Signal located.
Connection reestablished...
It had been some time since your connection to this Observer had reestablished.
The drone whirred faintly, its light flickering as it hovered in front of Gaster. He stood motionless, observing you with an expression caught between patience and annoyance. His posture and measured breathing conveyed a quiet intensity, his crimson eyes seeming to bore straight through you.
The two of you were in a strange space, the void around you swirling with countless hues and shades. The colors stretched and pooled like liquid, shimmering and shifting as though alive.
"Welcome back," Gaster greeted, his voice calm but with a faint edge. "Did you enjoy your detour?"
The Observer's mechanisms whirred curiously, as though attempting to parse the question.
"Not you, scrap heap," he added with a pointed glance.
A few whispers reached the drone—your voices, fragmented and overlapping, spilling into the void. The Observer's systems worked to filter and steady them. Some words altering, for clarity, as best it could.
One of you chimed in: "Hey, so Gaster—like, the Observer's canon name is Bob now."
Another suggested: "PS. Petition for Observer name 'Para.' Nice and simple!"
Gaster raised a brow, then tapped the Observer thoughtfully. "You want to name it, do you? Interesting... Here I thought you'd say... 'Moxie,' hmm?"
There was a knowing tone in his voice, his red eyes gleaming with amusement. Meanwhile, the Observer struggled to manage the swirling torrent of your fragmented thoughts. The backlog flowing forth.
"Query about previous attempts to build an Observer," one of you asked.
"Proceed," Gaster replied evenly.
"Was anyone was ever able to mechanically outperform you concerning the project?"
Gaster considered this, manifesting a chair from the swirling void. Its form solidified into oak, and he sat, steepling his fingers. "Largely, no," he began. "There were countless variations and attempts—most made by altruistic minds willing to pay the cost but uncertain how to make it function properly. Only one succeeded before me, and it was their design that inspired this Observer."
He tapped his temple as he continued. "There were two issues. One required personal sacrifice, binding oneself to your vision and will. The second issue, it turned out, was finding the right signal to draw you here and establish our connection."
"We time-traveled," one of you interjected.
"I know," he replied, his tone sharp with understanding. "Sharing the same signal allowed you to connect with the 'prototype' for a time. I felt you rooting around in the past, altering my history—or trying to." His gaze darkened. "I also recall the harsh words we shared. Let me assure you...
"We are colleagues now, partners in a vital experiment. My anger hardly matters. What's done is done. You ensured that my ward, my child, never trusted me in their final days, just as I stole away your so-called prize."
He took a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him like specters. "But the pact is made. Our bond is sealed. Neither of us can walk away now."
"The person trying to fix its other half is really nice," one of you offered.
"Are they?" Gaster mused, exhaling a plume of smoke. "A kindly thief. How adorable."
"So please don't hurt them—or codify them without consent," you added. "It's a Chara variant."
Gaster seemed to consider this before murmuring, "We'll see."
"Mercy is good stuff, especially if the target is deserving," another of you whispered.
One of you spoke after what sounded like a steadying breath. "The Chara may have grafted 'Gaster code' into themselves," you said. Gaster stilled, his form subtly tensing as you added, "Or perhaps another skeleton capable of summoning magic hands?"
He narrowed his eyes but let you continue. "The world they're in had a Chara ,which appears to have been dead for some time, with another Chara—a perseverance soul type—emerging in their place."
"Invading the 'AU' from the outside?" Gaster speculated, his tone sharp with curiosity. "Killing off the one in their way?"
"It is currently unknown which Chara is holding Observer shard 'Bob' captive," you clarified. "Another possibility is that the Charas may now be one and the same. This reasoning, however, remains hypothetical."
Gaster hummed, his focus sharpening. "The more important question is: does this one 'cling' to another?"
"I feel like we shouldn't tell him about this purple Chara," one of you muttered, unease creeping into your words.
The moment hung heavy as some of your voices were abruptly silenced, bound by an external force. It felt as though vines coiled around the remaining words, preventing them from spilling forth. Still, the damage might already have been done.
One of you hesitantly suggested, "Maybe you could help them because this Collector dude is terrible."
Gaster gave a soft, humorless chuckle. "He has grown frustrating. But all roads cross again, it seems."
"But if you can't, that's fine too," you added quickly. "Just letting you know I care about Chara, so don't do anything rash."
He regarded the words silently, then rose from his seat, flicking away his cigarette. The rainbow waters of the void began to blacken where the embers touched, the darkness spreading like ink, thick and tar-like. Bubbling, it devoured the vibrant hues, spreading like a plague across the space.
"If this 'Chara' is who I suspect, it would be best for you to stand aside while I do what I should have done the first time," he said with calm finality. "And tear her, and that stolen world apart. If not, we might discuss 'sparing' it. Though I remind you..." He paused, his tone cold and clinical. "If this is just you wanting to graft a rare specimen, know that your Chara—our Chara—will already have one of the 'two' available grafts she might receive once we retrieve the canister. So choose wisely if you wish to do it again, for it will be the last time, for that entity."
As he stepped forward, the darkened void shifted, shadows rising to form a barrier within the space. It wasn't flat but curved, revealing itself to be a massive sphere. Black ink spread across its surface like veins as Gaster pressed his hand against it. Tiny cracks began to form, spiderwebbing outward as he stepped back to wait.
One of you broke the silence. "We don't know which Gaster we are traveling with."
Gaster turned to you, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "A few tells," he replied, tapping the red pupils in his sockets. "You were present for this change when it occurred— the result of rising DT levels in my system. Look for the 'red eyes.' Secondly—" He gestured to his outfit, brushing off his coat. "I wear a black lab coat with rather stylish ends. It's long, cuts down to my feet, and has 'spines' of sorts for the zipper teeth. Beneath it, a red sweater—comfortable and practical. Yes, I've worn glasses before, but I no longer need them, except perhaps for reading." He tilted his head, the smirk fading into a more neutral expression. "I am the Gaster you met when this began. The one you've traveled with since. Your guide."
He paused, narrowing his gaze. "If your worry is that I'm 'Him'... don't. He doesn't wear red. Also, I found a Fell-Error Sans variant lurking in this void space and tricked them into fighting. The fact he hasn't appeared since... well, I hope that means he's dead."
Lighting another cigarette, Gaster inhaled deeply, his demeanor instinctively calm. "I don't know if I have any other tells to prove I'm me, but I hope that helps." A thin trail of smoke left his lips as he added, "Presuming I understood you correctly. If not... too late now."
"The 'Bob' is still not in possession of the world," one of you stated firmly.
Another voice chimed in, "Our current location might be a remnant of a timeline collected by an unknown entity currently known as 'The Collector.' He slaughters all inhabitants but one—similar to our goal but with a vastly different method and ideology."
Gaster nodded slightly. "I had deduced as much, but I appreciate your candor."
"It's imperative we get it back," you declared. "I'm also willing to abandon the 'pacifist run' if the creation isn't returned."
"What a wonderful idea," Gaster replied with a low chuckle. "I was going to say the same thing. At least one of you has sense." He took another drag, exhaling as he added, "And don't trouble yourselves about 'The Collector.' I will handle him when our paths inevitably cross. His goals are not ours... though when my ward—my Chara—died, neither Asriel nor I handled it well. For me, the solution was you. For him... it was his 'collections' that kept him sane."
The barrier cracked, fragments shattering as Gaster stepped through the breach. Beyond it lay a fantastical world, stitched together from countless layered realities—variants and versions, AUs and ATs. Rain fell over fragmented cities, while wildflowers blanketed stretches of land. Buildings from myriad eras stood side by side, rising and falling in chaotic harmony.
Watching as Gaster and the Observer arrived, a massive, eldritch Flowey loomed in the distance. Its unblinking eye scanned them both, visible now to Gaster as well as the Observer. A voice whispered in the back of your mind:
- You've finally arrived. Hello again, my friends. We need to talk.-
Before Gaster could react, the Observer was seized without warning, yanked violently into a pool of shadows.
When your perspective returned, you found yourself in a snow-covered field, blanketed with tombstones.
The air was still, heavy with an unspoken weight. In the center of this desolate expanse stood a lone tree—not a tree at all, but a massive flower. Its vines twisted and coiled, stretching to form the walls of this peculiar space. The entire area felt alive, pulsing faintly with an unfamiliar rhythm, as though it breathed with the will of its creator.
Beneath the towering flower stood someone familiar. Or perhaps, someone who had once been familiar to you. Their form was an amalgamation of roots and vines, their "flesh" formed from folded petals, marked with cuts and slits mimicking fur. This being's shape was unmistakable—it was Asriel.
"Hello, friends," he greeted softly, his voice calm and strangely warm. He motioned for you to come closer. "Come nearer, won't you?"
You were given a choice. Weren't given a choice.
You chose to Proceed. You chose to Stay
You refused to obey. You decided to obey.
But your choice didn't matter here. In truth, there was no choice to be made. No matter what you tried, the Observer—your eye—was drawn closer, compelled by an unseen force.
Asriel stretched out a hand, the eye of the colossal Flowey above him watching intently. Its gaze mirrored his own. It was his own. It had always been him.
His hand came to rest on the side of the Observer, brushing against the side of your face. He had changed. He was taller now, his horns longer, curving through strands of unkempt hair. Despite the transformation, he still wore the same hoodie you remembered from your earlier meetings, and a rainbow scarf once belonging to his sibling—a casual relic of a simpler time.
"You might be confused," he admitted, his voice soft but steady.
-I am the flower.-
"I am the brother to a lost sibling."
-I am the one you trusted.-
"And the one who trusts you."
He let out a breath, his hand falling to his side. "Gaster has arrived. Soon, he'll be here. In my garden. Looking for your eye."
Asriel glanced away briefly before returning his gaze to you. "I'm sorry I took it so suddenly, but I wanted to talk to you. May we talk?"
He seated himself at the base of the colossal flower, its roots curling protectively around him. The Observer lowered before him, powerless but attentive. He closed his eyes, though the eye of the Flowey above remained open, unblinking.
"I am Asriel," he began, his voice carrying a quiet authority. "Once the judge of a Storyswap world. Once the bearer of my murdered sibling's soul. Once freed, and promised salvation by your guide—that man, Gaster." He paused, his tone shifting. "Once, I looked at you and felt dread in my heart. I feared what you might represent, that you might take them from me. But you didn't. You trusted me. You tried to help them, to change fate. And I have never, nor will I ever, forget that."
His eyes opened, glowing faintly as they scanned you. Your thoughts, your whispers, the fragments of your memories—all of it poured into him. He heard the things you had never meant to be heard, the pieces even your guide had not known. And he smiled.
"The Collector," he said softly. "That is me now, and I have grown terrible indeed. A piece of your Observer has fallen into my world. Or more honestly, I dragged it here."
He sighed, the weight of his actions evident in his tone. "I attacked you to break it. To sever it. I needed the signal lost, to redirect you to the prototype. I had to try and save Chara—my Chara, my sibling." He paused, his voice tinged with regret. "I hope you can forgive me, though I'll understand if you don't. It was a cruel thing to derail your mission. A beautiful mission. And I imagine you're building a wonderful world."
Asriel smiled again, though this time it was easier to see the peculiarities of his form. His teeth were not teeth at all but thorns mimicking their shape. His tongue, too, was merely a long petal, textured to pass as one.
"I even brought Subject 921 here," he continued. "I helped her find a facsimile of her world, and those she lost—until you returned." His smile turned faintly malicious. "I dragged her into my games. Led her to believe her world was ever in peril, ensuring she wouldn't try to escape. That she might remain. That you might harvest her soul, if that was what you desired."
A long silence followed, snow falling gently around you both. Asriel's gaze drifted, as though lost in thought.
"But you cannot answer me yet," he finally said. "So, perhaps I'll give you the chance to, if you wish." He motioned with one hand, and text appeared before you, glowing faintly in the snow-filled air.
"If you elect to, I will answer any question you ask, honestly. I will heed your requests, and I will consider them. And when the time comes, perhaps I'll spare your guide... After all, he'll burn up in the end. The least he can do is be useful to you."
The floor was yours, but Asriel spoke no more. He simply waited, watching you calmly.
Your best friend.
Asriel Dreemurr.