Papyrus needed more context.
Rewind.
Replay.
Draw in more memories here, add more details there.
The flexibility of his magic boggled his own skull. He’s making a live documentary. No makeup, no censorship.
It’s the movie of life, frame per frame.
“How old was Sans when he graduated?” Asked Mezil.
“MAYBE SIXTEEN?” Papyrus said, “I WAS ABOUT TO START SCHOOL. AND WE’RE TEN YEARS APART.”
“That’s very young.”
“HE’S A GENIUS, NYEH HEH HEH! I JUST WISH HE’S LESS LAZY.”
It’s Waterfall, the harvesting grounds for waterdogs. Sausages grow on plants in the Underground. Prolific, abundant, and tasty according to the residents.
Sans had rented a small boat from the riverperson. He rowed down the streams with a basket on his lap. Whenever a nice specimen caught his eye, he’d stop and pick that.
All the while, he had a red scarf around his short neck. Half of his face was buried beneath it.
Hiding underneath the fabric was a wide, toothy grin. He was happy. Truly happy.
Mezil tapped his chin, pondering. “Hmm. I think if you put extra focus on him, like a peg, you could also rebuild his thoughts. Audio or visual, it’s up to you.”
“WHICH WOULD BE EASIER FOR YOU, MISTER MAGUS?”
“Subtitles, please. Written words speak clearest.”
With Papyrus’ help, an interface appeared before the Magus. Written down there were Sans’ thoughts. It generated diagrams too, whenever relevant.
Sans’ mind wouldn't stop planning for the business: the stand, the location, the strategies, the recipe of his father’s famous ketchup. A new life awaits.
Papyrus was amazed with the amount of content filling up the text box. “I NEVER REALISED HIS HEAD COULD BE SO BUSY.”
“I’m not seeing laziness here,” Mezil commented, “He’s very motivated about this business idea.”
After gathering his fill, Sans stopped at the dock with a basket full of waterdogs. He hummed a merry tune as he walked down the ‘rainy’ part of the cave.
Then, the path towards the boathouse was cut off by black goo.
Sans squinted at the substance in suspicion. “Uh,” he muttered, “Did someone just dump a whole lot of putty here?”
The inky substance soon gathered into a tall man of ever-flowing liquid. He towered over the short teen and stared down with great prejudice.
Sans dropped the basket and teleported backwards in a flash. Danger, he sensed. And his trained bones responded to the urgency.
“What the hell are you?” He questioned.
Gaster glared, flashing his Seer’s colours. “Tsk. Straight to the point, I see? I have no name for my condition yet, but I can tell you what it all entails.”
The man dissolved his right sleeve and let the blackness drip. He showed Sans the scars etched into his lower arm.
The teen’s bones started to rattle. “…Why…? Why do you have them? They belong to--”
“Your mother,” Gaster finished the statement for his wayward protégé. “Remember how you weaselled out of your oath by insisting that you swore on your parents’ dust and only their dust?”
The old skeleton exposed his left arm and crossed them both together. “I’ll have you know that they are no longer so.”
Distorted questions of confusion and disgust ripped through the thoughts screen. Sans’ Eye started to flare from the increasing effort to comprehend the truth of Gaster’s body.
When he did so, the mess turned into streams of data.
“I see now,” Mezil commented, “No wonder we kept seeing that blue blaze ever since your brother stepped onto the Surface.”
“HUH?” Papyrus blinked a few times.
“Didn’t you notice he flashed around a speciality that’s supposed to be secret? It’s not because he wants to, but it’s because he must.”
Pointing his cane towards the image of the teenaged Sans, he clarified: “He’s been analyzing everything. Pushed his processing power to the limit. I don’t think he’s in shape, hence the wisps.”
“Upon every repeat, I switched key details around to prevent dejavu. Send out different people, plan out different routes. Had Judge Caraway change hairstyles and cover her face. Yes, the kidnappers were all different contacts too. An elaborate trap against their operation while fulfilling my own goals.”
“And yet I still couldn’t completely mask my tracks. My options were limited and he had seen them all.”
When Sans finished his analysis, the fires intensified. “You… you…! How dare you???”
Enraged beyond reason, the youngster summoned two Gasterblasters.
Gaster’s own dual-chromatic set lit up in response. He locked Sans down in a time-freeze and reached out his left hand towards the boy’s weapons.
One yank put them in a daze, then he executed a series of hand signs. It overwrote the ownership and turned the blasters into his own.
Papyrus remembered the huge fallout in the snow field. The hijacking process happened there too.
When the time-freeze ended, Gaster pointed the floating skulls back at the boy.
The lack of experience was evident in this scene. Sans froze in fear instead of executing a quick counter.
“Sans Serif,” said the elder. “They are called ‘Gasterblasters’ for a reason. I’m their creator! Of course I’ll know their every trick.”
Gaster summoned two more of his own, adding the total to four. Four weapons of mass destruction confined in a narrow tunnel. There’s no place to run.
“Let me I’ll remind you that Seers are born with the ability to conjure ‘Skull Cannons’. Another manifestation of our human origin. It’s all a matter of improvement and passing them down to the next generation.”
“I’ve taught you everything I knew, which includes my versions of our heritage.”
Sans’ thoughts were filled with concerns for Papyrus. He considered fighting Gaster even if he was at a disadvantage, but who will take care of the little one?
Who’s going to prepare him for school?
Who’s going to feed him?
Who’s going to let him play with Big Sister Undyne?
Instead of attacking, Gaster made a demand: “Take back your letter of resignation from King Asgore. Be my assistant. You have a promise to keep, Sans Serif. Your parents are watching.”
The blasters then dispelled. He turned his back against his student, confident that there will be no reckless ambushes.
“I’ll give you thirty-six hours to report to my lab,” said Gaster. “And that’s generous. Thank your father for the extra time.”
Then that man slid away from the caverns of Waterfall.
Sans picked up whatever’s left in the basket and headed to Undyne’s fish-shaped home: provided by none other than the king, since she’s already his trainee.
Papyrus remembered now. “I WAS AT UNDYNE’S HOUSE, WAITING FOR SANS TO COME BACK WITH THE ‘DOGS. WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BOIL AN ENTIRE POT OF THEM.”
“…BUT THEN, HE CAME BACK WITH PERSONAL-SIZED HELPINGS. I ASKED HIM WHY. HE TOLD ME THAT HE GOT A JOB OFFER THAT HE CAN’T REFUSE.”
The scene played out exactly as Papyrus described. Sans tried to be happy for his cute little brother. Made his job sound awesome.
Little Papyrus was so, so overjoyed for him. On the other hand, the young Undyne noticed something wrong.
“Ah,” Mezil recognized her. “That fish girl grew up into the woman who suplexed the van. Undyne, right?”
“YES!” Papyrus answered, “SHE’S VERY STRONG.”
“Quite keen too.”
Undyne tried to talk to Sans. He continued to sidestep with jokes. Despite his cool front, Sans’ mind was filled with concern.
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‘If I tell her anything about this, she’s going to flip out at Gaster. And he’s going to turn her into a grilled fish.’
Stuff like that.
“Stop the playback,” Mezil said.
The images of the past froze in place. The old human then turned to the skeleton and asked an important question: “Do you understand what just transpired?”
Papyrus tapped the tips of his mittens together and said: “I THINK SO. UNCLE GASTER MERGED WITH MOM AND DAD. THEN. HE FORCED MY BROTHER TO WORK FOR HIM AGAIN.”
“Close enough,” Mezil answered. “He’s using them as hostages. The Amalgamation was an accident. But, Doctor Gaster exploited the results for his own gain. Your brother had no choice but to bend to his will. It may seem illogical, but this is love we’re talking about.”
Papyrus could feel more of those complicated emotions coursing through his bones. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact combination, but he knew fear was part of it.
“WHAT IF SANS IGNORED UNCLE GASTER?” He asked.
Mezil answered, “You would be the next target. You are your brother’s ‘Golden Quiche’ after all.”
Realising the stakes made Papyrus sick in his non-existent stomach. Yet, he insisted on pressing on.
“I WANT TO SEE THEIR WORKPLACE. I WANT TO KNOW THEIR REAL JOB.”
The Orange Seer reached out into The Void and drew in everything related to their work. The scene pieced together faster than his first attempt. Squares joined with other squares, until they’re whole once more.
From the caverns of Waterfall, they’re now in the interiors of a laboratory.
It’s dark. Gaster had the tendency to keep lighting low. To reduce eye-fatigue, perhaps? His colour combination may tax his sight more than usual.
Sans sat on a workbench, soldering the base components of what appeared to be an electronic visor. He didn’t wear his mother’s scarf.
Meanwhile, Gaster poured over the data on his computer screen.
“…Heh,” Sans smirked. “Feels like we’re in a sci-fi movie. Doing sci-fi things.”
Gaster acknowledged the comment with an absent-minded ‘hmm’.
“How’s it going there, Gaster?” The short one asked.
“Address me by my proper title, Sans.”
“Nah.”
The elder just sighed in response. On other days, he would have make a fuss, but tonight he just wanted to get this data done.
He said, “Kindly stop prowling the Underground at night and check in 10 AM for combat training with the Captain. It’s rude to make him wait for every lesson.”
“Oh, so we’re at the stalking phase now?” Sans grumbled.
“Well, your parents’ worry has seeped into me. I lent them my power, then we found you aimlessly wandering around while your brother sleeps. Chugging ketchup.”
“I hope you understand that you’re banned from alcohol. Should your powers go haywire Underground, we’ll have a cave-in.”
“Welp,” the assistant shrugged. “I’m a legal adult now. Can’t tell me what to do.”
“Are you telling that to me, or to your mother?”
Sans shut up.
Gaster started typing down the next step on a new page. He didn’t expect an answer, nor he wanted to hear it. “After your training, we’ll go to the DT-Extraction Chamber. It’s vital that our equipment won’t reverse in time whenever someone meddles with the flow.”
“Sure we got enough of them?”
“We won’t be able to extract the required amount in one go. The Six are not limitless. We’ll drain some, feed the SOULS with energy, then wait for their Determination reservoirs to refill.”
Mezil’s text box stirred, typing down Sans’ thoughts about the situation. ‘Nice. We’re milking Human SOULS like the fabled cows now. And they’re just kids. Some better race we are. I just want to troll Papyrus with more jokes, not do this dirty shit.’
Papyrus wasn’t too impressed by the scene. “THEIR REAL JOB SEEMS REALLY BORING.”
“Well,” he said, “They’re boring for those not in the know. Much of the work is in the data itself. Hours are long, with a lot of small details. We do have a vital clue though.”
The tip of the ebony cane pointed at the visor.
“Time to witness the end result of their hard work.”
Focusing in on the visor took them into the future past. Scenes of daily life zoomed past into a flurry of movement and urban colours. Although there’s no wind, a force made the ends of their clothes flutter.
Dear mother’s tattered scarf waved like a flag of a ship.
A new vision then began at Sans reading a report card. More thought-text typed themselves onto Mezil’s screen.
‘Wow! Papyrus passed on the first try! Oh man, he’s so cool. I thought he’s going to repeat a year, but nope. Phew, I’m so glad he’s going to middle school like the rest of the kids.’
Mezil looked at Papyrus, then back at Sans’ thoughts. “Why was that such an achievement?”
“ACCORDING TO UNCLE GASTER, I GOT MENTALLY CRIPPLED.”
“Nonsense! You’re perfectly fine. I’ve seen plenty of normal humans less bright than you.”
The approval from the walking image of a principal made the bloke shine in happiness. “NYEH HEH HEH! SO YOU DO SEE THE SMARTS OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS!”
Sans kept the report card in his bag. Looking outside the window, he spotted the new Captain Undyne delegating tasks to a patrol squad.
‘She’s all grown up too. Jeez, feels like yesterday when she was a squirt who ambushed me. …Heh. Great to see her turn out right. Better than me.’
Gaster called for him. The mood went from joy to bitterness in a split second.
‘Here we go. Work. Better not let Gaster see my grumpy face. He’s gonna nag me to no end if he does.’
So the short skeleton put up his iconic grin and acted fine. Years and years of practice perfected the facade.
Papyrus watched the two scientists put together a complex machine. After they finished the interiors, they fixed in a steel shell to protect the mechanism from environmental damage.
The end result was a fanciful pillar of spacetime technology. The visor Sans built had its own compartment. A docking bay, one could say.
“Huh,” Mezil raised a brow. “Interesting. We Magi have a Chronograph with a similar design, but much bigger and taller. With a lot more server capacity too. Science is more universal than I thought.”
Papyrus gasped and planted his mittens on the sides of his jawbones. “YOU HUMANS HAVE THIS CHRONOGRAPH THING TOO? OH EM GEE! REALLY?!”
“Of course. How else can I do my job?”
Once the tech was complete, Gaster pulled a chair over with magic. He sat down and wore the visor of beyond.
“Initiate attempt No.1,” he said.
Sans began keying the commands into the computer. Graphs and readings appeared on the screen. He’d observe, adjust the flow, then observe some more.
Next to the short one was an extra monitor. It’s offline for now.
Mezil tapped his cane on the ground and muttered, “I see. Sans is a living computer. There’s no need to waste time testing an automated system.”
Papyrus squinted at the human. “MISTER MAGUS, IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG?”
“Hm?”
“YOU ALWAYS TAP YOUR CANE WHEN YOU’RE TENSED.”
The Magus kept silent for a moment. “You will understand soon enough. Concentrate on the visor. See what your uncle sees. Make an extra screen while you’re at it.”
Papyrus increased his focus. When Gaster dove into the annals of spacetime, a new screen materialized from The Void’s fireflies.
Wherever Gaster went, the extra monitor recorded his sight much like a camera. That allowed Mezil to witness the data.
The prognosis was not good.
They found no salvation.
“THAT’S FLOWEY!” Papyrus pointed out, “EXCEPT HE LOOKS A LOT SCARIER. AND BIGGER. AND MURDEROUS. WHAT GOT INTO HIM?”
Wise and experienced, Mezil answered, “Boredom. This is exactly what happens when the power over time falls into the wrong hands. My predecessors and I curbed many of such menaces throughout history.”
Attempt number two. Another screen appeared. This time it showcased a mysterious plague that caused the residents to ‘fall down’ en masse. Anyone affected by it became unresponsive and apathetic.
It’s a sad, frightening sight. People kept sweeping dust after dust.
“EVERYONE’S GETTING SICK…” Papyrus frowned. How he wanted to reach out to help.
Mezil looked away. He had his limits too. “That’s what we humans call a ‘pandemic’. I’m not a doctor, so I’m not sure what’s causing the illness either. Never fails to give me nightmares, though.”
The next attempt showed Waterfall drying up. Without their lifeline, the society slowly died from the lack of resources.
“Hmph, ‘Apocalypse How’,” the human said. “Tsk. Looks like there’s a strong possibility I might fail to convince that power company to change locations after all. In our current point of time, that project has yet to finalize due to the emergence of your monster brethren. I bet they never believed there were people living under the mountain. Or they don’t care.”
What happened ‘above’ can affect ‘below’.
Gaster forcefully removed the visors, almost dropping it in his haste. His body roiled along with his heart when he realised the horrors of their fate.
“No… no…” He curled forward and buried his face into his arms.
Sans coped with the situation with the only way he knew: by putting up a calm, joking front.
“Guess it’s a ‘dead end’ for us, huh?” Said Sans, “I mean, we’re bones. Can’t get any deader than that. Heh.”
“Well. At least we’re prepared right? Go back home, spend time with family. Enjoy the days we have left.”
“Nothing matters in the grand scheme of things anyway.”
‘Except Papyrus’, Mezil’s text box indicated otherwise.
The elder scientist refused. He stood up with so much force, his chair was sent flying all the way to the wall.
“It cannot be.” Every sentence increased in both force and volume. “It cannot be! There HAS to be a way!”
Fuelled with determination, Gaster put on the visors once more. He forced himself to stretch far and wide.
The world around them exploded into screens of possibilities.
Without warning, Papyrus jumped in between the masses of screens.
Mezil almost dropped his cane from shock. “What are you doing?! You might fall--”
Green, glassy platforms chimed whenever Papyrus set down his boots. He used the shields to create paths, allowing him to run and jump.
The Magus sighed in relief. “Well, I suppose that works. What caught your interest, Seer?”
“I CAN’T FIND FRISK!” Papyrus yelled from the other end. “NONE OF THESE VISIONS HAVE FRISK IN IT. THIS IS AWESOME NEWS! IT MEANS FRISK HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH ALL THIS BADNESS!”
“Are you sure?”
“A THOUSAND PERCENT SURE!”
In the middle of that confirmation, the screens distorted.
They flashed in blinding red.
Then, an endless sea of nines tore through all the timelines. The monitors shook, thrashing about.
Nine.
Nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine.
Here Papyrus thought he won’t ever be surprised again. How he was proven wrong. “HOLEY MOLEY!” He shrieked, “WHAT’S HAPPENING?!?”
“Doctor Gaster’s Chronograph opened the floodgates of The End…”
An aura of violent evil oppressed Papyrus’ SOUL. Its sheer weight threatened to crush his body whole.
“I’M SCARED…!”
The reconstructed visions started to skip and tear.
Mezil held the youngster close. In times like these, experience shines brightest. “Calm down, young Lichborn. Concentrate on maintaining this memory. Remember ‘courage’: you will be afraid, but you will not yield.”
With his cane, he redirected the focus away from the horror. “If you falter now we will miss the most important memory. We must know the doctor’s final conclusion!”
Be brave, Papyrus reminded himself.
It’s only Chara: only a possibility. The future isn’t set in stone.
Bolstered by the encouragement, he focused all his magic on reconstructing the past.
After what seemed like forever, Gaster saw The End. He threw the visor down so hard, the casing cracked.
The screens displayed nothing but darkness. There was no light anywhere to be seen.
Gaster screamed without a voice, his entire being quaking and rippling. It broke Papyrus’ heart to watch his uncle suffer from the revelation. He tried to reach out to him, but his mittened hands just phased through the image.
In the end, the past remained the past.
As for Sans, he didn’t move an inch.
Mezil’s text-screen snapped in half. “This is bad news about your brother’s psyche.” He remarked.
Papyrus pulled back his brows and pointed towards the vision. “UNCLE GASTER’S NOT LOOKING SO GOOD EITHER.”
The goopy skeleton slid away from the Chronograph. The grin he had… it’s twisted by a mixture of hope, desperation, and insanity.
He started speaking in the cryptic language of hands.
Papyrus translated his uncle’s entry: “‘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?’”
Gaster finished his recording. Turned around to face Sans.
“Gaster…?” The protégé gulped.
“Waiting isn’t an option anymore,” thus said the scientist. “But, there is an answer to our predicament. The Seventh SOUL, let’s make it ourselves. We have the science, we have the resources, and we have the methods. The Core shall provide us with all the energy we need.”
Sans asked: “What are you planning?”
The doctor straightened his back and puffed up chest. Placed both of his skeletal hands right over his SOUL.
“We will all become one. The ultimate Amalgamate. We’re talking about every man, woman, and child of our nation. The combined might of our SOULs is on par with a human’s.”
“Together, we will break the Barrier.”
“We will never fear violence again.”
“We will never die.”
“We will never be alone.”
“This, dear Sans, is our Utopia.”