Chapter 4
SMG3 lunged for the phone mounted on the far wall, his movements sharp and efficient, the softness from moments before evaporating like steam. SMG4 watched the transformation with something like awe—the way SMG3 could shift from vulnerable to lethal in a heartbeat, like flipping a switch.
"What," SMG3 snapped into the receiver, and even that single word carried the weight of a threat.
SMG4 couldn't hear the voice on the other end, but he watched SMG3's face drain of color, watched his knuckles go white around the phone. The air in the room seemed to crystallize, every molecule suddenly sharp and dangerous.
"How long ago?" SMG3's voice was ice. A pause. "No, don't touch anything. Don't let anyone near it. We're on our way."
He slammed the phone down with enough force to crack the plastic casing, then stood there for a moment, his back to SMG4, shoulders rigid with tension.
"Three?" SMG4 stepped forward, his hand hovering near SMG3's shoulder but not quite touching, suddenly uncertain of the boundaries they'd just redrawn. "What happened?"
"The studio," SMG3 said, his voice hollow. He turned, and his eyes were dark, haunted. "Someone broke into the main production vault. The USB drive—the one with all our raw footage, all the backups, everything we've been working on for the past six months—it's gone."
The words hit SMG4 like a physical blow. Six months of work. Hundreds of hours of footage. Collaborations, solo projects, the anniversary special they'd been planning to surprise the crew with. All of it, just... gone.
"Who would—" SMG4 started, but SMG3 was already moving, grabbing his jacket from where it had been discarded on the floor, his movements jerky and agitated.
"I don't know, but we need to get there before they wipe it or leak it or—" He stopped, running a hand through his hair, and for a moment, SMG4 saw the cracks in his armor, the fear bleeding through. "This could destroy everything, Four. Everything we've built."
SMG4 grabbed his own clothes, pulling them on with shaking hands. His mind was racing, trying to process the shift from the intimacy of minutes ago to the cold reality of crisis management. "Okay. Okay, we go to the studio, we assess the damage, we figure out who did this—"
"And we don't tell anyone," SMG3 cut in, his eyes locking onto SMG4's with an intensity that made his breath catch. "About this. About us. Not until we know what we're dealing with."
The words stung more than SMG4 expected. "Three—"
"I'm not ashamed," SMG3 said quickly, stepping closer, his hand finding SMG4's and squeezing once, hard. "I'm not. But if someone's targeting us, targeting the studio, I don't want to give them more ammunition. I don't want them to use this—use us—as leverage."
SMG4 wanted to argue, wanted to say that hiding felt like retreating, like admitting what they'd found was something shameful. But the logic was sound, and the fear in SMG3's eyes was real.
"Okay," he said softly. "We keep it quiet. For now."
They moved through the cafe in silence, the space that had felt so charged and alive now seeming cold and empty. SMG3 locked the secret room behind them with a series of complicated clicks and whirs, and SMG4 wondered if he was locking away more than just a physical space—if he was sealing off the vulnerability they'd shared, tucking it away where the world couldn't touch it.
The drive to the studio was tense, the streets of the Showgrounds still dark and empty in the pre-dawn hours. SMG3's hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and SMG4 found himself watching the sharp line of his jaw, the way his throat worked when he swallowed, the tiny tells that betrayed his anxiety.
"Stop staring," SMG3 muttered, but there was no heat in it.
"Can't help it," SMG4 said before he could stop himself, and the corner of SMG3's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close.
The studio was ablaze with lights when they arrived, and SMG4's stomach sank. The entire crew was there—Mario, Meggy, Luigi, Tari, even Bob and Boopkins. They were clustered around the entrance to the vault, their faces drawn and worried.
Meggy spotted them first, her eyes sharp and assessing. "There you are! We've been trying to call you for the past hour. Where were you?"
SMG4 opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His mind went blank, every excuse evaporating under the weight of Meggy's scrutiny.
"I was at the cafe," SMG3 said smoothly, stepping forward. "Four came by to discuss the production schedule. We lost track of time."
It wasn't technically a lie, but it felt like one. SMG4 watched Meggy's eyes narrow, watched her gaze flick between them, lingering on the wrinkled state of SMG4's hoodie, the faint shadow of exhaustion under SMG3's eyes.
"Right," she said slowly, and the single word carried a universe of suspicion. "Well, you're here now. Come look at this."
They followed her to the vault, and SMG4 was acutely aware of the space between him and SMG3—too much space, too careful, like they were afraid to stand too close. Mario gave them a curious look, his head tilting like a confused puppy, but he didn't say anything.
The vault door was intact, no signs of forced entry, but the interior was a mess. Drawers pulled open, files scattered, and the secure cabinet where they kept the master drives—empty, the lock picked with surgical precision.
"Whoever did this knew exactly what they were looking for," Luigi said, his voice trembling slightly. "They didn't take anything else. Just the main backup drive."
SMG3 crouched down, examining the lock with a practiced eye. SMG4 found himself watching the curve of his spine, the way his fingers traced the scratches on the metal, and had to force himself to look away before someone noticed.
Too late.
"You okay, SMG4?" Tari asked softly, appearing at his elbow. "You seem... distracted."
"I'm fine," he said too quickly, and her eyes widened slightly. "Just—just worried about the footage. We put a lot of work into that."
"We'll get it back," SMG3 said, standing abruptly. His eyes met SMG4's for a fraction of a second, and in that brief glance, SMG4 saw everything—the fear, the determination, the unspoken promise that they would fix this, together.
But then SMG3 looked away, his expression hardening into something cold and professional, and SMG4 felt the distance between them stretch like a chasm.
"Everyone, listen up," SMG3 called out, his voice cutting through the worried murmurs. "We're going to find whoever did this, and we're going to get our work back. But we need to be smart about it. We need to work together."
His eyes found SMG4's again, and this time, they held.
"No matter what," SMG3 added quietly, and SMG4 knew he wasn't just talking about the theft.
The crew nodded, determination settling over their faces, but SMG4 could feel Meggy's eyes on him, could sense her putting pieces together that he wasn't ready for her to see.
The sun was beginning to rise outside, painting the studio in shades of gold and amber, and SMG4 realized with a sinking feeling that the hardest part wasn't going to be finding the thief.
It was going to be pretending that everything between him and SMG3 was still the same.
When it had never been more different.
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.