"Your timing sucks!" Chara howls as they go spinning past the last switch. Frisk can't stop laughing as they stumble off the conveyor belt, landing on their belly. In their backpack, the badges clink together as if they're amused too. Even if they did manage to screw up the entire puzzle, the look on Chara's face was so worth it. "Aaaaaalphys!"

Frisk's stomach is starting to hurt and they're pretty sure they're getting a stitch in their side from laughing so hard. On the other side of the phone, Alphys sounds like she's nervously shifting stuff around. She's just messed up the entire puzzle for them. Frisk doesn't have the heart to be mad at her though, especially not after the gift of Chara's outraged face. Laughter truly is the best medicine.

The force field before them shuts off with a quick click and Alphys says "Looks like you only needed to hit two of them." She hangs up. Chara gives Frisk a deadpan look, arching an eyebrow very slowly.

Still chuckling, they stand up, brushing off the gravelly bits that stick to their sweater and their cute new apron. There's a little bit of a stain on it, but it has a little polka-dot pattern that they really like. Plus, they'll be ready for Mettaton's next cooking show now.

Their phone buzzes with an alert from the Undernet, a picture of Alphys and a catgirl figurine having lunch together. They scroll down a little ways and find that the first like on the picture is from StrongFish91. Chara nudges them, wiggling their eyebrows in a way that manages to seem extremely dirty. They nudge them back, trying to be the serious one. 'Stop it.'

The phone buzzes a second time. Papyrus has decided to take part in the same conversation and his contribution is a picture of him flexing paper muscles while wearing sunglasses. The muscles are also wearing sunglasses. Whoever was taking the picture had their thumb on the camera. Despite the fact that it's nearly identical to the picture he posted before, Frisk downloads it and the picture of Alphys and the figurine. They can never have enough pictures of their friends.

They slide their phone back in their pocket and contemplate the puzzle before them. It's made of steam vents that should propel them in different directions, Chara says. None of the vents have enough force to shoot them straight over the side though, so that should be okay. Chara's great at puzzles, so Frisk waits for them to highlight the correct route.

Chara glances up from their art wall when they don't jump onto the first platform. "Oh-ho-ho, no. No no no. You do this one, Frisk."

'What?' Frisk screws up their face. 'Do you at least have the answers?'

Their headmate hops into the air and floats there, hovering a few inches above the ground of the mindscape, hands on their hips. "Yeah, but puzzles are an in-teg-ral part of monster history. You've got to solve it! Besides, I'm busy trying to figure everything out, like what these badges are and how we're gonna get them to Gaster if we're going in the wrong direction." With that, they levitate a few feet higher, stick out their tongue, and set to work sketching the figures of the other greyscale monsters.

Back in reality, Frisk throws their hands up in the air and turns to Flowey, pleading through big brown eyes. The flower rolls his own eyes, guessing what they want immediately. "N-no way, Fr-Frisk. F-figure it out."

They drop the puppy-dog act like the trash it is and hop forward onto the vent. It shoots them like a star up into the air and they land perfectly on the next platform. If perfectly is a synonym for crumpling into a confused and disoriented heap, then they are practically perfect in every way. 'Ow.'

Flowey groans, leaning down by their ear. "I-if you k-keep g-getting hurt, y-you're n-n-n- you're never going to get out of h-here." His breath tickles their cheek and they huff a laugh, smudging at the tears of pain trying to escape their eyes. He sighs, looking to the left and right, as if someone is going to see him being helpful. Then he says in a low voice "Tr-try slowing down."

They don't question it, even though they don't know what he means, even though 'try slowing down' is the vaguest piece of advice they've ever encountered. If they question it, they have no doubt in their mind that he'll say something mean to counteract his moment of kindness. So they pick themself up and step forward, the toe of their shoe just touching the vent. They can feel the wind pushing at them. But they inch their way onto the vent, taking their own sweet time about it.

And they fly.

When they land, it's a little rougher than they wanted it to be, but they're on their feet and nothing hurts. "Good job," Flowey says, squeezing a vine around their arm. "Th-this puzzle's g-going to t-take a little time, so d-don't let it push you."

They make a lot of wrong turns and mess up a lot. One particular instance has them stepping forward when they wanted to go left, which results in a lot of harried signing and Flowey's obnoxious giggling. He doesn't help them, but every so often, he squeezes one of their arms when they do something right. And when they complete the puzzle, he forgets himself entirely and gloats. "S-see, Chara? All you n-needed w-was a little help from your b-best f-friend Asriel!"

Frisk says nothing. Chara's smile and Flowey's crows of delight are saying everything that needs to be said. They don't dare to even laugh, afraid they'll ruin this little victory, so they just keep walking. Eventually, Flowey's laughter peters out and he steals quick glances at them every so often to make sure they hadn't noticed his slip. They keep an unreadable expression on their face. At home, Frisk always won at poker.

"Ooh, what'd you play for?"

'M&Ms,' Frisk responses cheerily, envisioning the tiny dish of colorful candies. Every so often, Lee would sneak a handful when he thought they weren't looking and they would smack him with their hand of cards. Frisk was always watching the candy.

They meet a slew of waddling little monsters called Vulkins in the next room. Frisk jumps around, avoiding the lava and encouraging the monsters until the Vulkins finally decide they've helped enough and toddle off, leaving Frisk a good amount of gold.

"Vulkins love a good charity case," Chara says as Frisk juggles the coins from hand to hand, trying to cool them off. "They're always looking for ways to help, but they're pretty simple monsters, so they aren't too subtle about it."

'I'm not offended. It's really nice of them.' Frisk wiggles their hips and the pouch of coins doesn't even jangle anymore. Instead it smacks against their hipbone with the force of a hammer. 'But that was a lot of money.'

"One sixty gold exactly."

Frisk's eyes might just bug out of their head. 'We gotta go give some of this back.'

"Are you nuts? MTT Resort is coming up and they have the best food! Remember how expensive that stuff is?" Frisk squares their shoulders and Chara takes a different tack. "The Vulkins will get super offended if you try and give them their money back."

'But-!' Frisk starts to protest.

Unintentionally, Flowey makes up their mind for them. "Wh-what the hell is that d-d-dog doing here?"

His question is met with an admonishing yap, as if the little white dog sitting by the room's exit is asking What the hell are you doing here? Frisk tilts their head and the dog bows, drumming its front paws on the ground before it. Then it barks again, saying Well, come on. You're late! With a doggish grin, it hums and then tears off, farther into Hotland.

Before Frisk can even realize that it's happening, they're chasing after it, following the fluffy creature around pipes and vents that seem to shift into trees and hillocks. The scenario is so familiar to them, this game of cat-and-mouse, dog and human, that they fall into its rhythms. One minute they're running through Hotland, the heat weighing down their body, and the next they're following the dog over uneven grass, the sun at their back as they climb up the mountain in pursuit. A memory clicks into place and their headmate picks up on it.

"You chased a dog up the mountain?" Chara says in disbelief, examining the memory.

'No. I chased this dog up the mountain.' Frisk laughs, and the sound fills the headspace. 'It must have fallen in with me.' A sense of relief floods their body. They hadn't just wandered off. They had been trying to pet the dog!

"That's actually impossible." Chara taps into the legs and slows them. Frisk has to pinwheel their arms in order to keep from falling over. The dog disappears around a corner, dragging one of its legs behind it in a familiar manner. Frisk has no time to process, because Chara's speaking again, in their 'I-know-more-than-you' voice, "I've seen that dog before. It lives down here. It's always lived down here."

"Chara, wasn't th-that the Annoying Dog?" Flowey glances over at Frisk's face of confusion and decides to elaborate. "Asgore named it. It w-was alw-w-ways stealing food and stuff. And Ch-Chara liked to h-help it."

"I may not really like dogs, but a mischief maker is always a friend of mine," Chara says proudly. "One time, we stole a whole pie and it was-"

"How old can monster dogs get?" Frisk asks, trying to squelch their disbelief. They're positive that the dog is the same one they chased up the mountain.

A little miffed that Frisk cut off what was sure to be a grand story, Chara snips "Monster dogs can get pretty old. But that's an aboveground dog. It's too small to be anything else."

Frisk finds the flaw in their argument and exploits it triumphantly. "Aboveground dogs don't live hundreds of years," they say. "They're not immortal."

Chara swears, but is unable to argue, especially once Frisk digs up their wealth of dead dog movies.

"Wh-what?" Flowey asks, a few beats later.

"Yeah, little bud, what what!" says a cheerful and utterly unfamiliar voice from behind them. Frisk turns on their heel and spots two armored figures, almost completely hidden by the black metal of their suits. Still, one has floppy ears poking up from the top of his helmet, while the other has three reptilian spikes. They rush up to Frisk, the cheerful one saying "We've, like, received an anonymous tip about a human wearing a striped shirt. They told us they were wandering around Hotland right now." The man shivers theatrically, although his cheery voice never falters. "Sounds scary, huh?"

Frisk nods, trying not to laugh. Despite their apron, the striped sleeves of their sweater are easily visible around their waist and their t-shirt is also striped white and blue. It seems like it would be pretty obvious.

There's a snort in their headspace. "He's not even looking at you," Chara says. "Look at his visor."

Frisk angles their head a little, squinting up at the darkness inside the guard's helmet. Flowey chuckles, seeing it first. "H-he's l-l-looking at the other guy."

The guard completely mishears Flowey's words. "Stay chill, flower bro! We'll bring you two someplace safe, okay?" He reaches out a gloved hand and Frisk takes it, feeling a strange grit on the metal.

"Cooling dirt," Chara explains. "Otherwise they'd cook in their armor. Even the dragon one." Frisk lets the guard pull them along for a few steps, rubbing slow circles over the armor with their thumb. When they lift it, their thumb is dusted with a thin layer of sooty dirt. So it comes off. Interesting.

"Huh?" asks the cheery one. "What is it, bro?" Frisk glances up to see the reptilian one staring down at them. "The shirt they're wearing? …Like, what about it?" The reptilian one hisses something Frisk can't make out and finally the leporine one reluctantly tears his eyes away from his partner and rests them on Frisk. His scrutiny lasts only a moment before he turns back to the reptilian guard.

"Bro, are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" The reptilian one nods very slowly and draws his sword. The leporine one sighs, unsheathing his own. "Bummer." To Frisk, still in his friendly voice, "This is, like, mega embarrassing. We, like, actually totally have to kill you and stuff."

"Royal Guard attacks!" Chara yells as their soul flies out from their chest, burning red. The color is warmer now, more like the color of a cherry lollipop than blood on snow. The guards don't even flinch when they see it.

Frisk glances from one guard to the next, deliberating. 'If I wash off the dirt on their armor, will they have to go away?' they ask.

"You could do that." Chara taps their chin with their chalk, then leans over and taps Frisk's nose with it. "Or you could really look at them."

Frisk glances at the first guard. The insignia on his shoulder means that he's a royal guard, if they didn't already know that. The designation under it reveals him to be Royal Guard 01. His armor is shiny and they can see everything reflected in it, so he must take very good care of it. They make the spare sign and watch their reflection do the same thing.

RG01 leaps up into the air, somersaulting over their head. They duck and his sword whistles past their ear. The dragon guard stands before them, the rabbit guard behind them. Frisk twists their stance so that they can keep the two of them in their vision.

The guards slice at the air with the exact same motion, their blades blazing white. The light on the swords creates disks that come humming towards Frisk from both sides. What they wouldn't give for a blue soul right now. Instead, they work with what they have, dodging between disks. One neatly chops off half of an apron string, another clips the toe of their shoe, thankfully missing their toes.

Then it's Frisk's turn again and they look at the second guard. His designation is RG02. His armor is shiny too, but he fidgets every so often like it's too tight. Or too warm. Frisk gets closer to him and he looks impassively down at them, waiting for them to fight. Instead, they gather a handful of their apron in their fist and start rubbing at his armor. Their apron grows black with the cooling dirt's residue and when they step back, RG02 is worrying at the straps that hold his armor together. Frisk glances back at RG01, who is now visibly sweating.

"….getting…warmer…" mumbles RG02, pulling off his gauntlets in order to get a better grip on his straps.

RG01 hurls disk after disk of light their way as RG02 tears at his armor. These are easier to dodge. All they have to do is stay in the segment of battle that would have been RG02's.

"…can't take it," RG02 mutters. "Armor…too… hot!" His armor clatters on the ground as he rips the entire breastplate off.

"Nice," Chara says over RG02's sound of relief, nodding their head at RG01, who has completely dropped his sword. When he sees them looking though, he hurriedly picks it back up. His eyes are pretty much glued to RG02's chest.

Frisk narrows their eyes. 'Chara, did you just orchestrate this?'

"Nah. Just made some observations. Ooh, wait, gimme control." Chara skips over to RG01, dodging his attacks with ease. By the time they reach him, it's their turn again, and they pull out the notepad. 'Tell him how you really feel,' they write. 'He'll understand.' They accompany their words with a saucy wink that makes Frisk wrestle them back into the mindscape.

RG01 looks at them and his ears stand straight up, as if he's surprised. Then they flop over again. His shoulders square as if he's Atlas and the weight of the world has just been dropped onto him.

Frisk backs away and raises their eyebrows at him, jerking their head towards RG02 meaningfully.

RG01 hesitates, but suddenly it bursts out of him as if the damn has broken. "D-dude!"

RG02 is immediately on guard, hand on his sword handle as he looks from RG01 to Frisk and back again. He looks as if he's ready to kill them based on RG01's agonized utterance alone. Chara's smugness reverberates in the headspace.

Brokenly, RG01 says "I can't- I can't take this anymore! Not like this!" He sheathes his sword and takes off his helmet, holding it in his hands. His pink nose quivers as he steps forward. It is as if Frisk doesn't exist anymore and that's perfect. But rather than escape, they sit down, propping their chin up in their hands as they watch this encounter play out. Flowey heaves an enormous sigh, but when they give him an apologetic glance, his eyes are glued to the two. It's like watching a soap opera.

"Like, 02! I like, like you, bro!" He smiles shyly, mouth trembling. "The way you fight, the way you talk. I love doing team attacks with you. I love standing here with you, bouncing and waving our weapons in sync." His smile fades and his grip on his helmet tightens. "02, I, like, want to stay like this forever."

The silence after RG01's admission is deafening and Chara stumbles in their mental planning. "Oh, God, Frisk, what if he rejects him? What if I was wrong?" RG01, obviously thinking the same thing, glances over at them desperately. Chara presses their hands to their mouth. They might have just split up a friendship. They might have just split up a friendship!

"Uh, I mean, um…" RG01 plasters a fake smile on his face and yells, in a quavering version of his cheery voice, "Psyche! Gotcha, bro!" His fear is horribly apparent.

"I c-can't watch," mumbles Flowey, even as he makes no move to turn away from the scene unfolding before them.

RG02 steps forward. "01." He twists his gloveless hands together.

"Y-yeah, bro?" RG01 asks softly.

RG02 glances towards the ground, steels himself, then removes his own helmet. He meets RG01's eyes. "…do you want to…get some ice cream? A-after this?"

"Sure, dude!" RG01 holds out his hand and RG02 steps towards him as if drawn. Their hands clasp together and Chara squeals. In the mindscape, Frisk has to dodge the explosions of rose petals. Someone's been watching more anime than they've been letting on.

The guards look towards Frisk, who gets up off their feet and crosses their arms in front of their chest. Sparing them any further fight. The new couple smiles and, hands still linked, they stroll towards Frisk and past them, RG02 reaching out to ruffle their hair. Frisk waves goodbye as Chara continues to squeal. The fact that they don't need air in the headspace makes it pretty simple for them to shriek forever.

'I don't suppose that's satisfied your matchmaking need,' Frisk says, putting their hands on their hips playfully.

Chara turns to the mind's-eye with a wild grin. "Nope! Mettaton won't know what hit him!" Rather than being satiated by their first matchmaking success, the sight of the happy couple has only encouraged Chara. They are brainstorming twice as hard now. It's actually quite frightening. They have a feeling they won't be able to get anything sensible out of them for a while.

"H-hey, Fr-Frisk. I was thinking. Wh-where are you g-g-going?" When Frisk tilts their head, Flowey blurts "When you l-leave the Underg-g-ground, where are you g-going?"

"Home! With Lee and my cat and my garden!" Frisk shows Chara an image of their garden, tiny and dirty and flecked with struggling flowers and pretty stones. They start to try and explain it to Flowey too, but he cuts them off.

"And is Ch-Chara going too?"

Chara drops their chalk. In their mind's-eye, Frisk sees it split in half on impact with the floor, spilling pinkish dust everywhere. Quickly, they change it to a flower, pollen touching the dark mindscape with a hint of sunny yellow. Liking the way it looks, they morph the entirety of the mindscape into a lush garden, muted sunlight filtering in from an unidentified point.

In the middle of it all stands Chara, unmoved by the beauty surrounding them. Frisk feels very much like that split second before RG02 asked RG01 out. There's a flicker of something in Chara's eyes, just before they throw their shields up and smile beatifically. "Don't answer that, Frisk. It doesn't matter." They reach out towards the mind's eye and neatly slide into control, giving Flowey their most reassuring smile, one that slithers across Frisk's countenance like a slug. 'It doesn't matter,' they mouth.

Flowey looks as if he might argue, eyes shining with anger and something else. Yet he doesn't. The Dreemurr siblings are just alike, even after so much time spent apart. Rather than argue, he rests his chin on Frisk's shoulder and asks "Wh-what's the surface going to b-be like?"

Frisk talks. They don't know the answers to all of his questions, like what the stars are made of or how hot the sun is ("It's just super hot, I dunno."), but they know cool aboveground stories about constellations. The dragon and the hunter and the bears.

"S-so, they named one after a h-hunter?"

"That's my favorite! His name's Orion and he's the easiest to find because his belt is three stars all close together. They're called the Three Siblings."

"That'll be our constellation then!" Chara says and Frisk conveys their message to Flowey. His eyes light up.

"Y-yeah! We can h-have stars!"

"I don't know if we can have them. Stars are for everyone."

"D-don't be st-stupid, Frisk. If st-stars are for everyone, that m-means we can have whichever ones we want," Flowey explains, just as bossily as Chara. "B-besides, stars are cool. Th-they grant any wishes you want!"

"Lee always says that you don't get wishes by wishing on stars," Frisk points out. "He says you get wishes by working hard."

"Yeah, but the stars scoot it all along," Chara says authoritatively. As if he's backing up their argument, Flowey sniffs "Th-thousands of m-monsters wishing on the st-stars can't be wrong, Frisk."

Frisk figures that it's better to join in. Chara seems happy again and the thought of stars has sufficiently cheered Flowey. "When we get home, we can look up the stars' names, okay? Then we can choose the ones we want."

"The st-stars are going to be so cool!" Flowey enthuses. "A whole sk-sky full of them!"

"And the moon too!" Frisk spells out the word when Flowey doesn't immediately recognize the sign.

"The moon!" Flowey crows. Then, "Wh-what exactly is the moon?" Frisk exaggerates shock and Flowey shoves their shoulder. "I'm n-not kidding, Frisk!" His little fangs show, but they look more like Asriel's pearly baby teeth than Flowey's crooked daggers.

They giggle, trying to keep a straight face. "The moon is like… um." Their smile fades. Frisk thinks about all the stories they know and dismiss them. None of them are good enough to explain. So they tell Flowey the straight facts, all the ones they know. "It's a big eye sometimes, but then it's a smile, and it's huge! Almost as big as the whole world!"

Flowey stares at them, his mouth working. It's obvious the thought doesn't compute. "It's both?" he asks. "At once?"

"No! It changes! It has these things called phases. It grows big and wide and then tiny and skinny. And it's always pretty. Like a big Waterfall crystal, hanging in the sky, a billion zillion miles away." They make a hand motion to demonstrate how big it is, trying to capture in a wave of their hand the vastness of it all.

"That far away?" he asks doubtfully, wrinkling his brow.

"The sky goes on forever. But it's always the same exact sky, no matter where you are."

Flowey eyes the cavern ceiling. "Wow," he mumbles. Frisk nods in agreement and wiggles between a crack in the cavern wall into the next room. The light extinguishes before they can even process what's surrounding them.

They have a funny feeling in their belly, like heavy butterflies, and the butterflies only flap harder when they reach the only logical conclusion as to the Underground's sudden light failure. "M-m-mettaton," Flowey groans, having reached the same conclusion.

Their phone rings. "H-hey!" says Alphys. "A-another dark room, huh? M-mettaton really loves his dramatics. D-don't worry! I'll light up the room for you!"

Frisk's eyes brighten as they find an opening and they type Aw, Alphys, you're the light of my life.

There's an awkward silence where Frisk chuckles at their own joke and Flowey covers his face with his petals. Alphys continues typing in their ear, determined not to laugh, although they can picture her exact expression of exasperation. "Y-you really need to stop hanging around Sans," the lizard comments as the lights flicker on. Her voice mumbles "Oh no" as if Mettaton is a naughty cat that has just swiped all her work off her desk, equal parts exasperating and familiar.

Frisk blinks and squints at the scene before them. It's a room lined with random objects. Aside from the spotlight bathing them, however, the room is still too dim to make out the exact objects. Mettaton yells, in his highly metallic voice "OH YES! Good afternoon, beauties and gentlebeauties!" Frisk turns towards his voice and finds themself looking out into the eye of a camera, enclosed by a cardboard frame. They step towards it and poke their head out, glancing to their left. Mettaton looks back at them, shuffling his papers. He's dressed in a very smart red suit. Discreetly, he tries to shoo them back into the frame. "This is Mettaton, reporting live from MTT News! An interesting situation has arisen in Eastern Hotland!"

Frisk winks at the camera and finger-guns it, slipping their phone back into their pocket. They're most definitely interesting. "Flowey, make a face for the fans!" The flower immediately waggles his tongue at the camera and bares his crooked teeth. Frisk applauds him fervently.

Mettaton increases his efforts to get them back into the frame by extending one of his arms and poking them with it. "Fortunately, our correspondent is out there, reporting live!"

Frisk hops back into the frame at that and strikes a pose, shading their eyes with one hand and peering around the room dramatically.

Mettaton takes that as his cue to ham it up further, getting onto his desk and lounging across it, hand draped over his screen. "Brave correspondent! Please find something newsworthy to report! Our twelve wonderful viewers are waiting for you!"

Frisk gives the camera a thumbs-up and another roguish wink. They're beginning to enjoy being on TV. Happily, they start inspecting the objects laid out around the room. They turn up their nose at the movie script and ignore the basketball as neither seems like a newsworthy story. Then they happen across a disc case. The logo on the cover catches their eye and they pick it up.

"H-hey," Flowey notes. "Th-that's-"

"Ooh la la! That video game you found.. is dynami- huh?"

Flowey holds up the case in his vines, shaking it at the camera. Mettaton's screen goes blank. They've startled him. He shuffles his notes, looking for the description of their chosen story. Sheets of paper slip out of his neat stack and flutter away, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Bl- Blook Tunes Volume Zero," he stammers, with an air of confusion that lets them know straightaway that he's making this up as he goes along. "This, uh, soulful music has explosive bass drops as befitting any good spookwave music! The album art is bursting with passion and it features multiple guest artists, including two ghosts with star potential! No, not potential! Star power!"

Frisk glances at it and flips it over in their hands, reading the list of tracks. Napstablook has a very abstract way of naming his songs. Some of them are poetic, like "Calling Crystal Cavern" and others are odd, like "Can You Really Call This A Hotel, I Didn't Receive A Mint On My Pillow Or Anything," and a few are in-between, like the ominous and dramatic "Death by Glamour." Where did Mettaton get this? Again they hold it up to the camera. Maybe they'll get Napstablook some recognition.

"That's true, correspondent, some songs deserve more than one listen so you can dig down into the deepest emotion of the composer." He fixes the audience with a flashing screen. "Attention, viewers! Our correspondent has found a CD! The potential in this music is mind-blowing! Produced and composed by a self-made ghost in Waterfall, the music inside is a mix of all the top genres: spookwave, ghouliday, spooktune, nitroglycerine, and… oh my!" Frisk, who has pried the case open, looks dumbly at the red cylinder within, their eyes growing to the size of dinner plates as Mettaton narrates. "Looks like the bass drops aren't the only explosive quality of this CD! But don't get too excited, courageous correspondent! You haven't even seen the rest of the room!"

The cardboard frame goes crashing down over the edge of the ground platform, taking the rest of Mettaton's 'studio' with it. Frisk has to throw up their arms in order to avoid being blinded by the lights lining the area. The CD case clatters to the ground and the insides of their eyelids glow a blistering red even through their fingers. It's like being doused in the attention of several thousand hostile suns. They think they vaguely hear Flowey mumble "Photosynthesis can't save me now" and they giggle together.

Mettaton coughs, letting them know that their mirth has no place in his dramatic show. "Oh my!" he cries when they swallow their laughter. They squint, uncovering their eyes to see him clap his gloved hands to his screen. "It seems everything in this area is actually a bomb!"

They turn their back on the lights, squinting at the rest of the room. Their eyes immediately meet those of the Annoying Dog, who winks at them, tongue lolling out. Then it yawns, stretching out as Mettaton yells "That dog's a bomb!" A little flame sparks up on its tail, which it looks at with disinterest.

"Is that the same dog as the one in the piano room?" Chara asks, pointing out the way that one of its legs splays out to the side. "And the same dog that you chased into Hotland? How does this dog get around so fast?" Frisk snaps their fingers in recognition. That's where they know the dog from! The piano room!

Mettaton's listing more items in the room that are bombs and Frisk glances around, surprised at the variety of things he could fit fuses on or in. The dog is quite possibly the most astonishing though, as they have never seen the creature so still as it is now.

"Brave correspondent!" the robot calls, drawing their attention back to him. His screen is blinking a rather irate yellow at their continued distraction. They wave at the camera again, squinting into the studio lights. With a vaguely metallic sigh, he swoops by their head, turning their attention to a second platform of land. "If you don't defuse all the bombs, this big bomb will blow you to smithereens in two minutes!" Like a host on a game show, he makes a showy sweeping motion with his arms, indicating the oversized pink bomb beside him. "Then you won't be reporting 'live' any longer!"

Flowey snorts. "Weak."

Mettaton gives the impression of glaring at him. "How terrible. How disturbing," he drones dryly, as if he can think of no fate more suitable. "Our viewers are going to love watching this! Good luck, darling!" Then he whirs up and out of the camera's view, landing as quietly as possible on one of the beams that surround the area. His screen projects a holographic clock, one that starts to count down.

Frisk claps their hands and cracks their knuckles, grinning roguishly at the cameras. Even though their stomach has gone cold from the idea that Mettaton might actually kill them, they love his weird challenges and they're determined to succeed in this one.

Their phone rings once, but abruptly stops before they can pick it up. The dog, who had just closed its eyes for a nap, opens its eyes again as its lip curls. Frisk's own lip follows suit as they catch a whiff of the scent in the air. It's thickly metallic and drapes itself around them like a damp coat, winding its way into their head and creating a dull throb in their skull, just behind their eyebrows. Mettaton's clock falters and disappears with an electric hum. Mettaton himself begins to whir loudly. "It seems that I am now running on battery power, darling. What are you doing down there?"

Frisk looks up at him and the confusion in their eyes seems to convince him that something's going wrong on his show. He hesitates a moment, torn between continuing the show and becoming involved in it himself. Involvement wins out, of course. Mettaton can never stray too far from the cameras. "Never fear, bold correspondent. I used to be a field reporter myself, once upon a time." Mettaton lands beside them and his wheel pops out of his body, sending him scurrying to check on the big bomb. "The timer has stopped! How extraordinarily lucky for you!" He beeps a few times, numbers showing up on his screen and disappearing like stage magicians as he tries to call someone. Then he goes completely blank and silent, holding up a finger. "Listen, darling."

They do, listening to the strange stillness. Hotland is never quiet. Steam shafts and vents are always hissing, machinery is always whirring. Now there is nothing but the susurrus of lava lapping at the stone so many miles below them and Mettaton's systems kicking into high gear to make up for the lack of energy. And a third sound joins the mix: a curious low rumble, never faltering and packed with intensity.

It is the dog, eyes focused on something past Frisk. On and on it growls. Frisk turns their head to follow its gaze and the lights flicker out too late to hide the figure standing there.

Mettaton clicks and a ray of soft light flares out from his screen, barely enough to illuminate his hands, which are moving rapidly in circles like propellers. Dust motes flicker through the beam as he spins in a circle. Frisk and Flowey spin with him, peering through the darkness in search of answers. "Someone's in the grid," Mettaton sings, the color of his screen light shifting as he clicks and clacks, creating a fast-paced tempo over the dog's constant backbeat of growls. "Got you, Alphys, darling!" he crows as the lights turn back on. "You should be ashamed. That was simply too easy-"

The figure is before them now, grinning inanely as it seizes Mettaton by the screen and slams him down into the ground. From the ground, his wheel spinning frantically, Mettaton coughs "Al..phys?" even though the creature before them is nothing at all like her. It towers over Frisk, eyes nothing but blank sockets, as if whoever made it couldn't be bothered to give it eyeballs. It is tall and misshapen and green sparks play off its features, winking out like the deaths of so many fireflies.

The dog's growl takes a level in volume and it seems like the ground is shaking with it, a rumble akin to the roar of thunder. Slowly, the elglitch's head twists on its neck until it is making eye contact- or lack of it- with the dog. It cocks its head like a bird and its malicious smile widens. The lights go out again. Frisk's breath goes out with it.

Chara inhales and adjusts their stance. Frisk has a habit of standing like nothing can move them. Chara wants speed here. A blow can come from any direction at any time, especially in the dark. They breathe out, hissing the air through their teeth. They're determined to survive.

There's a rush of air and they duck, falling onto their elbow on the ground. Above them, green sparks flash frenziedly, warning them exactly where the elglitch's head had been. It must have struck at them like a snake. Chara kicks out with their legs. Frisk's feet connect with something heavy and Chara makes a sweeping motion, knocking the creature off balance.

The lights come back on and Chara sees the second arm arcing towards them as the creature rolls their way. They scramble to their feet, crabbing backwards out of harm's way. Flowey hisses, drawing up to a height greater than the norm. Bullets form out of thin air, popping as they fill spaces that were once empty. These fly directly into the creature's face, peppering it with greasy white wounds. Chara laughs raucously. The exhilaration of battle has always been theirs more than Frisk's and so Frisk sits back in the mindscape, watching the battle with alert eyes. Should Chara need help, they will slip in beside them, but until then Chara wants to have this for themself.

The skin alongside the creature's wounds bubbles, boils, then spreads, stretching over the open gashes left by Flowey's hate. The substance underneath fills the shallows. Yet, the creature's grin never falters as it creaks to its feet and moves forward, misshapen paws reaching, green sparks tasting the air before their face.

The dog yaps out a challenge, then it bulls into the creature's legs, moving so quickly that it is a white blur, only a suggestion of a dog. The creature sways unsurely and the dog dances out of its long-limbed reach, showing all its teeth in response to the masking grin. The fuse on its tail is creeping down and Frisk looks around in a panic. Realization has struck them like a lightning bolt.

Despite the larger bomb being reliant on an electronic timer, the other bombs are the sort with a fuse, dependent only on the fire burning down, and Alphys can't defuse them remotely if she can't get to them. 'Chara!' they cry, a warning.

"I heard," Chara says, hauling themself to their feet and running full-tilt for the nearest explosive. The extremely agile glass of water finds them first, circling around and around them as if it intends to pour its highly volatile contents over their very flammable body.

"Fr-isk!" chirps a voice at their hip, Alphys's voice calling a warning. Chara pulls their phone out and searches the screen. If these scenes have been thought out by Alphys and Mettaton beforehand, then Alphys must have given them something else for this scene. The phone itself is squeaking and babbling and the 'Alphys Calling' screen keeps popping up and disappearing before they can hit the answer button.

Stop calling! they type frantically, adding about five extra 'I's and a slew of exclamation points. When they send the message off, they don't even know if it makes its way through, but their phone stops flashing long enough for them to find the bomb defusing app. The glass shatters when they defuse it, but they don't have time to address the shards scattered around the ground. They sprint away, disarming the CD with a flick of their wrist and catching the basketball with another. The dog yelps behind them and there is a sound like a thunderclap. When they turn, Mettaton is handling it. They never would have pegged him as a close range fighter, especially not a fist fighter what with all those fancy cannons NEO had on him, but there he is, throwing punches with the same carefree air he'd use to throw bombs or flowers. The punches connect with that same booming sound and the creature's face caves in a little more every time. The dog is scampering around the creature's feet, doing its utmost to trip it up, although its bad leg seems to be returning the favor.

Fifteen seconds.

Chara reaches the ledge and vaults onto the platform parallel to it, aiming and defusing the present with ease. They slide, then twist and scramble to their feet. They have two bombs left to go and not long before they detonate.

Ten seconds.

Frisk points out the movie script and they run at it, alarmed when the conveyor belt suddenly shifts beneath their feet, sparking green. Chara tries to run backwards, but it's Flowey who saves the day, snagging the bomb in his vines as they skid past and nearly tip right off the edge of the platform. Thank heaven for the force fields, which push them back so hard that the air leaves their lungs with a whoosh. Blindly, they scrabble for their phone, which had left their hands when they fell.

Bomb defused! Flowey gives them a disdainful look, his vines still lying across the phone where he had activated the app.

There's no time to celebrate. The dog screams in pain and Chara throws themself onto the vent, soaring into the air with all the skill of a flightless bird. They land hard, but Frisk grabs the pain of their wrists and shins before it can distract. The dog sees them coming. It yaps out a warning: Stay back! But there's a ferocious cut soaking the white fur with red and its leg is acting up, forcing it to hobble at a rapid clip. To stay back would be to condemn it.

The elglitch spots them too and pants, reaching out a hand. The fingers curl, as if it is about to cup their face like Toriel would, but then they see the needlelike claws, aiming directly for their eye. Enemy or friend, they think and, with claws like that, they're picking enemy.

Chara pulls Frisk's stubby pencil from their pocket and twirls it in their fingers. For a split second, time is mud, gumming up the hourglass. Frisk watches the pencil make a revolution of their fingers, then Chara seizes it out of the air and jams it into the elglitch's wrist. It continues to reach, then recoils. It has nerves, pain receptors, but they must be dulled. Pain does not factor so heavily in its mindset, which suggests that whatever made it intended to have it complete its mission or die. Chara's eyes scan the creature, hunting for weak spots that it has to have.

"Everything has a weak spot. Nothing is perfect," they explain to Frisk as they circle the creature warily. It's the creature's turn to fight, to choose who to attack. They've never fought as a team before, only with Kid and Flowey, so it's peculiar to feel the thing's eyeless gaze sweeping over them all as if it is checking their stats in return, hunting for their soft spots. Frisk abruptly becomes aware that they have many soft spots, even with the apron covering most of them like thick cloth armor. But they're not regenerative, like Flowey, or armored in metal, like Mettaton. They're very very vulnerable.

There's a sucking sound, like someone crawling out of quicksand, and they watch the pencil slip out of the creature's skin. The wound swells up, an irritated white with green slithering through it, shiny and seeping pus.

The thing pivots to follow them as they inch around it. One of its feet move forward, scraping against the ground, rasping in a metallic manner. It almost looks as if its feet are pointing at them, like a setter of some sort.

"Or a retriever," Chara says, snagging the dog information as soon as Frisk thinks it. They remember the hollowness of the previous elglitch, how Flowey realized it was made to hold power. As if the thing can hear their thoughts, it whirls on them and Chara is caught by surprise. It moves too fast, grabbing them by the strap of their knapsack and hauling them forward. Their feet leave the ground and immediately they panic, kicking and struggling. Their pack strap slips from their shoulder as they writhe.

Mettaton comes wheeling up, only to get backhanded viciously. That strange smile is still present on the elglitch- Retriever's- crushed face and although its teeth are bent, none of them are broken. And when it opens its mouth, there's nothing inside but empty darkness. Another container. When Chara tries to wriggle out of their knapsack, the creature seizes on their wrist, holding them aloft. 'Chara!' Frisk yelps and the world pauses.

They nearly freeze right along with it, the creeping cold crawling with icy fingers up their legs. But then their soul flares hot red, the warmth of Toriel's magic and the blaze of the sun, banishing the cold from their body. The misshapen muzzle of the elglitch dips to make eyeless to eye contact, its crooked mouth still wide. They hear its breath grating through that hole in its face, sucking in the redness of their soul. And they see what happened to Gaster happen here.

As Retriever gorges itself on stolen Determination, the fallen humans watch the indents in its head pop out, like some macabre plastic mask. It clicks. Determination allows them to reset timelines, but for monsters and creatures like this, it might do something else. They realize, as their eyes start to pulse and their fingers to twitch, that their Determination has been saving people. As their soul has healed, they've become more Determined. And now they're Determined to win.

Deliberately, their struggling slows and they begin to gasp for air, eyes bulging in their head as they choke. They try to convey that it's pulling more than they can give. It grows stronger, green sparks condensing into rays of light beyond the visible spectrum. Frisk can feel them hammering at their head. They droop in a final defeat, a flower finally wilting. When time starts again, slowly, the elglitch is whole and it reaches for their knapsack, rifling through the contents in search of something. The human in its grip lolls, rattled about like a ragdoll in the grasp of a negligent child and Retriever fails to notice the flash of red under their eyelids.

It grabs something, needle claws clicking against metal, and Flowey surges to life. Time had resumed for him first, as he's closest to Frisk, and he had only needed a second to assess the situation and decide that he didn't like it at all. Bullets pepper the creature's face, pockmarking the skin like indents in putty. When that doesn't deter it, Flowey tries something else, wrapping his vines around its wrist and pulling. Something snaps and something else pops under the pressure, but the elglitch doesn't react until Flowey rips the hand clean off, every bit as feral as the creature itself in his moment of hatred.

He doesn't know what this thing did to Chara and Frisk, but he's damn sure that he's not going to let it do it again. It is treating them as if they're a dead thing, which means that they'll reset at any second. He tosses the detached hand to the ground, watching it fizzle as it makes contact with the hard earth. He'll have to make his seconds last then.

His bullets shiver into being and each one slashes open a new area of flesh on the creature's face and throat, layers of muscle displayed like petals. Where the bullets don't connect, his vines do. Without mercy he plunges them through flesh and bone, leaving oozing holes where there was once unbroken skin and fur.

The creature shrieks and tries to drop Frisk, but Flowey curls vines around its throat, pulling it and twisting it to and fro. The creature's head jerks in his grip as he attempts to fold the neck completely in half. Then there's a tickle in his stem, creeping up to flush his cheeks pink with exhilaration.

Frisk's eyes snap open and it is then that Flowey realizes their plan: to play dead until it is distracted. They're so Determined to follow through that some of it is leaking into him. His stem itches with new growth as leaves twitch out in fresh green. 'Let go,' they mouth, and he does, tucking his head into their neck as they hit the ground and roll. As they roll, they manage to slip an arm through their knapsack's strap, and when they stand up they're holding the object of the creature's fixations: a badge, prized out of the severed hand. It's so hot that it might as well be molten.

Mettaton slips back into the timestream then and assesses the severity of the situation instantly. As a famous TV star, he has to be able to read a room, and this room is an open book. Frisk's dodge away from the creature's clutches has opened up his options and, as Flowey and Frisk watch, Mettaton opts for a laser. His screen blazes white-hot and the creature is blinded by it. With a haughty laugh, the robot unleashes a streak of light that feels like it's burning out every cone in their retinas and Retriever crumbles before it. When the light fades away, leaving shadows flitting across their vision, there is nothing left but burned fur and flesh.

Frisk scoffs in Retriever's general direction, feeling victory curl around them like a contented kitten. Chara expresses a vague disappointment at the battle not being drawn out enough and Frisk makes a face. 'We nearly died. Again.'

"Yeah, but we got better," Chara argues.

Frisk sighs heavily, shrugging at Flowey as they slip the badge into their pocket. The flower understands and heaves a sigh of his own, although his is more of relief. It's obvious that their death, even if it was a fake-out, made him nervous. They'll have to come up with other ways to become invisible to their opponents. A pressure leans against their legs, panting, and they lean down to give the Annoying Dog a gentle stroke.

"Oh my," buzzes Mettaton, shaking out his gloved hands as if he's the extra in a jazzy musical. "Darling, you're on fire."

They smile at him and give him a weary thumbs-up. They feel like someone put them in a washing machine and let the spin cycle get them, but it's nice of him to try for a compliment anyway.

"Frisk. Frisk, you moron! You're actually g-going to c-catch fire!" The Annoying Dog's fuse is dangerously close to their shorts. Gently, they scoot the dog away, listening to it huff and gripe about this sort of treatment. They fish about for their phone, careful not to brush their fingers against the badge, which is still hot enough to feel like it's burning a hole in their pocket. They aim the phone's antenna at the dog, who grumbles again but obligingly sits still for them. They're surprised it hasn't exploded yet.

Just as they open the bomb defusal app, there's a sound that tears apart the air. They cry out in the mindspace, clapping their hands to their ears. Flowey shrieks as Mettaton judders about in shock. The crumpled corpse of the elglitch raises its desiccated head and screams again, the flesh on its muzzle shiny from burns. Frisk's Determination dances around its face and green burns with an unhealthy light in its ruined eye sockets. As it reaches out a hand, steadying itself, the elglitch flickers. Only Chara's quick eyes make out the shape underneath the flesh and bone and they broadcast it in their bewilderment. The elglitch is made out of numbers underneath, green numbers that shine like the scales of a snake.

It stumbles to its feet and opens its mouth. Gobs of melted flesh stretch across its jaw as it opens impossibly wide. The resulting scream is claws running down a chalkboard, metal scraping against metal, pain and hatred conglomerated into one sound that rattles on and on. Even through their hands, Frisk can hear it throbbing in their head. Through squinted eyes, they chance a look at the elglitch.

Electricity snaps off its teeth in long threads. This time it goes straight for Frisk, not even bothering with the dog at their feet. Frisk dances around it, eyes wide in fear. How do you kill something that keeps getting back up? Chara's grace makes their feet light and they hop around the outside of the retriever's range as it stalks after them. They don't realize that it's herding them until their foot finds nothing but air at their back. Flowey shoots his vines down, trying to stabilize them. "Frisk," he growls. "Fight back!" Their knees are shaking. There's bile rising in their throat, worry and fear ready to drown them. Instead, something sparks.

'I refuse,' the fallen human says, planting their feet like tree trunks, as if they too have roots that spiral down into the earth beneath them. On their shoulder, Flowey contorts into strange shapes, his face a bubbling mass of flesh. His vines curl up around their neck, loops and loops of foliage glowing from within. And when his face resurfaces, it is adorned with sharp teeth and a narrow muzzle, all lit with the red of their Determination. They are pouring it into him and it is so vastly different from the Determination he felt in the laboratory, so much angrier. But above all the anger is focus. Frisk and Chara are purposely doing this, filling him with a strength greater than anything he's ever felt and an anger that he'd never have dreamed them to possess.

They step forward and suddenly, Retriever's ears prick. The lights flicker out, trying to cover its flight. Unfortunately for Retriever, Frisk's soul and Flowey's eyes are glinting red and Mettaton's screen illuminates the silhouette of the massive creature. Another flash of light and Retriever is blown backwards with another horrendous scream. Frisk moves towards where it used to be, scooping up the Annoying Dog with one hand. The little canine yaps, nosing at their chin. If they weren't in the middle of a fight for their life, they'd take the time to scrunch its ears and give it a cuddle.

"Focus," Flowey hisses. The glow in his eyes has started to fade with their momentary distraction. They redouble their attention to their Determination, pushing it back to him as simply as if they were passing Lee the dish of M&Ms. His eyes blaze with red and the light catches on Retriever's bared teeth as it lunges for their throat. Frisk slides aside and Flowey slams a bullet into its back, slapping it down. They hear something snap before the creature is sent hurtling into the ground. It is barely down a moment before it struggles back to its feet, murder etched in every fiber of its being.

Hatred. It gleams in the horrible green of its eye sockets and blisters off its crowded teeth. Frisk instinctively shoves their hands over their ears as the mouth opens. But it doesn't scream. It speaks. And its voice is gravel and murk and the dark spots at night that seem to close in for the kill when no one is around to protect you. "You will regret this," it spits, slime matting what remains of the fur around its muzzle.

Mettaton tries to speak in the grim silence that follows, to defuse the power struggle between the eyeless elglitch and the fallen human. He can't form words. They glitch out as simple sounds. The dog worms out of their grip and sits by their feet, as if it can somehow shield them from the animosity. Moments trudge by in Hotland's uncanny silence.

Then they hear it. A high cold laugh that traces a sharp finger down Frisk's spine comes curling through the air from their shoulder. It dissolves into a giggle. He's genuinely amused by what should have been threatening, what would be threatening if Flowey wasn't soaked in Determination. "You've come to the wrong place if you expect them to be scared by that!" he whoops, leaning forward. His stem brushes their cheek. "Frisk and Chara, they never stop trying! Never!"

"He remembers," Chara whispers. And Frisk lines themself up. Determination is a force of nature in itself. It is something that makes people continue to live instead of merely survive. On their shoulder, Flowey's vines begin to bud, sprouting leaves.

Mettaton shoots, slamming Retriever into a wall. His battery whines and he slumps. Frisk follows up his attack when he can no longer keep it up. A perfect shot. A smoking hole straight through Retriever's chest and the wall it is pressed to.

It gurgles, then giggles in Flowey's voice. It prizes itself off the wall and turns to them, still smiling. Before their eyes, wires snake through the hole and reattach, the flesh knitting back together with the last dying sparks of dying Determination. With the last dregs of power it has, it comes at them so quickly that all they can do is leap out of the way, even though Flowey snaps out with his teeth.

Too late they understand their mistake. The dog was not protecting them. Their presence was protecting it. It stands still, staring up at the advancing elglitch and, if Frisk doesn't think too hard about the mental processes of dogs, they could almost think it looked resigned. Still, it looks back at them. A century of thoughts pass between them. The small pink mouth opens to reveal tiny teeth.

Then Retriever snatches up the still-burning dog in its remaining hand and disappears with a crack and the smell of rotting lavender. Annoying Dog's mournful howl resounds around the cavern.

'It got what it wanted.' Frisk's knees finally give out and they sink to the ground. They failed. Somehow, even with all their Determination, they failed to protect someone. Flowey sags against their neck as the borrowed power is sapped from him by their despair. The buds on his vines tremble hopefully, then, as if they have taken away the sun, they wither away and fall off.

Chara takes off the knapsack and reaches in. "Not everything. I think- I think it wanted the badges too." The badges are still horribly warm, although they're cooling rapidly. The one in their hip pocket is is as warm as another living person. They wrap a sleeve around it, reluctant to touch it. It would feel wrong. The badges are tarnished now. They remember Temmie's voice, saying that the badges were bad. But they're part of Mr. Gaster, just as much as Frisk's soul is a part of them.

They hug the bag to their chest, apologizing. Then they stand. With the absence of the elglitch, power is retuning to Hotland. Mettaton is rolling to his feet, a hand pressed to his forehead. The cameras are blinking. Any moment they'll turn back on.

Frisk pulls out their phone and goes up to the robot, gently tapping his arm. We can do it again, yeah?

Mettaton takes a blink to read their message, then his screen buzzes yellow, as if he's confused. But he flies back up to the rafters anyway and Frisk mimes running around defusing bombs for the camera as Mettaton narrates dramatically. Alphys misses her cue, still acting on Frisk's command, but Mettaton's pretty okay at covering for her anyway. "What? The bomb isn't going off? Oh, human! The blackout must have defused it for you! What luck! What coincidence! What is wrong with our electrical system? Still, you defused all the bombs within your limit! Come over here and collect your prize!"

"Prize?" Flowey asks. Still, when Mettaton lands, Frisk makes their way over. He sticks out a gloved hand and their own little mitt, broken nails and all, is enveloped in it. He pumps their arm once, then pulls them closer to pat them on the back. Their breath is fogging up his screen a little and when he raises a hand to wipe at it, he whispers "What was that little unscheduled interruption?"

"None of your business," Flowey answers smartly.

Mettaton scoffs, still speaking in a low enough voice for the microphones to miss it. "If it happens on my show, it is definitely my business, darling. Still, if that is the gimmick you choose, mysterious little human, I won't interfere yet." He pushes them away from him and says loudly "Thank you to my wonderful viewers for tuning in! Until next time, darling!" There's a strange note in his voice, like he's trying to be menacing, but can't quite nail it.

With that, he does a funny little twist and a jump, his arms telescoping back into his body. As he rockets away, the cameras all click off, followed by the lights. They can hear a faint beeping. Frisk draws their sleeve under their nose, sniffing. 'I like him again,' they say to Chara, who just rolls their eyes. Frisk gives them a little shove. 'You like him too!' they singsong.

Chara shoves them back. "I just wish I'd had more time to talk up Papyrus," they admit.

'Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match!' Frisk sings, slinging their bag back over their shoulder.

"Hey. Hey! HEY! HUMAN!" There's a thumping, like someone playing hopscotch. They turn, curious, and come face to face with bulging eyes over a burlap snout. "Hey!" yells Mad Dummy once more. "Have you seen that rectangular reject? I've got a complaint he needs to file up his-"

Chara groans. "Oh boy."