Chapter 14

The Not-So-Sweet Escape

"Ad…vis…or…"

Frisk opened their eyes with a start, the floor rumbled faintly. For a moment, they had completely forgotten where they were, thinking themself still in the dream world living out another vision of things to come. They sat up, blinking several times in the dim light, unsure of their surroundings. This was not their bedroom, far from it.

Eventually, the reality that their train ride of dreams had come to an end sank in. They remembered where they were, and how it came to be. Resting their back against the padded headboard, Frisk checked the clock on the television: 07:28 – not exactly the time they wanted to rise on a Sunday when they would rather wrap the sheets tighter and snooze the morning away. The last day before they needed to be up early for school.

That familiar feeling from the Underground tickled the back of Frisk's mind, the same one that made them sigh. They were stuck in world that they were not a part of, that did not know them, where any one of the inhabitants would benefit greatly from seeing them dead, and where making friends was harder than it sounded. The empty feeling of isolation sank in as Frisk sank deeper into the lumpy pillow. None of Toriel's gentle, uncontracted speech; no Asgore to say howdy to. No social media to read Alphys's forty-two updates and Sans's twenty-nine 'so cool' comments on something Papyrus wrote.

Frisk needed something, anything to stave off the seclusion – some noise, at least. They reached for the remote left on the bedside from last night and turned the television on to catch some Sunday morning shows, maybe a cartoon or two. They skipped over a couple reruns and hovered on a news channel; the anchor-woman informing the folks at home that paranormal hunter Aaron had located surreal ghosts. Turned out, he was the next special guest on Sunday Morning Brunch with a Killer Robot.

Apparently, Mettaton liked the idea of a weekly show so much that he decided to create seven of them. The remaining five included: Monday Afternoon Lunch with a Killer Robot; Tuesday Afternoon Dinner with a Killer Robot; Wednesday Evening Tea with a Killer Robot; Thursday Evening Supper with a Killer Robot; and Friday Midnight that cookie you really should not eat because you're on a diet and your trying to cut down on your carbs but you really, really, really, really, really wanted it and you lack any sort of willpower (a.k.a. snack) with a Killer Robot. Take a moment to get your breath back.

They were already fed up after five minutes of flicking. After shutting off the television and jumping out of bed, they parted the curtains. Pink light flooded inside. The train station had not upped and wandered off during the night. The morning brought out the colour in its white bricks, without the orange glow of streetlights.

It was at that moment, Frisk had an idea. They needed a plan. They looked over at the leaflets laid on the desk. Skimming through them yielded attractions, museums, bars and restaurants, and the local train times. Frisk plucked it out, disrupting the delicate pattern in which they were presented. It was a foldout leaflet; opening it up presented a sizeable overview of the Plain-plain, broken up with a ragged spider web of different coloured threads – accompanied by arrival and departure times.

Frisk located where they were right now, Parfocorse, south off the centre, lit up like a rainbow. North was their direction. Moving upward, they found one dotted station at the most northern point, labelled Winter's Edge. From there, it was a stone's throw away from the bridge that connected the Plain-plain to Ice Island. Finding possible routes between Parfocorse and Winter's Edge, they found a track that travelled east before twisting upward around the north-eastern ridge, which was highlighted in red for some reason. The next train there was scheduled to arrive at nine o'clock. The red, digital clock under the television read 07:40. They had time, and now they had a plan.

Their stomach grumbled, ready to take on a hearty breakfast; Frisk knew just the place. They folded the leaflet into their pocket, collected their money and room key off the counter and went straight out the door, leaving the bed for the cleaner to take care of. Nothing much could be said as they followed the hallway, rounded the stairs, and squeaked on the shiny floor, other than it did not look much different in the daylight. As they passed the utility room on the landing, a blue suited janitor pulled out a keychain, flicked through them, and inserted a chunky, worn key into the slot. At first, it did not turn. He jangled it about until it did, clicking the door open.

As they reached the revolving door, a middle-aged monster – an unfinished symphony, an open book with half the notes written – with a bushy moustache, and bowler hat, and wheeling a hefty suitcase behind himself, pushed their wide frame in sideways. Frisk slipped into the opposite opening and exited at the same time that he entered. However, at that short moment in which they passed, the monster glanced oddly at Frisk. His expression blank like paper – on his paper face – the mouth agape in dumbstruck awe. Frisk looked back upon reaching the outside, and saw that the monster was still looking at them, as if he had seen them before.

The early morning was cool with that crisp springtime sensation lingering in the air. The intensity of the asphalt smell grew as the sun slowly baked it. The town of Parfocorse had metamorphosed overnight, transforming from swanky and party-fuelled into quiet and presentable, like how the average college student operated. Frisk retraced their steps, hoping that they could find their way back to Sweet and Sour's before they starved to death. Along that way, several people were hunched around a streetlight, another around the display window of a barbershop. Whispers were passed amongst themselves. Someone was either getting the greatest haircut in the Outerworld or the worst.

They found Sweet and Sour's and entered, have checked the opening times beforehand to see if they were in business yet. They were. Like last night, a waiter greeted them at the entrance and delivered them to the counter. Another angsty clerk with the glazed look in the eyes was about to ask for their order when an angry customer – a bull – butted in and slammed a tray of food down.

"Hey!" the customer yelled, "Just what kind of swill you serving me?"

The clerk gave the bacon and egg muffin, resting on an opened wrapper, a once-over. Two clear bites had been taken out of it. His mouth formed a hard line. "Isn't this the same thing you've ordered every Sunday for the past ten years?"

The irate customer flared his nostrils, exhaling two fumes of white steam, looking like he was about to charge. "It's rotten and undercooked! It tastes like it's been scraped off someone's bathroom floor!"

"Sir, the chefs are incredibly careful with the food they prepare," the clerk assured in a calm manner, but the creases in his forehead suggested he had something else on his mind. "This bacon and egg muffin will have been cooked and prepared in exactly the same way as all the others, but if you are not happy, I can get you a replacement."

The clerk might as well have waved a red flag in the customer's face. "You've got the memory of a goldfish, son…" he said, then turned to the goldfish monster who was sat one table away. "No offense." Back to the clerk. "This is the replacement! I've tried two muffins and they both taste the same, horrible!" He pushed the tray to the clerk. "Here, you try it."

The clerk's chest rose and fell as he sighed dejectedly. He picked up the muffin, located a place that had not been touched by the customer's teeth, and took a big bite, getting a mouthful of everything that comprised it. His jaw completed two chews then stopped. His face crumpled, his mouth opened – revealing the mush inside for all to see – and out escaped a groan of disgust.

"Told you so," the customer said, smiling with morbid satisfaction as the clerk rushed to a nearby sink and started spitting it all out.

Another clerk, a barrel-chested beaver, stepped over to replace the out-of-order staff member. "We're deeply sorry, sir." With a few button presses, he opened the cash register. "We'll issue you a full refund."

"You better," was all the customer replied with. He took back the twenty coins he had spent and stormed out of Sweet and Sour's before the clerk could wish him a nice day. In his stride, he looked like he could smash the entire door down, but retained some sense to use the handle.

With nobody in front, Frisk stepped forward. Heeding the warnings, they decided not go for the bacon and egg muffin, and instead opted for the breakfast bagel bargain bucket bonanza – try saying that five times fast. A freshly baked bagel filled with ham and cream cheese, with a crispy hash brown and an orange juice, bucket sold separately. All for ten cloud coins. Frisk forked it over, now having twenty coins remaining in the pouch – enough to buy what the customer before was having, if they wanted to join the puking party. They had their food on the tray in the average fast food speed.

As they took their meal and headed for the table they ate at yesterday, which was vacant, they overheard the chefs from the fast food side arguing in the kitchen. "I don't understand it. I cooked it like that for twenty-five years and nobody has ever complained. Now we get four people in a row returning their muffins."

"Two people weren't too happy with their Eggs Benedict either," added a chef from the opposite side. "It's tasted fine every time I've made them before, but I sampled some ten minutes ago and nearly puked my guts out. Just like Jethro is right now."

"We got a call from our buddies over in the Oasis. They've had some similar incidents. What is going on here?" To which none of them had the answer, but the phone rang again. More bad news.

The human child started their breakfast by unscrewing the cap off the juice bottle and taking a sip. Frisk never thought this could actually be deemed as a complaint, but the orange juice was too orangey. It was like sucking on a lemon, but instead of a lemon, it was an orange – an orange with the sour intensity of a lemon. The food did not fare much better: the cheese was too cheesy, the ham too hammy, and the hash brown too… brownie? Frisk thought they were mistaken. They took another nibble of the hash brown, it tasted exactly like a brownie. As for the rest of the food, it was not like Frisk had the money to order something else, nor did they want to burden the already stressed employees, so they would just have to power through with what they had.

Just as Frisk took their sixth bite out of the bagel, the door slammed open and in rushed a monster, holding a piece of paper in his hand. His sudden, loud entrance earned the attention of everyone at their seats. He charged straight to a monster sitting two tables away from the human, whom they could see from out the corner of their eye.

"Hey, Marco, what's up with you?" asked the one sat at the table, an animate deep-sea diving suit.

The guy who had just made an entrance, Marco, a blue blob with limbs and a face, slapped the paper flat beside the tray. "This is what's up," he replied just as loudly as how he entered, his breath heavy and the sweat shimmering on his bulbous frame.

There was a pause as the other inspected the paper through his grated face plate. "Holy smokes," he said in a low tone through an invisible mouth, yet his words were surprisingly clear. He rubbed the glass to make sure he was not mistaken. "Here? Now?"

"Yeah. I'm just as shocked as you, trust me," Marco replied. By this time, Frisk had turned back to their food.

"Well. Ain't this typical. Just when you think it's safe the walk the streets again – now that the civil war is over an' all – we get this."

"Tell me about it, Sean." Marco paced around the table, bouncing his plentiful frame. "The folks at home are going nuts. Mack is thinkin' of boarding up the house, and Ma's dug out Pa's old claymore – monster gods bless his dusty remains. That thing is rustier than her. We got enough problems already without a human becoming one of them."

Frisk froze centimetres away from their seventh bite, sucking in a whimper of a breath. That monster had said that one little word that permanently set them apart from the monsters, especially their friends and family. Frisk took a wild guess as to the number of humans that could be present in this hidden sky empire, and they were quite confident in assuming that they were the only one, bringing the tally up to a grand total of one. Those monsters had to be referring to them. The senses in their ears sharpened, ready to hear what they had to say next.

"Mind you though," Marco went on, tapping on the table, "that reward looks pretty enticing."

"Oh my goodness – one million cloud coins?" Sean said in disbelief, rubbing his face plate again. Now it was cleaner beyond clean. "I've never seen a bounty that high since… how much was that Eddy, or Freddy, or Teddy guy worth? I can't remember."

Marco stroked one of his chins. "I think it might've been… one-hundred-thousand… I think? Unless I've miscounted the number of zeroes in it."

Frisk took that seventh bite, acting casual. The intensity of the flavour made their face scrunch, and they relived the gruesome moment where they fell from grace, remembering the vivid image of the Emperor, watching with those stern eyes as they plunged to their supposed demise. They should have known better than to think that he would give up so easily.

Sean said, "That sounds about right. That means this human's sure gone and kicked a hornet's nest to get a price that big on that head of theirs."

"More like ten nests, what's-his-name got that one-hundred-grand on him by terrorising those guys down in the Forest. They get real touchy about those nests…" His beady eyes counted the number of zeros on paper. "One million cloud coins. Imagine what you could do with that money. You could buy your own mansion in the Oasis. Heck, if I'm the one to nab this human, that what I'll do."

"Right. After you blow it all in one day at the con-venience store." Sean laughed. "Forget about the Oasis. You could buy Castle Highkeep with that amount… probably give mister grumpy no-smile on the throne the boot…"

"Man, all this worrying has worked up an appetite. I'm gonna need an extra big breakfast to get through today."

"I just finished mine," Sean said, rising from his seat. "Tasted… a little different, but I'm in the mood for seconds." Together, they made their way over to the counter. Sean's weighted boots drummed loud on the bare floor. "Word of advice, don't order the bacon and egg muffin – they're not going down so good."

Frisk watched as they made their way over to the counter. With both their backs turned, Frisk rammed the remainder of the bagel into their mouth, poured in the last drops of orange juice, and turned around to face Sean's table. Just as they expected, those guys had left the poster there along with the tray holding what was left of his first breakfast. They took one last look back at the pair, who were contemplating their choices, whether to go for quality or quickness. Frisk quietly slipped from their seat, still chewing their food, and snuck over. The sheet of paper lay face up for everyone to see. They grabbed and slid it off the table, taking one last look back at the duo as they did so. Could the human be them? Frisk looked at it, and their own image staring back confirmed it.

The human's own likeliness had been illustrated to a tee, both in appearance and in description. They had gotten their hairstyle, features, and clothing right, shedding a whole new light on their situation. Before they had seen this poster, they would have strolled, as blind as a bat, all around these lands, talking to whoever and doing whatever, oblivious to the danger they were in until it was too late. Now, Frisk felt like they had a bullseye painted on their back. The goers in the restaurant were sparse, yet they still felt exposed, like every eye was secretly spying on them and they were all ready to pounce at once.

There was fine print at the bottom, but the text was so small that it was difficult to understand. Frisk puller the wanted poster closer, squinting. They were just able to make out something regarding a doctor, and—

"You're shocked too, huh?"

Frisked jumped, nearly choking on their food. They span in the direction of the voice, but as they did so, they did not pull away from the poster – keeping their nose pressed against it. Marco watched as the petite creature stepped back, their face obscured.

"Are you okay?" asked Marco. Sean was right behind him, holding the tray with both their meals. From his point of view, all Marco saw was a figure of small proportions, hiding their face behind the poster. Their nose bulged through the centre.

The small thing wearing the striped blue jumper muffled something neither of them could understand. Marco felt bad for this poor creature, clearly distraught by the news of a human running wild within the Outerworld.

"I know it's a lot to take in," Marco assured, "but don't worry, I'm sure the Monster Military will handle this. I mean, I'm not a big fan of them, but they have their uses sometimes." He watched as the nervous creature began to back away, almost tripping over a chair leg, keeping the wanted poster against their face. "If you wanna keep that poster, that's fine, I was finished with it anyway. I got, like, five of them through my letterbox this morning, and they're plastered all over town."

As Frisk made their way to the exit, the one thing they could see was the extreme close up of the history of pacifism and flirting part. They groped for the handle and pushed only to slam into the glass door. Upon second inspection, there was the word pull engraved on it.

"And if I were you," the other, Sean, called out as they pulled it open, "I'd change out of those clothes before someone thinks you're starting a fan club."

Outside. Frisk dropped the poster, squinting in the light, finally swallowing the remainder of their breakfast. They glanced up and down the street. Monsters all around. Walking. Talking. Waiting. Checking watches. Tying shoelaces. Reading newspapers. Huddled in spots. Frisk's focus went to every shop window in sight. How could they have not noticed this sooner? The posters were everywhere. Frisk's face all around, on every window, post, and wall, impossible to miss. Their face. Their description. Their species. One million cloud coin reward – the highest bounty to grace the Outerworld. They suddenly felt like a piece of meat in the middle of a tank of piranhas.

Frisk moved, walking with pace, but refraining from running – no matter how badly their brain was telling them to – as they tried not to attract attention. They pulled the collar of their sweater up to their chin and brushed their hair forward across their face, anything to stave off suspicion, even for a few seconds. With their head down, they headed down the middle of the street. Now more than ever, they needed to get out of Parfocorse, but the train was not due for a while yet.

The human child passed a woman pushing a pram and, for the briefest of moments, they both made eye contact. Frisk heard the wheels come to a halt and the mother mutter something along the lines of, "Hold on, uh…" Then she hurried off, pushing the speed of the buggy to its limits.

Where were they going? Where could they go? Straight to the station? Back to the hotel? Back to the safety of their room? Frisk recollected all the monsters who had seen their face from last night. The waiter and clerk at the restaurant. The dozens of bystanders. The hotel receptionist. The family at the lobby. The unfinished symphony who they passed forty minutes prior obviously had seen the poster, by the way he gazed at them. The locals of Parfocorse were beginning to catch on that they were there, and eventually, they would follow the trail to their room.

A mouse monster, who was probably the same age as Frisk, passed on their right, guided by his parents. The kid stopped, dropped his ice cream, and pointed straight at them. "Wait a minute, that's…" Frisk tucked their chin deeper down, bringing the comfort of their shirt up to their nostrils. The kid pulled against his father's hand and cried out, still pointing at them. "That's them, Daddy! That's the human!" The kid's shrill voice cut through Frisk's determination. It was like an alarm bell going off, drawing unwanted attention to those around.

It would appear that their attempt to blend in was not working. All around, monsters were starting to take notice. Whenever they risked a glance to the side, they always noticed someone looking back. A couple of pointed fingers shot out. A door slammed shut, followed by a couple of windows. Frisk thought they heard human being spoken from the crowds a few times. A firecracker going off in the middle of the street would have attracted less attention than they were at that current moment of time. They wondered whether any of them would engage in combat. These people were civilians, having not been trained how to fight, but the prospect of gaining a quick fortune was a mighty temptation. Under the right circumstances, monsters can act as greedy and as ambitious as humans. All it took was a catalyst and the correct spark to set things in motion.

Frisk turned the corner, heading back to the hotel. If anything, it was the one place they had to go on. The one reprieve they had, if it has not already been compromised since they had been away. The tension in the streets were increasing. The numbers aware of the human's presence swelling. Several wide stares from monsters with two eyes, three eyes, four eyes, six eyes, eight eyes, one eye, and no eyes. Frisk glanced at the sideways reflection in a glass shop display and spotted two monsters a few strides behind. One of them was holding something that Frisk could not make out. Frisk kept their pace, moving fast but not too fast.

Up ahead, among the crowds were individuals decked out in silver. Frisk almost froze upon seeing them. Members of the Monster Military. Their armour dazzled in the low sun. Their spears rose above the crowds, the razor tips reflecting a hint of light. Apparently, they had received reports of civilians claiming to have seen a child who matched the fugitive named Frisk.

With every step, they got closer – both the guards in front and the pursuers behind, which had now grown to three. The guards had not spotted them, but were bound to eventually. Frisk glanced around, there were a couple of alleyways to choose from, the one to their right blocked by a wooden fence. Maybe they could slink into a shop or cafeteria and hope nobody would notice the Outerworld's most wanted escapee bolting to find a fire exit.

A mongoose monster to the right opened a ground floor window from the inside. A box of flowers lay outside, attached to the frame. He leaned out and took a cautious sniff of them before recoiling back. "I swear, these flowers smell worse every day. Some of these I bought yesterday, and they're already starting to wilt."

A guard in the middle of taking a witness statement glanced past the civilian. She caught sight of Frisk and held her gaze for two seconds. "Target spotted," she announced quietly to her colleagues, who snapped to attention. In one fluid motion, she tossed the witness aside and pointed at Frisk. "You! Hold it right there!"

Now.

Frisk bolted to the right. Everyone else, those in front and behind, moved when they did. The monster by the window stumbled and fell back in horror as the human child dove inside and landed on a coffee table, sliding across the smooth surface and knocking over a cup of water before slipping off and landing with a roll on the threadbare rug.

No time to stop and contemplate how cool that move was; the pursuers were forcing their large frames through the small window frame while others were bashing at the door. Above the commotion of mangled voices and grating metal, the guard bellow out: "Send word to all the squads in the area: the human has been spotted! Cut off all exits, do not allow them to escape!"

Frisk darted across the living room, leaving the startled monster to collect himself. They reached the central hall just as the door burst open. Frisk ducked into a kitchen. There was a chair, a dining table, a kitchen top and an open window all lined up for a perfect escape, which they took without hesitation. It was as if it had been deliberately placed in that fashion just for them. They landed in what could be loosely described as a garden, more an alleyway of fences and patches of long grass, which stretched thirty buildings downwards. This place was hidden in the shadows, left to rot and fester. The pounding of footsteps from within the house urged them forward. They jumped the fence onto a worn path that cut straight down the expanse. The one or two idlers out there were not too bothered with the appearance of a sprinting child.

The backdoor exploded and the pursuers funnelled out, not allowing this chase to end so easily. The crowd of silver metal crashed through the fence and quickly located the human, racing between the gardens. The pursuit was in progress.

A large, burly monster in command span to a teammate half his size. "Barmy, get to higher ground and pursue them."

With a silent affirmation, Corporal Barmy – the most battle-scared grey squirrel anyone would see, with three nasty scars running down his face – sprang into action. There was a single, dying tree within the alley, not the best place to be when you require more than an hour of sunlight each day, but the branches were thick enough to support his weight. A second is all he needed. He grabbed a low-hanging branch and somersaulted toward the buildings on the right. Barmy grabbed a window ledge and climbed to the roof, his armour not slowing him down one bit. He ran in the human's direction, forming his trusty magically bow and testing the torque of the string as he moved.

"Remember, Corporal," issued the same heavyset solider from down below, huffing and panting from exertion, "no killing the target… unless you absolutely have to!"

Barmy replied, "I'm not gonna kill them." His voice dropped to a whisper as he said the next part. "Just wound them, badly." He licked his lips, which were dry from anticipation. "Promotion, here I come."

The houses left and right passed Frisk a blur. Their legs were still sore from yesterday's efforts, having covered a full marathon's length within the span of that day. Their body ached, their full belly brought on a nasty case of stitches, yet Frisk powered on, the charging squadron behind, coupled with the agile unit above, offered some much needed inspiration as to why they could not give up.

Frisk exited the alley. They were back on the main streets, among the hustle and bustle, out in the open, exactly where they did not want to be. Through the crowds on both sides, more of the Monster Military were charging, converging on the human child. They bellowed their threats, demanding that Frisk surrender. Frisk responded by sprinting toward an alley across the road, bobbing through as the metal monsters were a metre away. Corporal Barmy jumped the wide gap between the buildings with ease, landing on the other side.

Up ahead, an eight-foot boarded fence threatened the human's escape. There was a gap in the bottom where the boards had been broken away. Frisk charged, dropped, and slid straight through – their pace unaffected. Frisk glanced at the wall behind them, the clanking of armour muffled behind it. They thought that it would buy them some time to escape until the planks of wood broke away upon impact with the leading soldier's frame. With splinters of wood in the crevices, the squadron soldiered on.

The alley veered right into a square clearing, full of backdoors and overflowing garbage bins. Up ahead, wedged between two buildings, a delicate set of scaffolding towered from the ground to the roofs. The building, judging by its bare walls and square holes, was getting some needed restoration. Frisk desperately looked around, having no idea which doors would aid in their escape and which would not. They picked the grotty backdoor to the west. As they neared, it slammed open with more troops. Frisk skidded to a stop, turned and ran before the waiting spears could snag them. The doors on the opposite side flew open as the compact alley became more and more crowded. The Monster Military funnelled in from three directions, fifteen now in the backstreet, and they all had their sights on the human.

Frisk's pulse hammered away, both terrified and tired. Seriously cornered and outnumbered, the military were boxing them in, cutting off all possible retreats. They wished they could ask the monsters to form a line so that they could befriend them one by one, but these guys were not playing by those rules. The alleyway shadowed by the precarious construction was their only route, the only one that held some smidgen of hope.

The framework, as Frisk neared, was a makeshift job – metal poles and wooden planks held together with rope and string, ascending five floors upwards. It would probably hold together better with spit. The structure creaked and churned as Frisk passed the first set of supports, the sounds mingling with those of the pursuers. They glanced upwards, catching glimpses of sunlight as they pierced the gaps, streaking lines across their face.

A rope snapped.

They all heard it before they saw it. A knot holding the scaffolding together came loose, and this one must have been significant because it started a domino effect with all the rest. The framework began to shake as the glue holding it together disintegrated. A plank swung into the human's path, slowing them down as they manoeuvred around it.

The guards at the mouth stopped. "It's coming down," the officer in command yelled. His voice drowned out in the crashing of metal and wood. "Stop, men! Don't go any further!"

The construction buckled to the side then collapsed from the top. Frisk pushed their human body to its limits, determined to make it through before they were buried alive. It all fell inwards, breaking down in the centre before working its way out. Frisk felt the platforms slam into the ground mere feet behind them, shooting brick and paint dust into the air, engulfing everything and everyone in the enclosed space. Frisk, unable to see anything in front, drowning in the din of disaster all around, listened to the voice in their head that beckoned them forward. They ran at full pelt, praying that nothing tripped them or hit them or landed on them.

Someone out there liked them. They emerged out the dust cloud, without a scratch on them.

As the dust cleared, the extent of the damage became apparent. The entire narrow passageway was blocked completely, crammed with debris. The troops on the other side unable to pass. Frisk braced themself on their knees, savouring that precious moment to get their breath back. A droplet of sweat fell from their cheek.

"We've been cut off! Corporal Barmy," the same deep voice called out from beyond the wreckage, "do not let them get away!"

A figure above darted between the rooftops. His shadow eclipsed Frisk for a split-second. "No problem."

He moved unnaturally from cover to cover, stalking his prey from up high, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. The crackle of energy as he readied his bow gave away his position for a brief moment.

Frisk looked forward at the stretch of parallel walls ahead. With a tired sigh – their moment of rest over already – they continued, the chase far from over. The adrenaline in their blood offered some slight reprieve from the ache, anything to battle their failing leg muscles. A shadow sliced back from forth on the ground, sticking close to the target. Barmy cackled softly, finding the human's attempts to flee amusing.

Time slowed down from the both of them when the corporal performed an aerial cartwheel between the rooftops. Upside-down, he formed his bow and arrow into his hands and took aim. Frisk watched as the bowstring straightened and the arrow flew in their direction. They had no time to react, but could merely watch as the blue arrow flew toward them, spinning clockwise in mid-air. Fortunately for them, it pierced the ground around their feet.

"That was a warning shot," he said after concealing himself in plain sight. There was no distinct place where his voice resonated from, like he was everywhere and yet nowhere. "You might not be so lucky next time. I'd give up if I were you."

Frisk could not stop, not now, not later, not ever. They stepped hastily into another clearing that was filled with the pleasant aroma of pine – well, car air freshener version at least. The surrounding walls were adorned with balconies and al fresco art. A lovingly tended tree stood tall and proud in the centre, encircled by beds of flowers and healthy green grass. A small slice of haven in this concrete jungle.

No time to relax. A few more alleys leading back to the harsh world of brick and mortar awaiting them, each one summoning them to enter. Frisk moved toward the one on the left, making it two steps before the squirrel knight bounded through the air, taking aim and firing off six arrows at once.

Barmy landed on a balcony, opposite the wall where Frisk stood. He turned and smiled, admiring his handiwork. The human had been stopped dead in their tracks, pinned to the wall with all six arrows. One had snagged the left sleeve, another under the right armpit, a third caught the fabric around the left knee of their shorts. Arrow number four was a millimetre away from their right foot, which was up on the tips of their toes. The fifth above their head, brushing against the strands of their hair. The sixth and final arrow…? Take a wild guess. Frisk – unable to move, unable to breathe – clenched their teeth so tight that they were in danger of cracking them. Sweat trickled down their face. He could see it in their eyes, the human was scared.

Accurately, Corporal Barmy – soon to be Sergeant Barmy – loaded a fresh arrow into his bow, ready to deliver the chase ending blow. "You might wanna look away a sec." He drew the string back, setting the arrow tip level with the human. "This is gonna sting a li—"

Suddenly, the balcony door behind him swung open, slamming into his back. Barmy lurched forward. The arrow flew, going completely astray and into the tree. He trundled over the guardrail and fell four flights to the ground, landing on his head in a bed of fake roses.

Lucky break for the kid. Frisk breathed out, ridding their dread in that puff of air. For a moment there, they thought that they were a goner. They pulled away the arrows one by one until they were free. They wanted to rush outside, but they found themself heading over to check on the squirrel, the same one who, seconds ago, was about to make a shish kebab out of them. Barmy was out cold, but at least he was alive – the flowers must have broken his fall.

One thing occurred to them as they checked on the corporal, they could hear a noise – the sound of escaping air, the same sound one of Sans's whoopy cushions would make. Frisk looked around to find the source of the noise, a small glimmer hoping that it was the comedic skeleton himself. It turned out to have been coming from the most unlikely of places: the tree. Air escaped from where the arrow had pierced. The tree deflated like a balloon. The branches lost their rigidness, flopping to the ground like wet noodles. It shrank and shrank until there was nothing left but the shrivelled, empty husk the colour of tree bark.

Frisk stepped through the alley, back into the street. They looked around, having lost their sense of direction. They could hope that they could find a place that could tell them where they were… and then realised that the hotel was right in front of them. At first glance, no soldiers were around, and by a quick glance through the windows, none of them were inside either. They could make out the janitor as he ran a buffer across the marble floor.

They observed the street that lead to the station. If they continued now, they would surely be spotted and be dragged into another chase. By then, they would surely have missed their ride, and with it, their chance of getting home.

Frisk stepped through the revolving door. They had an idea.

Five minutes later, six members of the Monster Military entered the hotel, siphoning through one at a time. The leader of the bunch approached the desk and slammed on the bell, summoning the receptionist.

"What seems to be the problem, sirs?" he asked.

The guard raised a poster to the receptionist's eyes. "Have you seen this person? Several civilians have reported sighting them in this area."

The receptionist took it by the side and examined it closer. "Yes. Yes," he said, gleaning a look at the portrait. "I recognise that person. They were here last night; paid for a room."

"Which room?" the guard enquired, leaning forward with both hands on the desk.

The receptionist slinked under the desk, pulled out his trusty logbook, set it down on the counter, and pulled up the ribbon to the current page. He traced his finger down the list, ignoring the entries from that morning alone. The guard tapped his gauntlet fingers on the table, indicating his impatience. The fugitive was the last person to book the last room yesterday night. "Room number thirteen. It's upstairs, the last door on the left." He got a key out from his pocket. "I've got a master key. I'll let you in."

"Much obliged." The guard waved his arm twice toward the stairs. "Hurry up."

The receptionist slithered around the desk and took the lead up the stairs, the six soldiers on his tail. Going upward, they passed someone walking down. It was a funny-looking monster, with no arms, draped in a thick, grey, flowing robe and had a mop of long, tangled, straw-coloured hair. Whatever it was, it moved its three-foot frame straight, taking the steps one at a time as if it would smite anyone who intruded on its chosen path.

"Excuse me, sir… or madam," the receptionist said as he moved to the other side, allowing the monster to pass. The company behind followed suit.

They moved quietly down the upper floor until they reached the door marked with the number thirteen. The receptionist took one look at the guards. They were unsheathing their swords and daggers – weapons best suited for close-quarters combat. The receptionist swallow hard as he slid the master key into the lock and disengaged it, with only a small click to warn the occupant inside. He moved aside and the closest guard rammed into it, flinging the door open and charging in at the same time.

Four guards funnelled inside, shouting at the top of their lungs, keeping their weapons pointed outwards. Three charged around the bed while the fourth searched the bathroom. They pulled back the shower curtain, threw off the bed cover, opened the wardrobe and looked under the bed until they found out they had gotten the drop on nobody.

"Area clear," the lead confirmed. "No sign of the target."

"Where could they have gone to?" another asked, slipping his dagger into its hold.

The lead looked around. "This room has obviously been used recently. The target may not have gotten far." As he made his way to the door, he said, "Get us some backup so we can search this place top to bottom, the human may still be around, hiding in another room. Until a full sweep has been completed, nobody leaves the building."

The guards exited the hotel room and escorted the receptionist back to his place of work, informing him that they were going to perform a more thorough search of the hotel, whilst ensuring him that it was all for the safety of himself, his clients, and his business. The receptionist gave them full permission, since he did not have the authority to deny them; to do so would be an act of obstructing the law.

A blue flash caught the receptionist's eye as he returned to his counter. It was a key, just lying there. Attached to it was a tag with a number etched on it. 13.

Frisk stumbled down the street, head down, managing to make out the two feet of pavement in front of them. Their cheap, ten second disguise was a huge gamble – they had no mirror to inspect themself after throwing on the fire blanket and mop head from the utility room, no way of knowing if it would fool the guards – but it paid off. The blanket was hot and heavy, itchy on the fingers, the tight knitting made it hard for their skin to breathe. The strands of the mop covered their eyes, making navigation difficult. It was slightly damp and smelled strongly of a hospital hallway. Frisk tried not to imagine where it had been.

Footsteps, slithering and crawling passed left to right. Frisk stopped and risked a look forward. None of the other monsters were aware of the human's presence. They must have looked bizarre enough to be mistaken as one of them. Two soldiers under the Emperor's banner moved past, neither drawn to them.

The main entrance to the train station lay straight ahead, through an automatic, parting door. Inside the crowded lobby of pillars, kiosks, and waiting chairs, four archways stood above four ticket booths with turnstiles that separated the lobby from the platforms, the employees fresh-faced and bushy tailed, some literally. A train rumbled out the station, heading southbound. High above on the ceiling, the arrival and departure times looked down, black screens with yellow figures, flicking at regular intervals. A few of them appeared to be delayed. The clock read ten to nine: the one Frisk wanted was scheduled to arrive in ten minutes. There was a familiar presence surrounding the station, as if they had gotten all of their inspiration from the humans. Mostly likely the shows they pick up on television.

Still in their disguise, they shuffled their way across to the booths, passing monsters and tempting offers from stalls. Who could resist fried chocolate? They spotted a few more posters of themself stuck up on the pillars and stall displays. Out of the four lines, they took their place at the back of the shortest one.

Two out of the five monsters in the queue took a painstakingly long amount of time to order their tickets. Every few seconds, Frisk glanced at the station, praying that the train they wanted did not come and go without them. The tension made their fingers twitch and their feet jumpy. From what they could see, it appeared that several monsters were transporting cargo toward the front end of the platform.

Finally, Frisk's turn arrived seven minutes later. They stepped up to the booth, the bottom of the glass level with their nose. The operator, a hulking ogre in an ironed, white shirt, looked down through the sight of his tiny spectacles. They could make out the lines in his irises. "Good morning," he greeted in a voice that did not suit him whatsoever. "How may I help you today?"

Without saying a word, Frisk pointed to the next train to arrive on the schedule.

The operator was an expert at charades. "One ticket to Winter's Edge?" Frisk responded with a nod, wobbling the strands of their improvised wig. "Have you ever been on this train route before?" he asked. Frisk responded by shaking their head, the wig almost twisted off. "In that case, I must warn you beforehand that this train travels over the Shattered Zone. It can get a little… bumpy around those parts. Do you still want to board?"

Frisk took another look at the platform, feeling and hearing the train coming in. They needed to be on that train, whatever it took, it was their way of getting home, getting back to their friends. They nodded quickly.

The operator tapped on the ticket machine before him. "Also, this train is more suited for cargo runs, but the company have included a small side fee to ride as a passenger. That'll be fifteen cloud coins, please."

Frisk awkwardly fumbled with the money pouch, trying to open it up while keeping the blanket wrapped around them. After seconds of fruitless rummaging, they resorted to tossing the entire pouch onto the booth. The operator was honest. He took the pouch, extracted the amount he needed, and handed the rest back. The pouch was light now, the feeble jingle of five coins bounced around inside.

A ticket churned from his machine. After breaking it on the dotted line, he handed it over. "Here you go. That'll be your ride coming into platform four just now. The passenger car will be the one at the end. Safe travels and remember to wear your seatbelt when asked to."

Frisk took their ticket as used it to pass through the turnstile.

They moved as fast as they could, using the bridge that crossed above the tracks. Platforms 1 and 2 were loaded with monsters starting their commute, plenty of briefcases about. The train rolled into the station, seemingly going on forever, starting with the engine and followed by countless cargo cars. They made out the cargo as it passed; coal, timber, wood, heavy machinery, the usual sort of stuff. By the time they had reached the end of platform 4, where a few monster were waiting, the passenger cart at the very end rolled up. The doors opened and a smartly dressed monster stepped out with a hole-punch at the ready.

"Tickets please."

An irked monster got on first, followed by another, and then a pair who would not shut up. Frisk, who was last, presented their ticket from under the blanket. The conductor clipped a hole in it and waved for them to embark.

The passenger car held a dozen leather seats on both sides, divided by the centre aisle. On the outside, it appeared aged and old-fashioned, however, the interior was quite modern. Frisk picked a seat and sat down, behind the chatty pair. They were surprised to find seatbelts fitted into the seats. Not your regular two point lap belts, but the kind one would find in a stock car. Were they on a rollercoaster ride or something?

As they waited for the train to move, they could finally breathe easy, or as easy as they could with the fire blanket on them. The events of the foot chase swam through their mind. There were two moments about it that they could not shake: the collapsing scaffolding and the patio door. Two accidents that got them out of tight spots. Two unrelated incidents that happened at the most convenient times.

However, Frisk was not so sure about that.

Under the scaffolding, they could have sworn they had seen a hand holding something sharp, moments before the rope snapped. Behind the patio curtain, there was a figure, who disappeared after the door was flung into the back of Corporal Barmy.

Those accidents might have been done on purpose.

Thank goodness they were kind enough to leave the door open.

Barb the Bounty Hunter stepped inside the hotel room, the one which her target had been using. Her high-heel boots sank into the carpet. Her entrance was so stealthy and silent that nobody knew she was even there. With nobody around, she was free to explore to her heart's content. She gave the unassuming room a quick look around, finding nothing of great importance. Everything about that room, the economy room, was standard. The bathroom was spotless. The bed needed remaking.

Any ordinary monster would gather nothing from it. However, Barb was not like the commonplace hunter. She had trained her mind to gather clues where others would see none. One footstep in a muddy puddle was a compass marker. A broken twig acted as a homing beacon. A single blade of grass in the wrong direction was a detailed map leading to the target's exact whereabouts.

The bed told Barb that the target had left in a hurry. The remote control by the bedside. Her eyes examined the leaflets on the desk, a smile formed on her red lips. The leaflets had been tampered with. Such amateur soldiers; none of them would ever dream that a trivial matter would hold a vital clue to the target's movements.

Barb counted the ones that were present: the menu for Sweet and Sour's. A vacation park. Day trips around Parfocorse. Summer cctivities for children.

A random guard waltzed into the room and stopped in his tracks, startled by the leather-clad intruder poking around the crime scene. "Hey, you," he barked, "you're not supposed to be—"

Without taking her eyes off the leaflets, Barb bent her right arm across her stomach, pointed her firearm at the soldier, and fired off a small electric projectile. The bullet collided with the chest plate, degrading his words into a jumble of hushed, sporadic screams as a muscle-numbing amount of voltage coursed through his body.

Barb continued uninterrupted as the guard convulsed violently. The Metal Bar. The replica of Highkeep Dungeons. Wait, something was missing.

She snapped her fingers as it all clicked into place, and as the guard dropped like a felled tree. There was a leaflet missing, she was certain of it: the train schedule. Parfocorse was the central hub for all the trains in the Plain-plain. There was bound to be one in every hotel, shoved in every brochure holder, no exceptions. For the train times to be missing meant either one of two things: the receptionist had forgotten, or they had been taken – most likely by whoever was in this room last.

She was drawn to the window upon hearing the cry of a train engine. She made her way over, catching the tail end of the train as it departed from the station.

Child's play. Barb knew it already as she headed for the door, stepping over the guard. Frisk was on that train.