are not doing that, that's fucking crazy! There are so many risks with that plan! We can't risk the safety of the country for one guy!” Sapnap growled, his tone filled with hatred. Clay couldn't blame him after the incident.
“Sap, I know this is the stupidest fucking thing we could do, but what other choice do we have? We have nothing else to stop him, and if we don't do something soon... I fear someone close is going to get hurt.” Clay spoke with a soft voice, and tears threatened to fall. The other two detectives looked at him with pained looks.
“You’re talking about your mother, aren't you?” George questioned, Clay could only look away to prevent himself from crying. Sapnap let out a frustrated sigh.
“Fuck- fine, fine. We'll go. But this better not backfire on us.” Sapnap warned, Clay looked back at him with hopeful eyes and nodded to his friend.
Sapnap couldn’t help the discouraging sigh that slips through his lips.
The detectives arrived at Pandora’s Box the next morning; it’s a high-security prison made of pure obsidian that holds a special place for the worst people out there. Clay likes to nickname it the “Syndicates Home” since the only people in there is the Syndicate... for now.
The feeling the prison gives off just from standing in front of it sends a wave of dread and misery. Clay swallowed down those uncomfortable feelings, and made his way into the prison with his partners.
Unfortunately, those feelings resurfaced as soon as he walked through the doors. Clay could tell his coworkers can feel it as well with the way George is fidgeting with his rings, and Sapnap’s worried expression.
They were quickly examined for any unauthorized weapons, and their cell phones were taken from them without a second opinion. They ended up taking Sapnap’s bandana too since it could be turned into a weapon; he didn't like it but didn't fight it either.
After their thorough examination, they were told to wait for the Warden. So, they sat in a cold room with deafening silence for what felt like hours.
Clay’s thoughts were beginning to betray him as he sat. They kept repeating that this was all a mistake, he needed to get out, and the Syndicate is too dangerous. If this doesn't go right, it will cost him his job, his friends... His family.
His foot began to tap, making the sound of his shoe hitting the obsidian flooring echo off the walls. Everything felt so small and hot, and the feeling of a looming presence surrounded him. Everything felt so wrong.
A firm hand grabbed his shoulder, snapping him back into reality. His foot stopped tapping, and Clay could tell his breathing was a little too fast. George’s hand rubbed his shoulder to comfort him, and Clay gave a warm smile to signal that he was fine. George gave a concerned look back.
The door opened, revealing a large man covered in enchanted netherite armor. His hair was cut in a military style, and a gas mask covered the bottom half of his face. The man was a creeper hybrid; the way some of his skin turns into a fine green, his gas mask was letting out smoke, and his nails were sharper than a human's nails gave it away. That doesn't make him any less terrifying though.
“ Hello detectives, my name is Sam. In here though, I'm known as The Warden, and you will address me as such.” Sam demanded, sending a chilling glare at the trio. The fear of the man suddenly dissipate when The Warden started laughing.
“I'm just messing with you, you guy’s can call me Sam.” The man clarified, Clay only gave an awkward laugh before reaching out his hand.
“I'm Clay, and these are my partners: George and Sapnap.” Clay explained, Sam gladly took his hand.
“It's nice to meet you all. Now, let's talk about what's going to happen while you are here.” Sam announced, walking out of the room and gesturing for the men to follow.
The halls were eerily quiet, even the guards that stood around the prison are like stone statues.
“As we all know, you guys will be having a 30-minute meeting with the Syndicate about the current situation with Cryptic. During that time, I will be monitoring through the other side of the glass. If you begin to talk about anything that I find suspicious or anything that is outside of what you wrote down on your paper, then I will remove you from the interrogation room immediately.” Sam explained, and suddenly stopped in his tracks in front of a door with two guards next to it. He turned around with a serious look in his eyes.
“Am I clear?” Sam asked, the detectives nodded. Sam turned back to the door, and used a key card to unlock it. The man opened it, allowing the trio to step inside. As they went inside, the door closed and locked behind them.
The room was small, and made of metal. The three detectives freeze as they spot the other unnerving men in large chains.
Wilbur Craft, Technoblade Craft, and Philza Craft.
The Syndicate.
Wilbur Craft is the third member of the Syndicate; He’s a phantom hybrid, meaning he has a pair of wings made of transparent skin and bone, and his vision is better in the dark than a human. Before he was captured, his civilian identity led him to become a great hider in plain sight. He could mimic accents, speak in different languages, and his acting skills were beyond words.
It makes Clay wish the guy would have pursued a life of acting than crime.
Wilbur had many connections within his work; the only “connections” he has admitted to were being very close “friends” with the former Vice President, Quackity, after a friendly game of poker; as well as with President J. Schlatt after too much wine. Both of them claimed that Wilbur was lying about them even knowing each other, but it's still under investigation.
Technoblade Craft is the second member of the Syndicate; his hybrid type is a piglin which has given him extra strength plus durability, and a frightening amount of resistance to fire. He was the fighter of the group, and could easily beat 20 people in a fight with his arms chained behind his back; Clay has witnessed it first-hand. Technoblade was very skilled with his weapons, making him one of the most terrifying people in the group. The man's downfall was his love for gold, it was the one thing he couldn't resist even during a serious moment.
After the trio’s arrest, it took days for the police to clean out the house of all the weapons stashed in furniture, walls, bookshelves, the floor, and even the ceiling.
And the final member...
Philza Craft, the top leader of the Syndicate; he is an elytrain hybrid which gives him the ability to fly at incredible speeds with his dark crow wings, which made him the hardest to catch. He was the organizer; he planned every move, weapon, place, time, and person that was involved in the crimes they committed.
Though he was not regularly seen at one of the scenes, he would sometimes show up at the last minute to save his sons.
That was his weakness.
His family.
Clay once thought of using Cryptic’s possible partners or family against him. But after some digging, no one has ever even had a word with him unless he was being snarky or mocking them.
Clay buries the feeling of shame for even considering it.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, and they all glanced at each other. Clay wanted to speak up, but Wilbur beat him to it.
“Phil, I thought this meeting was with important people?” Wilbur asked his father in a not-so-quiet voice, a grin appeared on Philza’s face.
“I don't know, Wil, it seems as though they're terrified of us even when we are in chains.” Philza answers, giggling through his words. Technoblade snorts at the remark, and it didn't sit well with Sapnap.
“Something funny, Blade?” Sapnap growled, crossing his arms with an evil glare.
“Um... Yeah. Phil said a funny thing.”
“Huh, I didn't know a murderer can have a sense of humor.” Sapnap accused, Technoblade only smiled.
”Sapnap…” Clay warned, but his friend didn’t hear him.
“I didn't know you would be such bitch about a joke. A Twitter user for short.” Techno responded, Sapnap stood up and slammed his hands on the table. The room went silent and all eyes were on him.
“I can get you on death row, just like how you did with my fiancé.” Sapnap admitted, his hands curled into fists. Technoblade, on the other hand, only gave a blank stare.
“… who are you talking about?” Technoblade questioned, Sapnap stuttered in shock; he seemed to be insulted by the fact that Technoblade didn’t know his fiancé. Clay knew he probably shouldn’t have brought Sapnap, but they are a team.
He regrets it now.
“Quackity, you dumbass!” Sapnap blurted, and a moment passes.
“Ohhh, the casino owner. He deserved it, he tried to send his goons to kill me. He should be thankful I didn’t kill him right where he stood.” Technoblade explained.
“You little-“
“Sapnap,” Clay interrupted, his voice cold with annoyance. “Sit. Please, before I have to make you leave.” Clay spoke in demanding tone, and Sapnap flicks his glare between the pink-haired criminal and his best friend. He sighed and sat back down, looking towards one of the metal walls.
“Sorry about that gentlemen, he’s um…” Clay paused, trying to come up with an excuse. “He just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.” Clay awkwardly laughed, the rest of the room is silent though.
“Yes, so hilarious.” Philza hissed, giving him a look of “I’m going to gut you if I ever get out of these chains.” Philza admitted, Clay swallowed thickly before talking.
“You’re probably wondering why we are here-“
“Well no,” Wilbur spoke up, crossing his arms and leaning further into his chair. “You’re partner threatened to kill my brother because of something my dad said. So no, whatever you want to talk to us about is now unimportant to us. Hey Sam!” Wilbur yelled at the glass mirror.
“Don’t call me Sam, we’re not friends.” Sam’s voice appeared through some speakers.
“Whatever, Sammy, we’re done here.”
“Hold on.” George spoke with a flat tone, yet it still caught the brunette's attention.
“We have a proposal,” George started, “A type of proposal that you wouldn’t want to refuse.” The man with round glasses added, and it seemed to have made Philza hesitate.
“What could you possibly offer us?”
“Freedom.” Clay spoke, the room went quiet until the blonde father smiled.
“Fine then, you have regained our attention. What do you want?” Philza asked, and Clay couldn’t help but feel hopeful at the question. Sapnap pulled a thin file from his coat, and tossed it on the table.
“Cryptic,” Sapnap began, “Or that’s what we call him since he’s never given us an official name. He’s an assassin who has killed many different people, whether it’s the lowest of the low or the best of the best. We weren’t able to find a pattern, nor anything on him. No associates, no pieces of his identity, we’re not even sure what he sounds like since he keeps changing his accent every time we get him to speak.” Sapnap illustrated. The Syndicate members open the file, only being able to find a few blurry photos and one paper of information that’s not even half full.
“He’s crafty, sneaky, and for some reason so fucking annoying.” Sapnap added, Wilbur giggled lightly.
“Sounds like me when I was younger.”
“It’s still is you.” Technoblade responded with a small smile, and Philza cackled at the remark.
“What the fuck!” Wilbur yelled, only encouraging their father's laughter. George cleared his throat, and the men looked back over and stayed quiet.
“Anyways, he started appearing on March 27th, a couple of months after your guy’s arrest. We’ve tried to set him up, trap him, fuck, we even tried to negotiate with him. But he always gets away no matter what we do.” George clarified, the men looked at the photo for a moment more before Technoblade started to speak.
“He looks… young.”
“What do you mean?” Clay asked, meeting Technoblade eyes.
“My eyes have been trained to pay attention to details, and this guy, based on these pretty bad pictures and what you guys have said about his personality, this guy is likely someone who is still in his teenage years.” Technoblade explained, and the room just eyed him wearily.
“So what your saying is… is that we have been possibly fighting a kid this entire time?” Clay questioned, his voice wavering. Technoblade nodded.
“But I could be wrong, I have been out of the loop for about for almost a little over a year now.” Technoblade added which seemed to help the room relax a little.
“So, overall, if we help you get this guy then you’ll grant us freedom?”
“As long as you don’t go back to your criminal ways, yes. You get to have your life back without having to worry about the law knocking on your door.” Clay clarified, Philza hesitated.
“I… I don’t trust you. I don’t think you’ll let me and my kids go that easily. Not after all the messes we have caused.” Philza admitted, glaring at the detectives.
“Philza Craft,” Clay began. “Do you care about your kids?”
“Of course I do. What kind of question is that?”
“Then you’ll know this is the best option for you and your kids. You don’t want them locked in here for the rest of their lives, right?” Clay challenged. Philza didn't answer, but he already knew that his children meant everything to him which means he’ll do anything for them. Anything.
“You know how to pull my strings, Clay.”
“People have always said I’m a great puppeteer.” Clay grinned, and it was moments like these that the detective had a nice feeling of power course through him. It made him feel untouchable in a way, but he knew he has to take out those feelings as soon as they arrive. Otherwise, he might just lose himself again.
“Well detectives,” Philza started, bringing out his right hand. “I think you have yourselves a deal.” Philza finished, and Clay was about to shake the criminal's hand until the blonde pulled it back.
“As long as we get everything back: our associates, weapons, vehicles, and our old base.”
“What base?” George asked, Philza chuckled at the question.
“I guess you haven’t found it yet, then.” Philza added, bringing his hand back out.
“So, how about it?” The blonde man asked, his tone sweet but laced with venom. The detectives could only look at him questionably.
“I don’t think we can do that.”
“Then make it work because then our deal is off.” Wilbur stated, Clay sighed and nodded. He knew he wouldn’t have complete control over the situation. They didn’t need him, and he didn’t need them; however, they both benefited from this arrangement. He grabbed the father's hand and shook it.
“It’s good doing business with ya, mate.” Philza smiled, Clay could only think about how this is what making a deal with the devil is like.
~
Tommy wakes up with sore bones, and a heavy feeling of sleep on his eyes. The blonde got up despite feeling exhausted from last night. He cringed at the sound of his joints popping as he sat up. He makes his way to the bathroom to throw cold water in his face, it doesn’t help how sleepy he is, but it at least makes him more aware of his surroundings.
Specifically the person in the mirror.
A blonde with empty blue eyes, and a thin form. The scars on his body contrasting with his pasty-white skin. Tommy turns away from the image as he can’t stand how that is him. You would think with the life Tommy has he would be tougher looking, but instead he looks like some scrawny street rat.
Tommy moves to the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal, and moves to the living room to watch the news. He sits down on his old but comfy couch, and grabs the TV remote to turn on the TV. The blonde expected his mask to be the first thing to show up, but he was so… so wrong.
The Syndicate’s faces were on the news today.
“BREAKING NEWS: The former Syndicate leaders - Wilbur Craft, Technoblade Craft, and Philza Craft - have been released from Pandora Box earlier this morning. The detectives who have led to the their release said that it was due to “good behavior” and that the Syndicate have agreed to never do crime again. Is their promise true? Was this all an elaborate scheme for the Syndicate to terrorize the city once more? Or is this truly a redemption story for the once great mafia? Only time will tell.”
Tommy blankly stares at the screen, trying to comprehend what the lady just said as his bowl of cereal hits the floor with a thunk. Though he had so much to say, only one thing was able to slip out.
“Fuck.”