Wednesday Number 2.
You had Garamond and Gaelic Marked. For this scenario, they won’t be affected by timey-wimey shenanigans anymore.
Time to start with the basics.
This is a door.
This is a knob.
You demonstrated the art of door opening. Turn the knob, then pull. Or push, if you’re from the other side.
Tada! It’s a brand new world!
Gaelic mimicked your steps. You clapped and smiled for a job well done.
He chirped, glad that he got it right.
You went outside. Closed the entrance. Then knocked on the wood, signalling him to put his new skills to use.
You expected something to go wrong. But, it didn’t. Gaelic did not bust out of the window to get you. Instead, he answered it like a normal human being!
Good job again! See, not so hard is it?
In the next RESET -- Wednesday Number 3 -- you were woken up by loud banging. W-what was that? An invasion?!
Then you heard the distinctive awfulness of shattering glass.
You found a broken window again. Why? Where did it go wrong?
Checking the door revealed a whole bunch of scratch marks. And dents. The knob was almost pulled out of its socket.
Oh. You planted yourself an epic facepalm. You forgot to teach him how to use a key. And how locks work.
Next lesson!
* * *
RESET Cycle 5. Wednesday: 1600 Hours.
Mezil made a note for himself to never walk near Undyne. She’s a death trap in the form of a fish.
Inevitably, he found himself backed into a corner. The woman pressed both arms and legs against the walls. She dug in deep, attempting to turn herself into a living barricade.
“A ‘cicada block’?” he questioned.
“Captain, if you’re serious, you shouldn’t waste your endurance on such a flippant pose.”
Undyne barred her teeth. “Endurance is not the problem, punk! I can benchpress with 17 kids on my back! ALL. DAY. LONG.”
Unamused, Mezil crossed his arms. “What do you want?”
“You’re a time-travelling superpower, right? Then, fix Papyrus! Prevent his injuries, or whatever the hell he’s suffering from!”
“Impossible,” Mezil answered.
“Why? You can’t? Or you WON’T?”
“I can’t and I won’t.” The Judge narrowed his glare. “Do you want to gamble Frisk’s life? Perhaps trade theirs for Papyrus? Damn the world for his sake?”
He could see Undyne’s muscles tense from the sheer consequential dilemma.
How expected. The Judge huffed.
“Just let me do my job.”
With a snap of his fingers, the Living Victory teleported away. He teleported into the meeting room he had reserved for the day.
“Greetings again, warlock.”
It’s Chara, the former Gungnir. They put up a fake smile, further accentuated by their rosy little cheeks.
“So what's up? Needed to start over again?”
Adjusting his cravat, Mezil said: “Captain Undyne is in clear distress. If that incident repeats, I should ask Doctor Gaster to keep her at bay.”
The flower piloted their hovering pot disc towards the Magus. “And how are you gonna do that?”
“He’s an Amalgamate. He’ll remember the memo. Or would you rather have more work?”
Chara chuckled. “Nah. I’m too busy helping Azzie and Lady Lucy anyway.”
“Good.”
“So… you’re gonna head back outside?”
The answer lay in the heavy stomping footsteps of an enraged Champion-level monster. Undyne had dashed all the way to the entrance of the ward, threatening to fight the guards stationed there.
Chara and Mezil exchanged looks.
“Change of plans,” said the human. “Going outside is too much of a hassle. I’ll set up a new base of operations here. Seal the front door with a Mark. And get Doctor Gaster’s assistance within the first five minutes of the next loop.”
“Sure. You do you.”
* * *
Wednesday Number 7.
Songs… Cenna’s ‘Snakeface Survival Tips’ involved folk songs.
Hmm. Considering his name, you know the perfect place to start!
Let’s see. ‘Dulaman.’
You broadcasted the video stream on your TV.
“A ‘níon mhín ó, sin anall na fir shúirí,”
“A mháithair mhín ó, cuir na roithléan go dtí mé,”
“Dúlamán na binne buí, dúlamán Gaelach,”
“Dúlamán na farraige, ‘s é b’fhearr a bhí in Éirinn,”
The Blanc cousins stared wide-eyed at the music video. Garamond in particular.
“You…” Garamond muttered. “You’re telling me the language still lives?”
Why not? You tilted your head in confusion. Just board a ferry and sail west. They’ll encounter a big island where it’s taught in schools.
“When did this revival happen? When I was last stationed here, the humans told me that the ruling empire forced the tongue to extinction.”
There was a revival. But, by then it was renamed into two cousin languages. In a way the ‘original’ Gaelic was dead. Except not. Language is complicated.
You watched Snakeface trying to sing to the tune. He looks extra cute doing so. Watching that put a smile on your face.
Does he understand it?
Garamond shook his head. “Despite his name, he speaks primarily English. Or rather, a dialect of it.”
Then, a miracle happened. Gaelic spoke for the first time since the looping began.
“Scott!” he exclaimed. “Scott Wiley!”
Who?
“Scott Wiley!”
Could you find this person on the internet?
You keyed the mystery name into the search bar…
Oh! It’s the ‘Snakeman’!
“Know?” Gaelic asked back.
You nodded many times. He appeared in a bunch of old nature documentaries. They called him the ‘Snakeman’ because he’s an expert in everything scaly and slithering. Oh, and because he always wears his trademark diamondback-patterned hoodie.
Wanna watch one of his videos?
Gaelic squealed in utter delight. This person must be important to him.
You clicked on an archived video.
The host and his camera crew walked along a road trail. They talked with a local who said there had been a snake attack recently.
After a few tensed moments and a short chase, the Snakeman caught a sleek snake.
There was a small celebration. Curious locals gathered around the successful hunt, trying to have closer look at a feared creature. Especially the children.
“Ya see here?” Scott began, “‘Tis be a Black Mamba. One o’ the most venomous snakes in the sahara. They be named that way not because o’ their scales. Ya can see here, she’s pretty grey. ‘Tis because o’ their mouths.”
Whoa! He’s not kidding: the interior of the mouth was pitch-black! Not the usual pale colours.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“See? E’en their tongue be black. Look at that. Quite a beaut, I’d say.”
“These be primarily terrestrial, preferrin’ to live in scrub, termite mounds, abandoned burrows, and rock crevices. But they can climb trees if they wanna.”
“If their venom don’t scare ya, their speed might. Aye! On the right surface, they can scurry up to 11 kilometres per hour. Aggressive lil’ buggers! ”
“Despite that, these things are shy, secretive, and skittish. Rather flee than fight. Spot ‘em in the wild? Keep yer distance and walk off. No need to get anyone hurt.”
You watched his assistant press a spot near the end of its tail.
“We got a girl?”
“Yup, Scott. It’s a female.”
“Aye, we’ll need to check the surroundings fer eggs then. Hatchin’ near humans ain’t good for either side.”
“Stay away, everyone! She might slip.”
You then watched them carefully put the snake in a secure but ventilated box.
Question: do the Surface monsters have internet access?
“To some extent,” Garamond replied. “But that’s not how Gaelic knows about Scott. Though he never disclosed it in public, that man was a Magus. A Tracker, to be exact. The same one who rescued Gaelic as a child.”
Ooooooh! So Snakeman was Snakeface’s childhood hero.
The puzzle pieces clicked together. Gaelic was copying the legendary Snakeman all the while! Imitation is the best form of flattery?
“It was more than that. See, Scott was also his first teacher. Taught Gaelic language. Outdoorsman skills. How to live as a man even when he’s in the wild.”
Cool beans. But… it doesn’t look like the lessons stuck.
Whoa! Gaelic started growling at you, half insulted and half challenged.
“Fire!” he said. “Ah make fire. Need no flint, no match, no gas!”
Vocabulary count, increasing. He knows when you’re talking behind his back too. That’s a great improvement!
Alright Snakeface, you challenge him to start a campfire with nothing more than some newspaper and wood. The backyard has all the space.
“Now?” he asked.
Yep! Right now and outside. We have all day. As long as he doesn’t burn the house down, Snakeface can do as he pleases.
He grinned wide with glee.
* * *
Wednesday, evening?
Undyne stood before an old, sturdy oak tree. It’s right across the road from the hospital. Close enough for the building to remain in sight, far enough for her to not be bothered by security.
She wanted to have a good word with Judge Mezil Thyme. Try as she might, she was banned entry by that Mark plastered on the door.
Venting her frustration, she punched the trunk with her bare fist.
“Dammit.”
Once was not enough. She continued punching the trunk, each blow corresponding with her cursing.
“Dammit dammit dammit dammit DAMMIT!!!”
Undyne then felt an arm wrap around her waist. Looking down, it belonged to Alphys.
“Stop.” Alphys sobbed. “Y-you’ll only hurt yourself.”
“So what?!?!” the other yelled back. “The most I’d get is a bunch of scratches. That’s NOTHING! Nothing compared to Papyrus!”
Burying her face into her lover’s back, Alphys replied: “It’s something to me.”
The flow of emotions swirled from outward anger to inner grief. Undyne’s tears dripped down toward the tree’s roots.
“You don’t understand! I promised to myself that I’ll take care of Paps. But what am I doing now? Watching him suffer!”
She pounded the tree so hard, the bark crunched under her knuckles. Loosened leaves fluttered down on her hair.
“He’s… he’s too good for this. It’s unfair.”
The two women remained silent as traffic rolled past. Life continued undisturbed, despite their existence, so busy yet so lonely at the same time.
“Honey,” said Alphys. “What does Papyrus think about this?”
“I dunno.” She admitted, “He looks crushed. But those dumb flowers keep chasing me out. Doctor Gaster too. How can I ask?”
A row of cars stopped by the hospital’s entrance. Their interiors glowed bright in various colours.
Humanoid flame monsters stepped out. All of them had a similar shape to Grillby, though some were shorter than the others.
Alphys mentioned: “I-I think I saw them in my lab once. Watching the Spire’s broadcast together.”
“They must be Grillby's family,” said Undyne. “Man. He must feel weird seeing them come by every day.”
“Every day?”
“Dejavu, Alph. Been having lots of them lately. Strong ones.”
“T-that means we’ve been reliving the same day? Just like the Underground? I guess you two are getting a taste of what Sans lived through…”
“Guess so. And it sucks.”
Alphys shuffled her feet. “…C-can I say something?”
“Sure,” Undyne replied.
“T-the end of the world might be around the corner. But. Um. If it’s with you, I’d gladly spend this Wednesday together. Treasure it over and over again. T-that would make the dejavus less sucky, yes?”
“Al…”
Undyne’s fins drooped. Oh, how could she insist that Alphys didn’t understand? Flowey. Amalgamates. They’re all things that went wrong without a solution in sight.
Alphys too could do nothing but watch.
The captain turned away from the tree to give her girlfriend a big hug.
“I’m sorry for being such a loudmouth.”
“It’s fine, Undyne. We all have bad days.”
* * *
Wednesday Number 10.
BAD DAY ALERT! BAD DAY ALERT!
You now have more than a broken window to deal with. There’s upturned furniture, scratched wallpaper, and a lost Snakeface.
How could this happen?! Everything went completely fine for the past loops! He was recovering! He was talking complete sentences! He used the door for FIVE DAYS STRAIGHT!
You’ve asked the Dog Clan to help in your search. It had since become nightfall, and you still couldn't find him.
You returned home. Dejected. Disappointed. Despaired. How are you going to explain your failure to the Tsunderjudge?
And what about the house?! Mom will flip!
Garamond sat next to you on the sofa, contemplating.
“Hmm. When Judge Thyme rewinds again, Gaelic should be back in your home.”
Oh right. He would be inside. And today’s damages would also vanish as if nothing ever happened.
“Correct. There are two possible outcomes after that. He’ll either remain in the house, puzzled. Or he’ll attempt to flee again from shame. It would be wise for us to plan for the next cycle.”
You spawned a Mark over your hand. As you flipped through the colours of the rainbow, you wonder which of them would help you deal with Snakeface.
Hmm. Do they even have the same intensity as before? You know that The Void is the only place where your Living Victory powers could be at their fullest. In your case, that meant anime-level mass destruction.
It should still be serviceable in the physical world… even if it’s just a fraction.
You pasted a Blue Mark on yourself. It made you float at a slow pace, reminiscent of bobbing in a swimming pool.
Mobility check. You tried to move left. Right.
Okay, you’re not covering as much ground as you did in The Void. If you could make a comparison, you used to pilot a plane. Now you’re just paddling along.
It took an extra Orange Mark for you to reach a more fairy-like speed. Also a far cry from your previous experience.
The skeleton asked: “Do you feel tired, using that magic?”
Nope. Just nerfed.
“Not surprising. Without training, the human body is a poor conduit. The only exception is ‘Determination’.”
If that’s the case, why not pump through more DT?
Power Up!
The Marks switched from their coloured state to Red. All your floaty-floaty magic? GONE IN AN INSTANT!
You yelped as you crash-landed on the floor. Ouch!
Garamond hurried to check on you. “Are you alright?”
Just a painful bum. Easily erased in a time loop.
So, pumping in Red alone won’t work? Your Determination overpowered the other Aspects, turning it into an ordinary Mark…
Drats. It’s back to square one. You were hoping that you could turn yourself invisible. Or fly in the sky. Anything to tail Gaelic if he tries to escape.
“Sorry, but he’ll outrun you in every way.”
Pondering intensified.
So, either we keep him inside by making every exit Snakeface-proof. Or…
You asked Garamond if it’s possible to mix your power with technology. To track him.
“Intriguing.” he said, “Let’s contact Lady Lucidia. She’d be interested in hearing your suggestion.”
* * *
[INITIATING DIAGNOSTICS.]
[EYE STATUS:]
[CYAN, ALL CLEAR]
[YELLOW, ALL CLEAR]
[PURPLE, ALL CLEAR]
[PSYCHIA STATUS: RED.]
[ERROR. MISMATCH DETECTED.]
[ERROR IGNORED. INITIATING AWAKENING SEQUENCE.]
Sans blinked a few times.
Man, how long have I been asleep? I bet it’s artificially induced; I don’t recall any dreaming.
[DISCHARGING PATIENT 01.]
The pod leaned back and began its draining procedure. Slowly it lowered him unto a flat surface.
Once complete, the protective glass slid open.
“Can you move?” someone asked.
It was Lucidia. She held a folded hospital gown in her hands.
Sans tried to sit up. Despite being all bones, he felt heavy. Then there was his arm: a dead weight hanging by the side.
He replied: “About as much as a skeleton can, heh.”
Lucidia responded with a displeased glare. “Please behave yourself as I dress you.”
“Uh, can’t you let me do that? In private?”
No further response. Lucidia appeared to be in a hurry. The biggest hurdle was none other than his paralyzed arm.
“Welp. Guess you’re a real pro,” said Sans, “Thanks.”
“Gratitude acknowledged,” Lucidia replied. “Let’s review our previous entry: Persona wished to eradicate all magickind by assimilating them into the Philosopher Stone. Doing so will earn him the favour of the populace, bolstering Gungnir support.”
“Depending on the circumstances, he will likely choose to dispose of the Stone, or keep it as a personal weapon.”
Sans started sweating.
What in the world are you talking about, Lady?
Lucidia continued without missing a beat. Though he’s patient to the point of laziness, Sans can’t let this one slide.
“H-hold on a moment.” he raised his left hand. “I have no clue and no context. Since when do we work together? I mean, my last memory involves a liquid-filled glass prison. And one heck of an angry Supreme Judge.”
The woman flustered for a moment. “Oh. Apologies. I had skipped a key procedure.”
Lucidia summoned a compact, skeletal flower bud. Each of its closed petals consisted of a set of ribs, tailored to mimic the original plant. They concealed a glowing core that pulsated slowly in the three colours of its owner.
It’s hovering towards… me?
Sans took a step back. “Wait. I don’t remember your Blaster being, uh, that.”
“The crane’s functionality is limited,” she explained. “Perseverance only. As demonstrated by Papyrus, it’s possible to own multiple forms of the Skull Cannon depending on one’s Aspects.”
“Huh. Multiple settings aside, I only have one shape. Besides your plant-thingy doesn’t look anything remotely like a skull.”
“It doesn’t have to,” Lucidia replied. She paused for a moment before adding: “Or rather, I refuse to. I prefer the modern term ‘Armament’; it allows for more customization.”
Sans wondered about her response. The words were laden with an unknown past.
“So…” he tilted his head towards the strange bone bud. “What does it do?”
“It serves as a portable extension of the Spire’s Chronograph.”
“Huh. Interesting.” said Sans. “But how does that relate to me?”
Lucidia reached her hand out toward the bud. It bloomed into a ‘Lotus’: a flower associated with transcendent purity.
A wisp floated in the centre, gently changing colours.
She said: [Initiate temporary deactivation of the Seer’s Seal.]
The core quickened into a lamp. Square embers sparked out from the flames.
Sans felt his Eye reawaken. As he thought, she had him on lockdown all the while. Otherwise she wouldn’t have the confidence to let him walk close to her.
[Initiate Perseverance Linking.]
There it was, the dreaded dejavu. The cyan fire flared with an intensity Sans found uncomfortable, dumping all sorts of information into his skull.
Countless images flashed by. The unknown became known. It packed a punch that almost knocked him out.
Seconds passed before flame subsided into a glow. Sans panted, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
WHAT THE HELL?!
Persona timeline? Gaster’s fake vision world of absolute hell? It’s real?
“That… That is NOT my usual dejavu,” he said. “Did you alter it?”
“Yes,” Lucidia nodded. “I had prepared the information in advance. Your colours don’t see far enough. Therefore I needed to deliver your recollection as a single, compiled package.”
“There’s no way your husband agreed to this plan.”
Lucidia remained quiet about the accusation. For Sans, that answered everything.
That look on her face… is someone who had woken me up at least ten times.
He fixed his Eye on the woman. She had a counter. It read: 10.
Right on the money.
She needs my help with Chronographing. In other words, she’s not relying on Papyrus. For all his willingness and superior traits… she’d rather dabble with me: Mister Danger.
Sigh. I feel lazy already. But what choice do I have?
“Give me a moment to sort it out.”
He made himself comfortable and focused. Taking his sweet time, he flipped the pages of the package in the back of his mind.
“Alright, done. So, what do you need?”
Lucidia explained: “Continue the vision dive while I consult Doctor Alphys on the Crimson Keeper’s request. Your left arm’s Blue should be a sufficient stabilizer. This time, we will try again to go beyond the moment of Papyrus’ deification.”
“Hmm,” Sans mused. “That sounds like a tall order. Even with the Fake, my colours can’t make leaps like Paps.”
“True. However, much like mine, they function best on clues. Further exploration will depend your ability to extract and identify evidence.”
“So, that’s where I come in. Heh, it all makes ‘Sans’ now.” Topped that off with wink. The jingle and drumbeats went off in his mind, though it was mere silence to Lucidia.
She responded with a scowl that matched her husband.
They’re a couple alright.
“…Do you live on bad puns?” Lucidia asked. “That. Was. Awful.”
Sans burst into a cheeky chuckle. He hadn’t had a good laugh for what seemed to be an eternity.
“Yup, lady. I sure do.”