In a random house was a rather large goat, who was sitting on a rocking chair, glasses rested above her nose. Her large eyes were fixated on a rather exciting part of the Underground Newspaper: "Gas prices go down!"
Great! she thought, rocking back excitedly on her chair. She would finally be able to afford the journey to her parents' house without going bankrupt.
Meanwhile, the little child whom she had taken in to safely raise in the Underground was frisking about. The androgynous child now had their head deep inside the fridge, searching for nourishment.
The goat, who was now the self-proclaimed mother of this silly child, noticed that they had disappeared. She got up from her rocking chair, put her newspaper down and set off to the kitchen, where she found the child. She rightfully assumed that the child was hungry by observing them ravenously dig through the fridge.
"My child," the goat began, "would you like me to make you some food?"
The child's head turned to the white goat, which followed with an excited nod.
"Okay," the goat replied jovially, walking over to a peg. The peg had on it a black & white chequered apron. In the middle of the apron was a pocket with the name "Toriel" carefully adorned onto it in pink. It ruined the image of the apron, perhaps, but the goat (whose name was clearly Toriel) did not care. She made it and she loved it.
Surely the child will not eat the entire thing, Toriel thought deviously whilst fitting her apron on round her body. I can have a piece, even if I am on a diet… She remained in thought while she was preparing the ingredients for the pie. When she looked down, she saw the child looking up at her.
"My dear, I will make this pie extra special to commemorate your arrival in your new home," Toriel stated. "A butterscotch cinnamon pie! I know it may not sound nice at the moment, but when you taste it, you will think otherwise!"
The child's eyes were fixated on the oven that contained the treat. The butterscotch cinnamon pie. Hunger instantly came back to mind…
"If you want, you can go read a book," Toriel suggested, "or the newspaper. There is a very compelling article in there about gas prices."
The child decided to choose the latter. Maybe there would be something interesting in the newspaper – since "gas prices" aren't very interesting…
Once the child was sat on the rocking chair, hands enveloped around the newspaper, an article of interest flared up excitement in the child's brain. The dark oak chair went back and forth as the child's eyes scanned the inky print. This particular article was going on about gun crime in the Underground; a very pressing issue for the monsters and law enforcement.
The child did not have the slightest clue of what a gun was – nor was there a reason to care, but reading the newspaper made the child feel like an adult. Now the child was leaping off the rocking chair, leaving the newspaper to displace itself, fluttering about like a disgruntled chicken that had been throttled and was about to become dinner.
The child sneaked past the kitchen. A whiff of the pie being cooked hooked onto the child's nose, delving inside the nostrils and making the child think twice about exploring the house, if only to sniff that delicious smell…
But the hype of exploration swamped the child's mind, forcing the child to press forward, deeper into the large house.
Eventually, in some room that was partially hidden, upon opening the door, the child's eyes were bestowed with a beautiful sight: a tall, glass cabinet, with some strange machines in it. The child was dying to know what was in there!
Obviously, the answer to the discovery of this cabinet was to open it. However, to the child's dismay, the cabinet was bound to one thing opening it: and that thing was a key.
The child paced up and down in the room several times before noticing a glint on a table opposite to the cabinet, at the other end of the room. The key was quickly acquired by the child and rammed into the lock on the cabinet. With a quick twist, the cabinet opened – and all of the black, boxy machines that were contained in the cabinet now belonged to the child.
On the other side of the house, Toriel was alarmed to hear a bang. The audible sound initially produced dismay for the white goat, but she passed it off as nothing.
She really needed to visit a doctor. Living all alone in this house was probably making her go insane.
Fortunately, the butterscotch cinnamon pie was complete, and with it came a call from Toriel. Her intent was to summon the child so that they could enjoy the lavishing pie together.
"My child!" the goat yelled, "where are you?"
The child was in fact holding a handgun, watching smoke rise from the barrel of the weapon. Apparently, pressing on this bit with your finger produces a large bang and makes something come out! This was extremely interesting for the child, and this interest made the child strive to let Toriel know about this exciting contraption.
The pie continued to emanate heat as Toriel set it down on the table, placing two sets of cutlery down. Toriel leant her head over the pie, taking in the sweet scent of the pie.
Just as she sat back onto the chair, leaning back against it, taking the two front legs into the air, the child appeared in the room, holding something behind their back.
Toriel was intrigued. Had the child gotten something for her to see? She got up from the chair and walked over to the child, kneeling down to the child. "Do you have something to show me, my child?"
The goat didn't have enough time to react before the innocent brandished the firearm, eager to show its ability to make a large banging sound. Her face contorted as a bullet was planted straight in the middle of her two large eyes, creating an aura of blood that sprayed all over the child. As the child rubbed their eyes to remove the red liquid that painted their body, Toriel's initially white corpse slumped over, lifeless.
The child had not realised the consequences of their actions as blood dripped from the gun's barrel – and everywhere else. It seemed that pressing on that bit of metal on the contraption was not only to make exciting banging sounds (which did not startle the child, strangely) – it was also for putting things down.
The child's interest had peaked to uncontrollable levels, and in an act of curiosity, the gun swished the child's hair aside, Feeling the cold circular barrel on the skin, without even a slight chill, morbid curiosity drove the trigger to be pulled by the child's finger, without a single thought. There was no need for thoughts any more, as the creator of these thoughts was now sprawled out on the floor, split apart and covered in blood.
As the child was lobbed into the air by the sheer force of the shot, chunks of grey matter bombarded the floor, and large payloads of blood stained the floor.
The shot's echoes continued to ricochet through the dead halls of the house as blood seeped through the wood.