The Observer followed Gaster through the pathway, which had become more frantic and chaotic. The sounds were louder, more desperate, as unseen forces clawed at the edges of the drone and the doctor's coat.
"When we arrive, I'll leave you for a moment. I must return to the recycle bin from earlier and dismantle what's left," Gaster explained, casting a glance at a hand that reached for him. He snapped it with a wet, sickening plop. "Perhaps I should invest in the infrastructure. This is getting tiresome."
Hallway. The Observer reminded itself, trailing behind as Gaster passed through a shimmering grey wall—not quite a door, more of a glitch in the structure. On the other side, the void was different.
This section appeared as a series of floating islands suspended in an off-blue void, with broken and damaged boxes scattered across the islands like remnants of something once important but now forgotten.
A faint whisper echoed from the Observer, one of the many voices within. "What is this?"
A question out of time but still fitting. Gaster glanced back.
"To explain that, I must first tell you about higher-dimensional beings, existing beyond the usual structure of things, with societies all their own." His smile darkened. "They often believe themselves to be 'isolated instances,' but they are not. Calamity can strike, tearing apart everything, even the broader omniversal structure."
His arms dripped, oozing, his form struggling to stay cohesive as his smile widened, melting grotesquely. A distorted laugh escaped him.
"When this happens, a new version is planted over the ruins of the old one. The new inhabitants either don't remember or believe they overcame whatever threat came before." He turned toward you, his gaze piercing. "Now, imagine—what happens if there's something, or someone, that can destroy everything?"
He raised one melting finger. "The odds are, it will win. But there's always a chance, no matter how small, that it could fail." Another finger, also melting, joined the first. "The laws of the broader void dictate that because both 'may' happen, both 'must' happen. And so they do."
The Observer whirred in confusion.
"It's not complicated," Gaster said, smiling, calmer. "First, the destructive outcome occurs. Then, the version where it fails is played out. In simpler terms—there is almost always a Pacifist Run after a Genocide Run, isn't there?"
The Observer whirred again.
"Of course, I'm telling the truth." Gaster's smile dipped, amused. "This place is proof. It's one of those forgotten layers, buried beneath what people believe to be reality."
A disjointed voice from within you asked, "How do you know?"
"Because when these events unfold, I do what few others are wise enough to do—I hide." He grinned. "Running away is always an option. And while some might shame survival, they are foolish. When destruction comes, I displace myself, distorting time, moving just out of sync with the flow of events. As long as there's a chance I'll survive, I will. Even if I die, paradox ensures that I'll survive afterward as well."
The Observer chirped, curious.
"I know, the explanation hardly matters. But it's fun, isn't it?" He shrugged, more relaxed now. "It's been a while since I've shared my theories. But none of this is relevant. We have a world to create. You and I."
The Observer chirped excitedly.
"No, not you. Them." Gaster pointed toward you. "The readers, I presume, since your visual feed isn't working." The drone let out a dejected noise.
"Now. What's imp—"
Suddenly, the feed cut off. Snaps of motion flickered across the screen—large blasters fired, bones tore through the air, and a thousand howling faces erupted, pouring bones and blood onto the battlefield as darkness and light collided. The scene tore at the already damaged realm, flickering out of sight.
Time passed.
The Observer whirred back to life, drifting through the void. In the distance, shadows twisted, and a dark collision of light consumed the space between two figures. One was devouring part of the other, while the second exploded into shards, fending off the assault.
Then, the Observer's vision blurred, and a voice echoed—a voice like Gaster's. "Ah. So this is what he was protecting... or at least what you're clinging to."
A dark hand reached for the Observer, but a feral sound interrupted. The feed cut off again as more chaos unfolded, smaller hands pulling the drone away. Unseen by the combatants, resuming their exchange.
The camera flickered back on, revealing a different place—one with gravity and form. The damaged lens, now somewhat repaired, caught sight of a canister floating in the air. A claw extended from the drone, snatching it and pulling it into its chest compartment.
Inside the canister was the timeline you were building. The fragile reality you had been crafting.
The Observer searched its memory, trying to recall how it had ended up here. This strange, semi-solid space in the void. It spun, surveying the surroundings.
The room was vast and circular, broken screens floating along the walls, which stretched into infinity in both directions. Some screens were cracked, leaking energy, while others flickered with static, lost in the darkness. Vines, slashed and severed, reached from the shadows, their twisted forms coiling around a bloodied hand still clutching something—a monitor, its green sleeve stained with blood.
The Observer neared, noticing the monitor had been sliced in half. A faint inscription about Perseverance was visible, but the screen was empty. Nearby monitors still pulsed with remnants of energy, as if something had been stolen from them.
A trail of red smeared along the edges, leading the Observer to a crumpled body hidden behind the screens. Bloodied, dressed in a yellow raincoat, with dark bloodied hair, a knife lodged in the chest. In its arms, a mangled animal's corpse lay limp.
The Observer attempted to identify the body. Designation… unknown. Code tampered.
It moved closer but halted at a sudden, muffled laugh. Movement flickered in the shadows. The Observer scanned the area but found nothing—until two hands appeared on either side of its lens, gripping the drone. A panicked whirr escaped.
The laugh echoed again as the hands released it. The Observer spun, facing the source. A child stood there, their face a blur of static. Lost Soul detected. Designation… unreadable. Overwritten designation: Assistant.
Threads had pierced the child's eyelids, sewing them shut, and the same threads wove their mouth closed. Yet, the Assistant smiled.
The Observer scanned for a way out. Hallway. Corridor. Passage. Doorway?
The Assistant made a series of hand signs. "Hello, old friends. I saved your eyes."
The Observer glanced at the destruction around them.
"Don't worry about them," the Assistant signed. "Nobody cared before. Why should you now?"
A bloodied purple crystal locket hung from the Assistant's belt, swaying as they beckoned to something, manifesting a menu of words and phrases, sorting themselves into choices.
"You're building a world, right?" the child signed.
The Observer took stock of the static-ridden images of Snowdin's potential regions. The Assistant's stitched smile remained.
"Just because we're old friends, let me help you." They tapped on one of the options. The Observer presumed it was Gaster's choice, but couldn't be sure. The Assistant waited patiently after casting their vote.
There were only four options for this region, not as many as had been available for the Ruins.
The first was a tangled, decaying forest, its trees withering in active rot. The sap ran red, and distant factory fumes seeped through the haze. A small settlement lurked in the depths of this unsettling landscape. Meat Forest.
The next option was coastal—a vast inland sea lined with warm beaches. Palm trees bore fruit, while lawn chairs and umbrellas dotted the shoreline. A colorful port village rested nearby, welcoming. Port Town.
The third was a warmer forest filled with towering flower-trees of golden, orange, and red hues, giving the air an eternal autumn atmosphere. Streams fed the plains and valleys, some pouring from the edges of a charming city on a cliffside. Golden Grove.
The fourth option flickered and glitched. The Assistant tilted their head, tapped on it, then conjured a red knife and sliced it away.
"Three choices, then," the Assistant signed. "Unfortunate." They smiled again. "I hope you don't mind, I voted for Meat Forest." They hummed. "Oh, yes. There are 'roles' you must fill, right?" The Assistant tapped more buttons, manifesting another role for consideration. "I'll leave the fun ones for you and that man. This one is less important, though. So I doubt he'll notice." They tapped the lens. "It can be our little secret."
The first role was for 'The Trusting Role,' formerly held by the Snowman. The options were listed, with one vote already cast.
Frisk. 1 Vote.
Goner Kid.
Napstablook.
Monster Kid.
Asriel.
A faint, wet gurgling pierced the silence, drawing both the Observer's and the Assistant's attention. The Assistant's gaze shifted toward the figure coiled in vines. Its hand twitched—a final, feeble motion. The 'human' stepped closer, curiosity in its movements.
The hand seemed to raise briefly, and the Assistants own twitched, almost reaching for it. Then, they seemed to look away. A word flickered above the Assistant.
"Disappointment."
A dim red glow became visible beneath their sewn eyelids, as the hand had dropped, and clung to the broken monitor. The smile absent, the Assistant pried the limp hand from what it clung to, peeling the fingers away with ease. The lifeless metal slab was discarded, tossed into the void like broken machinery, its purpose served. Yet the pained gurgling remained.
Turning back toward you, the Assistant tilted their head, the near-silence hanging in the air between you both. They signed, "It didn't set? Interesting. Ah. I see...a time delay." They seemed to ponder, noticing you were still present. "What's wrong? Shouldn't you be off, by now? Oh, were you expecting more options?"
A muffled chuckle echoed beneath the layers of fabric. They waved a hand dismissively. "You're always so greedy. well, here. Another role. 'Another choice' just for you, old friends."
As the last remnants of the vines dissolved into the abyss, the gurgling ceased, swallowed by the void as the hand sank away. Silence returned, broken only by the clicking and clattering of the strange menu that materialized in front of the entity before you. The Assistant summoned another set of options, a twisted smile lurking beneath their calm demeanor.
This next role was for what had once been Snowdin. 'The Idolizer Role,' once held by Monster Kid. Several options now floated before you, each a name, a legacy waiting to be filled. A vote, already cast.
Frisk. 1 Vote
Goner Kid.
Napstablook.
Asriel.
Monster Kid.
Lesser Dog.
The Assistant signed again. "I even included a dog, just for you. I'd have done a cat, but honestly." They glanced at the corpse behind the screens. "I've had more than enough of those OFF creatures." They took a step closer, their presence heavy with a scent that reeked of copper and dust. "Hey, here's a fun idea. Don't even bother voting if you don't want to. I'll handle it for you. Isn't that kind?"
The Observer hesitated, trapped by the suffocating aura of the Assistant, who loomed over them. The stitched stare bore down, waiting. It had to wait for your choice, if you even had one to make. Waiting for the timer to tick down, for control to slip from your hands.
The timer was counting down already. You felt it. What would you do?