To answer some reviews briefly: As monsters are integrated further into the Dresdenverse and have more interaction with Dresden himself, several of your questions or concerns will be addressed fully, including those regarding the Undertale primary cast. Yes, including Frisk.

The White Council is an international secret society that is currently neither recognized by governments nor cares to work within any laws they don't have to. Within reason. They control plenty of political and monetary power (as well as magical), and represent humanity in the magical community. They are above the law due to their anonymity. As above, these and other concerns were already planned to be answered during the story itself. Yes, anyone who played Undertale knows that several of the laws of magic as I've presented them were broken; those should help generate conflict in the story.

On sunlight: it's dangerous to spirits and weak magical constructs, not regular monsters or Monsters.

This story takes place post barrier break in Undertale, and more or less during Dead Beat in The Dresden Files (all rights reserved by respective owners), as the story will now show more clearly now that much of the set-up is complete. I'll be twisting things as needed to fit the current story, so while I appreciate being called out on things I got wrong, some of them are intentional while others I can't really help. I'm not a perfect writer, but I am doing the writing. I'll do my best to keep at it.

As an aside: I wrote the prologue with the hopes of encouraging others to write similar stories, or at least those with Dresden and Undertale together in some way. When nobody took the bait, I wrote out some drafts, then chapter summaries (there were 30 planned given my broad brush strokes, but that's liable to change), and now the story itself. I'm open to suggestions, however, that may be integrated into the details of this story over time.

Thank you all for your support, and I'll attempt not to have more non-story blurbs or author's notes cluttering my chapters in the future. If you review, I'll try to answer.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled story, already in progress.

The air was artificially dark and humid, but cold, too, like the inside of a morgue overgrown and abandoned in the wake of some unknowable tragedy. I found myself holding on as best as I could with my knees, a thumping drum beating steadily behind me with whispers of "Polka will never die," on the wind, leaning forward over the scaled back of a dinosaur, pulling forward into a dead sprint towards-

BRIIIIIIING!

I shot up, looking around my lab in a haze, then grit my teeth as a massive headache took my whole head and-

BRIIIIIIING!

The telephone was trilling away, and I swore as I noticed my burner had gotten turned up and the potion was nearly boiling over, my face not-quite-burned from the heat. I rushed to-

BRIIIIIIING!

I knocked the potion over and swore, then managed to quickly turn my burner off. I sighed deeply, rubbing my temples as the next-

BRIIIIIIING!

"Damnation and Hellfire, you have bad timing!" I swore into the phone's receiver. Normally a simple Hell's Bells would suffice, but I'd almost caught my hair on fire and wasn't in the best of moods over the completely ruined potion. Again.

"Oh!" a smooth male voice returned, hissy with static over my emotions messing with the rotary phone. "Perhaps I should call back when the timing is more appropriate?"

"Asgore!" I shouted with forced good cheer, then brought my voice down to more "indoor" levels, wincing at the noise. "No, no, just have to clean up this mess. Hey, what time is it?"

"Nearly evening," he supplied. "While I understand that I did not request the information on the White Council until later this week, I have been asked to gather whatever you have thus far as swiftly as possible. Even a quick verbal report on whatever you've gathered will-" the voice cut out for a few words, then pulled back with, "-we can get it, the better. Will Burger King-?" His voice cut out again.

"What?" I asked, then two sore brain cells managed to rub themselves together as I realized where I was. "Right, the report. Need it now. Swell. Burger King-"

I felt nauseous at the thought of eating Burger King for the umpteenth time in the last week, but I couldn't remember how many times that was with the blood rushing up to fill my head and pound on the walls.

"How about we…" I took a deep breath, wiping the grit from my eyes. "McAnally's pub," I tried again. "Accorded Neutral Ground. Shouldn't have any trouble there."

"Trouble?" he asked, curious. "I'm not sure I under-" static.

"It just means if anybody wants to start trouble there, they have to take it outside," I offered dumbly, because it was the only thing I could think of to say.

"I see," he said. I couldn't focus on or hear his tone, so had no idea how he was responding to me acting like I was. Or something.

"They've got nice steak sandwiches," I managed weakly. "Don't know if you eat that or not, though. They have fries, too."

"Where can I find this establishment?"

I had to tell him the address three times over the bad connection, but he finally got it and asked me to meet him there in a few hours. Not in three or four, "a few." And whatever the heck "almost evening" meant, I wasn't even sure.

I hung up the phone without saying goodbye and picked it back up, dialing Murphy's number from memory. It rang a bunch of times and I held the phone as far from my head as I could until the ringing stopped. No noise came through, until a click and then a dial tone. I put the phone back on the hook and dropped my head into my hands-

BRIIIIIIING!

"God-damnit!"

I picked up the phone and brought it down to where I'd hunched over.

"Dresden speaking," I said quietly.

"Dresden, can you hear me n-" static. Murphy's voice, though, before it cut out.

"Barely," I said and exhaled deeply. "I don't know if I caught a bug or something, I'm waking up sick."

"Oh God, you too?" She asked, and I heard somebody shouting in the background over the static. "Listen, can you get down to the station? Things are a mess-" static, and I forced myself to stand up as best I could. I somehow managed to push myself slowly up the steep stairs into my living room as it cleared up, "-an you be here?"

"I don't know," I guessed at an answer, and Mouse whined quietly as he saw me come up the stairs; apparently he'd been waiting for me near the trapdoor. I had a thought, and swallowed fuzz from my mouth, then said, "Murph, has anybody else been having nasty dreams?"

"I just said that. Is your phone on the fritz again? Nevermind, just-"

Static.

Then a dial tone.

I went into my kitchen, putting the phone back on the receiver as I got a glass of water and some tylenol, downing both quickly.

BRIII-

"Dresden," I said into the phone.

"Dresden, I'm going to repeat this until it gets through: get to the station, get to the station, get to the-"

"Get to the station, I got it," I cut her off.

"The sooner the better," she said, then her voice said from farther away, "No, I'm going to see about sending him there after we clear up this mess." Then, back to me again, "How soon can you be here?"

"Soonest," I offered, "If nobody pulls me over on the way. I don't know if I can drive."

She sighed, then, "I'll be there soon."

I hung up the phone and sat on the couch my brother had borrowed as his bed, and Mouse put his head in my lap, his eyes looking up at me soulfully. I rubbed his ears and he licked my hands, and I laid back on the couch.

What must have been seconds later, I distantly heard a knock at the door. I tried to turn my head towards it, but couldn't manage to move. Something started pounding on my door, then an explosion roared through my wards, then my window shattered and a figure tried pushing through-

I blinked as Mouse's rough tongue on my face woke me up, his whines and pawing at my chest urging me to move. I grunted and rubbed the sides of my head, then heard more pounding at the door, but it was real this time. Mouse jumped off the couch. I managed to stand up and stumble over, then opened the door to find Murphy had arrived.

"What time is it?" I asked, blearily blinking down at her as I slouched against my doorframe.

Murphy stood at around five feet tall if it's an inch, and… I couldn't focus on her finer details much beyond that. Police jacket over a grey shirt, usual blonde hair and blue eyes, probably a gun in her under-shoulder holster…

I groaned and fell, and Murph stepped into me, helping get me back down onto the couch. She managed to push a styrofoam cup into my hands, and ordered me to drink it.

I did, a little bit at a time.

Fifteen more or less silent minutes later, and life had finally come back into focus. Mouse was firmly pressed against my leg, and I realized that I'd managed to finish drinking whatever was in the cup. I looked around, and Murph had stood herself by the open door, looking out into the evening, the blue sky hazing towards darkness.

She was wearing her police jacket over a white shirt, some part of me noticed. I held my focus on that thought and tried sipping at the edge of the empty cup.

"What was this, anyway?" I broke the silence, and she turned to me with a small frown. Nothing sad, more frustrated than anything, and I'd say it looked out of place on her own small form if she wouldn't kick my ass as soon as she heard me say it. She's small, but has won Aikido championships and knows how to toss people twice her size around like they're wiffle balls.

"Coffee," she said shortly. "We stumbled across our little miracle cure in the station when a few individuals seemed to get better after having some. It seems to take hours for the symptoms to go away without it, apparently; some poor schmuck, joined the force just last month, is allergic to coffee and had to be kept on his feet, walking around. That's how long it was until he was able to think straight again."

I winced. "Allergic to coffee and still an officer? How?" I asked, then shook my head. "Nevermind. I think I had a long, cold shower before, that helped me the first time around. If it's magical, maybe setting a circle or a few other protections could help."

"If?" she asked, then snorted. "The only connection we've had on the victims so far is they're apparently minor practitioners or sensitives, or whatever, but not all of them would admit it. That's part of why SI was pulled in on this case in the first place."

"Swell. Is that why you wanted to brief me?"

"I was kind of hoping you could brief me, or rather, us. Back at the station. But from the looks of things, you haven't waved your hands and pulled a full report on the phenomena out of your ass yet, either."

"My ass has many offerings, both magical and benign," I countered, "including glib comments on fairy fashion statements and zombie apocalypses. I think we should cut it some slack here."

"That's twice," she said suddenly, alert.

"...what?" I asked, lost.

"That's twice you mentioned zombies since I got here," she waved a finger. "You were muttering about it between sips of coffee. And you're not the first, either; one of the college girls back at the station woke up in the lobby screaming that she was being eaten alive."

I swallowed. "Great. Because we didn't have enough problems as it is."

Murphy narrowed her eyes at me.

"I'd say you don't want to know, then I'd say it's classified, and then I'd tell you anyway," I admitted. "But don't tell anybody else. I trust you with this, but it's the kind of thing that could get really out of hand, really, really quickly."

"I'm listening," she said tightly, but I was relieved. She wasn't mad at me, she was mad at having more on her plate. Once upon a time, she'd had me arrested when I wouldn't spill the beans, but I've put everything on the table for her before, and she can handle it; once I told her fairies don't like iron in the middle of an attack at a hardware store, and she cut a chlorofiend in half with a chainsaw when she realized she couldn't just shoot it. Murphy's good people, and I trusted her.

"Dresden?" she asked, concerned. "Stay focused, alright? Look at me here."

"What?" I asked, then realized I'd been sitting there for a full minute, just silently staring into the distance. I got up to get another glass of water, and drank it quickly.

I looked at Murph, who raised an eyebrow.

"I'm good. Alright, I'll just say it: Time travel. We're dealing with time travel."

It was her turn to blink at me. "Back to the Future, honest-to-God time travel?"

I shook my head. "It's out of my league, Murph. Complicated as open heart surgery and about as delicate. I don't know the first thing about it, but…"

"Guess, then," she demanded.

"...it feels like we're remembering things that didn't happen, or haven't happened yet. And I dreamed I was riding a dinosaur towards a crowd of zombies."

There were a few moments of silence.

"...Harry, why the hell do you have to make life so complicated?"

I think it goes to show what kinds of messes we've lived through that Murph took me at my word when I'd said that. She'd insisted that I take Mouse or some other form of backup with me if I was going to leave my apartment, then had to get back to work as quickly as possible. As it turns out, that "paid vacation" she'd mentioned from her message was mandatory, and she was going to be forced to hand off Special Investigations to some hotshot detective from Homicide tomorrow. Apparently, new policy required every member of the force take time off every once in awhile so that the higher ups could see what changed and what didn't; apparently it would also help ferret out any corruption, but I'd zoned out a bit during Murphy's rant on the subject.

To sum it up, she was going to be forced to go to Hawaii, but… she said it in kind of a funny way.

"I can cancel it if you want, to stay here and watch your back," she'd said, even though it was the first vacation, let alone paid, she'd had in probably years. "Time travel and zombies. I'd think that's at least as exciting as a trip to some island in the Pacific."

I'd said life wouldn't be so complicated for her if she'd gone, to relax and enjoy herself. I'd get it figured out, like I always did. Told her to take some time alone and enjoy the peace and quiet.

"I'm… not going alone," she'd said.

I'd asked who with.

"Jared Kincaid."

A super mercenary most often responsible for guarding the Archive, Ivy, a nine-year-old human girl who instantly knows and remembers everything that's ever been written down; she's a living backup of all human knowledge, forced into the role nearly at birth. Last year Kincaid, Murphy, my mentor Ebenezer, and I had all taken down a nest of Black Court Vampires led by Mavra. Black Court are rare nowadays, because they're better known as Bram Stroker's vampires; when the White Council published their weaknesses to everyone, they took a turn towards extinction, and they aren't getting there fast enough.

And all I'd said back… I'd told Murphy to have fun. We could hold the fort for her while she was gone, despite everything.

She'd told me goodbye.

I blame the entire thing on being hungover on whatever the hell was going around, because it wasn't until after I'd cleaned up the ruined potion off my lab floor, tried and failed to eat a bowl of Fruit Loops from our unfortunately still-too-many-boxes-strong supply, and was getting ready to leave when it had finally hit me that I shouldn't have just said goodbye.

I was jealous. I didn't want her to go, didn't want her to stay and fight, and didn't have a good reason for either. And I was distracted. And neither of those things are conducive to paying attention to your surroundings.

"Mouse," I'd said, thinking of Murphy, "I think she wanted me to tell her to stay. I am not a smart man."

He'd woofed in agreement, and brought me his lead in his mouth. He probably realized whatever Murphy was getting at, because, well, don't tell anyone, but he's smarter than me. And don't tell him, either, because he's not humble as it is. I chuckled at him, then pulled on my leather duster, clipped his leash onto his collar and took a moment to leave a message for Thomas: I'll be out to Mort's Duplex office, then meeting the King of the Underground Monsters at Mac's. See you after.

So, distracted by the aftermath of the fresh headache and deciding to latch on to the thought that zombies meant death, I knew I'd need more answers about the other side. And death and the other side in Chicago meant Mortimer Lindquist, famous for leading seances both personal and in auditoriums since before magic was declared more or less real by the public.

Morty's a wormy little con man who spent a bunch of years with too much to drink and not enough spiritual power to back it up, but he's also an Ectomancer; since the public realized he's as real as I am, he's cleaned up a bit, and now he can commune with spirits and the dead better than he's been able to in years. Despite lying to his customers about their dead loved ones to make a quick buck, the truth less important to him than a paycheck, he's still more up to date on the spirit world than I am. With Bob out for 24 hours and not much time until I'd needed to meet with Asgore, probably, I'd decided to stop by Mort's house to see what I could shake out of him. That, or try to drag him out of the same magical haze everybody else has been in recently.

So when I pulled up to Mortimer's converted duplex in Bucktown, with a small white picket fence and a few dinky Halloween decorations signalling the holiday only a few days away, I wasn't paying attention. I parked across the street and opened the Blue Beetle's back door to let Mouse out, and made sure I had his lead firmly wrapped and tied around my weak left hand before contemplating whether to grab my staff out of the back or not.

Mouse, on the other hand, always pays attention, and his senses know bad guys better than I do by far. So when I heard him growling, I snatched up the staff and spun around, scanning the area. There were a few cars parked on the street, but nobody else in sight.

"Who's out there?!" I'd shouted, staff held before me.

The light hadn't quite disappeared, but it wasn't bright outside by any stretch of the imagination. The street lamps flickered on, and I flinched as they buzzed to life, barely a pale glow to signal the transition from evening towards night. I chuckled, lowering my staff for a moment and stepping forward.

There was a shot, a whisper of a bang like a firecracker, and then a little hornet flew past me and shattered my car's back window. I'm not sure when a little girl had gotten into my back seat, because there was a girly scream that came from my car. The only other person who could have screamed when they realized they were being shot at was me, and I don't scream like a little girl. So there was an invisible girl in my back seat. Who screamed.

Mouse, uncaring about who might or might not have screamed, took off towards Mort's front gate like a charging bear. His lead was wrapped tight around my left forearm, and I was pulled off my feet and dragged along the asphalt on my side, my spelled leather duster keeping my skin from being left behind. I bit down against the flair up of pain in my left hand, and managed to pull on the leash and shove myself gracelessly to my feet just before I smacked into the sidewalk. Mouse barreled through the unlatched gate, swinging it wide open to crash against the bars of his fence, when I heard another gun bark quietly from somewhere behind me, then felt like somebody had just kicked me between the shoulder blades. I leaned down as best I could and kept my head down, trying to present my spelled duster more than anything else, and that invisible little girl riding Mouse screamed again.

Mortimer's front door opened, and the fat little bald man, wearing a blue bathrobe, stepped up and asked belligerently, "Who's out there?"

Then he saw me.

And his face went white.

Another bark, and Mort's eyes went wider as his front window shattered.

I think he may have recognized me.