The saloon doors at the entrance of Grillby's swing closed behind you, and as they swing shut, your vision clears.

The doors leading out of Grillby's have, for some reason, lead you back into Grillby's. At this point, you can't bother to question it. Illogical has become the new logic.

This Grillby's is different. As the roaring light fades, you find yourself in a well-lit bar full of monsters. Humanoid dogs, rabbits, a fire elemental running the bar and a bird with very human-looking eyes sitting on the counter. At the bar, saying something you can't make out to Grillby, sits the skeleton. Your fingers absently find the tear in the fabric of your jacket, where two bullets left their mark. Dust still scrapes against your fingers as you do so, sprinkling over the wood board floor. Your fingers find the hilt of your knife, the the grip of the revolver of your hip.

At least, it's still me. I'm still the same.

You're not quite sure what that means, but it feels like your own idea, so you go with it.

You're suddenly very aware that to the monsters around you, you've just walked in the front door and stood there. A few of them have taken notice of you, staring curiously as they continue their conversations. Others have switched subjects entirely to you, whispering about your jacket, your weapons, the paranoid look you can picture yourself wearing. Even the bartender takes notice, and that's what gets the skeleton's attention.

The lights in his eyes go black for a moment when he sees you, and you half expect him to vanish again. Instead, he holds your gaze, and it feels...just...odd. Like he's looking at you, but through you, and it's just so cold-

"Hey buddy. You look a little bothered. Something on your mind?"

You just nod mutely, staring at him in shock. You can't help but feel violated although you're not even sure why or if you have a right to feel that way. The skeleton laughs, and suddenly he's much closer than you'd like him to be. You almost expect to hear the seat spinnging behind him, but there doesn't seem to have been any movement at all.

He just decided to be somewhere else, and here he is.

"Names Sans. Sans the Skeleton. I could show you around town, maybe keep your mind off things. Whaddya say?" he asks, extending a hand. You take it, rather hesitantly, and the sound almost makes you jump out of your skin. A loud fart echoes throughout the bar, grinding all conversation to a halt. The bartender looks at you and Sans with the closest approximation of a glare that he can make with flames and glasses, the goes back to shining a shot glass. One of the dogs, the small one in the comically large suit of armor, starts yipping and snorting, and the rest of the table glares at him in kind.

The music resumes, seeming to have only stopped for comedic effect. Sans steps back, apparently proud of his handiwork.

"The old whoopie cushion in the hand trick," he declares triumphantly. "It's always funny."

You would be inclined to disagree, but then again, you just got done fighting for your life in this bar. Your sense of humor is shot.

Heh. Shot. Maybe not.

"Nice jacket," he says conversationally.

"One of a kind," you reply, smiling nervously.

"You don't say?" he deadpans. You're not sure whether you should laugh or cower, and settle on a weak shrug. Sans just shakes his head, and motions towards the door.

"Lead the way," he says, not unkindly. Still, you can't shake the feeling of being on the business end of a firing squad as you turn and march out of Grillby's. He follows, of course, but the only reason you know is because the saloon doors stall before swinging shut.

You're not sure where he wants to go, so you just start walking, making your way back to the Ruins. It's not long before Sans starts talking, keeping his word about the tour while unfortunately staying very close to you, always in arms length

"You're afraid of me," you state. "I don't know why."

Sans stops dead, and you turn to face him. His eyes are blacked out again, and you hold that dreadful gaze for an uncomfortable amount of time before he speaks.

"Not gonna play along, huh?"

"This is the furthest I've gotten so far, I'd hate to waste it on a tour of a place I kinda already know."

"Kind of?"

"The buldings. There's a few new ones and they're all out of order. That used to be the library, and the sign on the other building is wrong. The houses ended at the bar, and-"

"That...was well over a hundred years ago, kiddo. Maybe you read an old history book and-"

"No."

"What?"

"I said no," you clarify. Sans seems nonplussed.

"What do you mean?"

"It means no."

"Then how-"

"I just...everything is so weird. I almost forgot, but I came here for you. To maybe understand. But last time I left the Ruins, you ran and I was in the Ruins again." Sans appears to turn this over in his head for a moment, before nodding.

"That makes sense."

"It really doesn't."

"Don't freak out."

"Wha-"

Sans grabs your hand. The world shimmers and goes dark. For an infinite moment, you are alone.

Don't forget, Chara, Frisk whispers, You're norhing without me.