A/N: Considering how meta Undertale is in other regards, in hindsight I should have been more than a little disappointed that the player didn't matter more to Undertale's plot. Despite the rumors being spread about the fandom dying, considering how the fandoms for games like OFF and Earthbound are still around so long after the games came out, I doubt the Undertale community is dying any time soon, so I saw no reason not to write this.

Do keep in mind that this isn't going to be just "Undertale but the player is a voice in Frisk's head- think of it more like "Undertale if the player had always existed, many characters were aware of it, and it was an integral part of the game's lore. The story likely will change because of this." I was never one for shallow reskins, after all- I want something a little more interesting that requires both me and the reader to stop and think. So, this isn't going to be a retelling of Undertale's story, in case the summary didn't tip you off.

This will have themes of suicide, self-harm, depression, and anxiety. Consider yourself warned.

With that being said, let's get into this!


Could I even pretend to be happy anymore? Could I keep struggling through life every day with a fake smile plastered onto my face?

No. I could not.

Charlie. Charlie Dedan Sanders. That was what my name was supposed to be. That was the name I had been given.

It wouldn't matter much longer.

I'd already found the tool days ago: an old dagger, something that man (not my father, NEVER my father) had bought with the intent to sell it for a ramped-up price in his grimy store. The fact that he hadn't noticed its disappearance was a testimony to his incompetence as a parent. All that remained was to find a place that they'd never find my corpse, and after some research on the Internet, I'd found it.

Mount Ebbot. Not too far away from town, but just far out enough that they'd hopefully be too lazy to check it. It was as close to perfect as I could hope for.

Some of the rumors on the website for the national park there said that people tended to disappear around the mountain without a trace, and a grim smile crossed my face as the thought resurfaced. Well, if something killed me on the way, that'd suit me just fine, now, wouldn't it?

The husk of the mountain loomed in front of me, quiet and omniscient, seeing nothing and hearing nothing. A blind, deaf corpse and nothing more, quietly rotting away just as I would be soon.

There was no time to waste. I had to find a cave or something, that'd make it harder for them to find my body on the chance that they did check here. I started climbing.

It was almost half an hour later when I finally happened upon a cave. I was exhausted, panting for breath, but some relentless determination drove me onwards. Yellow spots danced in front of my eyes as I stumbled through the cave entrance, my lungs in agony, and at last I slowed my pace, chest heaving. This was as good a place as any, I was just as ready to die as I had been three days ago when some odd force compelled me to reach out and snatch the dagger when my father's back was turned.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I noticed something at the back of the cave: a pit, yawning like the gaping mouth of some feral beast. Curiosity latched its claws in me, and I stepped forward and peered down the hole. It stretched down, into the blackness, farther than my pitiful eyes could ever hope to discern.

Perfect. If I position myself right, I'll fall down there after I stab myself and they'll never find my body. As I began to turn, my foot caught on something, and before I realized it I was falling into the abyss, the knife still clenched tightly in my hand, and in that moment...

In that moment, there was nothing I felt but regret.

A jumbled mess of thoughts, all screaming No! Wait! I don't want to die, not now, not like this! I'm sorry, I take it back, I take everything I said back!

I don't want to go!

And then...

And then...

And then...

and... then...

then...

Then I continued to fall.

Panic ripping my mind to shreds.

Fear and desperation tearing through me.

Yellow wrath blinding me, but it wasn't mine.

No. Someone else was angry.

Who?

And then I stopped falling.

And then there was a voice in the darkness.