A/N: Finally.

This chapter was not intended for the young or those who are easily unnerved. Viewer discretion is advised.

An Ending

I feel like I'm repeating myself here, but have you ever made a mistake?

No, that one's a little too broad, even by my standards. Let me be a little more specific.

Have you ever known you had a problem, something that desperately needed to be dealt with, but instead of fixing it you just set it aside in the hopes that it would go away on its own? And then, when it inevitably blew up and became a much bigger issue later on, you were shocked at the result?

"You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Let's try this again, okay?" Chara grinned.

Imagine how I feel.

"Greetings. I'm Chara. You're the Courier. And you have something that I want."

In hindsight, there were a lot of things that I should have done differently. It should not have taken me so long to figure out how to stop being a murderous psychopath, I should have asked Chara more about who they were and not just about where I was, and I definitely wished I learned how to stop the kid from wielding human souls like a weapon.

"But first, I wanted to thank you. I couldn't have done any of this if it wasn't for you." They took a step towards me, the souls obediently bobbing over their head, like a macabre version of the color wheel. "Because for the longest time, I couldn't figure out what went wrong. Our plan had failed, yet I didn't die, but wasn't alive either. Not until now, after you brought me back."

I was still trying to parse what the kid was saying with what had happened, which is why I responded the way I did when they said that.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Chara never dropped their smile. "I was dead, long dead before you arrived here. But your determination, your spirit to keep moving on despite everything… just being near you was enough to bring me back. Even if I am like this."

They motioned towards the ghostly outlines of their sweater. It rippled beneath the kid's hands.

"Really, I should be thanking you. Not only did you bring me back, but you were such a delight to travel alongside. The way you moved with purpose, how you crushed everyone before you, becoming stronger all the while…"

Chara shivered in what looked like pleasure—a gesture that looked all-too-wrong on the ghostly body of an eleven-year-old. But what got me was their voice. The kid did not sound like a lunatic, or someone who was putting on a front and trying to sound tough. There was a note to their voice that was far too calm, too even to belong to any child. They sounded like someone who had gone completely insane a long time ago and wrapped all the way around to some twisted version of semi-sanity.

I shuddered at how strikingly familiar it sounded. Jesus, was this what I sounded like?

"But now," Chara sighed. "Now there's only one thing left to do."

"And that is?" I wrapped a hand around my gun and pondered the effectiveness of hollow point rounds against ghosts.

Chara looked at me as if only then realizing they were talking to someone and not just monologuing.

"There's nothing left for us here. Let us erase this pointless, dead world, partner. Let's go find something new."

Chara held their hand out, smiling lightly as if removing a world from existence mattered to them about as much as throwing away a toy and buying a new one.

"…You're out of your fucking mind."

Oh, that was out loud.

"I am not." Chara's eye twitched a little. "It is all that is left for us. This world is empty and has nothing for us. We-"

"No," I clenched my fists, felt the handle of the revolver creaking under the strain. "You think that. I still have a place to be. Maybe not in the Underground, but out there, in the Mojave."

"Yes, exactly." Chara's expression lifted, like they'd finally found something in common with me. "There are other places, other worlds out there for us to visit. Come with me. With the power of my new souls, and yours, nothing will stand in our way."

The souls that hung over the kid started to pulse as if they had heartbeats. I wondered if they were alive, somehow.

"And doing any of that—getting out of here—means we need to destroy this place? Everyone in it?"

All the warmth, or the facade of it, anyway, left Chara's face.

"What is it with you and your hesitation?" they muttered.

I must have looked really confused if it showed through the helmet, because Chara snarled and continued, "What is the matter with you, Courier? This is about what that guard told you, isn't it? All it takes is a few emotionally-charged words and suddenly you rethink your attitude on life? I don't know how you ended up in the Underground, but you arrived here of your own volition. You killed everyone who got in your way because it was easy. Because it was fun. So answer me this, why are you here?"

I-

"No, I will tell you, since you're having so much trouble."

Chara took a step forward, and I backed up. In such utter darkness, it didn't even seem like I'd moved at all.

"Your level of violence, your willingness to hurt others, whatever you want to call it. That feeling of progression, of finding it easier to kill?" Chara sneered, and it could have been shadows playing tricks on me but it seemed like their smile had far more teeth than it should.

"That's why you're here. You can deny it all you want, Courier, but I was in your head. This was always about killing. You're not some misunderstood hero, or some weary vagabond with a heart of gold. You're in a dark and terrible place because that's where people like us belong."

A long silence stretched out before us, and part of me was trying to figure out the most offensive way to tell the kid off, but the other part of me was trying to refute what they were saying and coming up short.

I helped out that monster kid, and Papyrus made me pause like nothing before, but… had I ever done the right thing in this place?

The kid took another step forward.

"…I will ask again, because it is only polite, and you have been a good companion for the most part," they said, "But will you join me? Or-"

That jarred me back into focus. Easiest decision I've ever made.

"I think I'm good on my own, thanks," I said, then flicked an eye to an archway poking out of the shadows. I could hear the faint sound of leaves rustling coming from it. The surface. "My question for you is, am I going to leave peacefully, or are we going to have a problem?"

The kid glared, and for a moment I thought we were going to have a fight after all—but then they nodded and motioned towards the exit.

"So be it then. Go on. The barrier is down."

I went.

The Pip-Boy 3000A was, and is still considered by many to be the pinnacle of personal computing technology. Developed by RobCo Industries, the small yet incredibly durable wrist-mounted computers are capable of displaying the physical/mental health of the wearer, their possessions, local maps, and can even detect ionizing radiation, a lifesaving aid in a post-apocalyptic nuclear wasteland.

The Courier knew all of this, and made extensive use of those functions. They rarely took it off for anything other than maintenance, and the people of the Mojave quickly began to associate the RobCo product with the mythic hero that walked the desert. Children in some parts of Westside and Freeside would delight in fashioning little wrist braces out of scrap metal to play pretend, and raiders would hesitate whenever they saw a target whose forearm glowed softly with the light of a CRT screen.

However, despite the countless days of use, there was one function that the Courier, and for that matter most Pip-Boy users, remained unaware of.

There were many features that were scrapped from the finished version of the Pip-Boy 3000 product line for some reason or another. Chief among them was the audio recording feature, which never entered mass production due to memory limitations in the hardware. Still, behind debug menus and BIOS firmware, it was possible to access the Pip-Boy's microphone, which was on and recording by default. It could only capture a few minutes of audio at a time before taping over itself, but if anyone wanted to access those five or six minutes of sound, they would only need to press three buttons and turn a dial once to eject the mini holotape stored within the chassis.

The Courier did not know this. If they had, they could have listened to their conversation with Chara (whose voice was noticeably distorted, as if the child had been speaking through a heavy filter). They would have been able to hear the next few minutes of their boots scraping against the stone ground, the soft whooshing of air through an open room-

Then, although no one would ever hear it, the recorder started to pick up something strange. Something that sounded like the warped crackling of radio static and harsh whispers that were almost human.

Almost.

The journey out of the Underground is easier than going through it.

No one tried to stop me this time, it was just a short walk from one end of a dark room to another. Shorter than that hall with Papyrus. I almost wished I had something to distract me though, because I was really starting to hate having nothing but my thoughts for company.

Normally a bit of introspection wouldn't even be that bad, except you know, when something goes wrong you usually ask yourself things like 'could I have done better?' or maybe, 'what did I do wrong?'

I didn't get that luxury because looking back, the answers to those questions are kinda obvious. I could have done better. I didn't have to kill everyone who committed the sin of inconveniencing me while I was impatient. If I'd just been more willing to talk, hell, If I just considered doing anything other than jumping to violence as a first and last resort, maybe I would be asking myself easier questions.

Instead I got to ask myself, at what point did killing became so easy, such a learned response, that I practically did it on instinct? And why did it take me so long to even realize it?

Had I just accepted that it was 'the way I was' or some shit like that, just brushed it off as a consequence of everything that I had done?

I wanted so desperately for that not to be the case. But no. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Toriel and Sans, dead because I decided it was easier to fight than try to explain myself. I saw Papyrus, pleading with me that I could still do the right thing if I only tried.

Dammit. This was never what I wanted.

(*You are filled with regret.)

Yeah, thanks, I felt like saying, but this time I couldn't even summon the will to snap at my hallucinations. Too tired. I never would have figured that one on my own-

I paused. Did a double take and looked behind me.

How long had I been walking through this cave?

Wait, shit, that's not right. The tunnel. This is a tunnel. The one that goes from past Asgore's throne room, through the barrier, and to the outside. Yeah.

I shook my head and continued on. It was just a short walk through a dark room but-

I stopped again, glanced down. I swear to god I just passed this rock jutting out of the floor. It bothered me the first time, because despite all the darkness I could see that the whole floor was as smooth as polished marble except for that one rock. It had to have been there for a long time, with how meticulously-kept his house seemed to be, you would have figured that if Asgore could get here, he would have made the entire floor uniformly smooth.

"This whole place must be just past the barrier," I mused to myself. Maybe I was still too used to traveling with someone to keep all my thoughts to myself. "I bet it pissed Asgore off to no end if he was able to see this rock but couldn't get rid of it 'cause he was on the wrong side of… of…"

I sneezed. Which is one of the many things that feels awkward if you do while wearing a gas mask.

That necessitated a brief stop to clean it, but I slipped the helmet back on, started moving again soon enough. With any luck, I'd be out of this godforsaken broom closet and back to the Mojave in short order.

With new purpose in mind, I located the door and set off towards it—then tripped over a rock.

And then I- holy fucking shit what the hell was going on?

It's like that little jolt of pain when I land sends me back to reality. Suddenly I'm looking around in the same dark room that Flowey and Asgore died in, except their respective corpse and dust pile is nowhere to be seen, and I'm not any closer to the exit despite having walked towards it for- for I don't know how long.

I can't even see the way I entered this place from.

I tried to gather myself and focus, maybe figure out why I didn't notice anything was happening, but it's impossible. Every time I try I feel sick, but that's not the right world, or no, it's right, but it doesn't carry the same gravity. It's like switching between feeling sober and stoned to high fucking hell off the cheapest, worst drugs you can imagine. I can't remember what the fuck happened after talking to Chara. Just trying to recall is agonizing in new ways, it makes the back of my eyes feel like they're being squished under a vise, like I'm getting phantom limb sensation from a dozen different arms, each one crucified to the walls of an interrogation room-

And suddenly I remember something, maybe it was told to me, or I read it in the Carvings of Creation in Waterfall, but it takes seven souls to shatter the barrier.

Chara only had six. Six souls that danced in a halo above them, pulsing like they had heartbeats- no, no, what the hell am I saying? Even then, they were writhing, like tortured slugs-

I shook my head again, and felt it almost clear up but not quite. Fuck. Was this the kid's doing? It had to be. They were- they couldn't leave without my soul, so they were leaving me trapped here, maybe hoping I'd go insane, then when I was too out of my mind to notice the kid would swoop in and steal the soul right off my bones, like one of those vultures that still haunt Arizona.

Well, not fucking happening. I strode off, back the way I came in. When in doubt, just approach the situation from a different angle. You'd be surprised at what you can come up with.

I made my way down the stairs, past the guards who were far too interested in playing with each other to pay me any mind. They groped and howled in ecstasy, these armor-clad figures that oversaw the throne room. One of them ripped the plating off another and dove into its chest, teeth like steak knives that ripped out entrails and made the spectators moan with needy-

I twitched like I'd been shocked. What the fuck was I talking about? I wasn't in the throne room, I was- was-

"Hey! Hey, man, you alright?"

I looked towards the source of that voice, weapon raised to fight whatever Chara had sent after me, only to find the kid.

The monster kid.

"Yo!" he greeted, wagging his tail. "Man, am I glad to see you! Where have you been? I haven't seen you since back in Waterfall!"

I tried to recall what had happened there. Undyne showed up at that one bridge, and I beat her, but where did the kid end up in all that..?

"Come on, man, we've gotta get going now! Unless you want to stay here?"

Yeah, point taken. I nodded, allowing myself to be led by a child with no arms. But he was fast, and I was sweating with effort just to keep up with him. Hell, I couldn't even spare the breath to ask where we were going.

(*You are filled with despair.)

I heard cheering up ahead.

"We're there, dude! Come on!"

I honestly might have collapsed if it wasn't for his encouragement. I staggered my way towards the monster kid, who stood in the middle of a familiar crowd. I could see Toriel, two of her, actually, a few Asgores, an Undyne, an Alphys…

I could have gone on counting them forever, if it wasn't for the heat from that bonfire they were standing around. God it was fucking sweltering in here.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" the kid nudged me, then jerked his head towards the fire.

Then he jumped into the flames.

If anyone was around, they would see the Courier stumbling backwards in an empty room, muttering, as if it were a mantra, "You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're never real. You're not real. You're not real. You can't be real. You can't be. You can't. You can't."

The Courier continued to make more sounds, but that was the last coherent thing their faithful Pip-Boy ever recorded.

I had a half-second of indecision before following after him.

Now, there are two things I want to make clear. First off, there are lots of ways to protect against intense heat. There are still battered fire blankets in the emergency kits of unraided pre-war buildings, and my coat was lined with fireproof materials. But having said that, the best method of not getting burned is simply not being near a fire.

So yeah, jumping into a blazing fire the size of a house is a bad idea, but the kid was in danger.

I jumped forward, and it didn't take long for me to start really feeling the heat. It's entirely possible to have your skin blister so fast that it bursts like an overfilled balloon, to have your blood literally boil while you're still alive.

Which brings me to my next point: if you're in a fire, the best thing you can do is to get the fuck out of it as fast as you can.

And amazingly enough, I managed to pull that one off. I found the kid. I don't know how but I did, and I grabbed him and leapt out of that firestorm, even as the lenses on my helmet started to crack from the heat, and the red glow on my gear didn't go away.

But I got the kid out, and for a moment it's all I can think about. I laughed, laughed until I cried, then kept crying until I was just making these hoarse, throaty sob-sounds over the kid's charred body. I had to tear off my helmet so I could breathe through my smoke-filled lungs, but I did it I did it I-

Then he started to melt like wax and drip onto the floor.

"No."

That was me. I was talking to myself.

"No, no no come on, kid, you can't-"

I jerked a hand towards my belt, feeling for the medical supplies I always keep there.

They were all melted too. Hypodermic syringes fused and broken from the heat of the flames.

"It's okay," monster kid says in a voice that's perfectly even. "It's okay, Courier."

"You'll be with us shortly."

He dissolved into dust and ash in my hands.

(*You are filled with… nothing.)

(*Nothing at all.)

I don't know how long I stayed there.

Then they showed up.

Any other day, I would have screamed every bit of profanity I knew. I would have pulled out my gun and shot the kid a hundred times and beaten them until they were in pieces.

But there, exhausted and kneeling in front of Chara... I would have compared the experience to being buried alive in an unmarked grave, or being bound and shot in the head twice, but this time I didn't feel any of the burning hatred that had kept me going, kept me alive when nothing else could. Maybe I should have felt embarrassed, or unnerved, or just plain scared that I was about to witness the end of my world at the hands of some sadistic child.

Instead I just felt kind of…

Empty. Resigned.

So I didn't do a goddamn thing. If you're wondering, there wasn't any hysterical laughter on my part. I didn't scream a barrage of curses either. I was just so goddamn tired that doing anything felt exhausting. I just stared blankly at the kid for a while longer until I managed to get my lips to work.

Even that took effort.

"This really what you want?" I asked. They nodded once, decisive.

Determined.

I got to my feet.

My gun felt cool as ice, like it hadn't just been through a fire. I still had a few bullets left, felt pretty sure I could go for another round of the kid's amateur-hour psychological torture bullshit, and- and…

And then whatever will I found abandoned me. It's like I realized in that moment how pointless, how utterly fucking useless the effort would be. What the hell would I even do if I managed to beat them?

Or at least, that's the justification I'm sticking with.

I took a breath. I felt calm. I said-

"Then do it yourself."

Then I finally got around to what I'd always been thinking of doing in the back of my mind. In one fluid motion I drew my gun, put it against the roof of my mouth, and pulled the trigger.

In my last moment of brain activity—right before the bullet obliterated my consciousness—I felt… alone.

Afraid.

And so very regretful that I spent my whole life that way.

Then everything faded to nothing.

A/N: …

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Psychosis (noun): A mental affliction characterized by a severe disconnect with reality, resulting in abnormal thought processes, impaired emotional responses, hallucinations, paranoia, etc.