Mettaton, in all his shrewd glam, cashed in on his sudden spike of publicity.
If life gives you lemons, make lemonade! As long there weren’t any casualties, he didn’t see his opportunism as a problem.
At least he hoped so. One may never know how the Surface rolls.
He set up an impromptu signing event at his studio. Fans lined up before his table, each with a copy of his album.
The line was short by his estimates. He didn’t expect a massive crowd on Thursday. It’s not the weekend; most of his fans would only be free during those precious two days.
Next in line was a girl about Frisk’s age. He greeted: “Hello there, sweetheart. What’s your name?”
“Bianca!” she said. “I met you at hospital, Mister Mettaton.”
His face lit up. “Oh my~~ If you’re here, it means you’re all healthy!”
She nodded many times. “Yup yup.”
Mettaton posed a dramatic gasp. “Splendidly wonderful news! Will you be going back to school soon?”
“Next week.”
“Even better!” he praised. “I’m going to draw you some FABULOUS stars as a lucky charm. How’s that?”
“Great! May I have a Blooky Stamp too?” It was always an extra delight when his cousin received proper acknowledgement.
“Of course, darling! One Blooky Stamp coming right up.”
After patting the stamp on the ink pad, Mettaton placed the logo down next to his starred autograph. It’s Napstablook in all their adorable glory.
Since Blooky isn't the most public of persons, the ghost preferred to use a personal stamp instead of a pen. He’d let Mettaton carry it everywhere so the more public glambot could thank the fans in his stead.
Bianca lifted her autographed album in delight. “Thank you!”
“Stay healthy for me, alright? Bye, bye sugar~~~”
The little girl waved goodbye and ran off to her mother. Looking at her now, nobody would believe that she was sick enough to be warded.
Mettaton had one more customer left. A young teenager judging from his stature, somewhat on the tanned side of the human-colour scale.
“You seem good with kids,” the boy said.
“Absolutely~ I always make sure my fun can be shared with the whole family--”
When he had a proper look, Mettaton froze. He was taken back to that Sunday madness.
Fire.
Water.
Darkness.
Papyrus, with a knife to his neck…
The name escaped his mind, but Mettaton won’t forget that face. This boy was none other than a member of the Gungnir.
“You...” said Mettaton. “What are YOU doing here?!”
The boy tensed up. He ducked his head low, glancing back and forth.
How peculiar. Mettaton had observed this very same behaviour many times from Alphys: it’s a sign of a person who doesn’t want to be seen…
“T-this is a public signing, right? I mean. I’m. I’m here for this.” The human slid Mettaton’s album on the table.
“Hmmm,” Mettaton pondered out loud for the theatrics. “What an interesting turn of events! Say baby, what’s your name again?”
“Dayton. Actually, that’s not my real name.”
“A nick?” He raised his brow. “A stage name, perhaps? My, my, my, I didn’t think you’re a musician my darling fan.”
Dayton tensed up, shocked. Then he shook his head back and forth. “No, no, no! I’m not your fan! And I’m not a musician either! That’s my younger brother. He’s super good. Super, super good. S-so good that he performs on stages, just like you!”
He dug into his pockets, pulling out a data stick. It’s secured in a ziplock plastic bag. A bit overkill on the water-protection, but you won’t see him complain.
“Here!” the human pointed. “The full performance. I-if you call yourself a musician you better listen to it. Otherwise you… you have no taste!”
The boy’s arms quivered from fear. Not so surprising since he had the recent misfortune of tangling with the strongest of the strong.
“Oh dear me,” The robot posed a dramatic swoon. “I can’t leave my possibly-future-fan stay an absolute wreck! Let’s retreat to a less public place. Do you want to try my MTT-brand Soda?”
“I hate sodas,” said the boy.
“Maybe MTT-brand Milk Tea then?”
“Yeah. T-that’s better. Hot. If possible.”
Mettaton thus closed shop and led Dayton to the guest lounge. Going too deep into the studio might send out the wrong signals.
A human secretary served the mug. “Just as you requested, Mister Mettaton.”
“Thank you, darling.”
Dayton was astonished by the presence of his own kind. “You employ humans too?”
“My fanclub is open to all,” said Mettaton. “That includes anyone who wishes to work with me. Humans? Monsters? Sweetheart, that don’t matter.”
“I myself am a huge fan of humans! I find your kind fascinating beyond words.”
Pose. “The culture!”
Pose. “The pizzaz!”
Pose. “The life!”
…The young Gungnir had become uncomfortable from the spontaneity. He seemed to lean on the conservative side. Could it be a part of his background?
The celebrity settled back down to his seat.
Dayton pouted. “A-anyway. My brother’s show. Just load that stick already.”
“If you insist, darling.”
Inserting the data straight into his mechanical being would be a terrible idea. Alphys warned against ‘viruses’ and ‘trojans’: nasties that could mess with his systems.
So Mettaton called for a secure company laptop. He played the file on it.
There were no malicious programs. Instead, it showed a stage.
“I recognize that place,” said Mettaton. “It’s the auditorium for young, upcoming performers! Even students can rent it.”
Dayton pointed to a boy wearing a colourful cloak. “That’s my younger brother.” he said, “We’re one year apart.”
He carried a strange stringed instrument that Mettaton had never seen before. The construction appeared simple: it involved a sound box, two strings, and a long fingerboard. The complexity of the modern cellist’s bow was a complete contrast against the seemingly rustic design.
After the performers and audience welcomed each other, the musicians seated on their respective chairs.
Mettaton stared in amazement when he heard the sounds. A whole new world opened to his ears: so harmonious yet so foreign at the same time.
For the most of Mettaton’s life, the main source of music came from electronics. Electric instruments, synths, or other pre-recorded sound bites which would be adjusted by a computer. His exposure to the acoustics was quite limited. Embarrassing to admit, he had only attended an orchestra once so far.
Just when Mettaton thought he got used to the new textures, Dayton’s brother opened his mouth.
…Could it really be possible for a human to whistle from his throat? Apparently so. The weird hybrid of song and noise sounded beautiful in a haunting way.
“Doesn’t his throat hurt?” Mettaton had to ask.
“It did, at first,” Dayton answered. “Then he got used to it. What about you?”
“Don’t tell this to anyone, darling. But. I ate ghost drops for a week after my first performance.”
The human tried to keep a straight face. Still, his lips curled a little bit.
Mettaton continued to watch in silence. Whatever caution he had about Dayton faded into the background. There was not a single understandable word, yet he couldn’t help but to be enchanted by the music’s soul…
Meanwhile, the human sipped his tea.
Near the end, Dayton’s brother announced the highlight of the show: a solo performance. In heavily-accented English, the boy explained it as a tribute to the family who raised him.
It’s his own composition, sung in his mother tongue. Called it proof to the world that it’s possible to compose something new while staying true to one’s roots. Every ancient song was novel once upon a time. Tradition doesn’t equate to obsolescence.
Though he fought back the tears, the brother’s voice never cracked under pressure. For a singer to deliver such emotions while maintaining composure revealed the true depth of his showmanship.
Dayton wasn’t kidding. This kid was a professional despite his age.
When the song ended, the audience clapped. Mettaton joined in too. He wished he was there to mingle with the performers. Shake their hands, shower compliments, and learn more about their origins.
The robot praised, “That was splendid! Wonderful! A heartfelt performance of flying colours, I’d say!”
“Heh,” the human smirked. “You do have good taste after all. Not like most of the kids in this country. They complain that my brother’s singing is weird.”
After yet another flamboyant series of poses, Mettaton replied: “I know a true artist when I see one, sweetheart. Even if it’s outside of my comfort zone. Oh yes~~ Your talented brother will have a bright future in the arts! A superstar in the making!”
With a nervous chuckle, Dayton said: “Maybe a ‘superstar’ is a bit too much.”
Dayton rotated his mug, fidgeting to stave off his nerves. “H-he wants to become a Loremaster. Think of it as becoming a living library. Most of the other boys dream about guns, glory, and livestock. Not him. He wants to gather the scattered knowledge of the Aratet. Make us a real people again. Maybe then the other tribes would see us as more than dangerous weapons.”
What an aspiration. Enemy or not, a dream of recording culture was something Mettaton could cheer on.
The icebreaking session now out of the way, the celebrity asked him a serious question: “So, ‘Dayton’. I’m sure you have more on your mind than showing off your brother’s talent audition.”
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The kid gulped. Maybe he got a bit too comfortable there, being his brother’s biggest fan. Quite a familiar sight, Mettaton thought.
“Y-yes, actually.” he said, “I… I want to talk to you. Because you seem to be close to the Magi; The Vampire showed up at your studio in person.”
Mettaton remembered now. On that day, Mezil helped clean up the place and keep the nosier media at bay.
Huffing, the robot crossed his arms. “Oh. That nasty vandalism! Were you a part of it, mister?”
“Yeah,” Dayton admitted. “It was bait.”
“Bait?” Mettaton asked back.
“We wanted to trap you with your own words. Dad said the common mob only wants to hear sensationalist stories. Rile them up and they’ll do half the work for us. It’s an ugly attitude, but a useful one.”
How brave it was for young Dayton to come alone, Mettaton thought. Almost foolish. He had Mezil’s number. There’s nothing to stop him from detaining the boy right here in the studio. But, the glambot decided not to further frighten his guest.
He posed. “The past is the past, darling. I’m sure you have many, many hot questions. Baby, ask away! I’ll answer the best I can.”
Dayton got up from his seat. It would be impossible for him to bring a knife, so he prepared his bare fists instead.
“The Magi kept following us… Dad’s been trying to make contact for days, but there’s no answer. Did the Oracle betray us?!”
The Gungnir, trying to contact an oracle?
Mettaton blurted: “Who’s this ‘Oracle’ again?”
The human rubbed his forehead, trying hard to remember the key information. “Something about paper… Papyrus! That’s it! His name is Papyrus!”
“Dayton dear, Papyrus isn’t even awake. Grievous injuries! Coma included! That poor cinnamon roll had been hospitalized ever since the big fire.”
“S-so… he didn’t use his Eye to help the Vampire of Time?”
“Not at all,” Mettaton furrowed his brows. “Dear me, just thinking about his condition drives me sick with worry.”
Relieved, Dayton plopped himself back on the seat again. He wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve. That’s genuine fear.
The glambot said: “I noticed you Gungnir were utterly terrified of Papyrus. Why? He’s the cinnamonest of cinnamon rolls.”
“…Dad warned us about the Coloured Ones.” Dayton replied, clutching his mug. “They’re the deadliest.”
“Why so?”
“Because they descend from us humans. My people’s legends tell that humanity inherited the will of the gods. Coloured Ones have remnants of that power. It allows them to become DEMONs on the battlefield. With enough numbers, they’re a force far deadlier than the ‘Ageless’.”
The new terminology threw Mettaton off. “Come again? Who are they?”
Dayton explained, “The Ageless are special monsters that don’t grow old. More like spirits of nature, commanding the elements of their domain. Your nation has two of them. The fire goats who took care of your Chosen.”
Almost accurate descriptions there. Mettaton tapped his chin, pondering about the new names he had learned.
‘The Coloured Ones’ are ‘Seers’. It made sense because they’re the ones with coloured flaming eyes. Alphys explained in her notes that they were ‘proof of their humanity’.
‘The Ageless’ are ‘Boss Monsters’. Self-explanatory. It’s doubtful that the Gungnir knew anything about their life cycle. Even the Underground monsters had never seen King Asgore age until he had his son. And, the process stopped the moment the Prince met his unfortunate demise.
Then there were ‘The Chosen’. He didn’t need to be a supercomputer to realise that’s the Gungnir’s term for Red SOUL humans.
If that’s the case…
He asked, “Papyrus is this ‘Oracle’ because he can see the past, present, and future?”
Dayton tried drinking more tea to calm his nerve, but his mug was empty. “Y-yes. Only true masters can fight an Oracle toe-to-toe. Otherwise it’s certain death.”
“Yet you’re here today,” the bot pointed out. “Darling dearest, count your lucky stars! You met the right person. If it was his brother… My, my, my, I dare not imagine your fate.”
The human winced. “H-he has a brother?”
“An elder one. Now he’s the true ‘anti-human’ unit!”
Dayton responded with a suspicious glare. “I thought that’s you.”
“Classic misunderstanding, baby!” Mettaton showed off his gorgeous hot-pink boots. “That was just the original sales pitch to get all my sweet, sweet electronics~~~”
Clarifying: “I never wanted to become a weapon. My life’s dream had always been to bring smiles to people’s faces. It’s just, well, circumstances got in the way.”
The human stared at Mettaton for a moment, then let out a chuckle. It was not a happy one. Bitter, perhaps?
“Brother thinks the same. Almost. He… he’s the artsy kind.”
Mettaton watched the human struggle with his emotions. On one hand, he wanted to stay strong before the supposed enemy. On the other hand, he’s burdened by a weight that could only be guessed.
“My little brother… his first original solo -- the one you saw -- was in the style of a warrior’s farewell. He sang it for my dad and me. We… didn’t expect to survive the mission.”
Mettaton gasped. “Excuse me?! A suicide plot?! Baby, that’s foolishness!”
“Hey! It’s not like we wanted to!” The kid retorted. “It’s just, the odds of survival were so low it might as well have been.”
“Can’t you do your heroic deeds without finding trouble, sweetie?”
“No. As long The Vampire is in charge, Gungnir has no hope of reaching that ‘thing’ under the ocean.”
What a predicament. An unspeakable abomination waiting to burst out of its can? It sounded like a recipe for world-wide calamity.
No wonder Dayton was so willing to gamble his life. It’s all or nothing.
“So, darling.” Mettaton crossed his legs. “If I’m an illegal freedom fighter trying to slither my way into Magi heartland… I would find an innocent excuse. Maybe, apply for a trip with a legit group of civilians? Surely family members would be most welcomed to witness a rising star’s debut performance~! Family support goes a long, long way.”
Perturbed, Dayton distanced himself from Mettaton.
“No way! Fuck!” he exclaimed, “Argh, I’m so STUPID! You’re a super celebrity, of COURSE you’re gonna figure me out!”
The reaction left Mettaton speechless. He didn’t expect to get a 100% accuracy rating. Maybe 50%. Or 10%. Even a big fat zero.
Poor Dayton. The kid curled over himself in utter dismay. The stress could crush him right there.
“The elders were right.” He muttered. “I’m waaaay too young and inexperienced to follow Dad after all. I’m gonna ruin my brother’s future too. I’m dead. I’m so dead. Deader than dead.”
Mettaton clapped his hands to get the kid’s attention. It took a few tries, but he eventually succeeded.
The robot then said: “I… just threw the most dramatic movie-like scheme on the table. Oh goodness me! Isn’t it too soon to jump to conclusions?”
Pose. “You could have sailed here on a boat!”
Pose. “Or hitched on a truck!”
Pose. “Hopped the border on foot!”
“Pure speculation, baby! A super celebrity I am, but I’m no detective. My words are no better than juicy gossip.”
Dayton stared back in a daze.
“I-I’m not dead yet…?”
“No, darling.” Mettaton winked.
The monster who he tried to kill, covering for him? Mind-blowing.
Alas, the wonder didn’t last long. The human soon dropped the ugly truth: “The Sky Witch will dig up our records, we’re screwed either way.”
Mettaton wondered what happens to human children who get caught for a serious crime? Community service? Juvie? If he could believe crime-dramas, a far worse fate awaits those tried as an adult. Dayton would come out of prison many years later as a true hardened criminal.
Can Mister Glam in his good conscience send his future-fan to such a place? What if there’s a way to give the kid a second chance? That’s something to keep in mind.
How surreal to think that everything converged on that day. The high stakes. The complicated history. Not a single person on Ebott Town was the wiser.
Mettaton asked: “Was your brother happy to see you two again?”
“Yeah… But, he’s worried too. We failed. And the Oracle has seen our home. Dad expected a counterattack. Or at least, the Magi chasing our tracks.”
Dayton ruffled his own hair, frustration bubbling over the pot.
“I’m sick of that life!” he yelled. “Dad had fought enough as a child soldier. I want him to stay at home with Mom. Run the farm together without worrying about stupid fighting!”
“I want my brother to hone his craft in peace. And my sister to grow up in a normal school. I want my new sibling to be born in an intact family…”
The boy still tried to hold back his tears. “But you magical beings keep pushing that dream away! Dad can’t quit as long you’re around! The whole of Gungnir is counting on him!”
Mettaton called for a box of tissues. They were promptly delivered to the table. He passed them to the human.
“T-thanks.” Dayton pulled out a few sheets. “Dammit. I’m acting soft in front of the enemy.”
Could there be others in Gungnir who felt the same as this boy? Everyone thinks they are the heroes of their own tale. Monsters. Humans. It doesn’t matter. They’re all the main character.
“Honey,” said Mettaton. “I understand how you feel. Believe me! But darling, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. And I’m saying this as a star to his future-fan.”
“Forget about our differences for a second. Like it or not, Mister Thyme is the only one with enough bountiful resources to settle that ocean hoo-hah. Who’s going to organize the army if he’s gone?”
Dayton replied with the fullest confidence: “Dad. And the elders. T-they’re nothing like the guys you see in your country! They have real experience.”
“Darling dearest, I’m happy to hear that you’re so confident in your father. However that still doesn’t address the biggest elephant in the room.”
“What?” the boy asked.
“Connections, baby! Nevermind lots and lots of money. Ships, weapons, fuel, and other logistics don’t come cheap.”
Unimpressed, Dayton scoffed at the thought. “The Vampire only looks strong. If his network was sufficient, he wouldn’t have failed so many times.”
“Then, why not help him succeed?” Mettaton asked, neglecting to question how the kid knew about the timey-wimey.
The human was taken aback by the suggestion. “I’m not helping a heretic!”
“Oh no, no. Play your cards right, baby. Can there be anything better than saving the world AND your family at the same time?”
His shrewd business sense began ticking away. Indeed, if the Gungnir think they’re the heroes… why not capitalize on that desire?
His secretary then barged into the room, all harried and quite in panic.
“Dear, what’s wrong?” he asked.
In between the huffs and puffs, she said: “Mister Mettaton! T-the lobby. Someone stormed into the lobby!”
Faint angry yelling sounded in the background. Listen hard enough, and one could hear Dayton’s very name.
“Dad.” The kid shook his head. His groan was so full of the fed-up factor, any teenager in the world would be proud. “It has to be Dad. Argh, this is so annoying! I can’t do anything without everyone watching me. It’s the same in the village, the same in this country!”
Mettaton activated his build-in security feed. Down the halls, guards tried to stop a man in a regular ol’ jacket, jeans, and a cap… which conveniently obscured the top half of his face. Curse headwear.
When the intruder refused to back off, they took out their batons and tasers.
An immediate smackdown happened. One lone man fought against many. Every punch landed at the most painful spot. Then, he turned victim after victim into person-sized bowling-balls and pins.
Not even technology could stop him. One of the guards almost struck a blow. But no, the taser got wrung out of his grip. In the next shocking turn of events, the poor fellow bit the dust instead. Ouch.
The last remaining guard managed to at least knock off the cap before succumbing to a wall-slam. Mettaton gasped; he had seen this person before.
The assailant was none other than the man who fought Grillby and Lady Lucidia.
‘Aiden of Aratet’, he was told. The current true leader of The Gungnir.
“Dayton darling,” the robot asked, “Are you THE boss’ son?”
The boy replied, “Yep. The biggest big boss of big bosses.”
“Could have told me that sooner, baby!”
In any good drama, there would be a spike of escalation that brings excitement to a scene, all leading to one final twist. Great theory on the big screen. Quite a heart attack in real life.
Mettaton started to have deep regrets about hiring cheap. The ‘security’ he had were meant to watch out for thieves, not fight against a seasoned war veteran.
Still, he had duties to fulfil. Turning to his secretary, he said: “Quick. Head to the emergency exit. I’ll take care of matters here.”
“But Mister Mettaton--”
“As your employer, your safety is my number one responsibility. Hurry, darling! Lest you get caught in the crossfire!”
After thanking him, his secretary fled the scene. There’s one less possible hostage now.
Now, to calm himself down. Think of it as a prep for a big concert. Go steady on the magic. This scenario will put his improvisation skills to the test.
Playing the card of an ‘innocent entertainment robot’ won’t work anymore. The warrior had seen the might of Mettaton’s NEO form, thus knowing full well about the offensive capabilities of his systems.
Plan A, chucked into the trash. Now for Plan B: to remain courteous at all times.
Aiden barged into the guest lounge. Silent. Seething. As the boss approached closer, Mettaton tried to speak. “Sir, your son here shared your younger boy’s wonderful perfor--”
His attempts: ignored.
The father grabbed his son by the arm and tried to pull him out the door.
Dayton struggled. He insisted in staying put.
Aiden began scolding his son in a foreign language. Nonetheless, the tone of his voice translated the scene into understandable emotions. Monsters are more in tune with those after all.
His anger was not misplaced: any father would be worried sick if his son ran off to meet up with a stranger. Worse if it was a racial enemy.
Dayton -- being his reckless teenage self -- started yelling back at his dad. He was quite the animated individual, pointing his fingers everywhere. Something about ‘police’.
Well, it wasn’t an unreasonable counter. Aiden’s public storming put them right under the spotlight: the worst possible outcome among the non-fatal options.
The argument escalated along with the volume. At the height of it, Dayton pointed an accusative finger towards his own father.
‘Oh no’, thought Mettaton. It’s family quarelling at its worst.
Foolish Dayton must have crossed the line. His father raised his hand, threatening to slap the kid across the cheek.
“Stop!” Mettaton yelled, summoning a horde Minis to split them apart.
Aiden must have misunderstood the robot’s intentions. He reacted with a retaliatory punch. A great golden light flashed at the end of the human’s fist.
For a split second, Mettaton caught the glimpse of a familiar jagged symbol: one associated with danger and high-voltage.
The bolt of lightning… exploded. It really did. All the Minis dropped dead on the floor, twitching for a while before they vanished in a puff of smoke.
On the other hand, Mettaton survived the blast somewhat unscathed. It appears that Alphys had installed a new anti-shock insulation. That girl works fast, he thought.
What about Aiden?
Aiden reeled from the recoil. He struggled to stand, bearing the pain. Stray sparks jumped around his singed arm.
It wasn’t an illusion. The human DID shoot out lightning! Somehow.
Police sirens approached from a distance. Backup had arrived.
But Mettaton didn’t want any rescuing. Not yet, at least.
So he posed. “Darlings, I have a proposal that you might like. But, it’s limited edition. Only valid if you trust me to deal with the police.”
With a hoarse voice, Aiden replied: “Nonsense. I’ll escape with my son.”
“And discard the surest road to the ‘Oracle’?” Mettaton winked. “I’ll have you know that he’s my Number One Fan. Papyrus darling will never miss a call from yours truly.”
The bot continued: “Of course, this could all be an elaborate ploy to trap you. Perhaps it’s prudent that you make a break for it while you still can. Either way you sparkling bolts, the final choice is in your hands.”
Mettaton then excused himself so they could make their decision.
After a brief assurance, the police helped him transport the unfortunate victims of violence to the hospital. Mettaton hoped that they suffered nothing more than a nasty bruise. The insurance would get antsy otherwise.
The next hour was spent further clarifying the incident to law enforcement. He played the tune of a family misunderstanding: a silly son sneaked out of the house for the signing event. Didn’t inform anyone. Then his father thought the kid was about to get swindled. Nothing that Mettaton couldn’t sort out with his wonderful PR skills.
The story worked. Since it was ‘resolved’ in a peaceful manner, the cops left.
All was well. Mettaton strutted his way back to the guest lounge. Did his visitors flee like a sensible person, or did they take the risk? That question would be answered with a push of a door.
There they were, sitting on the sofa. Aiden and Dayton of the Gungnir had trusted the monster just enough to stay.
Add one more accolade to Mettaton’s celebrity charm!