There will be killing

('till the score is paid.)

Are you a killer, or a murderer?

You find that you don't care.

.

Frisk stands at the end of the Judgement Hall, walking forward with bold steps. Their footsteps echo around the empty chamber, and the pillars throw their shadows over the human.

Sans materializes out of the shadows. Whether he was there the entire time or not is unclear. He regards Frisk, expression unreadable. All traces of humor are gone from his face.

Frisk stops.

(There is nobody left to chime the bells.)

It's absolutely silent.

(Heya. You've been busy, huh? …so, I've got a question for ya. Do you think even the worst person can change? That everyone can be a good person, if they just try?)

Frisk takes another step forward. Sans lets out a low laugh.

(Heh, heh, heh, heh… all right. Well, here's a better question.)

"Do you wanna have a bad time? Cause if you take another step forward… you are really not going to like what happens next."

Deliberately, Frisk takes a larger step forward.

(Whelp. Sorry, old lady. This is why I never make promises.)

.

(Kids like you should be burning in hell.)

Frisk's body is on the ground, broken in half for what has to be the thirtieth time. How long will it take for one of them to give this time?

Sans observes the blood pooling around Frisk's body with a detached fascination. The bone protruding from their body is stained with blood, and Frisk's injury is glowing faintly purple, residue from Karmic Retribution.

As he waits for the next RESET, Sans wonders, Am I a murderer or a killer?

And as the world shifts around him, Sans laughs lowly to himself.

"I don't care.

"Let's just get to the point."

.

(Papyrus… do you want anything?)

Frisk watches impassively as Sans wheezes, one hand at his injury. It's quite curious, how a skeleton can bleed.

"…hey." Sans huffs and regards Frisk with dulling eyes. They meet his gaze with mild curiosity. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

"Are we murderers, or killers?"

It's such a ridiculous question.

"Does it really matter?"

Sans laughs a dying laugh. "It really doesn't."

Frisk walks past a pile of dust and exit the Hall.

They don't look back.

.

Snowdin Forest is cold, and it nips at Frisk's face.

They don't jump at the sudden snap of the stick. They turn around before Sans prompts them, and meet his gaze fearlessly.

Sans doesn't offer his handshake.

"Am I a murderer?" Frisk asks.

"That depends on the actions you take," Sans answers. He glances at Frisk, looking through them. Their sins crawl on their back, but they welcome the feeling. "Am I a murderer?"

"No," Frisk says. "You aren't. But you're a killer."

"Ah."

They stand in absolute silence for a few moments before Sans breaks it. "I think that's Papyrus over there."

"Oh," says Frisk.

"Do you want to be a murderer?"

Frisk doesn't answer.

.

Frisk finds that the conveniently shaped lamp is quite pretty up close.

.

To kill someone, you have to do it with justification. To murder someone, you do it just for the sake of doing it, or with no real reason.

Basically this was introspective bullshit.

If you can't tell, at the end Frisk decides to go on a Pacifist Run.

In this fic, Frisk and Chara are one and the same.