[WELCOME, GUEST 1]
[WELCOME, GUEST 2]
[ESTABLISHING CONNECTION]
[REROUTING TO EXTERNAL DEVICE]
[SERAPH SYSTEM ONLINE]
[GUEST 1]
[ACTIVE: R / C / Y / P]
[INACTIVE: O / B / G]
[GUEST 2]
[ACTIVE: O / P]
[INACTIVE: C / B / G / Y]
[DT: 79%]
[WARNING: BLUE ASPECT NOT DETECTED]
[WARNING: VITAL SIGNS SUBOPTIMAL FOR GUEST 1]
[PROCEEDING FROM THIS POINT IS NOT RECOMMENDED]
For Sans, the contrast between Gaster’s and Lucidia’s styles couldn’t be greater. So many warnings, so many precautions. Nothing like the old man’s ‘user beware’ style of construction.
The Seraph System rendered its interface straight onto his Eye using a see-through overlay. Plus, he didn’t need to fiddle with a touchscreen anymore as he could now select options with his mind.
“Here’s how this’ll work,” Sans explained. “Snakeface, you’re gonna be the source of the magic fuel for the Seraph System. Think of yourself as a mule to carry the heavy stuff for me. Meanwhile, I’ll process the vision through my Eye and send the data to you in a not-so-brain-melting package. It’s gonna have a little lag of like… one or two seconds. Negligible stuff for a slow paced investigation. Understood?”
“Aye, understood.”
Sans saw Gaelic nod. Soon, however, he wouldn’t be able to see the present reality anymore. And neither would Gaelic. Virtual sights of the distant past always demanded a Seer’s complete and unconditional attention.
“Nice. Alright. That’s my cue to start the switcheroo.”
[GUEST 1]
[ACTIVE: R / B / G / P]
[INACTIVE: O / C / Y]
[GUEST 2]
[ACTIVE: O / P / B]
[INACTIVE: C / G / Y]
[DT: 78%]
The best bet was to start with Lil’ Miss Lucy’s colours. Her machine would have been tuned to her set, and this combination was less stressful than making a full swap with Papyrus’ colours.
Sans heard Gaelic grunt, no doubt from the increased strain from adding the Blue to his Eye.
“You alright, Snakeface?”
Gaelic grunted back. “‘Tis fine. Continue.”
“Moving on, then.”
[BLUE ASPECT DETECTED]
[REROUTING OPERATIONAL LOAD TO GUEST 2]
[PROCEEDING WITH NEW SETTINGS]
[PROCESSING CLAUSES…]
[CALIBRATING TO SUBJECT: 070987-070993-071013 (ALIAS: MALAYA). MIX, RIGHT (CYAN, YELLOW, ORANGE)]
[SYSTEMS READY FOR INITIALIZATION]
“Initiate.”
During the Feast of Fantasy, Grillby first absorbed a Seer’s Fire of Humanity. It contained fragments of Malaya’s past, as well as residual data from the Philosopher Stone she used to transform: precious memories of her family and friends from those earliest dark ages of her life.
What displayed was an island village in a remote tropical jungle. Little Malaya sat on a simple wooden boat with a gangly skeleton man who appeared to be one of the village’s fishermen.
Sans remarked, “Huh, that guy kinda looks like you. Minus the face mods and markings, that is. Your long-lost twin?”
“Ha, ya jest. Mayhaps a clone o’ sorts. Do we have sound?”
“Yup, we do. Let’s play a little bit.”
The man pulled up a net with some fish. The little girl grew very excited over the results and started talking, but it wasn’t in English. Nevertheless Gaelic seemed to know enough to understand.
“That man be her father. ‘Ayah’,” he said. “No wonder she thought the same o’ me…”
“Funny how fate works, huh? Anyways, spot anything unusual?”
“…‘Tis not where ah thought she lived. From her drawings, ah thought she holed up deep in the human jungles. White coral sand… coconut trees… These fishes… ‘Tis an uninhabited island, south o’ Cenna’s ethnic origin… Hmmm… could it be?…”
“Figured something out?”
“Not sure yet. Ah need more observation.”
“Want me to jump forward in time? I don’t think there’s much to see around here.”
“Nay, nay. Ah wanna observe this moment more.”
The father of the little girl tied a rope around her ankle. Her face was bright with excitement, looking forward to what she was about to do. Once he showed her the ‘OK’ sign, young Malaya jumped out of the boat and swam down into the ocean.
Beneath the waters was a massive sunken ruin, encrusted with marine life. It seemed to be part of a tower-like facility…
“Wait. Cor Blimey! That be Mu’s grand generator!”
“W-wha?” Sans exclaimed, “The Mu Core?! Seriously?!?”
“Aye! It definitely be!”
Sans recalled taking Frisk down to a recreation of that particular facility, right before it exploded into an apocalypse. He never thought he would return to this place again. To think that The Handler settled down right under the monsterkind’s noses.
The girl paid no heed to it, however. It was a normal, everyday sight for her. Instead, she dove closer to the seafloor, hunting for clams.
“Man. We’re going down a real rabbit hole, I tell ya. Ready to move forward now? I wanna try looking for our perp.”
“Aye. Proceed. Ah seen enough.”
“Alrighty.”
Sans continued sorting through the memories until he encountered what appeared to be a village-wide festival. The place was decorated, the musicians beat their drums and played their flutes, and the people gathered at their village square.
The guest of honour was a familiar bunch of white distorted squares. Attempting to focus on it gave Sans a nasty headache.
“Ow,” he reeled back. “Found Past Handler, alright. And he’s covered in anti-Seer shit. Damn that hurts. I shouldn’t try looking at him again until I can bypass that.”
The villagers got down on their knees, raised their hands, and bowed down in worship to their glitched-out deity.
Malaya appeared to be the youngest child of the village. She seemed a little confused when her older siblings tried to teach her the correct posture. In the end, she got it right.
“Heh,” Sans smirked. “Of course. Being their deity gives him full control over the population. God complex much?”
“Ah not be getting any new information here. ‘Tis appears to be a dead end. Should we jump to the present and find out where Malaya went?”
“Uh… About that… I’m afraid to tell ya that both the fish and your girl are already dusted. Volcanic activity and cave-ins did both of them in.”
“No! Me poor lass…”
“Yup. So, if we jump there, I’m afraid we’re gonna see her last moments. Ready for that?”
Gaelic grunted. “What choice be there? If we dinnae progress, we cannae save anyone. Starting from their death and working her way backwards be M’lady’s primary method, be it not?”
“Alright. Welp. Brace yourself then.”
Using Malaya’s Determination as an anchor, Sans let his machine recreate the Kaiju Girl’s last known existence. It was in the crumbling Waterfall, and the poor girl was swept away by a rushing river of boiling hot water. A gruesome sight to behold.
Gaelic gasped. “Mmgh, ‘tis worse than ah thought. How does M’lady tolerate this? She be o’ Kindness…”
From outside their shared vision, listening in, Mezil solemnly answered: “She doesn’t.”
What followed after was a grim silence.
Sans knew that if Papyrus chose to be a Chronographer, he would also be exposed to the worst that the world had to offer. He wanted to support his brother’s choices… yet, at the same time, he was still afraid that the darkness would brand unspeakable horrors into his psyche. Even the toughest cop out there struggled with the work hazard of trauma.
Breaking the silence, Sans said: “Let’s rewind a bit.”
The battle between Malaya and Undyne rolled backwards without much of a hiccup.
A sluggy Handler perched on Malaya’s shoulder during her fight with Undyne, issuing orders in a foreign language. In the meantime, Sans could hear Gaelic narrating what he witnessed to Mezil. Their teamwork should allow him to focus more on his own analysis.
Sans added Yellow as a fifth colour and activated Truesight.
[GUEST 1]
[ACTIVE: R / B / G / P / Y]
[INACTIVE: O / C ]
[DT: 75%]
Still not a SOUL to be seen. It was just another dud, like the rest of the splinters that plagued him today.
“Ugh. This dude is worse than my dirty sock. I think it’s better to find out when and where the girl split away from my parents.”
He further traced back Malaya’s steps. Thankfully, Lucidia’s Chronograph had the option to rewind at five times the speed. It would be a real pain otherwise.
Before the duel with the fishy captain, she met the slug in the Underground.
Before she met the slug, she traversed an unfamiliar cave.
Before she entered the cave, she retrieved her gun from a hidden cache.
Before she retrieved the gun, she was with the skeleton couple and the fake Gaelic.
Sans stopped rewinding. Then, he let the vision play forwards in real time.
Midway through the travels, The Handler reached out for Malaya’s shoulder. While passing the real Gaelic’s phone into her hands, he whispered the following words:
Speaking in the universal language of the Seers, he said: “[I trust you know what needs to be done, my dear.]”
The girl’s expression changed to a cold, emotionless state: as though a switch had been flipped. Malaya turned around to leave.
Dear mom noticed first. “Malaya?!”
Dear dad tried calling her back. “Malaya! It’s dangerous out there!”
Sans paused the playback. “That was weird. Did Handlerface use some kind of a command phrase?”
“Aye,” Gaelic confirmed. “Proof that he be her master. Ah recognise the signs.”
Sans used his Truesight on the impostor. “…That’s the same one I eliminated in the tunnels. Told ya he was a fake. Since the splinters share a mind, every fragment is effectively still Malaya’s master. Anyway, since my parents are right there… time to change our point of view.”
[CALIBRATING TO TIMES ROMAN, (BLANK)]
And now, the Chronograph was following the footsteps of Sans’ father.
When Sans resumed the vision, the impostor Gaelic diverted the skeleparents away from Malaya with an excuse: “Ah sent the lass to get weapons to protect ourselves. Hurry, we must move.”
Husband and wife, each carrying three bundles of joy each in their hands, hurried all the way on foot to Sans’ own home on The Surface. Instead of entering the building, the fake Gaelic took them around to the back.
Dear mother Helvetica gasped. “Isn’t this… our sons’ house? Their backyard, to be exact?”
“Aye. Every Seer scientist worth their salt would have a Lab o’ their own, rigged to the brim with hidden defences. There be no better place to hide from The Handler than here.”
“Do you have the key?”
“Nay. Just modest lock picking skills.”
The Handler inserted a pair of thin bones into the keyhole. From outside, it looked like he was making a regular attempt at unlocking. But up close, it was a ruse to use his goopy form to its advantage. The malleable substance filled the gaps and formed the copy of the key.
One twist of the cloned key and the locks opened. The parents rushed downstairs with the babies, none the wiser.
Sans sighed. “The good news? We have a timestamp of when my parents and the babies were safe. The bad news? Our target is still a goddamn mystery. We can’t see inside the basement because of my own Seer deterrence measures…”
Gaelic asked, “Who were ya trying to keep out? The existence o’ other Seers were not to yer privy.”
“Gaster,” Sans groaned. “I was trying to keep Gaster out. Didn’t think it would bite me in the pelvis like this.”
Stuck in this predicament, Sans wondered: could there be a way to pry into The Handler’s past without going directly through him? He went through a few ideas, but promptly discarded them for being too time and energy intensive. All… except one.
“Papyrus’ colours will always pick the most relevant point in the past. I’m gonna use them and see where it takes us.”
[GUEST 1]
[ACTIVE: R / B / G / O]
[INACTIVE: P / C / Y]
[DT: 63%]
He expected the Eye to lead him further into the girl’s past, but instead…
…Crimson sparks caused the vision to twist and ripple. Sans heard a yelp and some alarmed questions going on in the background.
He felt no pain despite the spectacle. The Eye of Dreams didn’t detect any living entity behind it either. It was just a memory: lifeless data.
“It’s okay. I feel fine,” he said out loud. “I-it’s just visual effects.”
[CALIBRATING TO KENNETH ODIN, (DEMON)]
The vision eventually re-stabilised. It showed Persona, sitting in his modern throne: a large, single-seat armchair placed on a raised podium.
Two soldiers dragged in Sans’ ‘favourite’ glitched squares. They tossed that lesser god at the foot of their greater god and left him there.
Persona looked at The Handler, smug as ever, then pointed at him and said: “Your god commands you: yield and submit!”
The Mark of Lightning zapped The Handler, inflicting agony and forcing him onto his knees. Damage from the residual lightning outright disabled the anti-Seer mechanisms, revealing a masked man in a dark and heavy cloak. Minor differences aside, his general appearance matched Papyrus and Aiden’s testimony.
“Your god commands you: unmask yourself.”
Blood-red Corrupt Determination coursed through the victim’s arms. They trembled in Determined conviction, trying to fight back against another’s god’s command in all futility.
Not that The Handler or Persona were real deities to begin with. In the end, perhaps it was better said that the greater god-complex overpowered the lesser god-complex.
When the loser inevitably took off his mask, Persona was aghast: a stark reminder how even a DEMON was sometimes just a human being still. “The Sky Witch?! Impossible!”
Indeed, The Handler had shifted his likeness to none other than Lady Lucidia of House Berendin.
“Oh?” The impostor spoke in her voice, “Do I unnerve you? I thought Gungnir’s god feared no one.”
That taunt ‘rewarded’ The Handler with a swift bolt of punishment. His many faces shifted through the identities of the people he had copied over the years, both male and female. Sans recognised only a few of them.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Amused, Persona commented: “You’re a Deathless Materia: an immortal mass of monsters, but one step away from becoming a pearly jewel. Why come here, knowing you’re an abomination to all of humankind?”
The Handler said, “I seek to discuss a future business venture with you, Your Divinity.”
“Ha! What could a weakling like you offer ME?”
“Plenty, I would say. As a preview of my services to Your Divinity, I have already caused The Beast to lose favour with House Berendin. He shall never recover from this scandal. Whatmore, he may be dead as we speak.”
Instead of rejoicing in gladness, the Gungnir god stood up and unleashed his wrath yet again. This time more than a mere bolt, a punishing thunderstorm of unceasing electricity tore through The Handler. Ravaging on and on, Persona did not care to stop until his visitor had long been reduced to a pile of smouldering fabric and galvanised magic.
If he were a normal monster, he would have been dusted. And yet, no matter how devastated it had been, the goo reformed. Revived. Reconstructed. Reformed. Above all, he kept his mind intact.
Sans squinted. This was most likely a splinter. It was tantamount to suicide to break into Gungnir’s sanctuary with his real SOUL. But, just in case…
[GUEST 1]
[ACTIVE: R / B / G / O / Y]
[INACTIVE: P / C /]
[DT: 61%]
…Truesight, activated. No SOUL alright. Sans quickly removed the Yellow so he didn’t strain himself more than he needed to.
[GUEST 1]
[ACTIVE: R / B / G / O]
[INACTIVE: P / C / Y]
[DT: 60%]
The Handler's final face settled for a simple mouthless, noseless cyclopean feature, where only a Yellow Eye was shown.
“Ugh… I don’t understand,” said the monster. “I’ve done plenty of research into Your Divinity’s past. Was The Beast not your most bitter foe? The one who hunted down your wives on The Supreme Judge’s orders?”
Persona answered in a dire, serious tone befitting a displeased deity. “That’s exactly why I desire to inflict holy vengeance upon him with my very own hands. In your ignorance, you may have robbed me of that chance forever. Where else will I direct my ire now?”
Realising that he had misjudged Persona, The Handler immediately grovelled and begged: “Please, have mercy! I still have more to offer. What if I tell you the true history of the Winston family line? A secret even they are unaware of.”
“…Is it that stupid internet rumour?”
“Sir, it’s so much, much more than that. The Supreme Judge, your nemesis, is a direct descendant of a cursed bloodline.”
“Ridiculous.”
“And yet, Your Divinity, you’ve stayed your hand, granting me permission to speak. I’m certain that, in your great wisdom, you’ve noticed a number of oddities over the years. Once is a coincidence. Twice is serendipity. Thrice is a pattern.”
No matter how outlandish the claim, Persona neglected to rain holy hell onto The Handler. Instead, he sat back down. Leaning against his throne, he said: “Go on.”
A little grovelling went a long way. The Handler continued: “Through means I shall not disclose, I discovered that The Magus Association had been keeping birth records at The Spire. It involved select families with ancestral aptitude for magic, despite not being formal Magi. That is how William Winston was made an impromptu hero during the height of the world war. The Magi scouted him as a backup Living Victory to temporarily replace their own. Then, when conflict ceased, he declined the position of Supreme Judge, returning to a mundane family life instead.”
“How far back do these records go?”
“They extend to the late Middle Ages, from the era after The Magi reclaimed the Keys of Fate. Do you recall that ancient painting circulating the internet? That was one result of my findings.”
“Ha, so it was you who leaked that picture online. I’ve always wondered how that happened. What a whirlwind it caused.”
“The article in question is not made of paint or pigment. No. My Eye saw a canvas created entirely of magic. It only came into existence after a Celestial Calamity tore through the south eastern lands, far away from here. The details of the incident are shrouded in secrecy, although it is said to have involved a Winston… a progeny of Eldin… and Teraun Wanderstar themself.”
Persona narrowed his gaze, not saying anything lest he were to interrupt The Handler at an inopportune moment.
“Recall how Mezil Winston drains people of their lifeforce with instinctual ease, suffering no ill-effects. It was as though he was a Dark Lord born to do so. And here is where I come in: I believe I have gained the knowledge to sabotage him from the inside out. Should you take my offer, I promise to bring you guaranteed victory.”
“And what’s the cost of this knowledge?” so asked the lightning god. “It’s a business after all. It must be transactional.”
“Asylum, Your Divinity. I wish that you spare my colony and let us live in peace. In exchange I will contribute many wares and weapons, living or otherwise, that humanity could never manufacture.”
“Hmmmm…” Persona smiled and replied, “Not interested. I shall win my battles on my own terms. But, I am not ungrateful for the intel either. You shall still be rewarded handsomely.”
“Pray tell, Your Divinity, what would that reward be?”
Pointing straight towards The Handler, the Gungnir god declared: “Time. You have 24 hours to deal with your existing colony. Salvage. Move. Dispose. I don’t care. Do what you want before my loyal templars sweep through.”
The Handler bowed his head. “That is more than enough. Thank you for your gracious mercy.”
“Good. Now leave. I won’t spare you the next time we meet.”
Was it luck, or was it fate? The conditions lined up just right for The Seraph System to make an insightful connection. But then, just when Sans was about to rejoice from this little breakthrough, Papyrus’ colours forced him to witness another vision.
[CALIBRATING TO SUBJECT: 070987-070993-071013 (ALIAS: MALAYA). MIX, RIGHT (CYAN, YELLOW, ORANGE)]
It took him back to Malaya’s village on the foretold doomsday. Here – near the equator – twilight lasts for only half an hour. And the sun had already begun setting over the horizon.
Come nightfall, their small world shall meet its end.
The people cried. Mourned. Huddled together with their friends and family to count down until the final moment. The local musicians even took out their instruments to play the colony’s funeral song.
“Something’s wrong,” commented Sans. “I don’t think Gungnir is the real problem here. They didn’t even try to fight or flee. What does your experience say, Snakeface?”
“Hisss…. This brings shivers down me spine. Ne’er comfortable witnessing this. Ya be lookin’ at some mighty fine cult behaviour, false angel. ‘Tis not whether or not they logically ‘could’, rather they believe they ‘can’t’.”
“Now that you’ve pointed it out… I used to feel the same way back in The Underground. It’s mightily difficult for undetermined monsters to go against the grain.”
One family, however, did have other plans. Malaya’s mother, elder brother, and elder sister packed provisions and tools into a repurposed burlap sack, whatever little they had. They secured it as well as they could, carrying the sack out through the back of their humble wooden home, where the father waited. The man slung the bag over his shoulder, hugged his wife and his two children, then slipped into the jungle by his lonesome.
He manoeuvred through the difficult terrain with swift ease, knowing when to jump and where to walk. Being an athletic skeleton, similar to Gaelic, had its perks.
Dense foliage soon gave way to the shores of a secluded bay. His fishing boat lay there, with his littlest daughter sitting inside.
He loaded the bag onto the boat, then began oar paddling towards a neighbouring island. The ruins of what was once a small monster resort had overgrown from decades of abandonment.
Past the ruins, upstream, the father took his youngest daughter to a hidden treehouse made out of salvaged materials. There, he opened the bag. From the way he showed her the items, he was giving her instructions. He also placed his hand over her mouth as a sign that she must not make any noise.
Once all was said and done, the father hugged her for one last time.
“Abang, Kakak, Ibu, Ayah… kami semua sayangmu. Amat, amat sayangmu.”
The daughter refused to let him go. Alas… he had to pry her tiny hands away and return to the village.
Right on cue, he clutched his chest and keeled over. Alarmed, the daughter asked him what was wrong. With a wry smile, the father reassured his daughter. From her unhappy face, he could tell she knew something was wrong. But, she was too young to argue back.
“Ingat anakku, teruskan hidup.”
That was the last time they ever saw each other.
Later that night, Malaya saw a brilliant flash of red from her island. That would be when The Philosopher’s Stone was made.
Gungnir’s forces destroyed the colony not long after. Fire engulfed the island Malaya once called home. Meanwhile, in the treehouse, she hid under her blanket and covered her mouth, tearful yet silent. If she cried, the scary humans would come for her next.
The fire raged on for three more days. The smoke was so thick above, it was as though the sun never rose.
On the fifth day, after only smouldering ashes remained for her to see, those loathsome squares of distortion appeared before the treehouse. Once again, it was The Handler.
“[So this is where you’ve been hiding. Come down, young one.]”
Recognising him as her local deity, the girl obeyed. She had her knife strapped to her waist, ready to go into the jungle to forage for some food.
“[So young, and already capable of surviving on your own. Your family taught you very well.]
She remained silent, still too frightened to speak.
“[The humans destroyed our colony, but not all was lost. I have managed to save everyone. Here.]”
The Handler gave the child a wooden plaque with The Philosopher’s Stone embedded in the centre. Immediately, her face lit up with astonishment. Putting the plaque next to her ear, hearing the voices of everyone she had ever loved… it made her smile and cry at the same time.
“[Become my weapon, and one day we will revive everyone. The journey will be hard. Can you do it?]”
The little girl nodded.
“[Good. Your training begins now. Follow me.]”
And follow she did, ignorant of The Handler’s lies. Once a Philosopher Stone had been completed, there was no way to undo the process. Malaya would endure her future horrors for nothing.
Warnings popped up on the Chronograph.
[GUEST 2 DISCONNECTED]
[DT: 50%]
[INITIATING EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN FOR CURRENT SESSION]
[GOOD DAY, GUEST 1]
Back to the current present it was. The forced shutdown brought much relief for Sans’ strained skull. He realised that he had almost gotten too used to the pressure, which was dangerous in hindsight. He wondered if the strain had gotten too much for Gaelic.
Sans looked around. His partner was no longer on the sofa. Instead, he found him huddled in the corner, on the ground, sockets closed. His bones rattled from the effort to contain his sorrow. He seemed to know enough of the language to have understood those last words.
With slow, careful steps, Sans asked: “Snakeface? You alright?”
“…Liar…” he muttered as tears flowed down his face. “That cur, how dare. HOW DARE!!! Dive more… must… Deeper… Further… further, further, further--”
“Hey, hey,” said Sans. “Take a break. Don’t push yourself. I need you level-headed for the next dive. Expecting worse shit moving forward, y’know.”
“Aye… aye… ya be right…”
“Slow, steady breaths. Okay?”
Grillby conjured a small green flame, filled with warm kindness, and offered it to Gaelic. “…Will this help?…”
The shaken skeleton accepted the gift, holding it close to his chest. “Thank ye, it will.”
Sans let the other two help, especially Mezil. That man may be the only human on the planet who knew how to handle Gaelic.
Except, just when Sans thought he could catch a quiet break, another spanner of the cosmos got thrown into his gears. Mezil’s phone buzzed incessantly. Had it been on the table, it would have fallen off from the vibrations alone. He strode towards the stairs as he picked up the call.
Suspecting something was happening outside, Sans used the mindlink to ask the bossman himself: “What aren’t you telling me, Thymer?”
But the Supreme Judge instead responded, “Continue the dive. Stay focused.”
“What about the DT fuel? It might run out.”
“Don’t use mine. It may be contaminated by the splinters I’ve absorbed.”
“Okey dokey. If you say so…”
With Mezil gone, Sans went straight back to work. He closed his eyes and faced the wall, cutting out every distraction around him.
Where was the real Handler? So far, none of the fragments had a SOUL.
And above all, who even is he?
Should he use Papyrus’ colours again to make another jump? No. He had no way to control the direction. Plus it would likely lead to more annoying white squares. Only an indirect method would get them around that issue.
Could he use the victims’ data? So far all of them had seen The Handler in person before, just like Malaya did. Maybe one of them could become a springboard for the villain’s origin story?
Sans heard the shuffling of fabric and some footsteps. Not long after that, a shadow loomed over him, blocking out the ceiling light.
“Uhhhuh, anyone ever tell you that you tend to get a liiiiiitlle too close for comfort?”
Gaelic snickered mischievously. “No one needed to tell me. Ah see their reactions all o’er them.”
“Nice to see that you have your sense of humour back. That means you’re feeling better, I hope.”
“Aye, at least fer now.”
Sans was not the type to actively ask about a person’s tragic past, but he needed some context moving forward.
He turned around, facing his current work partner properly. “Say, Snakeface… I know it’s gonna hurt… but I need to get some facts straight. How exactly did The Handler screw you over? Sounded like he expected you to get fired.”
Gaelic took one deep breath to muster some bravery. “‘Twas me most shameful moment. The worst o’ worst. It rendered me unable to protect M’lord from Persona, as that cur stated. The short o’ it be this: The Handler be the one who supplied the poison. A poison so potent it left me in dire condition fer a long while. Me wee babe daughter dinnae survive the incident. His gooey hands be stained with her dust.”
“Man, this arseface had been going around messing up many people’s lives huh?”
“Seems be,” Gaelic fidgeted. “Me deepest apologies. Ya Ebottians got swept up in all o’ these old grudges… stretching fer decades…”
Waving his good arm, Sans said, “Eh. Don’t sweat it. Sooner or later us Underground folks would’ve dragged ourselves into the hot pot. Besides, we couldn’t hide down there any longer. Me and the old doc saw the end of our own ‘colony’, so to say.”
The short one continued: “Y’know… You lost your original daughter, and Malaya lost her original father. I think you two should adopt each other. Make it official and so on.”
“That be the intent, aye. By making her a Blanc, she’d get her legal docs. Still, ah thought it be better to have her live in Ebott. With yer parents, to be exact. They be more experienced in parenting, and… ah dinnae want her to be urban-blind like me. Know her way around the concrete jungle instead o’ the wilderness, ya get?”
“Judging from the way you speak, you have bigger worries on your mind: The Ocean Battle. If you don’t get drafted, that’s great. If you do get drafted, however, that leaves us four outcomes: alive, crippled, insane, or dead. Three of those would traumatise her yet again.”
Gaelic let out a short growl. “Grrr, ya ability to read people like a book be a mighty sting! Aye, aye, aye, yer right. ‘Tis cruel if the bond we made be ripped too soon.”
“The deeper the relationship, the more painful the parting. That’s what I observed from the folks around me. Though, if that Vanquisher chick taught me anything, you really don’t wanna spend years watching your family from afar either.”
“Never thought ya’d bring up Cenna as an example. Thought ya would consider her too far removed from yerself.”
“Whoa there, you think we’re strangers? Heh, I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with that tomboy. Killed each other more times than I cared to count. Don’tcha think that makes us friends?”
Gaelic feigned disgust. “Ya consider an enemy as a friend?! Cor Blimey, ‘tis a concept too outlandish! Be that why ya so close to the wee bean too?”
Sans winked back. “Nah. There’s a nuance. I still dunk on Chara and Flowey at every opportunity.”
“Yer a sick twisted soul, ya know that.”
“You’re one to talk, acting all chummy with me now.”
The two stared at each other for a good few moments before bursting into a chuckle. They couldn’t believe how well they were getting along. Not long ago, they almost got into a childish cat fight. Few weeks back, they were trying to kill each other.
Gaelic then said: “We should resume our duty. What be cooking in yer noggin there?”
Sans leaned his back against the wall. “Well, I thought we should repeat what we did for Malaya. Instead of linking the victims to our slimeball, we link the victims to a location. I’m gonna compile every separate entity and pass them right under your nose. On the slim chance you spot anything Lemurian, Atlantean, or pre-goop Mu-ian, stop. That could be our earliest stretch of time. Bonus points if you recognise any of the victims from previous cases.”
“What if ‘tis a bust too?”
“Then we’ll tweak the variables and try another angle. You would already have made a rough mental map of their locations, so our second pass should be faster than the first.”
“That be a fine approach. What colours would ya use?”
“Well, I can’t turn off my secret sauce. So I need to try six: my default, plus Orange and Blue. ”
“No Green?” Tilting his head, Gaelic asked: “No restoration? How are ya gonna build an image from yer compilation?”
“The Green should go to you in this case. See, I don’t wanna push past six colours if I can help it. Six already is plain brutal, nevermind seven. I’ll explode into a pile of dust if I try that today. That’s why I’ll have you do the restoration. Turn the raw bits and bytes I’m sending you into a nice viewable format. You can feed the picture back to me after you’ve smelled what we’re smelling for.”
“As long ya know what yer doing…” Although Gaelic said so, he didn’t sound convinced. “Let’s get to it then, aye?”
“Sure thing.”
The two Seers began the next dive. They put their plan into motion and got to work.
[WELCOME, GUEST 1]
[WELCOME, GUEST 2]
[ESTABLISHING CONNECTION]
[REROUTING TO EXTERNAL DEVICE]
[SERAPH SYSTEM ONLINE]
[GUEST 1]
[ACTIVE: R / C / Y / P / B / O]
[INACTIVE: G]
[GUEST 2]
[ACTIVE: O / P / B / G]
[INACTIVE: C / Y]
[DT: 50%]
The strain on Sans’ eyes and brain was almost unbearable. But, he could still do the job.
“HNGH!” His partner grunted, “Me mind! This burden… too great… feels o’ the unknown…! The Seraph System, it truly be an eldritch machine. ‘Tis not fer mere mortals to wield.”
“Don’t look at me. I just made what I had to make.”
Both Functional and Personal Universe Numbers scrolled before Sans. Every one of them, legible. Every one of them, sortable. He tagged the bundles with a victim number and passed the lot to Gaelic as a steady stream of code.
1.
10.
25.
50.
100.
200.
300.
At first, Sans was prepared to bear his crazy colour scheme for at least an hour… but Gaelic had been sniffing them out faster than Sans could parse them. He got a hit within minutes.
“Stop, ah smelled a suspicious rat. Rewind at half speed.”
And so he did, finding…
“This be it! Number 886, 764, 601, 587, 485, 440. They be Lemurian through and through, all from the same place!”
Sans received six photographs of six individual skeleton children identified by Gaelic. “Let’s see… If I’m right, we’d be looking at their most relevant life moments. Shouldn’t matter which one I choose. Opening file number 886.”
The environment that appeared before him seemed to be an old underground stone structure, perhaps some kind of repurposed rain drainage system.
These children – aged somewhere between ten to twelve – lived in those cold, damp, and dark surroundings. Lived and died without knowing the Sun.
That bleak hopeless environment was their world, their Underground.
They apparently came in pairs. Three taller ones who looked like Papyrus. And three shorter ones who felt like looking into a mirror.
A sharp pain then stabbed Sans’s left socket. Immediately, he knew his Seer’s Eye had started to burn out of control from trying to process this conflicting truth.
[WARNING: UNKNOWN ERROR]
[WARNING: UNKNOWN ERROR]
[WARNING: UNKNOWN ERROR]
[WARNING: ABNORMAL DT BATTERY DRAIN]
[INITIATING EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN FOR CURRENT SESSION]
[SHUTDOWN FAILED. UNKNOWN ERROR]
He sensed Grillby’s metal gauntlet trying to shut down The Fire of Humanity. But, his Determination refused to be tamed. The Eye of Dreams resonated with the Chronograph in a destructive feedback loop, further exacerbated by the rose mithril of The Seraph System.
Invading images of another life swirled around. A tornado. A whirlpool. It was as if a foreign identity forced itself into his mind.
Sans was sure that he screamed. Yet, he couldn’t hear himself.
………………
He dreamt of waking up in a tank of liquid as a naked child. The first thing he did was tap the glass. Growing fearful, he thumped the glass harder to try to escape.
Thump.
And thump.
And thump, he did.
He stopped when he heard another set of thumping, coming from the outside. The child pressed his cranium to the glass to peer through towards the other side. There, he saw another skeleton child as innocently naked as he was.
That person… was Papyrus.
Their cyan and orange eyes resonated with each other, communicating.
………………
The short one woke up, confused and delirious. “Where… Where am I? Is this a basement? The Doctor’s basement?”
“Cor Blimey,” the scary skeleton with the black markings said, “The false angel had gone loopy. What went wrong? Ah thought he be using Blue. He did use Blue, did he not?”
And the even scarier looking black knight asked: “…I… failed?…”
“On the contrary Sir Grillenn, ye did fine. Without yer touch, he might have lost himself completely. This be strange, though. Peculiar. There not be a foul trap sprung, otherwise ah would have suffered a similar storm o’ anguish.”
Squinting at the two, the short skeleton grew mightily suspicious. “Are you the Doctor’s new enforcers? I don’t trust you.”
When he tried to shift his body to the corner of the sofa, he discovered that only his left hand had any sensation. “Huh, what happened to my right arm? It fell off again?”
Except, he looked down on his own two arms. Not one, but two. The left was made of bone, and the right was made of metal.
Panic began to sink in when he realised that he had completely lost an original limb. His bones rattled from head to toe. “Ah… Aaah… AAAAAAH!!! What did HE do to ME?!?”
“That machine strapped to yer arm? That be ya own creation,” said the other skeleton. “Listen. This scaredy little cat ah be seeing, that not be the real you.”
“I…” he muttered, “I’m not? Then, who am I?”
“Yer name’s Sans Serif, The Tactician o’ The Dreemurr Kingdom. Creator o’ The Seraph System. Son o’ Roman and Helvetica. Brother to The Great Papyrus.”
Hearing his True Name triggered the Purple Aspect within his Seer’s Eye. It began feeding him the proper memories of his life, separating dream from reality.
After a while, Sans began to calm down. Though sweaty and exhausted, he had returned to his usual demeanour. “Oh… yeah… right. Right, my name is Sans Serif, welp. Okay, on the plus side my uh, doppel’s memories were quite weak. It didn’t completely meld with me like the other two nightmare worlds.”
Grillby asked, “…Two?…”
“I think it’s two. Or was it one? Maybe… five? Actually, I dunno anymore. I wasn’t keeping track. Either way, thanks for saving my bacon.”
Deeply concerned, the fire friend said: “…That Blue… It should have protected you…”
“Under normal circumstances, it should have. But… I think the Blue combined with my Red, telling The Eye of Dreams to download the closest related memory out there in spacetime. Unlucky combo, really.”
“…How you behaved earlier… It was… frightening… The last time I had seen you so helpless… It was when you were seven years old…”
“Sorry to scare you, Grillbz.” A number of details clicked Sans’ his mind “…Wait a minute. The transference of wills. The ability to download and claim other’s memories as your own. It’s like The Gungnir Persona ritual. Like The Twin Princes. Like Frisk and Chara. They all have one thing in common: Determination. Of course my Red Eye was gonna freak out seeing a literal doppelganger.”
Gaelic blinked twice in confusion. “Ah dinnae get ya. Why do ya keep talking about doppels? None o’ them looked like ya. Not even the shorties.”
“Huh? Really?”
“See fer yerself.”
After a quick rest, they jumped back into the Chronograph together.
[WELCOME, GUEST 1]
[WELCOME, GUEST 2]
[ESTABLISHING CONNECTION]
[REROUTING TO EXTERNAL DEVICE]
[SERAPH SYSTEM ONLINE]
[GUEST 1]
[ACTIVE: R / C / Y / P]
[INACTIVE: O / B / G]
[GUEST 2]
[ACTIVE: O / P]
[INACTIVE: C / B / G / Y]
[DT: 30%]
[WARNING: BLUE ASPECT NOT DETECTED]
[PROCEEDING FROM THIS POINT IS NOT RECOMMENDED]
Back to base configuration. There was no need for fancy Aspect switching to observe an already existing, registered, and reconstructed piece of data.
Gaelic was proven right. Other than being short and stocky, the subjects had completely different faces from Sans. The taller ones looked nothing like Papyrus either.
Sans scratched his chin. “Not sure what happened there. Concerning, but we got more important fish to fry. How about we match our victims’ surroundings to known cases in the database, cold or solved?”
“Ya need not sieve through anymore. Ah know which one already. Look fer a case by Lady Finnai, Year 2039.”
“Lady Finnai?”
“She be M’lady’s predecessor, the one who trained her in the ways o’ the Seers.”
“I see. Which makes her a part of Ole James’ posse. Year 2039… Yup. That’s within his time.”
[ACCESSING HARD COPY ARCHIVE - BLUE OPTIONAL]
[SEARCHING QUERY]
[MATCH FOUND]
[RETRIEVING DATA]
[OPENING CASE FILE]
Sans brought up the details for a closer read. The title at the very top caught his attention the most.
[REPORT ON EXPERIMENTATIONS BY THE HERETIC, DOCTOR WEISS (CLOSED)]
“Welp. Thanks to The Handler, this case is getting blown wide open again. Looks like we’ve got our guy. Ready for another dive, Snakeface?”
“Aye, me bones always be ready.”