Lights. Camera. Action.
Over the years, that old phrase made up of three simple words has since elevated to something of higher importance- almost indescribable to a mere viewer. It is a phrase that's as old as digital entertainment itself, pre-existing the birth of Stellablook, and even the king's injudicious declaration of war.
Ever since he gained his true form, those three words have permeated through Mettaton's metallic body, reaching the depths of his SOUL. It's not just a phrase. It's his life motto. Better yet, his life's purpose. Those exact words are what he internalizes in his head right as he's about to do what he was created- no, born to do.
Standing behind a thin veil of burgundy red curtains is a monster whose popularity rivals that of Undyne, or even King Asgore for that matter. However, most have questioned if the term: "monster" appropriately suits the artificial nature of the iconic celebrity.
Though, he certainly wouldn't be considered 'human' either, which becomes obvious at first glance. While adopting a physical shape best resembling one, similar to Papyrus and his less popular older brother, Mettaton's "skin" is composed mostly of pale grey metal.
He sports a gorgeous set of black hair, with a fringe of it hanging down and covering his right eye. Above and below the other, almost creating a dark outline, are bold grey metal segments. A design flaw he at first disliked, but grew to appreciate, as in his words, it gave his appearance some additional "oomph."
Oomph could certainly sum up the rest of the robot's flamboyant style. The passionate superstar has always placed a high priority on one's fashion sense, and his body is all but the exception to that standard.
Decorating the majority of his torso is a domineering pink chest piece, with a curved, upside-down see-through pentagon engraved beneath it. Behind the enforced glass, remaining within the robot's interior is his pink SOUL. The only remnant of his time in the wrong body. A part of Mettaton that makes up his very being, more so than the bolts and wiring keeping him together.
Black shoulder pads extend from the top of his arms, matching the color of his legs. Stripes run along his pale arms, ending at the edge of his white hands. Finally, his feet are modeled in the shape of pink, high-heeled boots.
A body worthy of his distinctive spark. Its impeccable design warrants the praise of its creator: the Great Dr. Alphys. Its one initial drawback, that being inadequate energy consumption, was solved half a decade ago after the brilliant scientist constructed a revolutionary new battery. His gratitude surpassed even that of the humans for her contribution.
With practiced patience, Mettaton stands before the wall of red, counting down the seconds until the show begins. He'd always wanted to entertain the surface as far back as his sharp memory recalls. When the time came to do so, that being the very first inaugural celebration of the monsters' freedom, he was plagued with irony.
Nervousness caught hold. Mild stage fright as he would later realize. A concept he previously mistook as a silly myth. Fortunately for him, his cousin: Nabstablook, along with the rest of the crew had been there to assist in the instrumentals and ease his nerves. So he preserved. Then he performed. And the rest will go down in history. Like he always dreamed.
On the other side of the large curtains are numerous voices combining to form one singular body of anticipation and excitement. Hearing this, Mettaton is certain the event was completely booked. As was customary for one of his venues. The large auditorium is capable of housing a maximum of fifteen thousand willing audience members for tonight's show. With the dimming of the lights above, the robot gets into position.
Catching onto the indicator, the audience bursts in cheers of anticipation, before just as quickly quieting down. Everyone in the building now patiently waits. The two large curtains depart from one another at last, revealing a single hot-pink stage. In the middle stands a recognizable figure shrouded in darkness.
Lights.
Illumination pours from the spotlights above, highlighting the star in his natural glory. Another wave of applause and cheers comes in a deafening eruption. Both sounds compete for dominance over each other.
Camera.
Multiple cameras stationed around the large building zoom in further, providing the optimal angle for those watching at home.
Action.
"It's... SHOWTIME!" the robot announces, earning even more thunderous clapping from the surrounding fans eager to witness what tonight has in store.
...
Without fail, Alphys once again finds herself enraptured by the flashy light show displayed on the giant monitor mounted on the fren green wall before her. Dancing through the sea of vibrant colors decorating the circular hot-pink platform is a name, that even before the disappearance of the barrier, remains inseparable from monster culture. Mettaton.
Using his robotic limbs to his advantage, they bend, contort, and spin around in otherwise impossible angles in correspondence to the rhythm of the dynamic hip-hop blasting through the speakers. Since the sun had long since disappeared over the horizon, and not a single light in the house is turned on, the sheer brightness of the television bathes the living room in an assortment of changing colors.
When Alphys's reflective reticles aren't fixated on the television, she's hunched over, further than her natural poster usually is, slurping in another mouthful of instant noodles from the carton held between her clawed hands. Her short frame, only managing a total height of four feet, is planted firmly on the cushion of a red sofa. Her long reptilian tail stretches up the piece of furniture, with the tip of it dangling off the top.
Small points almost resembling hair extend from the back of her head. Keeping with the reptile similarities, her skin is made up of yellow scales. Resting on her snout are large glasses that magnify the beady eyes underneath.
Now being the head of Mirstone's science division, Alphys's current job was quite the departure from the previous. And infinitely more difficult. Not to the fault of the work, which was rather rudimentary. The blame lies solely on the excessive social interaction required. A team effort requires collaboration after all, often with strangers from different departments, and Alphys couldn't think of worse circumstances if she tried.
So naturally, she took no issue savoring her day off, having done nothing in the past eight hours but either watch television or aimlessly scroll through her Overnet feed. Her outfit of comfort is some fuzzy white PJs. Bunny slippers cover her three-toed feet which dangle off the sofa.
"Go, Mettaton!" Alphys cheers, watching as the agile robot quickens his movement to the escalating beat of the music.
Even after all these years, the scientist finds it somewhat hard to believe she played a major role in creating the dazzling star behind the screen. Once she and her people had been freed from their underground prison, Mettaton's patience to acquire a permanent form had worn thinner. With an entirely new population to entertain, Alphys's recurring thought of being forgotten by the rising star was looking to become a certainty. Nevertheless, she complied, and found a more effective power supply, knowing it wouldn't be right for her fear of loneliness to hold him back from true stardom. Besides, she now had Undyne.
But contrary to her expectations, Mettaton had not left her in the dust. Nor anyone for that matter. The two texted quite often, and on days when neither of them was busy, the conversations could last for hours. And despite their vastly different lives, they at least got to see each other in person once a year come Emergence Day.
Alphys goes for another mouthful of noodles when the front door to her right is forced open by a powerful kick, slamming into the nearby wall which is marked by a doorknob indent. Despite the loud commotion, Alphys isn't startled, having grown customary to her girlfriend's method of entrance.
"ANOTHER DAY OF WORK... VANQUISHED!" Undyne yells, before turning to Alphys with a pleasant smile. "Hi, honey."
"Hey, Undyne!" she greets, turning away from the television. "How was your day?"
"Ugh, painfully uneventful," Undyne sighs, joining Alphys on the couch.
Not much occupies the small circular space that is the living room, save for an armrest sitting perpendicular to the sofa, the TV hand-engineered by Alphys, and one of Undyne's weight-lifting sets positioned on the side of the hallway leading to the master bedroom. Said hallway serves as the separation between where the two lovers currently reside and the small kitchen which rarely gets much use. The only appliance Alphys went in there for was the microwave, and the area had been sworn off to Undyne long before they moved in.
Back when the two rented a previous house in the same neighborhood the skeleton brothers resided in, Undyne had wanted to cook her lover a surprise dinner to celebrate their anniversary. However, as was typical for the monster, she got a tad bit carried away. Firefighters were quick to respond, but their arrival hadn't come soon enough.
After briefly crashing with Papyrus and Sans, the two occupied a small apartment. Thankfully, it hadn't been a fire, but instead excessive noise complaints that got the couple thrown out. Whoever submitted them had been smart enough to do so anonymously, so as to not become the target of the former royal guardsmen's wrath.
Tired of switching residents, Alphys got the authorization to build her and Undyne a new home located in the middle of the forest on the edge of Mirstone City. Mostly due to the goodwill both of their occupational contributions to the city had generated. Their salaries combined allowed for the hiring of a construction company, and before long, their new home was built.
"Such passion..." Undyne admires, her one eye watching Mettaton's performance. "It's inspiring!!"
"Mhmm," Alphys nods. "Every show is better than the last."
Undyne's arm unconsciously wraps around Alphys's neck, gently pulling her closer. The scientist's cheeks slightly flush as she snuggles against the warmth of her girlfriend's body.
" A-are you liking your promotion?" she asks.
"Tch," Undyne frowns. "A lot more paperwork than I thought was going to be involved. My time watching over the city has been reduced for more hours organizing cases at the prescient. Talk about BORING."
"Aw, I'm sorry," Alphys says. "I know you w-were looking forward to it."
"Eh, it's alright. At least it's done one good thing. All of Monsterkind is now more determined than ever to pursue their dreams! To expel the darkness of doubt within their souls!"
"Hope," Alphys smiles.
"Yeah," Undyne agrees. "Hope. Speaking of, you know what you're bringing to Toriel's?"
"Y-yeah! I'm going to try and bake a casserole. I've never done it before, but Asgore gifted me a cookbook a while back. Hehe, I g-guess it's time to put it to use."
"Awesome! You need any hel-?"
"No."
"Fuhahahahaha... haha... heh..."
Undyne's laughter dies out while Alphys continues staring at her with a dead-serious expression.
"Well, it was worth a try."
...
Frisk had seen their fair share of hurdles, both before and after their journey across the underground. A journey that changed their life forever. Through it all, DETERMINATION fueled their every step. Every act of perseverance, mercy, patience- all powered solely by the human's unbreakable spirit.
But even Frisk has their limits. And right now, a formidable obstacle lies before them, threatening to undo the very essence that keeps their SOUL intact. A sheet of paper containing a ruthless onslaught of algorithmic obstacles. The wooden number two pencil in their hand hovers over the third question in a set of eight, and already, the teenager's brain feels on the verge of bursting into flames.
As if things couldn't get any worse, the putrid smell of tonight's meal invades Frisk's nostrils, insulting their senses with every subtle breath taken. Toriel's infamous snail pie. The enthusiastic monster lifts the aluminum pan containing the homemade meal from the hot oven, carefully placing it on the kitchen counter behind her. For obvious reasons, oven mitts weren't a necessity in the boss monster's case.
At the kitchen table, only a few steps from where Toriel has left the pie to cool is where Frisk works away at the daily assigned math sheet. The multiple-choice reading quiz had gone by in a breeze, with Toriel not needing to study the paper for long before confidently marking it with an A-Plus. Math on the other hand was far and away a different story, and Frisk would rather not think about what incomprehensible gibberish awaited them on tonight's science work.
Okay, so I distributed what was in the parentheses and combined like-terms. I just need to add opposite variables on both ends. But am I supposed to start with the largest or shortest number? Does it even matter? I can't remember. Ugh...
Only a month after the monsters rose to freedom, finally adjusted, Toriel had decided to pursue her desire of teaching at last. Upon getting the necessary certification, she made a declaration to educate the children placed in her care to the absolute best of her ability. And what better mind to mold into a fountain of knowledge than her own child?
At first, Frisk was grateful to receive the help. Life before Toriel left no place for academics. Being home-schooled with an adaptive curriculum sounded too good to be true. Now, however, Frisk can only count the days until they no longer have to look at a fill-in-the-blank question ever again.
The stressed child runs their fingers through their messy hair in an attempt to soothe their throbbing skull. Both of their heavy eyes close, at first for only a moment. Then a minute. The human's grip on the pencil loosens until the writing utensil falls to the table with a small CLINK.
"Frisk?"
Hearing Toriel's voice, their head jolts up with surprise, having been nearly pulled away into a deep sleep for the ninth time today.
"Sorry," Frisk says. "Must have dozed off."
Toriel doesn't respond, taking a moment to observe the human's face. Then, she sighs and approaches them.
"You've done very well, today, my child."
Confused, Frisk watches as Toriel takes the math worksheet and carries it to the living room where it's then placed on a black coffee table, alongside other educational material.
"But... I didn't finish?" Frisk says as Toriel makes her way back to the kitchen.
"And you don't have to," she replies, walking over and placing a palm on their head. "Not this time. For once, get a good night's sleep. I know you won't do it for yourself, so please... do it for me."
She gently places a kiss on Frisk's cheek before moving back to the kitchen. For a moment, they're quiet, taking in their mother's words. Then, an appreciative smile stretches across their face.
"Thanks, Mom," Frisk says, pushing their chair back to stand up.
"Not so fast," Toriel says. "First, a proper meal. You're always so busy, that you forget to eat."
So close... Frisk reflects, watching with a forced smile as Toriel carries a plated slice of snail pie over to them and sets it on the table.
After, she reenters the kitchen to begin clearing it down. The human she left her cooking to apprehensively begins digging into their work. They silently debate on whether they'd rather be having a plate of Papyrus's spaghetti, before quickly realizing snail pie is by far the more appealing option. At least it didn't have the potential to be fatal.
While Frisk continues prodding the food with their fork, their mind starts to reflect on Toriel's words.
Niel said something similar this morning. Maybe I am working too hard. But what else can I do? The monsters need an ambassador, and I can't just give up on my studies. When all of this started... I thought it would get easier. At least eventually. But it hasn't. Is any of this really worth it anymore?
Almost immediately, the thought causes Frisk's eyes to widen in horror. They subject themselves to a deserved slap across the face- light enough for the sound to not startle Toriel.
No. Don't even think about it.
Determined to not even so much as entertain such intrusive thoughts, Frisk pushes them aside and takes a bite of snail pie.
...
For several lifetimes, the sky above had not been a source of warmth. Nor was it a magnificent display of the interstellar miracles spread light-years beyond planetary reach. It had, in fact, been nothing at all. Just a deep cavern covered in pitch-black darkness.
Only the shiny minerals scattered amongst the cave ceiling in Waterfall presented something resembling the night sky. But even that could be seen as the monsters' prison making a mockery of their entrapment with a tease of what could be. What each and every one of them was missing. What the majority of them would never see again before their bodies withered and broke from old age.
Asgore has remained alive and well for several centuries. During his reign, he watched generations of monsters come and go- all with the same fleeting dream of making it to the surface. A desire that lessened as time went on, with more and more of his people falling into despair. Losing hope.
To their immense fortune, however, their hope soon paid off with the arrival of the eighth human. The one who would start a chain of events, somehow resulting in the shattering of the barrier conjured by their ancestors before them.
Who would've thought? Asgore often pondered. A human answering our prayers... a child no less.
Everyone was quick to move on, never to look back at their old lives of imprisonment. All but one. That very monster proceeds through the last corridor of the palace. Brown and yellow tiles decorate the floor. Grey concrete pillars stand on both sides of the narrow passage, spreading all the way to the exit. In between them are large windows pierced by rays of sunlight that shine through the cracks in the mountain.
Many had considered digging through but were promptly stopped by the humans' seal. Yet another cruel tease of freedom. Asgore Dreemur's soft footsteps echo throughout the empty corridor. Most of his pensive trek across the interior of Mount Ebott has been an unexpectedly surreal experience. Snowdin, MTT resort, New Home- all places once full of life now remain empty. Everything in the underground was eerily just how its previous inhabitants left it.
If asked about his decision to return to such a dark period in monster history, Asgore would surely leave the person in question dissatisfied. In a bizarre twist of fate, a familiar sense hit the king during his walk. The sense of belonging. Home.
Above, the comforting weather, human culture, and pristine nature, it is all welcomed, yet unfamiliar. Like a world that isn't his own, despite the fact it had belonged to him well before anyone else still alive today. He often wonders if Toriel feels the same isolation. And every time, he'll naturally conclude:
Of course she doesn't. She's stronger than I'll ever be. Always was.
Nearing the end of the long hall, Asgore enters through an open, oval-shaped entrance surpassing even his height. What awaits on the other side only worsens his somber mood. He had expected it, but expectations versus first-hand reality are indeed two very different things.
His old throne still stood proudly in the middle of the room. A large, purple chair with a gold outline reflecting the cracks of moonlight above. The top corners of the chair are curved to resemble the king's recognizable horns, and the center vaguely forms the shape of a crown. Asgore barely pays any mind to it. Instead, he takes in everything surrounding the throne.
The garden. A place Asgore spent all of his time nourishing, cultivating, and fostering. Once a dazzling field of golden flowers is now nothing more than a graveyard. Six years of neglect have left the plants wilted and abandoned. All of them are shriveled up, decayed with rot.
Asgore takes a deep breath before he steps over the drooping plants devoid of life on his way to the throne. The very chair where he would make the biggest mistake in his life. A declaration fueled by suffering, destined to needlessly cause more.
Mind still deep in thought, the king takes a seat. He grins, realizing this is the first time he's actually been able to feel the throne. Usually, his clunky royal attire prevented any exposure of his actual body to the elements, barring his hands and feet. The gold is surprisingly cold, and the purple leather is less comfortable than he imagined. Perhaps it was best he was always suited.
I could sit here all night. Maybe I will. After all, what's the rush?
There was only one other occasion Asgore was nervous to be on the surface. As part of a full transparency agreement between the two species, he confessed to the human government all of his atrocities. All of them. It had taken the politicians present in the meeting by shock, discovering they had been in a war with a society they never knew existed. And as a consequence, six human children unfortunate enough to stumble into the monsters' domain were killed without mercy.
Luckily, Frisk was there to not defend Asgore, but to present his case fairly. To explain the tragedy that led to such a monstrous decision. It was a cold case of blood for blood. A game with no winners. Uninterested in sparking a second war, the humans decided against arresting the monsters' one king. But the graves were taken from Asgore's dungeon, retrieved by the monster himself, and they were promptly returned to their family's descendants.
Suffice to say, a public revelation of such nature didn't do much to improve the already hostile tension between monsters and humans. Thankfully, Frisk being the ambassador meant a soft-spoken kid was associated with Monsterkind and not a warmonger.
Perhaps I deserve to remain down here. My people's suffering was prolonged because of my cowardice. I gave them false hope with a war I never wanted, and six innocent souls paid for it. It would've been a seventh if Tori didn't intervene. I should've listened to you. I'm sorry...
A noise washes away Asgore's inner thoughts. He opens his eyes to only vaguely see a hint of green in the corner of his vision before nothing at all. Just the same field of decayed plants.
How strange. For a second, I could've sworn I saw one of the flowers moving.
...
In opposition to the cheerfulness of Emergence Day, a dull grey overcast looms over Mirstone City. A special kind of insult to the holiday considering the rarity of cloudy days in this region. No doubt the many anti-monster humans who reside within the land's capital are quite content with what they'd view as appropriate atmospheric conditions. A melancholy mood to go along with what some would consider the day everything changed for the worse.
Truthfully, most monsters couldn't care less about the forecast. Celebrations are often hosted indoors where a party consisting of friends and families engage in festivities. Some monster-owned establishments even remain open for strangers without a social circle to come in and celebrate together. It isn't just a wholesome activity, but more importantly, an effective way of cashing in on the holiday.
In the past five years, humans were unsure if taking part in public celebrations was entirely a good idea given their history. This year marks the end of such uncertainty. Now having the monster ambassador's blessing, Emergence Day is not just a day for monsters to rejoice in their new lives on the surface. It is now a holiday for both species to celebrate freedom as they know it.
Mirstone City, being a labyrinth of skyscrapers, businesses, and neighborhoods, all forms a massive metropolis unrivaled in size. The city skyline is remarkably high, with the top of MTT tower nearly reaching the dark clouds stationed overhead. Despite the heavy industrialization, thick forests completely surround the city, extending as far as the eye can see. It is within this wilderness that a commotion arises.
It begins as a swirling gust of wind carrying several loose leaves in its cooling breeze. That's when the sound gets louder, exposing the phenomenon to be not of natural circumstances. A contorted, high-frequency sound radiates through the surrounding area, spooking the nearby animals into fleeing. A wise choice considering what comes next.
A circular pool of radiant purple forms in the center of a patch of tall oak trees. Its blinding light extends well past its place of origin, illuminating the lively forest. Next, something emerges from the whirling gateway. Rather, someone.
Once they step out of the vortex, it quickly dissipates, leaving no sign of its existence behind. Its recent passenger stands idly, taking in their surroundings, noting every observable detail within close proximity. Heavily plated, knight-like armor covers their body from head to toe. Its scarlet red exterior gleams with unnatural brightness, creating a tenuous glow within the forest deep.
After a brief rumbling of thunder, the sky releases a small bit of precipitation. Drizzle that rapidly amplifies with each passing second, soon evolving into rain. Water droplets run down the stranger's red armor, soaking it in the process. They've seen enough. Having gained their bearings, the stranger takes their first step. Their hefty sabatons sink into the damp Earth as they walk, eventually finding a space with a clear enough view of what they're looking for.
The many spectacular buildings of Mirstone City stand only a few yards away from the thick layers of trees surrounding them. The armored traveler tilts their head with a mix of interest and slight bewilderment upon examining certain unfamiliar landmarks.
"This is new," they say, their bold armor modulating their voice in a deep, electronic pitch.
The stranger extends their left hand outward. In a flash of magnificent red light, something is now held in their clawed gauntlet. A black hilt belonging to a crimson sword. Its razor-sharp blade extends for seventy inches, nearly exceeding its wielder's height who barely has it beat by a single inch. They brandish their weapon, eyes still fixated on Mirstone from beneath their visor.
"How exciting."
...