Chapter Text
Branch is alone.
If he had been told eight months ago that this would be where he was, that this would be his life, he probably would never have believed it.
Now he believes it.
In reality, it started on the night of the big party, the one celebrating twenty years of freedom from the Bergens. He wouldn’t have worried at all (and really, he was so depressed about everything that night he wasn’t worrying about being worried anyway), but Princess Poppy knocked on his door and announced they had been attacked by a Bergen, and that was cause for worry anyday.
He wanted to rub it in her face, say something about how he was right all along and the Bergens did find them, but he bit back any kind of snappy retort at the sight of how scared Poppy was. With that crippling fear (he couldn’t blame her, because he was gripped by that same fear and had been since childhood, and now it had come to fruition), she explained how all of her close friends had been taken and she was going to Bergentown to save them.
She wanted him to come along, which he fervently declined. That was a death trap they would be walking into. Besides… Branch felt the need to be safe, inside his bunker. He couldn't do that by waltzing back into the one place that held so many horrible memories.
Ok , Poppy had lamented, walking to the lift. I’m going to Bergentown to try to save my friends, Branch. My Dad is leading the rest of the Trolls away from the village in case the Bergen comes back. You can go with me or them.
Branch watched as she disappeared up the lift, then slowly turned around to return to his desk. Some part of him hoped Poppy would return.
When she didn’t, he chose option three: the bunker. He had enough supplies to last him ten years, if need be. There was no way he was going out there when a Bergen could be lurking anywhere.
Anywhere .
Eight months later, he’s still by himself. The supplies in the Bunker have lasted him as they always have. He still thinks about the other Trolls, still looks at Poppy’s cards and writes poetry and worries about the dangers outside.
He hasn’t seen another Troll in eight months.
He hasn’t been outside in eight months.
Branch is alone, and he’s not sure how he feels about it.
After ten months, when Branch knows for sure nobody is coming back, is when everything breaks. Literally .
Much of the Bunker is in shambles after the realization finally dawns on him that he’s probably the only Troll left, that he’s been abandoned again , that everyone he loves always walks out of his life for good and leaves him all alone .
Branch stays on the floor of his bedroom while sleeping that night, and the next. For once his bedroom feels lonely and his home too big. There’s no use in being comfortable anymore - he’s only focused on surviving.
The Bunker floor is one of the only things he knows after wallowing in his own misery for several days, surviving off his rations and slacking on his usual fighting practice. It’s the only thing he thinks about until the Bunker begins to shake.
The Bunker begins to shake .
Branch somehow summons a strength he didn’t know he still had and sprints to the elevator, where he has his periscopes for the village set up. He checks the one next to the Bunker, then the outskirts of the village, and finally the village itself. The area and its pods have been severely neglected, and a good portion is still destroyed after the Bergen attack. The ground is almost barren from the lack of life over the past ten months. But that’s not what catches Branch’s attention.
No, that would be the giant critter bus barreling into what remains of the village. It’s black and red and is generally threatening and Branch doesn’t exactly know what it is, let alone what it’s doing in Troll Village.
The critter and several behind it skid to a stop right next to the big mushroom, and smoke pours out when it opens. For a second Branch can’t see anything because of it.
When the smoke clears he almost faints, because a Troll is standing there, one with muddy-red skin and a red mohawk. Branch has never seen her before, or any of the other Trolls who exit after her. They briefly look around before the mohawk snaps and points to something, and suddenly all the Trolls are running around further destroying the pods and foliage.
For the first time since the other Trolls left, Branch is angry . He doesn’t know why these Trolls are wrecking things in the already-in-shambles village, but he’s determined to find out.
Barb knows this is the location of the Pop Trolls, because there’s a town here. Or, at least, there was . She’s not sure what happened here. But this is where the map said Pop had relocated after apparently leaving the Troll Tree some odd years ago.
The thing is… there’s nobody here. It looks like something attacked the village then left it completely abandoned. But that’s not possible. Without the Pop Trolls balance among the tribes can never be achieved. If none of them are left, the tribes would know. They can always tell when a genre goes extinct.
“Alright, everyone!” Barb yells out to the other rockers. “We need to find the King of Pop!”
She briefly looks around at the desolation and neglect of the village and points to an area with larger homes that haven’t been touched. “Try over there! And if that doesn’t work look in the other homes. He’s here somewhere, and he’ll know where the string is.”
In a few minutes the air is filled with smoke from their activity and music from their passion. Barb is really the only one singing - Crazy Train, obviously - but the others join in with guitars and screams of their own as they think and search. They’ll find the King, and then they’ll get the string. Easy.
Barb stands by the giant mushroom watching her rockers, when all of a sudden she hears a suspicious noise. The others must hear it too because everyone stops what they’re doing and looks in the direction of the forest.
“Who are all of you?” a male voice calls out. He sounds threatening but scared at the same time.
Barb holds a hand out to the rest of the Rock Trolls, signaling them to pause whatever they’re doing. She takes a few steps toward the voice. “I’m Queen Barb, of the Rock Trolls! We’re on a world tour to unite the six tribes and are looking for the King of Pop.”
It’s silent for a second. Then, from the shadows of the trees near the forest, a figure emerges. Barb thinks it’s a troll, but she can’t be entirely sure because he’s partly obscured by a tree and looks like he’s wearing a mask over his face. He slowly comes closer until he’s at the edge of the forest, and there’s only five or six troll lengths between the two of them. He lifts a spear in her direction. “Rock Trolls? Six Tribes?” he inquires. “What are you talking about?”
Barb exchanges a quick look with Riff, who shrugs from his place by the angler bus. He’s just as confused as she is. “Are you a Pop Troll?” she calls to the mysterious troll. He gives her a blank look, so she decides to further probe. “Under King Peppy’s domain?”
The troll’s shoulders relax. He nods and takes another step forward.
“Do you know where we can find the King?”
Mr. Mystery visibly gulps. “He’s gone.”
Okay, so the King isn’t here. That doesn’t mean there’s not alternate options. “What about other figures of authority? Anyone who I could talk to?”
He hesitates, and Barb realizes he’s looking at all the rockers behind her who are staring with their guitars and held high and their faces like poker. “Hey, guys, chill for a couple minutes, ‘kay?”
Everyone relaxes and starts to do their own thing. Some even return to the buses, which Barb is totally fine with. Rock Trolls gotta do what they gotta do.
The troll visibly relaxes too, and he slowly emerges from the shadows. He lowers the spear, and the mask quickly follows. Barb stares back at grey skin and icy blue eyes. She’s heard Pop Trolls can go grey, but nobody has ever seen it. She instantly knows this guy has been through a lot and tries to keep her eyes from widening.
“They all left,” he announces, maintaining eye contact. “Ten months ago. We were attacked, and the King took almost everyone and ran.”
“ Almost everyone?”
The troll nods. “The attacker took some of the Princess’s friends, so she followed to save them.” He looks toward the forest, then down to his feet. He doesn't say anything else, but Barb knows what he's thinking. They didn't come back .
And it makes her sick . Her confident smirk finally fades into something she doesn't know. She falters for the first time since starting this world tour.
“Stay here,” she tells the Troll, then turns on her heel and runs to the angler bus, where she grabs Riff and drags him inside.
“ Did you hear that ?” Barb asks her right-hand man. She can't tell whether or not she's shaking.
Riff merely nods. “What are we gonna do?”
“I dunno, man! There's only one flipping Pop Troll left! Who knows what happened to the others! A main genre has never gone even close to being extinct!”
Riff is silent. Full of wisdom, that one.
“I'm gonna try and find out what else he knows. Maybe there's still some of them left somewhere.”
As Barb exits the bus again, she's no longer thinking about the world tour. She's not thinking about the strings. She's not thinking about trying to unite the tribes again. All that's on her mind is the mysterious guy who might be the last Pop Troll in existence. She hates the Pop Trolls with all she has, but if all of them are gone?
The Troll world will be put into disarray.