A foot sank into the snow, crunching beneath the black boots of the doctor. He paused for a moment, adjusting his coat as he surveyed the area. The steady, soft snowfall caught his attention, prompting him to hold out a finger. A single flake landed on it but didn't melt.
One of you spoke up. "Doctor Gaster. May I ask a question?"
"You may," he replied.
"What's your favorite kind of music?"
"What an odd question," he muttered, mildly surprised. "I'm not sure why it matters to you, but I suppose I prefer a particular 'theme' rather than any specific genre." He paused, then added, "I enjoy songs about heartbreak—regardless of the style. Whether they're country, jazz, or something more contemporary."
"And why?" the voice pressed.
Gaster pondered. "Originally, it wasn't my preferred. One of my sons introduced me to a soothing duet about smoking and heartbreak. I've had a fondness for such songs ever since."
As he took another step forward, something materialized in front of him: a large, hovering notice, scrawled in a chaotic mixture of fonts. He swiped through them until only one—written in his preferred font—remained. The Observer noted that it appeared to be a warning, stating that this reality was "quarantined until such time as it may be gathered" by a group whose name was obscured.
"Tragically, they won't be coming," Gaster remarked, flicking the prompt. It glitched, then shattered.
The Observer chirped curiously.
"The notice was placed by a group of individuals who hoped to gather and protect these fractured realities," Gaster explained casually as he continued along the path. "They had the rather naïve belief that they could stitch the broken pieces into whole new realities, safeguarding them under their care—giving the forgotten a second chance at life."
"You?" the Observer asked, borrowing your word.
"I met them," he admitted, adding after a pause, "while searching for a solution to a different problem." His breath fogged in the cold air as he continued, "They offered assistance, and I, in turn, lent them mine for a time. But in the end, it didn't matter."
"Why?" the Observer asked again.
Gaster lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag. "When the connection was made, and you, Observer, were first awakened, you may recall me mentioning an 'EVENT.'" He exhaled a cloud of glitching smoke. "That particular event wiped out half the realities here, when I last checked. But there were other 'events'—many more." He clarified, "One was especially brutal, orchestrated by a version of myself. He shredded several more complete realities, using their remnants to build a new one after destroying his own in a pursuit of perfection."
The Observer whirred, processing this as Gaster resumed walking, his expression darkening slightly.
"There were also troublemakers, moving through realities, gathering humans—hoping to harness soul power to destroy everything, in the name of perverse mercy." He hummed, deep in thought. "Once, a strange creature came from another set of realities and waged war with the higher beings."
Gaster paused, flicking ash from his cigarette. "The event you witnessed upon your arrival marked the end of the group who made the notice. Try as they might, protecting their worlds was... impossible, given their methods. To create something new, power must be given. They gave too much and became small fish in a very large pond. They would need to destroy to protect, but those who destroy grow detached from what they seek to preserve."
The Observer spoke again. "You?"
Gaster glanced at the Observer but did not respond. "It led to a divide—two camps, two philosophies." He manifested a phantom hand with a red ring around the palm. "Those who wanted to defy this place," he said, then conjured a second hand, this one ringed in blue. "And those who wished to accept it."
As they moved forward, the mountain cliffs gave way to a forest. Gaster chuckled softly. "And, as beings do when they diverge from their tribe, they began to kill each other—over and over. Until only the worst remained. The murderers. The cowards. The zealots."
Their path was soon blocked by a large, cup-like creature. Gaster waited patiently, smoking in silence. He cleared his throat, and let out a cough, as the monster turned to face him, eyebrows raised above its sunglasses. A straw protruded from the top, sinking into a murky, brown liquid.
"Hey! Watch it!" the creature snapped.
"My apologies I was looking for.," Gaster began, but was cut off.
"Oh ho ho, look at that," the monster mocked, grinning as Gaster's polite smile wavered. "I think this guy wants to pass." The doctor's expression grew annoyed. "Swig! Toast! Get over here!" the monster called, as two more cup monsters slid into view.
Before they could speak, phantom hands with glowing yellow rings around the palm materialized beside Gaster. With a thought, power exploded forth from them, the golden beams incinerating the monsters in an instant.
With a snap of his fingers, the hands vanished. "Apologies," Gaster said, stepping past the dust. "I'm in no mood for obstacles. Come along. If I'm sensing correctly, your bird must be ahead."
One of your voices chimed in again. "Hey, Gaster, are we friends?"
He seemed surprised, a faint smile forming on his face. "Are we friends?" he mused. "That's... an interesting question. I'd say we're colleagues." He paused, then added, "I don't tend to keep friends anymore."
"Can we be?" the voice continued.
Gaster considered this as they passed beneath an archway wrapped in holiday lights. It depicted a bear at the top and bore the name 'Honeydew Resort.' Portions of the arch flickered, fragments occasionally vanishing as the universe's decay slowly consumed it.
"If you insist upon it, then perhaps." He shrugged. "I won't stop you, but I think you'll come to regret that decision in the end."
Gaster stepped into the building, pushing the door open as he was greeted by warmth he couldn't feel. The faint scent of honey barely registered, and the music playing in the background seemed distant, almost out of reach.
The place was a tavern or perhaps a saloon, with stools and bar counters. There was a main counter, where someone stood behind it, and a smaller one directly to his right as he entered, though it lacked anything notable.
"A saloon," he muttered, eyeing the decor. "I'll never understand the fascination with cowboys and the like." He noticed the 'bee and honey' aesthetic that permeated the room. The stools were patterned with honeycombs, and the tables matched, though there were only a few scattered about. In the center stood an older-style heating device with a couch beside it. At the far end of the tavern, there was a door on the left, a window on the right, and a small stage.
On the stage, a ghost appeared to be possessing a human-like doll. A variant of Red, he suspected, was singing a sorrowful song while two others played instruments—a cello and a piano. The atmosphere felt bleak, yet the music had a strangely calming effect on him.
No one seemed to take much notice of his arrival, though he had his suspicions as to why. He turned his attention to the main bar, where an old television was mounted on the wall, broadcasting the same footage on repeat. The screen showed a variant of Frisk, wearing a long red scarf, battling and tearing apart this reality's Mettaton. The machine was utilizing a 'semi-complete' version of the 'Neo Form,' though even that didn't appear to be enough.
Behind the bar stood a woman—a flame elemental of some sort, her body glowing with blue fire. She watched him approach and slid a drink across the counter. Gaster raised a brow, eyeing the cup filled with a mix of honey and alcohol. Glancing over, he noticed a member of the royal guard—a bluebird with goggles perched on her head, passed out at the bar. A streak of white ran through her hair, standing out against the rest.
The bartender spoke up. "Don't mind Ms. Martlet. She's been running around all day, evacuating folks. Poor thing passed out a little while ago."
Gaster took a seat, the Observer hovering beside him. "Something tells me you're not the usual tender of this saloon," he remarked.
"The owner got evacuated. The only ones dumb enough to stay are me, the band, and two members of the guard." She shrugged, adding, "Figured I might as well serve drinks stiff enough to keep people from thinking too much about what's happening."
"I understand the sentiment," Gaster replied, taking a sip of the drink.
The bartender studied him for a moment. "You look familiar, stranger. You related to Sans and Papyrus?"
Gaster paused, then asked, "I presume they've... vanished as well?" She was silent for a beat. "Nothing to be done about it now... but it looks like you're being hailed."
She glanced toward the stage, where one of the band members was waving at her. The bartender gathered a tray of drinks to take to the musicians, leaving Gaster with his thoughts.
He took another sip of the drink. His sense of taste had faded long ago, but the sweetness still managed to cut through. As he contemplated the fleeting sensation, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.
"I've seen you before," the woman beside him murmured, one eye slowly opening. "Aren't you... that skeleton?"
"I believe you're thinking of one of my sons," Gaster replied smoothly. "Hello. I'm Doctor W.D. Gaster. You must be Martlet?" he asked, then added, "If I'm not mistaken, you were tutored by a scientist named Chujin, correct?"
Martlet stirred, still looking groggy as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. A few feathers fell as she stretched, trying to shake off her exhaustion.
"You... knew Chujin?" she asked, her voice laced with surprise.
"We worked together on the Steamworks," Gaster recalled. "It was quite the marvel and served as the foundation for my own project, which you might know as The CORE."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You're the... former royal scientist?" She seemed to realize who she was speaking to, struggling to recall his name. "You said... Gaster? Why can't I—" Her words faltered as she looked up at the television. "What... is that?"
"The last star of the Underground, going out," Gaster responded calmly.
Martlet's face paled as the reality of the situation settled in. "It... it can't be. H-how long have I—"
"Stop," Gaster interrupted, his voice steady. "There's no point in panicking now. If you encounter that human, it will be the end of you. Even if you use the serum you've been hiding."
Martlet blinked, her focus shifting sharply to him. "The... what?"
"Don't play coy," Gaster said, his tone cold. "I know Chujin kept a few vials of Determination. And I know you have one on you now. Just like I know you discarded the original vial—what was it, seven years ago? For the sake of a human child," he added, watching her wince at the mention.
Her breath hitched. "How do you... know that?" she asked, her voice quiet but tense.
"How I know, doesn't matter much anymore. Nor do the choices of that child." Gaster replied smoothly, his gaze unwavering. "What was their name again? Clever, or something?"
Martlet swallowed, her eyes flicking downward. "Clover," she corrected softly.
Gaster's expression didn't change. "Don't get so upset now. You certainly had no issue watching them die before, so a little mispronunciation shouldn't bother you." His tone grew colder, as she seemed to get upset. "In hindsight, a human raised by monsters could have been a powerful tool to stop all of this. Don't you think?"
"I didn't...it was their choice and...I would never have raised them to be a weapon," Martlet said in frustration, her voice trembling. "They were just a kid."
She trailed off, her gaze drifting back to the screen.
"The key word. Is were." He pressed again.
"Wait. What about King Asgore?" Martlet asked, a flicker of hope in her eyes. "He has the six human souls. He can absorb them, and—"
"I have known Asgore since before the war that led to our imprisonment," Gaster interrupted, his gaze cold and unyielding. "If he were EVER going to absorb them, don't you think he would have done it by now?" He leaned in slightly, his words cutting deep. "Even now, he hesitates. And in the moment he does, he'll perish." He chuckled softly, the sound unsettling. "It's ironic, isn't it? You let that child sacrifice themselves to save us all, only for another human to come along and make it all meaningless."
"M-maybe he will..." Martlet's voice wavered, her doubt clear, but she clung to her hope. "A-and if you're his friend, shouldn't you want to try and help him?"
Gaster considered her question, then spoke with bitter clarity. "Every time I've tried to help someone, it has led to their death—or my own." He paused, his tone growing more distant. "That's why I stopped trying a long time ago. Besides, you can't convince him to take the souls."
"Then... then I'll take them," Martlet declared, a faint glimmer of determination lighting up her eyes. "I'll... I'll do it."
"It wouldn't matter against their determination," Gaster stated flatly. "And even if it did, the process would likely destroy you." He gave her a sharp look. "Are you prepared for that risk, Martlet of the Royal Guard?"
She faltered for a moment, but then seemed to gather herself, her resolve solidifying. "Yes."
Gaster smirked. "How amusing," he muttered, eyes gleaming with a strange light. "If you're truly so insistent..." He paused, thinking for a moment. "I do know a sort of... 'shortcut' that could get you there quickly—if you're so hellbent on throwing your life away," he suggested. "It's somewhat akin to teleportation magic."
"Then we can help. We can stop this," Martlet said, her voice filled with a desperate determination. "Please. We can fix this. We have to."
"Such an insistent monster you are," Gaster muttered, offering his hand with a faint, unsettling smile. "You remind me of someone... someone who, despite everything, tried not to give up on hope." He chuckled softly as she took his hand. "I must admit... it revolts me that you will obtain what he could not."
Before Martlet could respond, a surge of power tore through her body. Her soul flickered blue, and she was slammed down by an immense force. Gaster kept his grip on her hand, the crushing gravity making the pain unbearable as her body began to break apart, flaying into pieces. His eyes, devoid of light, remained fixed on her as her pained cry grew quieter and quieter, until she was reduced to long, fragile strands of code.
The music stopped. Everything was deathly silent. Gaster calmly finished his drink.
"Gather that," he ordered, his eyes flicking to the Observer. "I've realized I barely collected enough code for this area. Never hurts to have a little extra."
He turned his head to the others, each one staring in horror at the scene that had just unfolded. Unbothered, Gaster stood up, the Observer already moving to collect Martlet's fragmented code. Bullets flew and desperate roars filled the air, but the drone quietly continued its work, gathering the code while muting its audio input, indifferent to the chaos around it.
It hardly mattered anymore. Once the task was complete, the Observer began weaving Martlet's code into your world—into what you had created so far.
After finishing, the drone noticed movement nearby. Gaster was pocketing more of the gathered code as he approached. The audio restored.
"During our time off, I'll be weaving more of the extended world, I think," he muttered to himself before glancing at the drone. "Has it settled?"
The drone chirped in confirmation.
"Good. Come," Gaster said, pressing a hand against the building, causing it to creak and wither under his touch. "We have places to be, and another being to gather."
The pair exited the saloon as the building began to crumble behind them. Boards splintered and burst apart, sections collapsing into rubble as they walked away.
Stepping out of the reality, the skeletal man opened a panel, reviewing the various realities he had visited throughout his once endless existence. He was looking for the final being from your recent vote.
He glanced back to ensure the Observer was present. In truth, he could always feel your presence—whether you were watching him, listening, or reading. He even knew when you skimmed over his words. So, he was well aware when the Observer was with him and when you were.
As he scrolled through the list, he briefly pondered what your thoughts might be on the actions he'd taken—and the ones he still intended to take. Your internal thoughts weren't entirely known to him, of course, but it mattered little. In the end, he had no choice but to trust both you and his own decisions.
His focus was interrupted when one of the names on the monitor began to glow faintly. While the others were dull grey, this one softly pulsed with light. The Observer chirped in curiosity.
"Do you remember those cards I handed out?" he asked, receiving an affirmative whirr. "If a being accepts my offer, they can hold the card, and it will highlight their name on my list. The last few times I used this method, I persuaded them without needing the 'call' function." He tapped the flashing name, revealing the nature of that reality. "Strange... I don't recall offering a card to anyone in this cluster."
The Observer repeated your words: "Claim? Vote?"
Gaster considered it for a moment. "That's... unlikely. And probably unwise." He heard the Observer's confused whirr and clarified. "It would mean dealing with an old 'friend,' one I'd rather avoid." He checked the surrounding cluster of realities and noticed several other activated cards. His expression darkened briefly. "Oh, Chara... what did you do?"
"Chara?" The Observer echoed.
"Forget it." He closed the window with a sharp motion and turned. "We're not going there. Not now. Maybe not ever." His tone was final. "Come. There's a variant of that dummy phantom nearby."
"A. New. Life," the Observer remarked, repeating the Riverwoman's voice.
"Yes, yes, I'm aware of what it says—and what was offered. But I didn't make that offer." Gaster pointed out, adding, "Besides, you have no idea what's lurking there. The danger your presence would bring." He said to you, his gaze sharp. "So, we won't be visiting. Come, there's another spirit close by. We'll go collect it."
The Observer complied without further question, and moved through the shadows of the void after him.