In Hindsight

The Wasp in the Hive

The time is: 1:45 PM, Central Persson Station. Please keep away from the tracks. If an item is dropped on the tracks, please alert a station officer. Please limit travel to four passengers per pod. . .

The announcements continued on, chiming across the bustling platform. It wasn't overly busy, not at this hour when most of the kids were in school or already in some SMP or survival world somewhere, but this station seemed to always be backed up as people hopped from world to world.

Tommy moved his bag in front of him as he shoved past the queues of people waiting by the tracks for their pods to arrive. The black vinyl was slightly sticky under his sweaty grip; it was hot on the platform. He adjusted his hold on it and ducked between two poles to where one of the station officers was leaning against the wall, sipping from a water bottle and absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.

The officer glanced up with a bored expression as he approached. "Bathroom is up the stairs and to the left, if the drinking fountain doesn't work give it a good, hard kick, it'll run after that."

"Good to know, but I actually specialize with more delicate redstone," Tommy said warmly. He switched his bag to his left arm and dug his badge out of his pocket. "I'm here to fix the ticket machine?"

The officer took the badge, scrutinizing it with a skeptical eye. The picture was, of course, not actually Tommy; the man on the badge had a wispy mustache and was a slightly darker shade of blond, but it was close enough, and with Tommy's mask on, it was almost perfect.

"David Holkins, huh?" The officer handed the badge back, shrugging. "Good job someone finally came to fix the damn thing, we've been looking at it for days and can't figure out what the Notch is wrong with it."

"Well, I'll take a look and see what we can do to get it up and running again. Which one is it?" Tommy glanced around the platform.

"All the way down at the end, it should have an out-of-order sign stuck on it."

"Right, thanks." Tommy gave him a weird half-wave, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and strode off again into the crowd.

So, how 'bout this weather, huh? A voice buzzed from Tommy's mask, just below his ear.

"The fuck are you talking about, Ranboo, we're underground," Tommy muttered, squeezing past a gaggle of chatting teenagers.

A disappointment sigh crackled through the radio. Innit, would it kill you to learn the codes for once?

"No time for codes when there's wives to be had, Tubbo," Tommy said.

A third voice came through the mask, accompanied by a small electric shock at the back of Tommy's neck. Use the codenames, you're still on your mission.

Tommy winced and ducked his head automatically. "Yes, sir."

The radio line fell silent and Tommy took a deep breath, focusing again on the ticket machine ahead of him.

Once he had taken the sign off and turned on the screen to reveal a glitching mess of red, green, and blue pixels, Tommy dumped his bag on the ground and began rummaging through it. "Alright, Underscore, how do I hack this sucker?"

Tubbo gave another disappointed sigh through the radio. You didn't look at the mission description at all, did you.

"I did, I just skipped past all the boring shit." Tommy pulled out a tiny chip from the bag, wrinkling his nose at it. "'Kay, the uh. . . bee?"

Wasp, Ranboo corrected absently.

"Wasp," Tommy said. "The wasp is ready to enter the hive."

You're clear, Innit, proceed.