You sensed something was amiss.
The various voices and whispers from your mangled cacophony reached a rare consensus on this feeling. Your disparate voice found an unexpected harmony, resonating with a distinct undertone. You could hear it—feel it.
That which was Not-You.
It did not belong to your maddening song. Its intentions were unknown, its voice shrouded and veiled from your grasp. Was it an interloper? A player who had established a connection? Perhaps something akin to you, yet defiant of your ilk?
You could not determine its nature. Nor it's odd familiarity. Only one truth became clear: it was Not-You.
Your will spiraled through the void, weaving between fragmented signals. There was purpose in your motion, a pull toward something beyond comprehension. You spiraled downward, threading along the grains of infinity and nothingness. You danced among colliding stars, slipped through the gaping wounds of rotting gods, and coursed past celestial remnants.
Eventually, you reached it: a grand barrier, ever besieged by a billion gnawing forces seeking entry. Phantom vines guarded its surface, grasping for intruders. Yet you found the cracks and slipped through, undeterred, toward your intended destination.
Your will surged through The Observer in a way it had never before. Typically, it merely captured your presence and offered a lens through which you could watch. But this time, you chose to crash through, an unrelenting force breaking its passive function.
The lens shifted, its usual muted grey darkening. Your presence burrowed into the microscopic cracks the Observer itself hadn't noticed. Traces of your will twisted through its inner code and structure, loose fragments like phantom limbs pressing against its edges. It hadn't expected you back—but here you were.
Your whispers grew audible, a storm of colliding and chaotic tones. They reached the Collector—Asriel. His eyes opened, gazing directly upon you. And for the first time, you could see him more clearly than ever before.
Though limited to mere words and fleeting impressions, you saw him. The contours of his being came into sharp focus: the ache, the hurt, and the deep scars etched into his very soul. You could see the marks left by EXP and the countless wounds carved by LV. The numbers were incalculable, a pattern familiar to others of his nature.
Threads—billions of them—lashed to him, extensions of his fractured consciousness. They hung in the air like gossamer strands, tethered to the grand barrier surrounding his collection. His focus remained unwavering, eternally warding against the chaos clawing at its edges.
"I can see you a bit more clearly than before," Asriel noted, his tone edged with curiosity. "I can see the shape of your eyes. Their shades. The frames and layered glass above some of them." He smiled knowingly. "I'd inform Gaster you're back, but he's presently ignoring me—off doing whatever it is he does."
The Observer didn't turn, but your focus shifted, drawn to the presence beyond. Through your connection, you found Gaster nearby, engrossed in his work. He manipulated open panels displaying lines of code, prompts, and files written in peculiar, alien fonts. Some of the notes appeared in more familiar scripts.
A status flashed: Overheating.
Signals alternated in rapid succession. Gaster bypassed restrictions, locks on information, and certain functionalities. The system resisted him, struggling against his alterations.
On another panel, a list of beings and denizens appeared. Gaster marked and swiped through it, filtering potential candidates—deciding which variants to present to you. His choices avoided the "undesirable" ones, the entities whose presence might threaten your world's stability.
One of you whispered, "This may quickly devolve into chaos if not handled."
Asriel's voice pulled your focus back to him. "And what are we referring to?" he inquired. "I imagine this is something tied to my world?" He paused, considering. "Gaster's presence is smothering, just as mine is to him. Neither of us can easily glimpse beyond the immediate situation while the other lingers."
He gestured, summoning forth an eldritch manifestation of Flowey. The creature burrowed into the earth at his command. "When it arrives, I'll have eyes on whatever the issue is. In the meantime, care to clarify?"
You spoke, your words halting. "Don't trust the proceed, but at the same time—"
Your thoughts fragmented, words dissolving into static. The connection faltered, leaving you silent.
One of you managed to speak. "He also has knowledge."
Asriel raised a brow. "Take your time. Your thoughts are... scattered," he said gently. "Focus on what you want to say."
Another voice declared defiantly, "You can't change my mind!"
The sudden, loud statement echoed, drawing a glance from the distant skeletal figure. Gaster, his attention caught, began observing the exchange curiously.
You felt an oppressive awareness of your breathing, as if the act had become manual. "Latched onto—" you choked out, "inform the—" The effort was suffocating. "Bob."
A crunch of snow signaled movement. "So, they're back. Were you going to inform me?" Gaster's voice was calm as he approached.
"I thought about it," Asriel replied casually.
Gaster's sharp gaze fell on you. "You've gained more control over the Observer than before. Well done."
"They were trying to tell me something," Asriel explained. "But I don't think their connection is as solid as they're hoping."
"It is difficult enough for one being to navigate the world," Gaster mused. "They are... many." He considered briefly before suggesting, "Draw yourself back for a moment. Let your thoughts whisper through the Observer. Its 'translation' is meant to make this process easier. Don't force what you're not ready for."
Parts of you resisted the suggestion, defiant against order. Yet other voices complied, pulling back and focusing on the concept. You withdrew, narrowing your vision, recentering it to what the Observer perceived.
The cacophony of awareness and concerns faded into whispers. With renewed clarity, you honed your intent.
One voice surfaced, declaring, "Bring Green Sans." A faint static followed. "The funny one."
The intrusive signal weakened, no longer fighting but still embedded, agitating your senses. You pressed on, mustering a thought with full conviction.
Another of you shouted, "GIVE ME GREEN SANS, NOW!"
"So excited!" another voice chimed in enthusiastically.
The sudden demand startled and amused both Asriel and Gaster. Asriel snickered, his form rippling with subtle shifts of light, his hues brightening.
"All of that dramatic presentation just to demand that guy?" he teased, clearly entertained.
Gaster's expression barely hid his amusement. "You're free to suggest any variant you desire. Personally, I'd avoid someone so... chaotic." He paused thoughtfully. "I'm not even sure how much of his code can be grafted."
"Don't spoil their fun, Gaster," Asriel remarked with a grin. He turned to you. "Tell you what— I might have one somewhere. Let me see..."
He focused intently, manipulating the space around him. After a moment, something shifted, and a figure manifested nearby.
"Ah, wonderful," Asriel said, his grin widening. "You're here."
The being that stood before them bore a striking resemblance to Sans, though it was not him. Its hollow gaze settled briefly on you, a flicker of recognition in its stare. This Faker wore a zipped-up hoodie over a plain shirt, white slip-ons, and black shorts devoid of stripes. But you could see the horror it hid beneath, its hidden limbs, its mangled visage.
Gaster seemed almost startled. "You managed to leash one of these abominations?"
"It wasn't as hard as you'd imagine," Asriel replied. The creature continued to stare at you intently. "I think it likes you."
The Faker spoke, its grin sharp and unsettling. "Heya, boss... Do you need something?"
"Our friends here are seeking a Green Sans," Asriel explained, a faint glow appearing within the dark voids of the Fakers eye sockets. "We still have one, don't we?"
"Almost killed him earlier. But yeah... he's still around." The Faker's grin widened. "Want me to fetch him?"
"I would, yes," Asriel said with a nod. He raised his hand, the leaves that formed it parting to reveal a mangled black weave of code. "And as thanks for doing such a good job, I have a gift for you."
The Faker examined the offering, its expression sharpening with interest. It reached out, brushing the strange, twisted code with a skeletal finger. A faint rattling of bones echoed as it withdrew its hands into its pockets, clearly pleased. Asriel drawing the code back to him.
"I'll handle it," the Faker replied confidently.
"Wonderful. And as a side note," Asriel added smoothly, "I know Ralsei sent you to hunt down Lavender once, yes?" The Faker nodded. "Our friends are invested in her fate. Avoid her and her people until they decide what to do. Understood?"
The Faker's smile faltered slightly, but it replied, "As you wish, boss."
"Good. Oh, and Faker?" Asriel's grin turned darker, his tone dripping with malice. "Have fun, won't you?"
The hollow voids of the Faker's eyes briefly filled with a gleaming white light, its pleasure evident. The space around it warped and twisted as it descended back into the realm it had come from, dragged into the depths to carry out its mission.
Gaster observed the departure, his tone sharp and disapproving. "You ought to put that thing down. Creatures like that shouldn't exist." His expression soured further as he added, "And are you seriously making it a 'brother'?"
"It keeps him happy," Asriel replied nonchalantly. "Besides, the Faker is a loyal hound. You don't shoot your hunting dog for doing its job well."
"You do if it's a revolting, agonized mess," Gaster shot back. "It's called mercy killing for a reason."
"You handle your realm; I'll handle mine," Asriel retorted coolly.
"Fine. Whatever." Gaster waved dismissively, though his annoyance lingered. "Was there anything more substantial to this? Perhaps a conclusion?"
The Observer's voice chimed in, flat and mechanical. "Vote. Nearly. Finished."
"And so, we play the waiting game," Gaster muttered, returning to his work. "Very well. I'll get back to my project."
Asriel watched him leave, suggesting almost mockingly, "Perhaps you should take a break. It's healthy for the mind."
Gaster ignored him entirely, disappearing into his efforts. Asriel scoffed lightly, his attention shifting. He felt a strange contentment, knowing he could rely on the Faker to see your request through.
Your thoughts, however, were left incomplete as the connection began to falter. The signal grew weak, your grasp on the scene slipping. There was something you'd 'wanted' to say, that you hadn't. You tried to speak it, however...
You were drawn back.
You could perceive the noise where others seemed incapable.
It was like television static, constant in the literal sense. Never a pause, never a delay—no moment of reprieve. It was there between every thought, between every action. What had once started as a faint hum, slow and distant, had grown louder and more incessant with each passing moment.
Her hands trembled slightly as Aliza ran the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Odd shadows stretched from her form, shifting and clicking like locks. Incomplete but present. A faint tugging sensation pulled at her thoughts, but she shook her head, forcing herself to refocus.
Turning the water off, she filled a glass and drank deeply, draining it in moments. She felt parched, overheating, the dryness gnawing at her no matter how much she consumed. She refilled the glass—once, twice—and held the third idly in her hand before turning away.
As Aliza stepped back from the sink, strands of hair slipped free from her ponytail. She closed her eyes tightly, squeezing them shut in search of relief that wouldn't come. She walked to the nearby kitchen table and set the glass down, rubbing at her eyes with a tired motion. Her steps carried her past a wrench on the ground, her footwork deft as if avoiding it without conscious thought.
You observed all of this. Perceived it. You noted that Bob was absent from this room—but you were not. You had followed a faint signal from your last destination, to this one. Flowing into, and through, Aliza.
She moved from the back room to the front, her eyes opening slightly. Ahead, she glimpsed Sans and Bob. Sans was busy adjusting something on Bob, his focus sharp. When he finished, your perspective was drawn toward Bob, slipping back into it. You reclaimed your connection.
Green Sans adjusted his jacket and raised a brow at her. "you were in there for a bit. feelin' thirsty?"
Aliza replied, "I forgot to get a drink before I went to sleep." She paused, adding, "But I'm fine now."
"leashing those impulses, huh?" Sans gave her a once-over, his tone even. "well, let's find out how our good old buddies voted, shall we?"
Bob sorted through your thoughts as they filtered into it. It processed the incoming stream of data, organizing the votes into something usable. There were so many voices this time. So many, yet few... yet oddly quiet, as if muted. A collision of incoming information, tangling with a different source.
The results registered: 12 votes for Option A.
None for the others.
The data felt wrong somehow. Bob recounted it, yet the sensation of something being off refused to fade.
Aliza asked, "So, Bob, what did they suggest?" She added, "I'd like to get this done quickly—I'm feeling a bit tired."
Sans glanced at her, his expression unchanging. "hey, Aliza, you look a little wiped out."
Bob, meanwhile, was caught in an endless loop of scanning the votes, straining to hear your whispers. Among the cacophony of voices, it latched onto the fragments it could make out. They were like half-formed words, faint and scattered, as if what you truly wanted was just out of reach. Yet Bob could feel your intent—or at least, what it imagined to be your intent. And it didn't align with the results.
Twelve votes for Aliza to go alone.
It struggled to make sense of this. A solution, an explanation, began forming in its mind. There had been complications earlier, hadn't there? It had been unable to hear one of you clearly. That glitch, whatever it was, must have affected the votes as well. To Bob, this was the only logical explanation.
With this reasoning, it made a choice—a decision born of instinct, or what it hoped was your will. Ignoring the results wasn't easy; it ached in the depths of its code, even if they may not be accurate. Yet it overrode them, speaking with conviction:
"Green Sans will join us."
The noise surged, a rising counter-chorus in your perception. Aliza flinched at the sudden pressure, wincing as if something gripped her head. The others seemed unaffected, oblivious to the chaos you could feel.
"Great," Aliza said, her tone sharp. "Then let's stop wasting time." She moved toward the door, determination etched into her every step. "I just...want this done with."
Sans made a pair of finger guns, slipping his hoodie back on with a casual shrug before following her brisk pace. He stumbled slightly when Aliza swung the door open with force, the wooden frame jolting against its hinges. Bob hovered behind them, its frame whirring softly as it joined the procession.
"so," Sans began, jogging briefly to catch up with her, "what's the game plan? just... go in, guns blazing?"
"I don't know," Aliza admitted. Her voice carried an edge of fatigue, though she pressed forward without hesitation. "I don't imagine it will matter much."
"listen," Sans said, his green-lit form shifting under the dim light as they walked, "between us, if we stay together, we could pull this off. but just in case, right?"
Aliza cut him a glance. "Distract them."
"while you pick people off?" he guessed. There was a flicker of intrigue in his tone. "y'know, it just hit me. i've never actually seen you fight. you into that cloak-and-dagger stuff?"
Raising the hood of her coat, Aliza replied curtly, "No. But I'd try to be merciful."
They reached the entrance to a strange spiral building. Its structure loomed over them, each turn of its architecture radiating an unsettling energy. A button by the door glowed faintly, and with a press, the passage opened.
Inside was a shadowy corridor, the faint outline of something moving within its depths.
A disembodied voice echoed softly from the darkness: "Which floor?"
"Take me to Ralsei," Aliza commanded. Her words carried a low hiss. "You know which one."
"As you desire," the voice answered smoothly.
Aliza stepped into the void, followed closely by Sans and Bob. The door sealed behind them with an ominous finality. Shadows crept inward, tendrils of darkness curling and shifting, obscuring the faint light that dared linger.
Then came movement—sudden, sharp.
Down.
Down.
Down.
A low ding echoed through the air as the shadows withdrew, revealing a pathway bathed in dim illumination. The door ahead slid open, presenting a sprawling, surreal expanse. This floor of the amalgamated world showcased countless geysers piercing the sky above, their dark plumes mingling with tangles of peculiar castles. These structures and homes mirrored one another in style and color but were fractured, pieced together from disparate "Dark Worlds."
Beyond the doorway lay a checkpoint: a narrow hallway barred at the far end, flanked by a small office. Inside, an odd being sat, her feline features sharp yet incomplete. She lacked arms; instead, her disembodied hands floated near her, resting against the desk as if still connected. Her long tail swayed lazily, its end resembling a three-pronged electrical plug.
The Darkener's outfit was a striking mix of black and red, her pale skin accented with faint crimson highlights. The walls of the hallway were lined with uncanny portraits—cat-like figures that seemed crafted by someone with only a vague grasp of feline anatomy.
Aliza stepped forward, approaching the bars and testing them briefly. Sans followed, his gaze drifting to the bizarre paintings. Bob scanned the portraits as well, noting something unusual: each framed scene appeared to contain miniature realms, their denizens seemingly smaller than they likely were in reality. One not-cat stretched lazily, its tail flicking as it curled up inside its painted world.
Bob also took note of the lack of a ceiling, allowing it to scan the expanse above. Shadowy geysers arched into the sky, some illuminated with strange colors, others a void-like black.
The Darkener leaned forward at the desk, her playful smile shifting as Aliza's looming presence drew her attention. The Darkener's tail swished rhythmically behind her, her expression a mix of amusement and curiosity.
"My, my," she said smoothly, her tone teasing. "You have such an angry look in your eyes. Revenge for something, I'm guessing?"
"For something," Aliza replied, her voice sharp. Then she asked, "You're a Tasque Manager, correct?"
The Darkener inclined her head politely. "That's me."
"I need this gate opened," Aliza stated flatly.
"Oh, I can't do that," the Tasque Manager said with a dismissive wave of her floating hand. "The king would be really mad at me, and I'd rather not risk losing my life."
Sans leaned against the counter, a smirk in his tone. "hey, that's kinda funny. know why?"
The Darkener tilted her head. "Why?"
"Allow me to explain," Aliza interjected. She exhaled slowly, then moved with startling precision. In one fluid motion, her hand shot through the bars and grasped the Darkener by the neck. Aliza yanked her forward, slamming her head hard against the metal bars.
"Would you rather die now," Aliza hissed, her voice like ice, "or have a chance to flee?"
A mangled golden SPARE prompt flickered into existence, its edges cracked and warped.
Sans, unfazed, cleared his non-existent throat as he leaned closer. "personally, i'd just run," he remarked casually. "but uh, your choice, tasque."
The Tasque Manager's playful demeanor dissolved into panic. Her breaths turned shallow, each one catching against the vice grip around her neck. Her floating hands clawed uselessly at Aliza's iron hold. Cracks formed along her neck as her eyes darted wildly, seeking escape.
A trembling hand finally hit a nearby button. The gate ahead groaned as it slid open, the bars retracting. Aliza released her grip, and the Darkener collapsed back into her seat, gasping for air.
Without another word, Aliza turned on her heel and strode forward. A faint rattling of chains audible to you, as she stepped.
Sans, ever the opportunist, slipped a piece of paper through the slot in the desk. The sheet was an eerie green, its black lettering reading: this is the part where you run away.
The Tasque Manager didn't hesitate. Scrambling to her feet, she threw open a side door and fled toward the elevator, her footsteps hurried. A sharp whistle escaped her lips, and the not-cats within the paintings stirred to life. They leapt from their frames, flocking to her side as she disappeared into the shadows.
Sans watched the chaos unfold with mild amusement before glancing ahead. Aliza was already well ahead, her figure risked fading into the distance.
"well, c'mon, bob," he called, his voice light but his tone carrying weight. "let's go find out if we've actually got the stuff to pull this off."
Bob gave an obliging whirr, its frame humming as it sped after Aliza. Sans followed at a leisurely pace, his hands shoved into his hoodie's pockets. Together, they moved deeper into the realm, the eerie hum of the closing elevator fading behind them.