There was a faint 'ding' that echoed through the dark as the elevator door opened, casting light and a long shadow through the space. The floors, walls, and ceiling were all a dull gray, illuminated by it. The environment was lifeless and sterile.

There was a man there. A monster draped in an old lab coat, with cracked skeletal hands, holes punched into the center of both, stepped into the place. He adjusted his glasses and traversed the halls. Eventually, he came to a room marked "Observation." Opening the door, he stepped into the dimly lit space. A ceiling light illuminated him and the room, but only by so much. He made a small mental note, to change that out later.

The room was empty except for a desk, on which many stacks and piles of papers were present. The desk was placed against a wall, where one-sided glass had been placed, permitting one to see inside to another room. But preventing those inside from seeing out.

He was a skeleton or something like one, with an old pair of reading glasses affixed to his face. A set of pale pupils were in his otherwise dark eye-sockets, acting as his eyes. He had many experiments as of late, including his ongoing experiment that he had tinkered with for most of his life, as well as the more recent crop of oddities and annoyances requested of him.

Stepping over to the desk, he pulled the chair back and took a seat. There were a couple of files present there, one of which related to theories on timelines and anomalies, research into defensive measures to protect from or preemptively sense such disturbances, and perhaps to do so much more once his machine was complete. However, that was best left to another time.

Pushing it aside, he was left with only a few. The initials present were "W.D," signed in his handwriting, jotted in an odd font that few could understand. Something old, and forgotten. Then again, the information wasn't really meant for others to understand. So, that was fine by him.

One of the folders was opened to details on experimentations with synthetic souls, their construction, and methods of implementation. Depictions of their possible use in empowering monsterkind, acting as replacements for expended mana, or providing a method for monsters who had 'fallen down' to get back up. The first page detailed no less than two dozen unique failures, and problems that had arisen with his test subjects.

W.D glanced at his own hands. Watched as trace remnants of light, circled the punched holes. The sensation was like placing ones hand in fire, and never truly stopped. All of it serving to demonstrate to himself, that he was missing something. It infuriated him, and thus was brushed aside.

The next folder was related to a concept he was tinkering with, something not quite out of its early phases. The idea of constructing synthetic bodies, things of flesh and bone, rather than magic. He had been wondering if, perhaps, a human could simply be built, assuming one had the right parts or "similar enough" parts.

W.D pondered this. The concept, the idea was to implant a monster into this human-like body. To transfer their magic, to grant essence and soul to it. That they might become something more powerful than the limitations of their kind. More physical, and thus capable of defending their people. He had been shocked when Queen Toriel found the idea so distressing, and asked him to stop. W.D concluded that what she didn't know, wouldn't hurt her.

His thoughts turned from her, to the last file, which was, however, why he had come today. The file read "Chara Dreemurr," the name of which made him scoff. Which stoked some sensation he'd not felt since before they'd been sealed in the underground. It inspired him to anger at the very fact that they had not yet disemboweled this wretched little thing. And it was defective, no less, even for its kind.

Flipping to a page, W.D examined it. The human didn't even "function" correctly. It was traumatized, by many events, leading to patterns and behaviors that didn't fit within the standard or predicted model. Sometimes resulting in the same request, yielding vastly different results.

Then again, while trauma was visible on monsters, in humans it was often more hidden. It required conversations, prying, coaxing methods. Therapy, more intensive than the kind given to any monster. And even then, it rarely resolved the problem. Mostly, it gave them tools to overcome these scars, or 'potentially change.' Not that they were capable, in his opinion.

The fact that he was tasked with doing this was repulsive to him. He had tried his best to make the King see reason, to beseech the Queen to see sense, but Asgore and his family were evidently smitten with the runt. They had taken to adopting the human both as a show of affection and as a wise move to approach a more peaceful relationship with humanity, should they get out.

That, however, was where W.D had the most issue. If they had the "girl's" soul, all they'd have to do is walk through the barrier. With that power, they could easily slay another six and give the power to Asgore, making him something of a god. One not even the whole of humanity could vanquish.

What was the point of seeking peace with their ancient enemies after the genocide of their peoples? Why bother conversing with a species that was capable of such extreme violence? Was there any use in wasting pity, hoping that this particular human would be any different?

He turned to a page with a child's drawing of himself. It was something the human had done to show a bit of kindness from Chara. He examined it closely, and slowly tore it to shreds. "The kindest thing you could do is die, you little brat."

Leaning back in his chair, W.D stewed in his irritations. And felt some of his rage subside. Glancing at the torn bits of paper once more.

Perhaps, he was being too harsh. The child had no concept of what its people had done. Nor of the war, or their shared histories. Didn't know, about the lives it had ruined. All it honestly had was horror stories about humanity.

W.D mused for a moment, that it sometimes felt like the girl hated them as much as he did. He cracked a smile, remembering having overheard her discussing them with one of the children. So much wonderfully venomous language, so much disdain. So many horrible experiences.

"Of course the human child is broken." W.D laughed softly to himself, while leaning back forward. "As if humanity could manage child-rearing, without screwing it up completely."

He began to imagine those horrors. What twisted things had the girl experience? Their sessions so far barely scratched the surface. He imagined, perhaps, if he could untangle it... maybe... maybe he could help her. If it worked on her, perhaps then-

His thoughts came to halt abruptly. A dark and horrible thought occurred to him. It was something he hadn't considered before, and now that he had, could not ignore no push away, nor pretend he hadn't. It was a thought of cruelty, pure horrible cruelty.

He had no doubt that he would never be forgiven for it, if it worked. But then, did it really matter? Did it matter if he was hated for eternity if it meant securing their freedom? If all of monster-kind could finally escape this rotten underworld and see the sunlight again?

He was her... he was its therapist, and the scars of humans were not as visible. They could be hidden, they could fester. It was what made them so dangerous, self-destructive, and violent. All he'd need to do, is sever the last threads.

W.D pondered. It could take time. Years maybe. But, it wasn't like he was going anywhere.

"That's a wonderful idea," W.D snickered darkly.