Chapter Text
Phil wrapped himself tightly in his dark trench coat as the rain pelted down on the lower streets of Manberg. He had been on the walk home from his seventeen hour shift at the hospital, which exponentially lengthened with each doctor they lost due to the new restrictions placed on medicine every few months by the Regime.
Med school dropout numbers were rising by the day, and the number of patients coming in through the emergency room, promised appointments, beggings and wailings at the reception desk for the chance to even get a glimpse of the doctor were rising too.
It wasn’t as if Phil didn’t want to help the people that came to him-- he did-- but the restrictions placed by the government made it almost impossible for him to do his job without being investigated and arrested for some sort of crime. They weren’t real crimes, of course, they were phantom crimes made up by sweaty old men in tight suits that didn’t practice medicine, didn’t know a single damn thing about human anatomy.
Phil was trapped in a throng of people, all stopped in the middle of the walkway to watch the massive screen display on the ZER;O Corp tower. Neon lights bounced off the screen and onto the puddles forming on the ground around him as a man in a pristine white suit and sleek haircut with cultivated lamb chops popped up on the screen, only his shoulders and face visible to the people below.
“People of Manberg! Our great city flourishes, even seventy years after the Dark Times! This is thanks to the efforts of my predecessors, and my very own efforts. I have kept you all safe all these years from the outside world, and even the evil deeds of those who wish to undermine our security. The Overlords have been stealing our doctors! Scientists! The asp may whisper in your ear and persuade you into turning your back on what’s holy, but do not be deceived, people of Manberg! Do not take the dangling fruit from the tree! Anyone caught engaging with the Overlords, anyone guilty of medical malpractice shall be put to death!”
The screen went black on Manberg’s Emperor Schlatt before returning to a perfume ad. Phil snorted under his breath, careful to hide his reaction from the watchful gaze of the Manner Guard, those who protected the sanctity and purity of the public. To be caught making any sort of negative gesture or response from the direct word of Emperor Schlatt would be an act of treason, further exacerbated by Phil’s title as a doctor. It didn’t matter how revered he was in his field, that he revolutionized modern medicine and engineered the solution to one of the leading causes of the Dark Times-- there would be no mercy for the undermining of the Regime.
Phil weaved through the crowd, now finally moving back to their homes before the nine PM curfew, and headed for a bar he used to frequent before he got even busier than he used to be. The schedule of a doctor had already been tough without the loss of med students, residents, and even long time colleagues.
The bar was situated on the lower levels of Manberg. Buildings rose from the ground up, but the walkways were built on multiple levels, like massive ramps, while vehicle traffic took place way up on the top. The more money one made, the higher they lived in Manberg.
The bar Phil liked was so low a level, it was practically a basement. The entrance was in the ground with a mini staircase that led into it. Inside it was decorated with dark wood, cobwebs, and vintage signs from before the Dark Times. It was easy to scavenge for things like that in the lower levels since it was treated like trash in the upper levels, shot down through the air like gods gifting their undesirables to the poor mortals.
The owner of the bar was a short man with uncontrollable dark hair that was always covered by a hat. Quackity was one of the leaders of the early prohibition movement that eventually won against Emepror Schlatt’s restrictions, though Phil wondered who really won in the situation. It was clear in the aftermath that Schlatt knew distractions were key to keeping a population under control, and what better way to do that than alcohol?
Still, on the surface it counted as a win for any resistors, and it counted as a win for the Overlords, the biggest crime organization whose power rivaled that of the Regime’s.
“Philza! You’re back!” Quackity exclaimed, coming around the bar to push Phil into a stool. Phil laughed and allowed himself to be led by Quackity. He didn’t even have to give him his drink order-- Quackity had already started it the moment Phil walked through the door.
The bar was quite empty-- just a few meanderers sitting around some tables, watching sports and eating chips and dip. The bartop was clear, save for Phil and one other person. He had brown hair and glasses, but his face was otherwise obscured by the collar of his brown trenchcoat and the fact that he kept his head down.
“What’s the news these days, Big Q?” asked Phil after taking a swig of his drink.
“I don’t know anything you don’t,” said Quackity. “They’ve really been coming after you guys.”
“Tell me about it,” Phil rolled his eyes. “We’ve had to turn away almost three hundred people today alone. That’s almost sixty percent of our patients. They’re dying out there.”
Quackity began making himself a drink. “It’s only going to get worse. I hear there’s talks of closing off the hospitals to the lower levels.”
Phil snorted freely. “That’s redundant. Insurance prices are already keeping the lower levels out of hospitals.”
“Excuse me,” Phil’s seat neighbor said, lifting his head up. “Are you a doctor, perchance?”
Phil stretched out his hand to the young man. “Dr. Philza Craft.”
The man paused for a second, staring at Phil with a surprised expression. Then slowly, he took Phil’s hand. “Dr. Craft. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“From the bar?” Phil joked.
“Philza, this is Wilbur Soot. He’s…”
“A patron of Big Q’s. Very nice to meet you. I work with a lot of medical practitioners,” Wilbur informed him, shaking his hand profusely. He had a strong grip for someone of his stature, though Phil wagered Wilbur purposefully wore such a baggy coat for the express purpose of hiding his physique.
Wilbur was a smartly dressed man, not the sort of person to frequent a bar like Quackity’s. He supposed Phil wasn’t the normal type of patron either, but he and Quackity had been friends for a few years as well; it was only natural he’d bring his business to a friend.
Wilbur, well, he’d never seen Wilbur before.
“What do you do?”
“Oh, I’m a patron of all sorts of people. I’m very well-connected,” said Wilbur. “I’d love to get more connected with you, though. I mean, you’re the best doctor in all of Manberg.”
“Aw, mate, you’re making me blush.”
Wilbur turned to Quackity. “Could we arrange the private room to talk?”
Quackity rolled his eyes but still stuck his hand under the bar and tossed Wilbur a set of silver keys. Wilbur gestured for Phil to follow him, though Phil couldn’t guess what he was really getting into. He really only came here for a drink and to catch up with Quackity.
Still, Phil was a doctor; a naturally curious mind.
He downed his drink and followed Wilbur past the bar and into the hallway where the bathrooms were. They took a sharp left to where the manager’s office was and entered. Quackity’s office was small and compact, nothing compared to his office in the new casino he had begun financing a couple of years ago.
Phil had been in this office of Quackity’s before, sometimes just to chat, other times it was to treat patients that couldn’t be seen receiving treatment in a proper hospital. It wasn’t much, but it was the best Phil could do in his situation. He was shackled to two rocks; the oath he took to save lives, and his overwhelming desire to not be arrested and executed.
He never noticed there was a wooden door next to the old metal file cabinet with a heavy lock on it. Yet that was where Wilbur’s key fit, opening up to a small room with no windows, walls and floors made of concrete, and only a small wooden door with two metal fold out chairs as furniture.
“You must know Big Q very well to have access to these sorts of rooms. I’ve known him for five years and never knew about this.”
“Yeah, well, Quackity and I have a very…special relationship.”
Phil examined Wilbur. He didn’t look like the type Quackity would go for. He remembered Quackity’s ex-fiancees very well. There were a lot of them, but they were all interesting people in their own rights. They also all happened to be inner members of the Regime, which ended up being the leading cause of death in their relationships, but perhaps that was what made Wilbur different for Quackity.
Wilbur seemed to realize what his words connoted, and he quickly corrected his wording. “I told you I’m a patron. Not just of the bar, but a lot of Big Q’s business dealings.”
“I see. So the prohibition protests…”
“My idea, actually. Anyway, come have a seat.” Wilbur patted the wooden table, which sounded more like plastic pretending to be wood and sat down on his own uncomfortable fold out chair. Compared to the plainness of the room, Wilbur looked like a king. In the dim fluorescent lights, he could see Wilbur was no ordinary man. His clothes whispered wealth and his face wasn’t just smart, but clever too.
He wouldn’t be an easy man to deal with.
“Can I tell you a secret, Dr. Craft? Can I call you Phil?”
“Go right ahead, mate.” Phil made himself comfortable across from Wilbur.
“I’m very upset with the Regime, and from listening to your conversation with Big Q, I know you’re not very happy either.”
“It’s only natural, Wilbur. I’m a doctor and my life is constantly in jeopardy.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way, though. You can run away. Quit. You’re smart. One of the smartest men in Manberg.”
“Doctors swear an oath to save lives. I won’t abandon it so easily because of these restrictions. I’ll help who I’m allowed to help, even if it’s just one person.”
Wilbur leaned back in his chair, his fingers tangled within each other, tapping on his knees. “What if you could help more people and keep your life?”
“Of course I’d do it,” Phil answered without hesitation.
“I can offer you protection, Phil. The Overlords have started a program--”
“No. I’m not getting involved with a fucking crime organization.” Phil slammed his palms down on the table, getting up out of his chair with such force that the chair fell over. “You lot kill as much as you pretend you’re saving lives.”
“Phil, it’s a good deal. People are being turned away from the hospitals-- a majority of the population. Our program gives them people from which they can seek treatment. It’s funded by the Overlords, so it’s free. You get paid, you get protection--”
“Where does the money come from, Wilbur? I bet your boss wouldn’t tell you that.”
“I don’t have a boss,” Wilbur scoffed, digging through his pockets. He produced a black eye mask with white covering the eye holes. It was decorated in lavish golden branches, the color of the Overlords. This specific mask, though, was worn by only one of three people.
The Overlords were a large criminal organization, yes, but it was run by the three ‘Overlords.’
Theseus.
Protesilaus.
Orpheus.
Phil pressed his back against the wall, suddenly aware of how small this room was, and how dangerous the man in front of him could be. “Which one are you?”
Wilbur placed the mask over his eyes, the smile never leaving his lips. “Morals, Execution, and Ideals. These were the pillars we split when we started the Overlords.” He stalked towards Phil, creeping a hand up his arm and to his shoulder. Phil refused to move, not even allowing breath to escape from his nostrils. “My brothers get boxed in sometimes, but me? I have visions. I envision what the world would be like. I thought of the program myself, and Protesilaus rounded up all of the doctors. Theseus made them comfortable, oversaw the intricacies of the operation. So, which one am I, Phil?”
“Orpheus.” The one with the silver tongue.
“Ding ding ding!” he said in a sing-songy voice, stepping back. It was as if his whole persona changed once he put the mask on. “Forgive me, Phil. I’ve been much too forward, it’s just that you are actually someone we’ve had our eye on for a while.”
“I’m telling you now, I have no interest.”
“Phil, look at the bigger picture. You think you can win against the Regime by following their laws.”
“Do you really think you’re the lesser of two evils, Wilbur?” asked Phil.
“We’re not the ones passing laws to ruin people’s lives in the name of security.”
“No, you’re destroying human rights in the name of anarchy.”
“We’re changing. Help us change, Phil. At least think about it.” He slipped a card in between Phil’s index and middle fingers and sauntered out of the room, leaving the keys in the lock and the door wide open. The business card was simple black with gold lettering, just his title and a string of numbers.
A comm link.
Phil thought about throwing it away, forgetting the exchange ever happened, but Orpheus’ power was already beginning its work in his mind, infiltrating his thoughts and engendering a guess and a second guess.
The Regime vs. the Overlords. Neither were subtle in their namings, but Orpheus made an unfortunate point, which was that in this moment in history, there was a slight advantage to the legitimacy of being the government. Despite the Overlords overwhelming power, it wasn’t the same as the Regime.
And he’d have the freedom to take care of patients of all kinds. He’d have the supplies, the support, and the protection.
He dropped off a couple of dollar bills at the bar and bid his goodbyes to Quackity. Wilbur had left the scene by the time Phil finally made his way out of the private room.
When he left the bar, it seemed as though the temperature outside dropped a considerable amount. There was something about the wind biting at his cheeks that made Phil take a third glance at Orpheus’ card.
Orpheus wasn’t the one to show him around the facilities.
It was a sixteen year old blonde boy in a slick black riding suit with red accenting the sides from the leg all the way up to the underarms. His mask was the same black as Orpheus’ with the same accents but in red, so he was clearly either Theseus or Protesilaus, but from what he heard of Protesilaus, there was no possible way it could be him.
Phil felt a bit strange not being in a mask when everyone he met from the Overlords clearly valued privacy and identity.
“You must be Big Man Phil. Doc Craft. Harbinger of Doom--”
“Phil is fine, thanks.”
Theseus handed him an earpiece and a watch and instructed him with how to wear them. The watch was an incredible piece of technology, something ordinary people could dream of observing. He owned one once, in his two year stint as a military doctor, though his memory escaped him when it came to the intricacies.
The facility was a large warehouse refurbished to house at least three hundred in-patients, and a makeshift corridor of rooms for the ‘laboratory’ area. They had all sorts of machines set up in there. Phil was surprised to see many former colleagues walking around with clipboards in new, finely pressed white lab coats, laminated ID cards clipped to the front pocket of the coat where they kept their black and blue pens.
Theseus seemed to know his way around well, and he knew every doctor by their first name, though they would all roll their eyes when he referred to them as such and not by their titles. Despite his position of power, he was quite casual. Perhaps it had something to do with his age, and maturity and power didn’t mix well in his mind.
“Where will I be working?” asked Phil. He assumed since he was a new recruit, he’d be out on the floor in the area designated for trauma patients.
“Ah! I should’ve shown you that first. Sorry, Big P.” They walked past the corridor of labs and into a real room with metal walls and no windows. It had a desk and an office chair, one of good quality, and a computer. “This is the Big Man office!”
“Ah. Are we meeting the director here?”
“What?” Theseus asked with a cock of his head. “No. You’re the director. You’re Big Man Phil.”
Phil almost dropped his briefcase. “I’m what?” He didn’t think when he agreed to visit and scope the place out he’d be placed as the head of the operation. It was just a little ludicrous. He hardly knew anything about the operation, and there were people who escaped the regular hospitals who had resumes just as impressive as his (well, nothing was quite as impressive as his resume, he supposed).
“I like that,” said Theseus. “You’re humble. Like me. You’re a lot like me, Phil, isn’t that cool?”
“Very cool.”
“We’ll be working together because I keep the place going, right? But you’re the science guy.”
Phil tried to further hide his surprise. He didn’t want to seem like he was second-guessing their decision, and he was ultimately very flattered with the decision to place him as head of the operation, however undeserving he felt of the position.
He stepped further into the room, setting his briefcase down gently on the desk.
“Orpheus is placing a lot of trust in you,” Theseus said, his tone taking a sharp tone from the jovial youth he had previously. “He doesn’t give out his identity to just anyone, okay? And, um, that comm gives you direct access to us and vice versa. In case we need anything specific from you. Like, special treatment.”
“For the three of you?”
Theseus nodded. “Orpheus trusts you, so I trust you. Protesilaus is still on the fence.”
“Bringing me in wasn’t…Discussed with him?”
“No, it was! He was just… Overruled. Two thirds vote and all that.”
Theseus left him alone in the office after that.
Phil couldn’t look away from the watch.
It was three in the morning when he heard a loud siren. Phil cracked an eye open, thinking it was just an emergency vehicle outside his window. He’d been living in the lower levels of Manberg since joining the Overlords. That was where their protection lied-- his mid-level apartment had been raided two days after he made the switch.
It also warranted a personal announcement from Emperor Schlatt, and the promise of strengthening the numbers of the Manner Guard. Phil knew it was meant to frighten the people and frighten any doctors thinking of leaving the hospitals, but it was quite effective.
Theseus had personally come to his new apartment to affirm their support of Phil, and he had stayed for quite a while just to chat. He hadn’t seen Wilbur-- Orpheus-- since the night he was recruited. Most communication went through Theseus, though Orpheus did comm him once about a general physical for himself. It was slightly insulting that someone of his experience level was being commed about physicals-- he wasn’t a general practitioner-- but he supposed it just came with the territory of being the director of the whole operation and being the only one with a direct line to the bonafide Overlords.
The siren Phil heard came from his watch. It was loud but not obnoxious, just persistent more than anything. It took a couple of button jammings to turn it off, but he saw it brought a notification. It was a distress signal attached to a location.
It wasn’t far from where Phil was.
From the code, he could tell it was one of the Overlords, but he didn’t know which one. Phil just threw on an all-black outfit, his trench coat, and his medical bag and flew out the door. Best case scenario, someone just needed to be picked up from a bar, and worst case scenario someone was in need of surgery, which would be very difficult with the tools he had on hand.
Phil climbed railings and ran through walkways to find the alleyway from which the ping originated. It smelled of rotten food and dog shit, and Phil would’ve moved on had he not noticed a spot of pink at the end of the alleyway.
“Hello?” he whisper-shouted. “Did you send out a signal?”
His patient answered with a groan, so Phil naturally approached. His patient tilted his head up, strands of matted pink hair pressed against his face. He wore the Overlord black mask with a white accent to match his all black rider’s suit.
So this was the great Protesilaus.
“You’re not one of my brothers.”
Phil didn’t physically react to the news. That was probably a secret, their relationship, but it did explain why Theseus was so young. Phil crouched by his side and opened his bag to take out the tools he’d need to examine him.
“I’m Dr. Craft. You can call me Phil.”
“Oh,” said Protesilaus, “I forgot Theseus added you to the list of emergency contacts.”
“Good thing he did. Two blaster shots to the abdomen. I’m surprised you’re still talking.”
He heard shouting from above. Heavy footsteps and the sound of blaster shots. That wasn’t a good sign.
“We have to get out of here. Help me up.” Phil helped Protesilaus put his arm around his shoulder, scooping him up and helping him hobble to the corner of the alleyway. Phil made sure no one suspicious was around before exiting, keeping close to the walls of the buildings.
“Where to?”
“There’s a safehouse--” Protesilaus coughed out a bit of blood, “--not far from here where Theseus will probably be waitin’. It’s already imputed on my watch.” Phil readjusted Protesilaus and pulled him along. He entered the ever-waking crowd of the lower levels of Manberg to lose themselves in anonymity, but Phil didn’t consider the sharpshooters surveying above, specifically looking for pink hair and a black and white mask.
Phil had endured military training despite coming in as a doctor. It was important for doctors on the field to be able to take care of themselves and be able to maneuver around a battle without being killed in the crossfire. His training did not include lessons on killing, but it did include the sharpening of the senses. So when a blast shot past them, Phil was quick to pull Protesilaus to the side, narrowly avoiding the hit.
Both Protesilaus stared wide-eyed at the burn marks on the metal street as the crowd parted around the shot before the mass hysteria began.
“We need to go,” Protesilaus urged as people started pushing past them, the law and order of the streets lost in the fear of a sniper in the area. Phil picked up the pace and spotted a large neon sign of a biker bar that some Manner Guard frequented on their off hours.
There was a bit of a drop off between the parking ramp and the walkway on which they stood, but it was the quickest way down. Especially since Phil could spot two enemy operatives attempting to push past the throngs of people to get to them.
“Okay, brace yourself, Protesilaus.”
“Just do it,” Protesilaus said through gritted teeth, his grip tightening around Phil’s shoulder as he used his other arm to secure himself around Phil’s waist. Phil managed to land on his feet, but he did have to hold in a shriek from the sheer impact. Protesilaus got off lucky as he lifted his feet in the air and put all his weight on Phil.
There were about four or five motorcycles, and Phil decided to take the one with two helmets on it. Phil bent down to hotwire, but Protesilaus hit his shoulder. “In your watch should be a chip. It can disarm any security protocol on these things.” The angry shouts from the walkway platform came closer and closer. Phil pulled out a chip and tapped it against the screen of the motorcycle. The screen turned red before powering back to black and then bright blue.
They were in.
The rest of the bike glowed the same shade of blue, and Phil secured Protesilaus with a helmet before hopping on and revving up the engine.
Their enemies were beginning to close in on them, mere feet away when Phil hit the gas, shooting them up the ramp and onto the road. The roads in the city could be differentiated from walkways by the fact that they were further detached from the tall skyscrapers that made the city, and they were much rounder than the walkways, which were shaped like a zig-zag constantly spiraling downward. They also were lit up by a beam of neon lights built into the road.
Phil accelerated to top speed as fast as possible while Protesilaus hung onto him for dear life. Phil wished they at least took the time to put up the Overlord’s hair, as it was now flying all over the place even under the helmet.
Behind them, two of their pursuers followed on bikes. Phil took a sharp turn up the steep road, but it did nothing to put off their enemies. “We’re goin’ the wrong way!” Protesilaus shouted over the wind. “We need to be goin’ down!”
Phil clenched his teeth as he looked for a way down. The only way down would be turning around, and that was not a viable solution. Protesilaus unstrapped the gun on his belt and began to blast at the enemy.
Finally, Phil spotted an idea, though it was not a very good one.
“Doc, what’s the hold up? Get us to the lower levels!” Phil could understand Protesilaus’ concerns with how high up in the levels they were getting. Anymore and they would be in prime range for the Manner Guard and the Regime to annihilate them.
Their only way out was to be a little creative.
Protesilaus managed to get a winning shot in on one of the pursuers before Phil jerked the bike to the side despite the lack of road on the side and gunned it. Protesilaus couldn’t even let out a shout of protest before they drove clean off the road, free falling down down down the depths of Manberg.
They landed on a lower road with a thud, the metal of the motorcycle making a sickening crunch as they continued forth down the spiral.
“Where’s the safehouse?” Phil asked, trying to look over his shoulder at Protesilaus and keeping his eyes on the road. There was a fair amount of traffic impeding their journey. Phil did his best to weave through them, but it was hard when some of them were large steel prison trucks.
What’s more, a friend of their enemy managed to sidle right up to their side, ramming into them hard. Protesilaus stuck his leg out in an attempt to put some distance between the two of them. One hand was holding on to Phil while the other aimed for the other driver’s head, but their opponent had a lucky hit and managed to swipe the gun out of Protesilaus’ hand.
“Don’t overwork yourself!” Phil advised, worried about Protesilaus’ wounds more than losing the baggage trying to ram them off the road. He could always outrun their pursuers, but if Protesilaus’ wounds turn fatal, he wouldn’t know how to face Orpheus and Theseus, especially now that he knew they were brothers.
Phil swerved into the enemy’s front while Protesilaus got a good punch to the face on the driver. With their vehicles purposefully so close, Protesilaus took the opportunity to grab the driver by his clothes and launch him off his motorcycle and into oncoming traffic.
Phil watched in horror as one of the heavy-duty prison buses drove straight over the body. But it was there and then it was gone, Phil was driving so fast.
With their objectors gone from their path, Protesilaus was free to strap off his watch and shove it towards Phil, who followed it seamlessly to the safehouse.
He came to a screeching halt in front of a tall, dilapidated structure in the outer reaches of Manberg. He bet the top of the building was much prettier than the bottom, but most buildings in the outer stretches paled in comparison to the heart of the city, even if it was in the clouds.
Phil dismounted and helped Techno off too. Theseus raced out of the safehouse the moment he caught wind of their arrival.
“Tech-- Protesilaus! Phil, how bad is it?”
“Do you have an area where I can examine him better, Theseus? I couldn’t really tell you the damage.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Theseus led them into the safehouse, which looked more like the lounge of a run-down hotel. Behind the beat up receptionist desk was a hallway full of doors. One of them opened up to a stale-scented room with a cot and a wooden chair. Theseus helped Phil set Protesilaus down and then stood by the door, keeping vigilant watch over his brother.
It was just as suspected, two blaster shots to the abdomen. They weren’t fatal. Seemed like the assailant was a bad shot. Phil just had to clean the wound and wrap it. He offered painkillers to Protesilaus, but he refused. The whole affair lasted no more than thirty minutes, and by the time he was done, Theseus was crouched on the floor hugging his knees.
“Come on, Theseus, get up. You invite weakness when you hold yourself like that,” Protesilaus barked.
“Fuck off, dickhead! You looked really hurt!”
“He’s fine,” Phil promised. “He just needs to rest easy for a week or two.”
“Thanks, Phil, for showing up to his distress signal. You answered before either Orpheus or I could and… Well, thanks,” Theseus said, clutching Phil’s hand like he was some sort of messiah. Phil patted Theseus’ hand in return. Sometimes Phil forgot Theseus’ status because he was just so true to his age, although he supposed it was because he’d never really seen Theseus in full Overlord action.
Orpheus did mention before that they embraced three different pillars.
Ideals, Morals, and Execution.
Was Theseus’ job just to keep everyone in check? Admittedly, it did strengthen his opinion of the other two to know that they didn’t involve their little brother in darker matters, but the fact remained they still involved themselves in those businesses.
“Hey, Doc, um, yeah. Thanks from me too,” Protesilaus
Phil smiled softly at him. “No problem.”
It seemed Protesilaus’ cold demeanor towards Phil melted after that. At first, Phil was under the impression that the most of the Overlords he would be seeing would be Theseus, but that was fact-checked once he started seeing Protesilaus almost every other day.
It seemed saving someone’s life makes one look favorably upon their savior. Protesilaus was a very bright young man, and Phil meant it when he said young because Protesilaus couldn’t be more than twenty. He knew Wilbur was in his early twenties, but he always figured Protesilaus was the oldest of the three considering he was ‘execution.’
Protesilaus was very interested in Phil’s previous research involving the vaccine to a special strain of a certain virus that brought the world into what was referred to as the Dark Times. Phil was happy to tell him about it. He was happy to tell anyone about it considering it was one of his greatest achievements.
Phil wouldn’t consider himself a talker, really, he much preferred listening to others, but speaking about his work led to anecdotes and tangents about his time rising up in the medical field, in the military, and at the numerous hospitals he’d worked at.
Theseus still came by often, and he superseded Phil as the talker, much to Protesilaus’ annoyance. Apart, they bore no real resemblance as brothers. They didn’t look the same or act the same-- they even had different accents. But put together, it was clear they were family from the way they carried themselves around one another and the intimacy of their words and actions.
That was why Phil was surprised when he found himself sinking into the dynamic.
“Phil!” Theseus called for the umpteenth time that week. He had a very specific way of calling Phil when he wanted to be an absolute menace to absolutely anyone. He came clamoring up to Phil, who was standing on a catwalk overseeing the doctors at work, scribbling down on his keyboard and adjustments they would need to make to better fit the size of their space.
Theseus was a very tactile individual once he was well-acquainted with an individual, but the way he clinged to Phil was the way he clinged to Techno at times. He always grabbed Phil’s arm and tugged on it like a child demanding attention from his father. The most he’d touch one of his colleagues were pats on the arms and shoulders and perhaps light, playful punches.
“What, mate. I’m a little busy.”
“Can you settle an argument between me and Orpheus? But you have to take my side.”
“That doesn’t seem like settling anything. That sounds like favoritism.”
“Well I am your favorite, right?” Theseus attempted to what looked like batting his eyelashes through his mask, but the white covering his eyes hid any sort of minute expressions he was trying to make. Phil could only tell because Theseus was pursing his lips and tilting his head low. “Right?”
“I don’t have a favorite. I love you all equally,” Phil joked.
“How is that fucking fair? Orpheus hasn’t even come to see you since you started working with us and I know you think he’s a wanker.”
“Who’s a wanker?” From behind Theseus, Orpheus waved them down just a couple feet down the catwalk. His outfit was different from when he saw him last; he wore a black and gold riding suit with the same trench coat covering it up, but the mask was the same. Phil returned with his own casual wave, patting Theseus’ back in an attempt to signal for him to let go.
Theseus did not.
“Phil said you’re in the wrong, Orpheus. Take that, bitch!”
Orpheus snorted. “You probably didn’t even tell him what we were discussing.”
“He did not,” Phil butted in. “But I’m sure you two can come to a compromise.”
“There’s no compromising with a child, Phil. I would’ve thought a doctor would know that.”
“I’m not a pediatrician.” Phil was starting to think Orpheus didn’t really know much about doctors at all despite having this ‘wonderful’ idea to make an underground medical program. “What’s it about, then? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I want to interrogate this guy my way, but Orpheus says it’s dumb. But we’ve been doing it his way for the past two days and nothing’s happened, and if we leave it to Protesilaus, he might accidentally kill him before we get information out.”
“Well, what’s your way?” asked Phil. It was probably something light-hearted like tickling him ‘til he croaked.
“I said, ‘let’s get a goat and have it lick his feet until he talks!’ And Wilbu--Orph-- ah, fuck it. And Wilbur said ‘mememe I’m Wilbur and I think that’s a bad idea because it’s hard to source goats these days.’”
“It is!”
Despite the hidden terror of the child planting in his organs, Phil sent a playfully remorseful look towards Theseus. “Sorry, mate, but I can’t imagine it’s easy sourcing goats in this economy.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s impossible,” he pouted.
“I mean, have you considered feeding him scorpions until he talks?”
This was a joke. He meant it as a joke.
“That could be pretty good,” Orpheus said with a clap of his hands. “I like the way you think, Phil. See, I knew you were the perfect guy for us.”
It was just a joke.
But Phil soon found his word meant a lot more to them once it left his mouth.
Phil was shoveling food down his throat. He was eating leftovers from last night’s meal in the cafeteria they fashioned for all of the underground programs. It was more than just doctors; they had teams from all types of fields under their protection and living the way Phil did, though Phil suspected his living conditions were slightly better off than everyone else’s.
He was at his desk, typing up a proposal to give to Orpheus since Orpheus made it very clear all ideas went through him. If Protesilaus was the body and Theseus was the heart, then Orpheus declared himself the mind.
Enter the devil himself. Orpheus waltzed in without so much of a knock. He settled himself in the old sofa he managed to scrounge up and shove into the corner of his office since one of the Overlords was always bothering him someway and he wanted them to at least be comfortable when pestering him.
Phil secretly enjoyed their pesterings. It kept him up at night, sometimes, just how much he enjoyed their pesterings.
“Phil,” said Orpheus. “I have somewhere to show you.”
Phil took Orpheus’ tone very seriously, and he followed him out. Orpheus led him to a scraper, getting in the elevator before shutting the door behind them. The numbers ticked up until they reached the top floor, and then they continued up the building by a dank and dim stairwell. Orpheus opened up a heavy steel door and widened it so Phil could step out first.
Phil hadn’t been so high up in Manberg in a while; he almost forgot what the high life felt like.
“This city is ours,” said Orpheus from behind Phil, not bothering to stand next to Phil, and conversely, Phil did not turn to meet Orpheus’ look. He continued to survey the city from high up above, astonished at how thin the air was up here. Despite how little there was of it, it was still much fresher than what they all breathed in the lower levels. “The Regime is a puppet government at this point, Phil. We control most resources nowadays.”
“That’s good for you. I hope it’s good for the people.”
“It’s good for us, ” Orpheus corrected. He grabbed onto Phil’s shoulder, spinning him around to finally face the Overlord.
His mask was off.
It was just Wilbur.
“Phil, you’re important to us. Irreplaceable.”
“Everyone’s replaceable.”
“Not you.”
Phil smiled, covering Wilbur’s hand with his opposite arm. “Well, that’s always nice to hear, I suppose.”
“Phil. Protesilaus, Theseus, and I have voted, and we don’t feel like you’re safe enough where you are.”
Phil chuckled. “You don’t feel I’m safe enough… In your safehouses?”
Wilbur nodded. “We want you to move in with the three of us.”
“What brought this on, mate?” He thought he was placed somewhere perfect. He never really saw Manner Guards in the area, there was a bunker two floors down and he was placed in a building with a bunch of doctors with similar circumstances. If it wasn’t safe for Phil, who was it safe for? “Are we moving everyone?”
“No, no. Just you, Phil.”
It wasn’t as though he had any real objections to the move, but it felt like a very strange move. He only worried that the line between employer and employee was beginning to become muddled by their close relationship, and it would only be exacerbated with living in such proximity.
“It’s a lot to ask, but Theseus panics a lot thinking about your safety. I think it would really assuage his worries if he knew where you were.”
“He knows where I am, though. It’s how he finds me so quickly.”
“I’m not really asking, Phil. Protesilaus has already sent for your things as we speak.”
“Wha--?”
Orpheus didn’t let Phil get a word in edgewise. He guided Phil to the edge of the roof, leaning against the railing to look down at the bright lights through the misty sky. “Phil. You’ve worked diligently. I know it’s because you believe in our cause.”
“I still don’t like your methods. The scorpion thing--”
“Phil, if we didn’t find out that man had maps of safehouses uploaded to his watch, there would be a whole lot of dead doctors. Someone like you. I’ve told you this. We do what we do because we have to. Rebellion is not an easy thing-- people like me and people like Technoblade have to get our hands dirty so people like you and Tommy can bring hope to the world.”
He’d never heard Wilbur slip up when referring to Protesilaus and Theseus. Perhaps it was because the mask was off and he wasn’t speaking as Orpheus, but rather as Wilbur. Perhaps this was a cry for help. Wilbur was so young, and the Overlords wasn’t a young organization when it came to militias. Movements usually lasted two years if they were lucky before they broke up due to disunity. The Overlords had been around for seven years at this point.
Wilbur hesitated, glancing at Phil to gauge his reaction before continuing. “I know you don’t like our methods, but I am desperate for control of this world. It’s almost impossible to get out of bed each morning, Phil. I feel like a misnomer-- I should be named Sisyphus rather than Orpheus. But I didn’t choose the names; Techno did.”
All three of them were named after Greek tragedies.
“Okay,” Phil agreed. “I’ll move in with you boys. I’ll do my best to do right by you three. You can take control, Wil. I believe in you. You said it already: this city is yours.”
“Ours,” Wilbur corrected with a grin.
Protesilaus approached him while he was out in what they had set up as an ICU. He thought he wouldn’t see them so often in the warehouse since he began living with them, but it really only bolstered their surveillance of him here.
“Phil, we need to reassign you.”
“Reassign me?” Phil repeated with an astonishingly harsh tone. He didn’t think he’d have the guts in the face of the executor, but here he was. “If you want to criticize my performance, we can do that privately--”
“It’s not like that, Phil. It’s a… Promotion. I’ve discussed it with the other two, and we think you’re finally ready for this assignment.”
Phil didn’t think there was a final layer he had yet to peel through when it came to the onion of the Overlord brothers, but it turned out there were still some mild feelings between them. They were gone now, of course, but it was still quite odd. Have him live with them but not let the director know of this top-secret assignment?
Well, Phil was a curious mind. And he promised to give them his all.
Turned out this assignment was perfectly suited for Phil.
It was a research role in strains and vaccines. Phil wouldn’t say he was suspicious, but he did find it quite odd how connected all of this research felt to his old work under the Regime. Protesilaus escorted him to his station, where a young female scientist brought over a petri dish to put under his microscope.
“You’re the only one in this room familiar with this. Would you consider this healthy?” the scientist asked.
Phil closed his right eye and peered through the microscope. It was a bacteria he was very familiar with, though it looked a bit odd. The version he had worked with previously was green and orange, but this one was red and white. While his work was all about weakening bacteria, he could only give his objective diagnosis. “Yeah, it’s a pretty healthy bacteria.”
The scientist thanked him with a bowed head before heading back to her station.
“You’re savin’ lives, Phil,” Protesilaus said. Phil didn’t even have to turn around for Protesilaus to know what was going on inside his head.
“Why’re you messing around with bacteria, Protesilaus? Don’t play with things you don’t understand. That’s how the Regime started losing its support in the first place.”
Well, that was how they lost Phil’s support, anyway.
“We’re not. We have a team of scientists and doctors. We have you. Thank you for doin’ your duty.”
Phil finally turned to Protesilaus. “I want to know what you’re going to do with that thing. I know what kind of damage it can do in the wrong hands--”
“Do you think we’re the wrong hands, Phil? I brought you here because you said you’d do right by us.”
“If you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do, then I’m not doing right by you. I’ll be damning your conscience for good, Protesilaus. I’m warning you.” Phil stormed out of the lab room, but his hand was caught by Theseus as soon as he made it out through the door.
“Phil? Why do you look so upset? Did you see our project? Wasn’t it cool?”
“Theseus,” Phil muttered. He was so innocent. He clearly didn’t understand what his brothers were doing. “It’s not cool. If they release that bacteria on anyone they could ruin the city.”
Theseus shrugged. “It’ll only be on the upper-levels, Phil. Promise!”
Phil yanked his hand out of Theseus’ grip, taking a massive step back. His exit was blocked by a third arrival.
Orpheus.
“If you boys release that bacteria, I’ll walk. I’ll leave and tell the public--”
“But you won’t leave,” Orpheus snapped, moving around Phil so he stood side by side with Theseus. Protesilaus came out from the lab to complete the trinity. “The city is ours. You included. You gave me permission already, Phil. You said I could take control.”
Phil spluttered for a moment, looking for words of condemnation without making himself look like a hypocrite. He forgot the origins of Wilbur’s tragedy; a musician with a sweet voice, so convincing he managed to make a deal with the Lord of the Undead himself.
“I knew it,” Phil whispered instead. “Why did I let you fool me?”
“It’s what must be done,” Protesilaus shrugged. “And you love us too much to let us down.”