Author's Note: Oh golly, I am so sorry this took so long! I really have no excuses other than this chapter was really, really hard for me to write, and that I've been basically living at work. I have no intention of letting updates take this long often. Thank you so much to everyone reading this, and especially for those following, favoriting, and COMMENTING! Oh wow, thank so much, really! Well, here you go. I hope it was worth the wait.

Contrary to popular belief, Sans was not, in fact, a fragile creature. It was true that he only had one HP point, which meant that in a fight it would only take a single direct hit to his Soul to kill him. But that was a fight, where his soul was taking all the damage. His body, on the other hand, could take quite a lot, actually. He was all thick, hard bones- much more so than a real skeleton by all means- and they'd seen their share of scuffs and scrapes. Which was why he wasn't altogether concerned for his own well being when instinct screamed at him and he grabbed Frisk's soul with his blue magic and tugged them sharply off the floor only a second or so before impact, leaving himself to take the crash full on.

He was thrown hard against the elevator wall, the sharp sound of bones cracking against metal ringing in his ears. He lost his hold on Frisk, and he could sense it when their soul turned red again and dropped them to the floor. His vision was swimming, spots of black clouding parts of his sight so completely that they could have been glitches themselves if he didn't know better. He watched with an airy detachment, head foggy with pain, as Frisk crumpled to the floor before scrambling to pull themselves up and over to him. Their hands fluttered wildly about his face, afraid to touch him.

"Sans! Sans, oh god, are you okay? Say something."

He blinked slowly, the hazy pinpricks of light in his eyes rolling up and to the side. He groaned, letting his skull loll back against the wall. "I'm goin' tibia fine, kiddo. Just got a little rattled."
Frisk didn't laugh, but they wrapped their thin little arms around his neck and stifled a frightened sob in the fur of his hood. He didn't let himself flinch at the shock of pain that ran through his left radius as he wrapped his arms around the kid's back and hugged them close, patting their head soothingly. He could see the thin, splintered line going lengthwise halfway down his arm bone where his sleeved rolled up against Frisk's back, and chose just to be grateful that that seemed to be the worst of it. A fracture was inconvenient, but would heal quick enough once he got some food. He didn't want to risk things like that on Frisk, though.

"C'mon. Let's go check things out," he said, giving them one last comforting squeeze. Frisk released their hold on him and sniffed, nodding as they wiped at their damp cheeks. They pushed themselves to their feet and Sans swayed a bit where he stood. Firsk eyed him with concern but he quickly righted himself and gave them a reassuring grin. He pressed his right hand against the elevator doors, still tightly shut, and tried to press his fingers into the space between the doors. They gave in to him easily, ad he was able to slip his whole hand into the space he created and pry the doors open with almost no effort.

He almost wished he hadn't.

The True Lab's first hall was dark, darker than usual, with only the grim red glow of the back up lights illuminating the space. What that left to be seen was the masses of convulsing black ichor that slid down the walls and pooled in lazily shifting puddles on the floor. The thick, dark liquid gleamed dully with the red lights, making it even eerier. Looking around, he noticed that the wall that the elevator was built into was almost completely covered by the stuff, and it was oozing steadily downwards towards them.

With a muffled curse, he pulled Frisk out and away from the elevator. The doors snapped shut the minute they were out, and the black liquid started to cover the door.

"Shit," Sans hissed through his teeth again, backing up until he and Frisk were in the center of the hall. He knew if he had to, he could teleport them both back up to the Lab. No, what bothered him was that they were so obviously being lead. The elevator was a trap. The whole damn Lab was a trap. Sans wasn't a big fan of being played. He'd had more than his share of being part of a game in his life.

A few feet to their right, black tar oozed around the edges of a message screen that showed static for a second before going dark. Unsure what else to do at this point, Sans carefully inched himself and Frisk over to the screen, unsurprised when it flickered to life and displayed a shaky message . The words sparatically switched fonts, going from Arial to an alphabet of strange, illegible symbols , and back again, forcing Sans to read the message over a few times before it really set.

" ENTRY NUMBER 1.

[100100100000111001110000101000101111H0W !NTEREST!NG. . 1001.. .1]

"What the hell," Sans muttered, eye sockets narrowing at the message board. He'd been assuming that Flowey, the only known person that had been left behind down here, was the one manipulating them. It wouldn't be the first time. But this was clearly not the soulless flower's doing. Flowey was many things. Cryptic wasn't one of them.

Frisk seemed to be thinking the same thing, worrying their lip between their teeth and gently urging him on to the next board.

It came to life as they approached, displaying a new message in the same wavering fonts.

"ENTRY NUMBER 2

10000001001!T'S GR0WN. .01. MALLEABLE. . .01011. PERHAPS . ! .0"

"ENTRY NUMBER 3

[!REDACTED!]"

"ENTRY NUMBER 4

[!REDACTED!]"

"ENTRY NUMBER 5

00000000000000000000000. . .HELL0, CH!LDREN."

Frisk sucked in a sharp breath through their teeth and jerked Sans's cracked arm hard as they stumbled a few steps backwards. At any other time, the kid would have noticed the slight wince that he hadn't quite managed to suppress, but right now they were to busy casting wild, frightened glances all around them. The message board twitched, the font going sporadically from white to red, those last two words- so obviously directed at them- flashing into those illegible symbols for half a second.

Sans's skull throbbed. He recognized this feeling. It'd creep up on him every now and then, when he was fiddling with the machine in his lab, or sitting alone for too long in Waterfall. This white noise would echo around in his head, driving him nuts.

He heard a shuddering sigh escape at his side. Beyond the knee-jerk reaction of fear, Frisk had the strangest look of...was that relief on their face? Sans's eye sockets narrowed and he tilted his skull at them. "Expecting somethin' else, kid?" He paused, considering, then added, "I sure wasn't expecting...well, that, either."
Frisk gave themselves a little shake before glancing at him, then nodding to the monitor. "Flowey, I guess. Or. . .maybe Chara." They barely whisper the name, haunted by the memory of Chara even as they're free of their ghost. The kid'd had that demon in their head long enough to recognize how they spoke. This wasn't it.

Well, there went their list of suspects. Sans' bones ached in silent warning. Maybe it really was better to deal with the devil you knew, rather than one you didn't.

Frisk kept a tight hold of Sans's hand as they made their way down the long, narrow isle that lead to the rest of the True Lab, taking care not to touch any of the thick black ooze that slid off the walls and onto the floor. When the space opened into the front room, the glitches were back. Not many, but some of the puddles of ichor are pixilated, with snatches of code floating through them. The elevator was ruined, its metal doors wrinkled inward like paper, black goo seeping through the cracks from the other side where it was dark, dark, dark. To the right was another display monitor, as unmolested as the others had been, and to the left was the vending machine, equally so (somehow?). Frisk didn't even hesitate to run up to the machine, shoving in coins and retrieving first one, then three more bags of popato chisps. They tore into one, handing him the other three. He are one, slower than his clearly ravenous human pal, and felt the crack in his arm mend. The other two he stuffed into his hoodie pockets for the kid to have later.

They went to investigate the new message when he felt Frisk's hand slip from his. The board didn't illuminate itself beyond flickers of black and white static, emitting a low whine, so Sans turned to check out whatever had drawn Frisk's attention.

And there it was. He understood how he'd missed it upon entering- it wasn't gold and bright like he'd expect, but a dark and ominous purple that seemed to suck the little light there was around it inward, swallowing it whole. The shape was sharp and clear, but the bottom point dripped slow, consistent drops of the black liquid around them. Still, there was no argument for what it was: a SAVE point. Sans felt sick, his eyes going black. He could hear the pitch of the whine from the board behind him shift and the light bent around him when the message finally appeared. It only made things worse.

"ENTRY NUMBER -

10.D0 TAKE CARE. 0.. .BETTER TO SAVE 0110 THAN TO D!E. 01.1.11"

Frisk was already kneeling in front of the corrupted SAVE, holding it against their chest with a pained expression. Sans could see the SAVE pulse in time with their soul, the darkness of it seeming to drink in some of the bright red determination inside them. Frisk shivered violently as they released the SAVE star, jumping up and staggering away from it with their eyes squeezed shut. Sans grabbed their elbow to steady them, the lights that served as pupils returning dim and concerned.

"Hey, you okay kid?" He asked, though it seemed like a stupid question. Frisk feels cold to the touch, and Sans glared at the SAVE star like it could see him. Hate for the little black star curled up in his ribcage, seething and hot and useless.

"I'm fine," they lied, standing on their own but keeping the fingers of one hand curled around his sleeve anyways. They walked over to the message board on shaky legs, but it's gone blank. It stayed that way until they were just an inch away from it, before flickering to dim life and displaying new words: " D0NE, CH!LD. 101!.00"

Sans couldn't describe the feeling that filled the room at that moment other than to say that the darkness seemed to smile at them, the way it seemed to grow darker, yet darker still and curve around them. Of course, nothing really moved but the constant roiling of the black tar.

He put a protective arm around Frisk and drew them back against him, edging away to the middle of the room, eye lights scanning every inch. He knew he wouldn't see anything, but he had to try. They were being watched, that was clear. The whine of the message board stuttered, and it sounded horribly like laughter to him.

Frisk tugged lightly on his hoodie to get his attention and said, "Let's keep going. There's nothing else to see in here."

They took the right path, eyes constantly finding the glitches and grime whenever they got too close. The door slid open for them without protest. The next display board they came upon had the same "[!REDACTED!]" message displayed, letters twitching into symbols. But the one after that had a single, clear sentence: " Y0UR STEPPP, CH!LDREN.011" Sans scowled at the sign, rolling the lights of his eyes.

When they came upon the room with all the beds, they froze. The entire floor beneath the beds had been overtaken by a massive pool of the ichor, and the beds where sinking into it, some of them almost entirely consumed already. The dog bowl was floating on top. They both groaned. Sans quickly wrapped Frisk in his arms and teleported them to the other side of the room. There, at the front of the room, was another message board, and another SAVE. Frisk stood in front of the SAVE, just staring down at it. The message board's static whined high and long, impatient. When Frisk still didn't touch the SAVE, a message flickered onto the board.

"111001 . .0. WELL? ? ? WHAT ARE Y0U WA!T!NG F0R, EXACTLLLLY?00" it read, somehow managing to convey irritation.

Frisk bit their lip and looked from the sign back to the SAVE. "I don't want to," they said. Sans bit out a sharp laugh. Kid had the right idea, he guessed. Still, talking to sentient message boards wasn't really something he'd expected out of the day. . .or, seemingly omnipresent beings using display boards to communicate.

The display crackled with static before reshaping itself into a new message. "10!00 THAT 1S UNDERSTANDABLE. .10001. .HOWEVER, !T !S FAR M000RE PER!L0US N0T T0.11001"

Frisk frowned. "Who are you?"

Of course, the message board keened and displayed a mocking "[!REDACTED!]"

Frisk narrowed their eyes at the board and crossed their arms over their chest, scoffing. The message scattered again and reformed into a placating "000000A FR!END. . .00000"

Then it was Sans's turn to bark out a short, disbelieving laugh, humorless and harsh. The darkness around them seemed to boil for a moment, and Sans got the distinct impression that it was heaving a long sigh. Though, the scratchy whine that the agitated glitches made hardly resembled any kind of sigh he'd ever heard.

The display went completely black and still for a long moment before, with no interference at all, an amendment appeared: "AN ALLY, THEN. AT PRESENT, THE ONLY ONE YOU HAVE."

Sans shrugged and looked to Frisk. "I dunno. What do you think, kid?"

Frisk chewed their lip and stared at the message for a moment, seeming to mull over their choices, before kneeling in front of the SAVE and, reluctantly, pulling it against their chest. Their eyes screwed up tight and a tremor shook their shoulders before they released the dark SAVE and sucked in a few shaky, panting breaths.

Sans was immediately at their side. "Whoa, hey kiddo, are you alright?" Frisk let him help them stand, but made a dismissive gesture with their hand. "I'm fine." Sans didn't call out the obvious lie, since it'd be pretty hypocritical of him to do so, but he raised an accusatory brow-bone at them and refused to let go of their arm. They didn't even check the display board again as they walk by. Not that it would have mattered. It was blank. Silent. Smug.

It took too long for Sans to realize that the hallway hadn't always been this long last time he was down here. And wasn't there supposed to be a door somewhere along the wall? There wasn't one now, and the red backup lights definitely seemed liked they were getting dimmer. The walls were completely painted in the black ooze down the hallway. Of course, it still didn't touch the message boards they came across, making them look like they were floating on to of the thick stuff. The first board was broken, spiderwebbed across the glass screen and silent. The second was alive with waiting static, ready to display a new message once hey got close enough. Sans considered just walking by, completely ignoring their cryptic and totally bullshit "ally". Frisk, however, didn't share that idea.

Sans couldn't tell if they were gaining confidence or if it was all their determination powering them through, but Frisk didn't hesitate much at all before trotting over to the board and tapping the screen with their finger. "Hello?"

The display blinked bright and red, responding instantly: " 1001 !'M HERE, CH!LD. BE 001CAREFUL. SHE !S N0T THE PERS0NNN Y0U KNEW111"

"What?" Sans and Frisk said together, but the board went blank and stayed so. Sans's brow bone creased and he ran a frustrated hand over his skull. "Well great. Things just keep getting' weirder, huh, kid?" Frisk's nod conveyed a world of exhaustion.

They carried on down the hallway for much longer than they should have. It was like it'd been stretched, the black goo adding to its length. It had to have been another five minutes of walking before they saw the entryway to the next room and, from it, heard the fainest sigh. Frisk perked up and jerked forward, urging Sans to go faster. As they approached Sans could see the lights in the room shifting with someone casting shadows. He pulled the kid up just short of the entrance and folded his hand over their mouth, pressing the finger of his other hand over his own skeletal grin in a hushing gesture.

For a brief, horrifying moment, Sans only saw the machine, surrounded by blackness and lit with harsh angles by the red overhead lights. He thought that thing had been destroyed. It should have been destroyed! Infuriatingly, he couldn't remember exactly why it was such an abomination. All he knew is that it was. Metal curved into a vaguely skeletal shape, too much like his blasters, and hung ominous and threatening against the black-coated wall. Rust painted most of the machine a bloody burgundy, and the shadows in its curves were too dark, too solid, and wrong wrong wrong. But then he saw who stood beside it, running a clawed hand down one cruel metal curve, and he understood why it was here. Of course she'd rebuilt it. Sweet, fragile Alphys, who always felt she had something to prove.

Of course, it only took a glance for Sans to understand what their mysterious companion had meant. This wasn't Alphys. Not really. This monster, turned so that their profile was just barely angled towards them, looked like their timid friend, but her skin was ashy gray and her eyes were black and empty. She wore a lab coat, but the colors were inverted, with her dress beneath being white while the coat was black. The same too-black as the ichor on the walls and in the machine.

She froze, tilting her head to the side, still facing away from them, and clicked her claws against the metal of the machine. "You know," she said, voice flat and dull and vaguely sardonic, "skulking in the doorway is only wasting all of our time. You have places to be, and I have things to do. Come in already so we can get this over with. "

Frisk flinched beside him at not-Alphys's tone and Sans's grin drew down in a tense frown. With the kid's hand gripped tight in his, he moved into the room and planted himself a few feet away, shoving his free hand into his hoodie pocket and raising his chin in daring expectation. "Who the hell are you? Because I know Alphys, and it don't matter how much you look like her, because you ain't her."

With an irritated sigh, she turned to fully face them, and Frisk whimpered. Sans squeezed their hand in sympathy. It really was disturbing, how far off from Alphys this thing was, with her hallow expression and frown, the kind that looked permanently etched into a person's face.

"You're right, in a way. But you're also wrong. I am Alphys, but not the one you know. I'm all the stray parts of her that she left behind, that she wanted to forget. Her guilt, her pain, her self hatred. All the discarded scrap memories of Alphys, spliced with a bit of the Void magic to hold it all together. . .that's me. Just a remnant, really." She said, sounding bored, like she'd prepared these lines before hand and was just rattling off a dull script. "That's what just about all of us are, down here now. Just the echoes and shadows you all left behind to fade away."

Both Sans and Frisk stared at her, taken aback. "That's, uh, some pretty dark stuff, pal. But, if ya don't mind my asking, whats this about Void magic? And by 'all of us', you mean that there are others like you down here? Other, uh, remnants?"

She leaned back against the machine, its rusted metal giving a mournful groan, and began to idly scratch at her arm. " The Void is the nowhere place in between timelines. A dark, empty purgatory that exists alongside your own world. When the Underground went empty, a state it was not designed for, the Void reacted in an attempt to fill the emptiness. Or consume it, I suppose. The Void's sole inhabitant, your friend with the message boards, was able to influence this enough so that the Underground began assimilating, in its own form, with the Void, rather than disappearing. His actions resulted in what you see around you, and in the incidental formation of remnant beings such as myself. There are several others, existing with varying degrees of success throughout this place. It is not an easy task. Reality is a very loose term, now," she said, glancing down at her arm. It was only then that Sans noticed that the'd scratched through her scaly skin, and had three deep gauges in her arm.

"What the hell?" he snapped, rushing forward to pry her hand away from her wounded arm. Frisk whimpered and grabbed her hand gently, looking at the cuts. Sans's eyes narrowed at them. Instead of blood, the same black ichor from all around was spilling out of her arm.

She sighed and met his eyes, looking as if she was proving a point. "We aren't real," she said, and pulled her injured arm away from Frisk.

Quiet tears slipped down Frisk's cheek, and Sans put a hand on their shoulder in sympathy. Remnant Alphys- because really, what else was he supposed to call her?- turned around and started running her hand over the machine again, as if nothing was wrong with her arm at all. She tilted her head to the far end of the room and said, "There is a door over there which will take you to the beginning of the Ruins. Obviously, this place does not exactly follow the laws of physics, nor is it as linear as you may recall. Not everywhere you end up will be familiar, so be careful. If you want to get back to the Surface, you'll need to find the Man Who Speaks In Hands. He's the only one who can clear the errors so you can get through the gate. Good luck."

It was a dismissal, but Sans still had a dozen and a half questions he wanted answered. Like, who was this Man Who Speaks In Hands, and why use the message boards instead of just showing up? Why'd he manipulate the Void's consumption of the Underground this way? What was really up with these Remnants, and who else would they find? Where was the damn flower?

How long until he and Frisk could see the sun again?

He didn't ask though, since Frisk, still silently sobbing, dragged him away from her and towards the door she had indicated. There was inky black on their hand, and they were trembling. Sans squeezed their digits in his. No matter what, he'd get them both home. He was determined.