Once upon a time, there were two scientists.
The fate of their civilization rested on their shoulders.
One took it as a burden.
Another, a proud duty.
Their job was to secure the victory of their people. History cannot afford to repeat: this time they will inflict justice on those who had wronged them so long ago.
After years of trial and error, the two created a machine that will put all fortune tellers to shame.
It was the device to peer into the future with picture-perfect clarity. No more fuzzy guessing. No more obscure clips. No more emotional blockade.
The most important of all these: the ability to ‘remember’. Everything will be written down, archived, and sorted for the greatest puzzle of their people’s history.
The elder scientist put on the visors of fate.
Cyan, the Essence of Patience.
Grants the bearer wisdom to ruminate on his observation.
Orange, the Essence of Bravery.
Grants the bearer sight beyond his limited knowledge.
He ascended high into the planes beyond mortality, exploring paths that no one else has tread. Forward, backwards, jumping left and right.
Yet alas, despite his long travels, the man found no salvation…
Only doom.
In one path he saw the horrors of golden-petalled thorns, killing every man, woman and child. A laughing flower relished in the dust of the dead jeering: it’s KILL or BE killed.
In another he witnessed an outbreak of a mysterious disease that showed little symptoms. Just silence, apathy, and eventual breakdown.
The Explorer sought for more. The waters of Waterfall eventually dried to a trickle. Why? Drought? Construction? Without water, salvage materials cannot flow and the Core cannot be cooled.
Society collapsed without its central support.
The younger scientist cut his heart from the dire situation. Numbed himself from the impending horrors. Make reasons. Joke about it. Treat the future as an inevitable fact, like the cycle of life and death.
“Nothing mattered in the grand scheme of things anyway.”
It was his sole method of coping.
But the elder scientist refused. “It cannot be. It cannot be! There HAS to be a way!”
Once again the man wore the visors of fate. He poured every bit of determination into his attempt.
If there was a wall, he will smash it down.
If there was a chasm, he will build a bridge to cross it.
If there were vast waters, he will swim to the other side.
Determination. Determination. Determination.
Refuse to give up.
That’s what the humans did. And that’s how they won.
After a long and arduous journey, The Explorer reached the end of the world.
The literal end.
The end.
All timelines, all fates, all attempts…
Lead to nothingness.
Eternal darkness.
Mortified, the Explorer threw down his visors. His entire being quaked and rippled as they screamed without a voice.
This was why the younger scientist distanced himself from his emotions. Too much pain, too much weight. He had enough of suffering.
Even so, the sights of his elder breaking under the revelation will haunt him for life.
First, there was distress. The shock, horror and despair of knowing.
Then, what’s left was desperate madness. That man, the amalgamation, sought for a solution.
Soon, a flash of epiphany… Off to the computer the goo monstrosity went.
“Computer, initiate recording.”
He stood there, arms raised, talking in the language of hands. It became a monologue for the convenience of the others deep within himself.
The screen displayed his final conclusion, archived for eternity.
ENTRY NUMBER SEVENTEEN
DARK DARKER YET DARKER
THE DARKNESS KEEPS GROWING
THE SHADOWS CUTTING DEEPER
PHOTON READINGS NEGATIVE
THIS NEXT EXPERIMENT SEEMS
VERY
VERY
INTERESTING
…
WHAT DO YOU TWO THINK?
As the younger one watched, a twisted grin stretched across his mandibula.
* * *
Sans woke up to the scent of fresh detergent.
Not to grease, ketchup, or the staleness of his messy room: it’s the smell of soapy cleanliness typically found in washing machines.
This discrepancy threw him off more than the semi-foreign environment. He recognized it as Alphys’ place, but…
“…What the fuck happened?” This situation deserved a swear word.
He thought of sitting up, but his skull throbbed too hard to even attempt it. The dream didn’t help: it played out one of those memories that he wished he had forgotten.
Well shit. I hope I didn’t just sleep through the whole of Saturday. I’m supposed to visit Frisk with their friends.
This is another reminder why I shouldn’t be making promises. Jeez. The kid’s gonna be disappointed.
…I think I need another nap. This headache’s a killer.
Someone opened the door. Sans quickly closed his eyes, hoping that it would fool the visitor into thinking that he’s still out cold.
“SAAAAAANS!” It’s Papyrus. “THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO PLAY SKELETON! C’MON, I KNOW YOU’RE AWAKE.”
Sans peeked with one eye. “Geez, Paps. There’s no hiding from you anymore, huh?”
Papyrus wasted no time to set down a bed table for his brother. “OF COURSE, I CAN TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A FAKE SLEEP AND A REAL ONE!”
The elder brother snorted in response. “That’s so cool. Uh, so. What’s with the table?”
Happy as ever, Papyrus responded: “YOU HAVEN’T HAD BREAKFAST. OR LUNCH, FOR THE MATTER. SO I -- THE GREAT PAPYRUS -- MADE A MEAL SO WARM AND FILLING THAT YOU’D CATCH UP ON YOUR MISSING MEALS IN A SINGLE BOWL!”
This was why he wanted to see his little brother. The things he says and does never fail to provide a moment of respite. Just watching Papyrus do his thing made everything feel right in the world, even if it was just an illusionary distraction.
“Heh. Sure. Hit me right in the gut.” Sans winked, “If I have any.”
“NYEH HEH HEH! I WILL DO MORE THAN HIT YOU IN YOUR MISSING GUT, MY DEAR BROTHER. THE GREAT PAPYRUS’ CUISINES WILL BLOW YOUR SKULL TOWARD THE STARS! I’LL BE RIGHT BACK!”
Sans was surprised by the lack of groaning about his bad jokes. The tall skeleton was so delighted that he missed his cue.
“…Ooookay?” Sans wondered if he had accidentally teleported to a whole different dimension. That would be a problem.
Papyrus soon returned with a bowl of soup and two pieces of toasted bread. It’s bright orange colour came from the carotene-rich content of pumpkin.
Wow, Paps finally figured out how to open up a human soup can. Those things are a real bugger.
“‘BONE APPETIT’!” Even by skeleton’s standards, Papyrus had the happiest of grins right now.
He must be in a real smashing mood to use one of my bad puns.
Heh. This is great. A normal life is great.
Sans grabbed the bread and dipped it in the soup. Then he took a bite.
Any of his cheerfulness shattered upon tasting its contents.
It’s not canned.
Pumpkin. Carrots. A dash of thyme sprigs and cinnamon. Roasted bone marrow mixed in to thicken the soup without depending on filler starches.
The last time he had seen, smelled, and tasted this combination of flavours was years and years ago.
Little Papyrus had caught ‘the sneezles’ back then. It was the only time the boy fell ill throughout his childhood.
“…Where did you get this?” Sans asked. He had to.
“I MADE IT FROM SCRATCH!” So the other announced.
“Where did you get the recipe?”
Sans hoped that it was just a coincidental find on the internet. There are billions of humans on the Surface. Surely someone would come up with this exact same dish. It’s one in a billion, but that’s still a chance.
Anything better than the alternative answer.
But no, life still played with him.
“I LEARNED IT FROM UNCLE GASTER! WOWIE HE’S A GENIUS! THE MOMENT I TOLD HIM ABOUT THE TASTE HE’S ALREADY FIGURED IT OU--”
Papyrus’ excited ramblings were interrupted by the loud crunch of toast. Sans had just crushed the wheaty necessity in between his bony fingers. Bits and pieces of crustiness puffed all over the table, blanket and floor.
Papyrus stared back with a gaping jaw. “…OKAY. I KNOW SOUP IS SUPPOSED TO BE NOURISHING, BUT I DIDN’T EXPECT THE ENERGY TO KICK IN SO FAST.”
Sans realised that he had acted out of character. “Oh.” He replied, trying to keep his comical facade. “Sorry. Yeah. Uh. My joints just snapped from the change of temperatures. They get ‘rattled’ over it, sometimes.”
“SAAAANS!” the younger one exclaimed. It was all within expectations.
“Where’s ‘Uncle’ Gaster, by the way?”
“HE TOLD ME THAT HE’S GOING TO BREATHE SOME NICE FRESH AIR OUTSIDE.”
So he knew.
Of course he would. They shared a mutual understanding on bone-picking. The fact that the man conveniently excused himself out of an innocent bystander’s home meant only one thing…
“Thanks.” Sans continued to eat his meal. He’s going to need it. “What time is it now?”
“CLOSE TO THREE PM.” Papyrus answered.
“Yeah. Okay. Good. I’m not late.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
C’mon Sans. Save the nostalgia tears for later.
You’re going to give someone a bad time, and you better have the energy for it.
Once you’re done, take everyone to Frisk and pretend nothing ever happened.
Once the soup was cool enough, he drank them all down in one go. Sans set the bowl down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Thanks Pap.” He jumped right out of bed. “It’s delicious. Serious. Totally would have second helpings, but not right now.”
His brother was surprised by the eagerness to leave. “WAIT SANS, YOU JUST RECOVERED!”
“Yeah. That’s exactly why I’m moving.”
Move, he did.
He ignored Mettaton’s concerned questioning.
Then stepped around Alphys. She was too slow to react or respond.
Dodged Undyne. Literally. She tried to grab him so they could have a serious talk, but he just avoided it.
His brother started to call for his name.
They noticed his strange behaviour, he didn’t care.
Sans headed straight into the outer world.
Where is he?
There was an arrow drawn in snow pointing to the left. He followed it.
Where is he?
More arrows.
As he walked down the path, Sans remembered the sounds of laughing children during the warmer months.
Where is he?
At the very end, he found the man he had been searching for.
It’s a cold, cloudy day. The skies were as pale as the snowy land beneath. Gaster waited in the middle of the flat field, standing out against the whiteness with his dark ever-flowing self.
He was like a blotch of ink on paper.
A stain.
A strain.
Upon the first opportunity, Sans summoned his Gasterblasters and commanded them to fire at will.
The world went dark. Being a veteran Seer himself, he knew exactly what’s happening to him. He readied every bone in his body to react the moment he regained vision.
The whiteness returned. Gaster faced his wayward protégé with his hands posed in signs.
During the moments time had stopped, his mentor had hijacked Sans’ control. The Gasterblasters turned their aim towards their own summoner.
The methods were the same today as it was so many years ago. Sans had grown wiser since then. Instead of freezing in fear, he teleported out of the laser barrages.
Snow scattered in the air from the forceful opening. His brother and his friends stopped at the edge of the field, shocked.
“No fanciful greetings for me?” said Gaster. “I expected you to say something along the lines of: ‘The clouds are grey, the air is silent. On days like these men like you should die’.”
“You’re not worth it.” Sans left Eye ignited. He reached an arm towards the stolen blasters and made a yanking motion.
That action put the blasters under a spell. While they were dazed, he executed an elaborate chain of hand commands.
Since Gaster cracked the blasters’ programming in frozen time, Sans made sure he could do the same in real time; had to beat his mentor at his own game.
Their ownership switched back to Sans. The armaments he summoned were once again his, and his first action was to return fire upon Gaster.
If Gaster was not an Amalgamate, he would have gotten hit. But alas, apparently being a gooey man bestowed methods of escape otherwise impossible. Before the beam made contact, the scientist collapsed himself into a puddle. He burrowed into the snow and tried to stage a surprise attack.
“Oh c’mon, that’s cheating.” Sans thought of his next move. Gauge the speed, then impale his opponent with a well-aimed bone spike. That should be enough to end the fight.
He was then interrupted by the roars of Papyrus out-of-control giant blaster. The poor summoner and his friends almost started another air rodeo session.
More disasters, just what exactly he needed.
Gaster emerged from the snow and slid towards the mayhem. “Egads!” He cried out, “THIS is why you can’t apply your training one to one, Sans Serif! Without the necessary mastery, his Orange aspect will make the blasters unruly. Impossible to control.”
Opportunity lay before Sans. His mentor got distracted by his brother’s shenanigans, putting himself in a vulnerable spot.
All he needed to do now was to aim and do something.
Anything… yet he cannot. His brother was too close; any action will put Papyrus at risk.
So he watched Gaster take over the controls, waiting for his next opportunity.
With a forceful slam, the old man yelled: “HEEL!”
Heel, the blaster did. It crashed straight down on the sidewalk and stayed there. After dispensing some advice, the man returned to his battlefield.
Undyne looped her arms around Papyrus to hold him back. The young skeleton kept struggling to free himself.
“NO! STOP! THIS IS A BAD FIGHT!”
“Paps, you can’t do anything about it!”
The big sister figure knew that the time for talking had long passed. What they’re witnessing now was a fallout from old festering wounds.
“CAN’T THEY JUST TALK NICELY?” Papyrus asked. “AND I THINK UNCLE GASTER GOT THE WRONG MAN BECAUSE MY BROTHER’S FULL NAME IS NOT SANS SERIF, IT’S COMIC SANS!”
“Ugh. That stage name.” Gaster pointed straight at the poor, clueless skeleton as he addressed Sans. “Look at that. Look. At. That. Your own brother doesn’t know your real name! Do you think I’d let you continue this atrocity???”
Fuelled by anger and emotion, the elder skeleton summoned a rolling wave of bones. Blue, orange, white, all mixed inside.
Sans dodged them as he responded: “He doesn’t need to know. It’s not important.”
“Tsk.” Gaster made a disapproving click with his tongue. “That shows how much you’ve underestimated Papyrus. Do you only see him as a baby bone who can’t handle the truth?”
Sans narrowed his gaze, retorting the hard questions with a warning: “I told you to stay away from Papyrus. Forever.”
“As if I’d listen to the requests of a fool,” Gaster replied.
Bone clashed against bone. Neither side wanted to bring out the cannons, knowing that the other might attempt to steal them yet again.
“Hah,” Sans grunted. “Always a comeback. Your routine’s getting dragged out.”
Gaster lifted his chin, looking down on his diminutive former helper. “Oh, I will recite volumes if that will convey the absolute truth. For example, you stole my textbook and performed an old, old sealing magic on Papyrus.”
He summoned multitudes of small bones, forming hexagrams. They spun overhead in erratic patterns, making it hard to guess where they will stop.
“Doing so at a tender age of eleven months crippled your brother’s mental capabilities. You’re fortunate enough that it wasn’t too serious. Perhaps he’s a little slow in standard academics and quirky in his reasoning, but his physical talents were left intact.”
The talking was a distraction: an auditory and emotional one. Knowing this, Sans tried to ignore… but he couldn’t stop glancing at his brother and his friends.
He noticed a look of horror on those faces. Yet, this was just the beginning.
The blue skeleton seethed, cold and bitter as his colour. “You don’t understand, Gaster. It hurt. It hurt him so much, he cried until he had no voice left and he almost tore the house to pieces. I had no choice but to seal him.”
“You should have brought him to me!” Gaster slapped a hand on his own chest. “I would have applied the proper methods of suppression and provided suitable education for the boy!”
“And turn Papyrus into a living Chronograph?” Sans replied. “I couldn’t let you do that. You’d just put him through the same pain as I did. If not worse. History is an ugly subject.”
Jabbed by the scathing accusation, Gaster stopped the spinning hexagrams. Orange beams then rained down upon the snap of his fingers.
Sans realised that he can’t use his teleports with this colour of magic. He must shuffle about in real time: keep moving as much as he can, without rest. He’s a goner the moment he stops.
The least tiring way to maintain that momentum was to strafe in a perpetual circle.
The elder released his grip on the hexagrams, letting them resume their unpredictable behaviour. He put most of his focus on maintaining the beams themselves.
“Fine,” said Gaster. “If you don’t want Papyrus to claim his rightful birthright, at least provide the rudimentary education suitable for his abilities!”
“I taught him magic. Is that not enough?” Sans said.
“For goodness sake, do you sincerely think that his strengths lay in that repetitive arrangements of white and blue bones?”
“Don’t underestimate the basics.”
In line with his own retaliation, Sans reached his hand out and forced Gaster into the rules of blue gravity magic. He let go a wave of blue and white bones, each and every one of those laced with the destructive poison of ‘Karmic Retribution’.
If Gaster chose to stay, the regular white bones would collide.
If he chose to move, the blue ones will trap him.
A simple yet effective situation.
The old man groaned hard. He was forced to dispel his hexagrams and focus on defense.
Try as he might, Gaster was reminded of why he backed away from the front lines. He didn’t have the reflexes or the reaction for a true battle. One of the blue bones cut through the old man’s shoulder.
Faint, violet particles ate through the wound like embers to wood. They prevented immediate regeneration, thus negating the main strengths of an Amalgamate.
To Sans, it was a simple concept to figure out.
Gaster mustered every bit of his inner strength to muffle his scream. He remained resolute, but his body had started to melt.
“…On some days, I regret teaching you the art of advanced magic combat.” Gaster commented. “This is one of them.”
Sans replied, “Too late.”
But Gaster was not going to give up just yet. He had Determination flowing through him. If he survived ‘The Core Incident’, he will survive this.
“Perhaps by drawing from your personal experience,” So he added. “You should have taught Papyrus how to cook. But no, you didn’t. You still taught him magic. Nothing but magic. I bet it’s because he begged you to do so.”
“Are you so burdened with grief that you cannot bear to watch Papyrus follow in your parents’ footsteps?”
His mentor always had a way to strike where it hurts the most.
Sans shut off his emotions. He cannot afford to lose his focus now, not when he had the upper hand.
His Eye flashed between blue and yellow, trying to manipulate time so he could land his final blow.
The sentiment was mutual. Gasters’ dual-chromatic set burned in greater intensity. Determination coursed through his bones, and thus supplying him with a far deeper source than Sans could ever dream of.
With unquenchable fire in his eyes, the Gaster declared: “You had denied Papyrus of his past, his present, and his future! From today onwards, I refuse to let him wither under your folly!!!”
Sans replied, “Go ahead and try.”
Both mentor and protégé threw caution to the wind. They summoned their biggest guns. Put everything they had into a single, huge Gasterblaster.
No point stealing from each other now.
Ready.
Aim.
Fire.
Two Seers. Two cannons. Two separate wills.
The resulting clash caused reality to fray at its seams. For a moment, snow and light was all anyone could see.
When the particles settled and the world healed, one emerged victorious.
It was Sans Serif. That nihilistic delinquent of an ‘assistant’ had finally triumphed over his master.
Gaster got his entire lower body blown off. He’s now just half the skeleton he was, lying face-down and broken in the snow. The decaying poison continued to gnaw at the edges of his wounds.
Menacing he may be, the scientist’s combat abilities were never stellar. All he had was knowledge after all. Mere theories. They can’t hold a candle to someone who had practiced them to the bone.
Without a word, Sans walked towards the fallen. He raised his blaster high above his own head with the full intent of finishing the job.
Gaster propped his remaining half up with his hands. “Sans Serif,” so the mentor asked in the most chilling of tones. “Are you going to kill your parents yet again?”
“My parents are dead,” answered Sans. Objective as ever.
“Your mother doesn’t think so.”
The amalgamate showed his right arm, riddled in scars that never healed. “I’m sure you recall this. You were seven. On the fourth day, you escaped from your safety confines and almost drowned in sand.”
“When your mother tried to save you, your powers scored the surface of her arm out of existence. Hence why these wounds never, ever healed. Even with Determination in our bones.”
“Helvetica put her life and career on the line to save you. This is definite proof that they live inside of me. You know it.”
Every bone in Sans’ being rattled from rage internalized.
“W.D. Gaster,” so he said. “You are an abomination. A desecration of their memory. My parents are dead. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Fire burned in his left eye. His armament followed suit. It opened its maws and began charging up.
“Please die.”
Gaster continued to glare. Even though he was at the last inch of his existence, he refused to surrender.
“STOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!”
A skeleton with a red scarf skidded across the icy floor on his knees. He stopped right in front of his new-found uncle, arms outstretched to protect him.
Papyrus.
The raised emotions made his Eye glow orange.
What happened? Had he escaped from Undyne’s grip? Maybe she let him go. Who knows? Who cares?
His brother was in the way.
“SANS!” Papyrus pleaded. “DON’T DO A VIOLENCE, PLEASE! THIS IS NOT YOU! NOT YOU AT ALL!”
His brother didn’t know better.
Of course, no one told him anything.
Sans gazed on him with tired eyes. “Gaster is a bad man, Paps. He tried to kill you.”
Gaster huffed at that statement. “Oh good lord, you still don’t get it. I was trying to keep monsterkin ALIVE! Create a utopia!”
“Utopias don’t exist,” the nihilist responded. “They’re just dreams. No one would be happy.”
“Oh, but you’ve never experienced it. How would you know? With dreams, hopes are created. I would have become the seventh and denied The End!”
“STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP! STOP THE ARGUING!” Papyrus cut short the argument, shaking his head and flailing his mittened hands.
“LOOK, SANS. MAYBE UNCLE GASTER WAS A BAD MAN IN THE PAST, BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN HE CAN’T BE GOOD RIGHT NOW! HE CAN GET BETTER. HE ALREADY TRIED TO BE!”
“HE TAUGHT ME NEW MAGIC! HE TAUGHT ME HOW TO COOK! HE MADE FRIENDS! WE HAD FUN TIMES CHATTING WITH EACH OTHER! HE’S REALLY NICE TO ME, IS THAT NOT ENOUGH?”
“No.” Sans denied straight at Papyrus face. “Please move aside.”
“THEN WHAT ABOUT MOM AND DAD??? THEY- THEY’RE INNOCENT!”
“Mom and Dad are dead.”
“NO THEY’RE NOT! THEY’RE HERE WITH UNCLE GASTER!”
Sans’ bones rattled harder. “Papyrus, you don’t understand. It’s not the same.”
“OF COURSE I DON’T! I’VE NEVER MET THEM BEFORE!”
Papyrus started to cry. This time, there’s no way brothers could joke about catching tears, or getting grit in the sockets.
For the first time in a long while, he shed true tears.
“I KNOW YOU’RE IN PAIN BECAUSE YOU HAD WITNESSED OUR SUPER DUPER COOL AWESOME PARENTS IN THEIR FULL GLORY! BUT I DID NOT. I COULD NOT. BECAUSE THEY WERE GONE TOO SOON.”
“BUT NOW THEY’RE BACK! NOT IN ONE PIECE, BUT THEY’RE STILL BACK. I… I WANT TO GET TO KNOW OUR PARENTS BETTER, SANS. AND UNCLE GASTER. AND YOU TOO… SO… SO I BEG YOU…”
Papyrus wheezed. His bones, quivering in their joints out of sheer primal fear for his family. “…PLEASE, SHOW MERCY…”
Sans found his resolve shaking. He may look stoic at the front, but inside he struggled.
Cut it off.
Cut it off.
Cut your heart off, and Papyrus will be safe forever.
From him. From… them…
How his outstretched hand trembled. It shook so hard, that he could no longer keep it straight.
In the end, Sans could not pull the trigger. Not because he had mercy, but he couldn’t bear with the thought of Papyrus fearing him -- their parents’ murderer -- for the rest of his sorry existence.
The looming blaster was dispelled along with its charged energy. Still feeling the jitter throughout his being, Sans turned around and slowly walked away.
He heard the aftermath behind him. Papyrus and his friends rushing over to the remnants of Gaster, asking if he’s alright. And the classy skeleton replying that he was fine. Despite having his lower half obliterated.
“Sans Serif,” so he was addressed. The old man won’t let him go about the name thing.
Gaster continued his final retort. “Whenever you let yourself waste away at Grillby’s, your father cried wondering what went wrong. I feel his grief. And he grieves for you right now. Only your mother insisted her dear ‘seraphim’ will one day make him proud.”
There was nothing he could say. If it was merely Gaster’s logic, he would have barked a rebuttal…
…Except this was dear father; he could never snark at his direct family, no matter how he treated others.
Never.
“Your mother named you ‘Sans Serif’ for a reason, you know. When she had you, she was so filled with hope. You were her angel, who will one day guide and protect our kind. And yet… you considered it so much of a shame that you kept it from your own brother.”
Sans gritted his teeth.
He prepared for a teleport. Just right before the jump, he heard his mentor drop one last scathing comment:
“Yes. Run away, Sans Serif. Run away. Some things never change. A Seer without dreams is but a dead skeleton inside. ”
…Yeah. Some things never change.
Trash will be trash.
A tornado of trash…
That’s who I am.