Chapter Eighteen: Not So Heroic

The room was dark, save for the artificial illumination radiating from the setup across from the door. A number of ATTF members stood waiting for the two of them to arrive. Sans felt out of place among the rather official-looking scientists whose eyes were fixated upon him. He strode towards them with a confidence he did not feel, a tension woven into the air. He channeled his best acting skills, hoping and praying they didn't see through the ruse. Four pairs of eyes gazed at him for what felt like an eternity, expressions cold and deadly serious. He glanced at Mason as the human spoke. He didn't hear the words; he'd been caught off guard by the human's sudden change. Mason's expression mirrored theirs, albeit without the sharpness their stares held.

Above the console, a bright square flared to life with a loud click. A window into another room. Before he knew it, they had all turned their backs to him. The instinct that wasn't churned strongly in his chest, coursing through every fiber of his being. An unseen force gripped his soul with claws resembling knives. He chuckled quietly, as the scientists spoke with one another.

"I'm in danger," he whispered so faintly that even he could barely detect it.

With a deep breath, he joined them.

"So, whacha need me for?"

"We been tryin' t' kill this thing fer four years now. Got all th' info we can from studyin' it; now it's just a matter o' gettin' rid of th' thing."

The axolotl monster beside Mason continued, "we done tried just about everthing! But maybe you can think o' somethin' new."

"After our latest attempts fail, that is," said one of the humans.

"Okay."

"C'mere," said the human he'd been laughing with minutes ago.

Thanks to his shortness, he found it difficult to see over the console and into the barren room. It appeared to be made entirely of pale stone, with several yellow orbs embedded throughout. Few things had magic suppressing capabilities, the material of those orbs being among them. The name of it mattered not. What was noteworthy however, was the number of orbs: too many. Whatever being was trapped within these walls was….

Frisk!

The lights in his eye sockets vanished at the sight below. The emaciated form slumped in the corner was only barely recognizable. He blinked, willing the scene to morph into something more acceptable. No. It wasn't this world's version of Frisk. The neglected creature squinting at the sudden light must be a demon in disguise! Those terror-filled eyes looking upwards through matted hair, they were meant to deceive. And the way it trembled, that was an act! This group didn't harm innocent people; it protected them from butt-destroying anomalies!

And yet….

Guess that explains the bad feeling.

Sure, their knowledge of his identity wouldn't be pleasant. He'd sensed it since the beginning. Sans hadn't expected them to take kindly to the notion of being infiltrated by an otherworldly visitor. True it was, that he shared a similarity with the creatures he'd been facing, in the form of the magic in his bones. While he was unsure of previous expectations, they hadn't mirrored this scenario in any form. In hindsight, he supposed he should've seen it from a mile away. Perhaps he would have, had he not been so wrapped up in the chaos of the previous days.

Frisk was no person in their eyes. She was a thing, and a dangerous one at that. Their "project" had likely involved using her as a lab rat, experimenting with whatever powers she held before deciding they were through. For whatever reason, they hadn't been able to rid themselves of their charge. Whatever torture the human suffered this time around, it wouldn't be the first. He struggled not to retch. When had the room begun to spin?

How long had she been here, over all? How many were like her, carrying a fear like no other in their souls, hoping for an end? Just what would he face if the wrong person discovered he had more "Nil" than he was meant to?

"Looks like a kid."

"I know, right? Freaky."

A few guards entered the room below. He hoped against all forms of logic that the Frisk would turn out to be a paranormal being, some kind of non-sentient mutant, or genocidal maniac. He searched for something- any reason one could use to justify the actions he saw. He found nothing. Those around him gave instructions and spoke casually to one another. He couldn't pick words out from the muffled sounds, nor could he wrench his eye sockets from the events playing out. Each time they killed her, a transparent bubble appeared around her corpse as the deed was undone. Had it not been for the yellow orbs, how far would that power extend?

A vague sound, one that repeated until it grew audible.

"Sans? Y' okay?"

The not-instinct took control. Words poured from him that he didn't register. Nevertheless, they appeared to convince the people around him. The force commanded his legs to move. Sans hadn't a clue as to where they were going, nor could he convince them to halt, or at least move of his own accord. With little choice, he clung to the phantom force. He trusted it. What else could he do? It was the one in control.

OoOoO

And then, he was in his office. It relinquished its grip and retreated inwards to his soul's core. Sans waited, expecting a battle with panic, but air came easily. He was leaning back in the chair staring at his reflection in a black screen. It was as if the things he'd witnessed were nothing more than a horrible dream his mind had fabricated to torment him with. He knew it wasn't, and confusion vexed him at the odd sense of calm that had settled over him.

"This is fine," he told himself, the silence of the room consuming his voice. "This is fine."

For an instant, he glimpsed fire in the corner of his vision.