#besides somebody out there might be really desperate for some Michael content and im here to provide!!

[pathetic-dumpling]

Finding Serenity

Summary: Techno hadn't expected anything different that night. Really, he hadn't. The day has been nothing but ordinary. That's why his ears perked up when the broadcast he'd grown so used to listening to faded to static, and a voice set in instead. It's the singer, but this time he's speaking. Speaking to the audience, whoever might be listening. aka: Techno hears Michael's broadcast and invites him to the Syndicate

Word Count: 2.2k

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Techno entered his cabin, shaking off the snow that had gathered on his shoulders from the hours spent outside. He shakes his head, too, getting rid of the bits of ice that clung to his hair and fur before sighing. It's been a long day, but nothing out of the ordinary. His body sags with a comfortable sort of exhaustion that wasn't from a fight but instead a long day of collecting wood and mining and traveling with Phil.

After he got as much snow off as possible, Techno hung up his cape gingerly. He dusts it off, picking off a few stray sticks here and there. He grabs a towel once he's satisfied, dropping it onto the floor in his doorway and patting it down with his hoof. As soon as he was sure all of the melted snow had been soaked up and there would be no water left on his floor Techno scooped the towel up and dumped it in the sink. He could clean it tomorrow when he wakes up.

For now, though, it was time for one of Techno's quieter traditions. He usually likes to share his habits with them. Daily and nightly rituals are better spent with people at your side, but this is the one exception.

He sits down in his favorite chair, comfortably worn and supports his weight without creaking, and gathers his various projects to work on for the night. Clothes with holes that need to be patched, rolls of yarn and poorly made scarves, the like. Techno clears his throat, basking in the warm crackle of the fire, and turns on the radio.

He'd picked it up from the nearby village months ago. It was a splurge item, more than anything. The radio was old and rusty, and he doubted anyone else even used a radio on the SMP, but he couldn't pass up the chance to discover local channels. He quickly found that every channel was static, much to Techno's disappointment. He was a good few blocks of emeralds down the drain for a faulty radio, but he vowed to not let that deter him from trying to find some sort of use for the things. One late night of fiddling with the channels led Techno to discover that every track was blank, except for one.

At the same time, every night, someone would broadcast music. It was the same person every time, a singer playing the guitar. A man. Techno doesn't recognize the voice, but there are plenty of people on the SMP he's never met. Nonetheless, the music is good, and the man is punctual, so every night, Techno sits down to listen to the broadcast.

Techno hadn't expected anything different that night. Really, he hadn't. The day has been nothing but ordinary. That's why his ears perked up when the broadcast he'd grown so used to listening to faded to static, and a voice set in instead. It's the singer, but this time he's speaking. Speaking to the audience, whoever might be listening. The singer's message rings a little too close to home when he speaks of heeding the server's warnings and moving far away to a more peaceful life.

Techno is so enraptured that he almost misses the coordinates given in the solemn broadcast and the singer's parting message. -10, 6200. Come, and find serenity. Those numbers and that message are scrawled messily in Techno's journal, always kept close, and Techno doesn't finish his nightly tradition. The radio drones on quietly as he bustles around the house instead, collecting food and prepping supplies. By the time the sun rises, Techno is already bumping his forehead to Phil's and saddling up Carl off to find wherever these coordinates lead him to.

When Michael had made his broadcast, he didn't know what he was expecting. It was a late night when he spoke into his microphone, staring at the stars. He hoped people had heard him. He hopes they're coming to him, to a better life, away from L'manburg. He'll probably have to broadcast for at least a week at alternating times, plus his regular broadcasts, before people start showing up, he's sure. That won't stop him from continuing perforations, though. If people are coming, as he hopes they are, they'll need somewhere to stay. Somewhere nice. Alesa chatters with him quietly as he begins preparing his supplies for the day. In the middle of checking his tool durability, there's a knock at the door.

Michael rushes to the door because this has to be someone from his broadcast. There's no other reason for someone to have found him, to come to his door and knock. He swings the door open, stopping nearly dead in his tracks.

Michael has heard many ghost stories about this server, about people and places and things, but none were quite as striking as Technoblade. A man of legend-- and man of myth is standing in his doorway, presumably from his broadcast. That Techno listened to, apparently.

Techno wings his fingers together anxiously, avoiding eye contact as his sharp claws couch on the golden jewels decorating his hands. He looks far too nervous for somebody who could probably kill Michael in an instant.

"You're… this is the place, right?" He asks.

"Michael swallows. Then he nods. "Uh. Ye- yeah, uh… welcome to serenity."

Techno sighs in what sounds like relief. He dips his head, and Michael's eyes catch on the way his ears droop.

"Good, good," Techno drawls. He drags a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face and standing straight. Then, he sticks a hand out. "I'm Technoblade."

Michael nearly scrambles to clasp his hand into Techno's, shaking with what he hopes is a firm grip. "Uh- Michael. McChill."

"Michael," Techno repeats. He seems to think for a second before hunching back over slightly. It doesn't really help take away from his intimidating frame-- his cape makes his shoulders look far wider than they are, not helped by how large he is in general. Much larger than Michael, both in height and weight, probably. Technoblade looks like he could crush a man if he stepped too hard. The gold decorating his skin only accentuates Techno's sharp edges, but Micahle appreciated the gesture anyway. At least he won't have to crane his neck so much to see who he's talking with.

"Look, Michael," Techno starts. "I have a proposition for you. I have a, uh… family. And we've all been hurt. By L'manburg, by government… basically everything over that way." Techno jerks his head in the direction of the Greater SMP. "And, we're uh… in simpler terms, in, uh, your terms, we're lookin' for serenity. If you'll have us."

Michael blinks. What? Michael knows he hasn't had the complete picture for a while, but this sight is still a little much for him to process. Technoblade is intimidating. He's flattened counties and killed without mercy, but… the man he's talking to is polite. Nervous. Has a family, and they're apparently seeking out Michael's help. It's so far away from everything he's been told, which only makes the bitterness in him grow. How badly have people been skewed by history? He pushes those thoughts away, though. That's for another time.

"Of course! I'll be happy to have you. That's- that's why I broadcasted my message, I… I wanted to reach people."

Techno nods. "But I've also got a group of my own going. That, uh, family I was talkin' about. Findin' serenity isn't quite good enough for us, not yet… We're, uh, dedicated to fightin' tyranny. Everything's completely optional; we fight for ourselves and nobody else, but… I think our groups could mesh well. I don't know ya, and I haven't talked to my group, so I'm not offerin' an invitation or anything, just… and allyship. I like this place. Your message. I feel like we could help each other."

"Well, I'm willing to take in anyone," Michael chuckles. "Nothing's done yet, though, I-"

Techno holds up his hand, cutting Michael off. Then, he takes a tentative step back, glancing over his shoulder at a horse Michael only now noticed, and it's huge. The biggest horse Michels has ever seen, frankly.

"Nothing needs to be done yet," Techno says. "Just. When we need somethin'- a place to stay, sanctuary, you know… lend a helping hand."

"No, I- I will." Michael pauses. Techno looks at a slight loss for what he wants to say next, so Michael takes this as a chance to ask some questions of his own. "I've been trying to figure out everything that's fucking happened on this server, and I'd love to hear from you- your group, you know?"

Techno rubs the back of his neck. "I'm not really an unbiased source if that's what you're lookin' for."

"Well. You won't be worse than anybody else," Michael laughs lightly. "I'm just tired of not having the full picture."

"I get it, trust me. I wish I had a fuller picture when I joined this place too." Techno looks over his shoulder again, but this time at the sun. He mutters something softly under his breath before sighing. "Sure. Why not? I've got time to spare. What do you wanna know?"

Michael ends up inviting Techno inside. He shows off the information he's gathered, happy to have someone listen and offer their own input. Techno goes through the painstaking process of going over every event he'd had some play in. He's a little more vague than Michael would like on some parts, but he doesn't push after noticing how tense Techno gets while talking. Michael sees Techno off with a promise to continue broadcasting his message so the rest of his group can hear it, and that's precisely what he does.

He broadcasts into the stars, unsure if Techno even followed through with his own listening. He keeps sharing his thoughts on L'manburg, the unclear tellings of men in green and red, and the things the server seems too okay with. He goes weeks without any kind of correspondence, and right when he's started to get discouraged, he receives a letter. It's delivered by a large, black crow, closer to the size of a raven than any crow Michael has ever seen. It caws and pecks at his windows until it's let in, squawking indignantly. The crow drops the letter on Michael's messy table before flying, leaving Michale alone with his confusion.

The letter is from Techno, at the very least. It's just a set of coordinates, no instructions, no additional information outside of Techno's signature at the bottom of a page, and small scribbles telling him to keep this place secret. While hesitant to leave Alesa alone, he entrusts the base to her and heads out.

The coordinates bring Michael to the arctic. A small group waits for him, some people he recognizes and others he doesn't. They're quite an interesting group, with only him and a girl he's pretty sure is named Niki as the only humans. The rest are some kind of hybrid with Techno and his two other companions. One with large, black wings and the other with an assortment of features, but most strikingly his height and skin. They introduce themselves as the Syndicate, and he's handed a book, carefully enchanted and signed with Techno's surprisingly elegant signature.

"We've been listenin' to what you have to say," Techno explains. "And I've been doing some digging. Oh you, your past, y'know. Can't have you knowing me without me knowing you. Anyway, we think you'd be as good a match for the Syndicate, out of anyone."

Michael holds the book in his hands gently. He reads it over, thus away to the tyrants, and finds himself joining a secret organization. Their views seem to overlap pretty well. He feels jaded by how the history of the SMP is skewed and how people, old and new are treated. The Syndicate are all tired of being used, left behind, forgotten, and have decided to fight for their cause. Michael fits in almost seamlessly.

He shares as much as he knows with them in the meeting that immediately follows, and they offer their own sides of the story. The winged man, Phil, swears just about as much as Michael does, and he's a little surprised nobody's mentioned that fact before.

It continues like that for a few months. Michael sings into the sky, sure of his audience for once. Niki stops by more than once to offer tips on making underground structures and bake, and her presence is more than welcome. He meets with the Syndicate, introduces everyone to Alesa, and shows them around his base.

And yet.

There's still a glaring hole in the SMP's story. One thing he can't tie together through the fog. Every string goes through one man, but Michael can't understand how. Everything-- all those times, events, relationships, strings, all funneled through one person? How didn't it strangle him?

Techno kicks down Michael's door barely a week later with Dream cradled in his arms. Broken, bloody, and bruised. Freshly broken out of the prison, Dream looks nothing like the horror stories he's been told. Michael isn't sure he's ever seen someone so thoroughly strangled before. Every ounce of life seems like it's been squeezed out of Dream.

"Michael, please," Techno pleads with him softly. "My place isn't safe. They'll find him there. This is a sanctuary, right? Please take him; he's not safe anywhere else. Out of everyone, doesn't he look like he deserves serenity, too?"

And Michael, perhaps foolishly, agrees.