It was a frosty Tuesday morning in the peaceful town of Snowdin. Too peaceful—it was much too quiet today. Everybody else either has either tragically fallen down, or ran away. The inn was vacant. The town square surrounding the decorated, lit tree was crowd-less. The noisy, active bar was shut down, with no one to tend, and no tender to man the bar. The Snowdin river was eerily silent—no one was there to lift and throw the manufactured giant, frozen cubes anymore. All that was left in the water were the remaining ripples from the last one tossed, light waves gently caressing the riverbank as if the water knew it would be their last before become deathly still . . . .

The path to the farthest east—a timber bridge—was shrouded in a heavy blizzard, clashing with the cool mist from Waterfall. In the midst stood two shadows on opposite sides of the bridge. One was an androgynous-looking, wild-eyed child, a flimsy weapon wielded in their right hand. They fiddled and rubbed the handle with their deft fingers in anticipation. As the snow cleared, the powdery substance on the palms of their hands became evident. This was not the same snow on their shoulders, but the dusty remains of their helpless, unaware victims . . . .

On the other end stood the tall, loud skeleton, Papyrus. Looking into those wide, eager eyes, those who saw and breathed their last felt the abyss staring back—those who, that is, held basic common sense. Being who Papyrus was, of course, they saw good in them, the same he almost always sees in others.

Almost.

He hated to admit it, but it was becoming increasingly apparent with each passing second that those eyes were definitely not without-a-shadow-of-a-doubt good like Undyne; nor king-who-killed-humans-in-a-great-war-a-long-time-ago-and-now-is-a-big-fluffy-pushover good like Asgore . . . Nor a I-stole-a-cookie-from-the-cookie-jar-lied-about-it-all-day-long-then-fell-asleep-with-the-jar-in-bed-ate-all-the-cookies-and-lied-about-it-anyway good like Sans.

I mean, what type of good monster has eyes that eager anyway!?

He dismissed his fears as best he could, putting on his bravest—and kindest—face. This is the end of the line!

(Again. Like so many times before. Somebody watched the encounter from afar. They felt the again in their bones—an echo of times long since past. . . .)

Papyrus tried to reign in his doubts as he took a last glimpse at the right palm of the human's hand that held . . . something.

"HALT, HUMAN!" He shouted out. "I SEE THAT YOU HAVE MURDEROUS INTENT IN YOUR EYES!" His voice, unbeknownst to him, trembled as he spoke.

(So much for subtlety—absolutely artless, thought the figure in hiding, face-palming. I can't look. I shouldn't continue to look.)

"I IMPLORE YOU, HUMAN, TO CONTEMPLATE THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIONS! AND IF NOT, I CAN BE THE ONE TO GUIDE YOU TO HELP YOU DO SO!"

The child stared, smiling.

Papyrus looked back at the human's dusty palm . . . palms! There's dust on their other hand, too!? That's it—I must push forward! They need help!

"YOU NEED SOMEBODY WHO CAN KEEP YOU ON THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW! I, THE GREAT, PAPYRUS, WILL KINDLY GIVE YOU THAT GUIDANCE SO THAT YOU NEED NOT CONTINUE TO WALK DOWN A DANGEROUS PATH. I SHALL BE YOUR FRIEND AND MENTOR!"

They took a step forward.

"YOU HAVE THAT CREEPY LOOK ON YOUR FACE AGAIN—STOP THAT!"

(Another step closer . . . .)

"STOP MOVING WHILE I AM TRYING TO TALK SOME SENSE INTO YOU, HUMAN!"

(Move closer . . . .)

Fear tingled down his spine—fear he has never known before. He chanced one last look at their eyes. Standing face-to-face, Papyrus saw it: It is a monster staring back—one he has never known before. One that probably has taken a step towards the abyss, came back, and found a way to fill the void in their corrupted SOUL. A powerful SOUL.

A deranged SOUL.

(We are so close! Do it!)

Papyrus wasn't having it anymore.

"OKAY THAT'S IT, I'M OUT!" Resolved, he refused to engage in battle. "I'M NOT GOING TO STAND THERE AND TAKE IT!"

Papyrus quickly turned away, beginning his escape. He sprinted towards the dark, damp cavern. In his haste, Papyrus slipped on a patch of ice on the frigid cavern floor. His attempt to break his fall caused him to land on his arms and knees, hard. He struggled to get up again.

"UGH!"

His bones were scratched up—his knees weak, elbows aching, and hands shaking. Papyrus looked up. The child was staring right down at him, giggling as they took delight in his resistance.

"P-PLEASE, HUMAN! SHOW SOME MERCY!" Papyrus tried to get away, scuttling back across the gravel floor, his back hitting the cavern wall. "AND STOP GIVING ME THAT LOOK—IT'S CREEPING ME OUT!"

The child smiled.

They gently rubbed the weapon's handle again. They had no need to move any closer; the terrified skeleton's actions were his ultimate downfall by backing away into a dark corner. (The idiot.)

It suddenly dawned on Papyrus that there is no possible escape.

Papyrus looked around frantically, only to be met with walls on both sides of him—cold, empty, devoid of life. Just like home . . . Just like their eyes . . . .

Papyrus trembled, crying out in desperation. "SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!"

But nobody came.

Sans, why have you left me?

Papyrus accepted his fate. The child raised their weapon in the air, ready to deal the fatal blow . . . .

And in the blink of an eye, Papyrus disappeared from their sight. The child's smile fell. For a minute, they pondered over the situation. A scowl soon followed. Realization hit them—it was finally happening. The human yelled in frustration, kicking the slush of snow that appeared before them. They knew full well who would be capable of this feat.

And then, as soon as their anger started, a new feeling took place: Ecstasy. Intoxicating, wonderful, blissful, joyful ecstasy. (Oh, how good, how challenging, how alive I feel at this new development!) Then the child started chuckling, mounting into a crescendo of mad laughter—the demented cackling echoed loudly, reaching the depths of the cavern, instilling fear into every monster that resided there. (Oh, this is going to be good.)

Thinking about the skeleton brothers' future demise filled them with determination.

The child marched onward, resuming their pursuit of mass genocide.

(Undyne is next.)