Sans teleported himself to a big city far away from Ebott and the Magus Association.
It took a few of the lesser-used shortcuts and a city map. No one would question where he bought dinner as long he arrived on time.
The girl behind the counter wasn’t sure how to respond to a short skeleton. It’s not every day a monster would walk in to order fried chicken.
He sensed a clear unease from her body language. Not that he could blame her. His appearance isn’t the most socially acceptable to human society.
Skeletons are their symbols of death. It will always be.
“W-what would you like to order…?” she asked.
He answered it with a different question: “Any recommendations for a big group? Like, eight people?”
“Including yourself?”
“Yup. Need to get the energy to live from somewhere. I understand that’s hard to believe coming from a guy made out of bones.”
More awkward nods from the cashier. “Okay… why not take the party bucket set?”
The portioning was fit for eight to ten people. “Looks good. Sure. I’ll have one of that.”
“Anything else you’d like to add?”
Sans added some side orders as requested. After paying the money, he stepped aside to wait for the staff to pack his order.
Cold sweat trickled down his neck.
I feel like I’m being watched. And I don’t mean by members of the public.
He scanned the fast-food joint. He ignored the curious and the judgemental: they’re not the ones raising a flag on his radar.
I can’t nail it down… Whoever it is, they’re not inside the building. I would have spotted them if they are.
Fast-food restaurants were called ‘fast’ for a reason. Before long, they had the huge meal boxed up, bagged, and ready to go. It’s a bit bulky to carry without a subtle aid of magic.
“Will that be all?”
Sans remembered. “If you don’t mind, can I have more packets of ketchup?”
“No problem.” The cashier then dropped a big handful in the gaps of the package. Since not everyone asks for extras, they don’t mind being generous.
“Thanks,” he said, “Have a good night.”
Then he teleported away as fast as he could. The last thing he wanted was to lose the gang’s dinner in some weird chase sequence.
He reappeared at an alleyway, the location of his first shortcut back home. The uncomfortable sensation stopped.
Huh, I guess I managed to shake off the trail.
Back to home, he hurried…
When he arrived at Asgore’s place, the gang was trying to figure out the seating arrangements.
Frisk lifted a finger and asked everyone to wait. The kid sped off to the the bedrooms upstairs.
Moments later, they reappeared where they once stood. It’s one of those Living Victory roll-back teleports. They donned Asgore’s top-hat: a leftover from the previous Halloween.
“This reminds me of a puzzle,” said Frisk. Everyone who got the joke laughed, including Sans.
Man, that series is such a huge hit with monsterkind. Who would’ve thought that humans could make crazy puzzles, huh? Everyone at Grillby’s owns a copy.
The kid’s puzzle was to seat everyone down with minimum discomfort.
However, there's a catch.
Folks with poor relations to each other must not sit next to each other, while others cannot be separated.
After a long ponder, they arrived at their answer.
Going in a circle, it’s the following:
Toriel, Frisk, Cenna, Asgore, Gaster, Alphys, Undyne, Sans. Then back to Toriel again.
Sweet Frisk knew their family enough to get this puzzle right on the first try.
If Toriel and Asgore were too close together, the estranged wife may get a little snappy. Hence why the kid wedged themselves in between the couple.
Cenna would want to eat next to her long-lost sibling. From what Sans observed, she’s on good terms with Asgore too.
Sans would prefer Alphys to swap places with Undyne. The strongest fish had exuded some intense aura lately.
But then, Alphys considers Gaster to be her ‘sensei’. Sandwiched between two people she admired… that would be her ideal.
Besides, setting Undyne next to the doctor might trigger some sparks. Not quite wise to put them together. Lord knows Sans would rather vacate the table than to sit next to his mentor.
Sigh. W. D. Gaster… If only I can talk to Mom and Dad without an unwanted third party.
Speaking of which, there’s still the Echo Flower extract.
“Hey, dinner’s served.” Sans plunked the bag on the table.
The hungry friends untied the bag and started opening the boxes. Delicious scents of greasy, seasoned chicken filled the air. It’s mouthwatering.
Asgore distributed the plates.
Sans scooted towards Gaster. But, he didn’t even try looking at the man. He talked to the skelemom residing in the right arm.
“Mom,” he said. “Remember the Echo Flowers?”
She signed back ‘Yes’. Just being addressed as a mother was enough to make her happy.
He presented a vial of light-blue liquid. “Welp. I think this extract may help mimic specific flavours. No clue how well, since I haven’t tested it yet. I’ll need to further purify the active ingredient first.”
Dear mother accepted it without a thought.
Gaster, however, had his doubts. He snatched the bottle away for a closer look. Even took a little sip of the unknown, confident in his invincibility.
“Ugh, that’s dastardly bitter,” he said. “Sans, you should know their echoing properties don’t lie in their chemical structure. But if your Truesight sees something I can't, who am I to judge?”
Sir Supercomputer had a suspicion that it won’t work, but there’s no harm trying. A success would make his parents happy. If it failed, then he’d have the treat of watching Gaster suffer for a bit.
“Whoops,” Sans shrugged. “Guess that didn’t work out. Sorry.”
He then shuffled to his designated seat and plunked his pelvis down.
Time to start eating. But… he didn’t have much of an appetite, that’s with ketchup included. There’s someone missing in this picture. One person that’s very dear to him.
Papyrus.
This get-together seemed so silent without his constant burst of energy.
Frisk and Toriel noticed the extra lethargy. The kid patted him on the back.
“S’okay.” He replied. “Paps will be back in no time. Right?”
They smiled back. “Yup. He always does.”
“Sans,” said Toriel, “You’re welcomed to talk to me whenever you need. I’m always available to lend an ear.”
“Yeah. Thanks. No guarantees if I’ll return it though, so I hope you have spares.” Wink.
She winked back. “I don’t mind you ‘phoning in’ through the little ear you stole.”
“That sounds a little ‘phoney’ to me. Sure you won’t serve me a gigantic bill on a plate the next day?”
“If that’s the case, I guess you can put it on my tab.”
This woman. What’s not to love about her?
The storytelling began with just a simple question from Alphys: “C-could you tell me more about the skeleparents, Gaster-sensei? Please?”
“Ah, for certain. You see, Roman and I met Helvetica on pure chance. It was Gyftmas season. We were having rootbeer on higher ground, scouting the events from better vantage. How old were we, Roman?”
The left hand made some motions. “That’s right. I’m eighty years your senior. And you were a man still early in your prime.”
Frisk gasped. “That’s a huge age gap!”
“Ah, Child of Mercy. Perhaps you didn’t notice due to the sub-par conditions of the Underground. But, certain monsters’ average lifespans stretch far longer than a human’s in comparison. The recorded census of a powerless Lichborn is 140 to 150 years old. That’s twice the human average, with true Seers reaching even greater heights.”
Being a lover of science, Alphys listened to the trivia with wide eyes of enlightenment.
“Anyways,” Gaster continued, “They had a special event that year. New Home’s Dance Club decided to put on a show at the fountain square below us. That’s when we saw Helvetica for the first time.”
He breathed a nostalgic sigh with a clear smile. “Oh, how elegant she was. She need not magic to turn her fan twirling-skills into a solo show of enchantment. Roman and I were shocked to meet a female kin in the first place, let alone a beautiful one!”
“When the performance finished, the group started to pack up. We two silly men scrambled to catch her. Goodness, we thought that if we lose her now we’d never see her again!”
“I tracked her movements with the combined powers of my Eyes. Since doing so would efficiently render me blind to my immediate surroundings, Roman had to lead me through the city. I still can’t believe this is the act of two adult men.”
Everyone started snickering at the image. Gaster included.
“We found the clubhouse itself,” he said, “Fuelled by rash panic, I summoned my Blasters to destroy any obstacle that got in the way. And that’s how we ended up in the women’s changing room.”
Guffaws and howling laughter followed.
Undyne pounded the table so hard, her chicken flopped out of her plate. “Oh! My! God! Really?! The great Doctor Gaster blowing the door down to the women’s changing room?!?!?! This is so ANIME!!!”
Cenna caught the drift. “Okay doc, who’s the one who got slapped and who’s the one who had clothes tossed in his face?”
Gaster answered, “Roman was the lucky man: he’s the one who only had to deal with costume fabric. I, on the other hand, had the misfortune of receiving the first of many Helvetica-style slaps across my cheek.”
“Are you bloody serious?!” The Magus exclaimed, “Holy smokes it really IS anime! Duuuude what the heck went in your mind? The changing room is like, banned forever!”
The embarrassed doctor protested. “I-I don’t sexualize a woman’s body! Risque it may seem, my intentions were anything but perverse!”
Toriel’s lips curled a cheeky pout. “Gaster had always been a little out of touch with social norms. That’s the result of spending too much time in his studies, I say.”
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
“Mom could dance…?” Sans asked.
When he spoke, the entire table hushed out of respect.
Gaster replied with a sad, gentle tone. “Yes. That was well before you were born. Eventually, life priorities prevented her from attending the club. Fell out of practice. Shame that you’ve never witnessed it…”
“Oh.” Sans stared down on his plate. “At least it’s not from an injury. Like, a sprain or a broken ankle.”
“Rest assured, it’s nothing traumatic.”
“That’s good.”
Sans returned to his meal, withdrawing from the conversations that continued to circulate around the table. He started to think. Ruminate.
……………………………
I can’t restore Mom and Dad. Amalgamation’s permanent.
I should focus on what I can change. Let’s see…
The kid wants to break the news after we finished dinner. Convince everyone to let them undergo the Trial. Cenna’s on their side, of course.
Tori and Undyne would be the biggest objectors. I don’t think I’ll have a problem with Tori. Undyne? That’s a different case.
…No one believed Papyrus in the past timeline, huh? I bet I had a key involvement in that outcome.
Sorry bro. I guess I’m a bit too influential.
It returned, that unmistakable sensation of being watched. Sans’ mind switched to high-alert, scanning the entire household for hints of a spy.
At the corner of the window, he spotted a guy in denim clothes and a motorcycle helmet. He’s stalking the corner upside-down like some house lizard.
The person’s stats popped into view.
Name: ???
ATK: 4
DEF: 1
AGI: 9
Right: Purple / Orange.
Left: None.
A Seer.
Dammit, really?! It’s as though the Surface is crawling with these guys.
Memory persistence. Intel based. Long range. That explains how he could watch me from afar.
He doesn’t have a Cyan or Yellow Aspect to lock his focus. Easy to slip away from with sudden or erratic change of paths, like a teleport. That’s a lot less annoying than Gaster’s combo.
The mysterious Seer knew Sans had noticed him. He started to sign.
Is that The Code? I can't read it. Maybe some sort of Surface variation?
Wait. No. He's making shadow animals?!
Sans grimaced. This man, mocking from afar. Ballsy nerve.
Then it read the following:
[You broke the contract.]
[Those who judge others will be judged themselves. So as the judger of judges, I question: what is your objective?]
Sans lowered his hands under the table, trying to hide from the rest in a discreet manner. He signed back: [No business for me to answer. You can hang there all day. I won’t do anything.]
The other replied, [Soon you’ll have a reason.]
That bugger plopped off the clasps of his helmet. Gravity threatened to pull the heavy object down.
The blue skeleton clenched his jaw.
[You. Don’t. Dare.]
Too late. The helmet dropped into the yard with a loud thump. It alarmed the gang: all their attention snapped towards the window.
Then the man scuttled away before anyone could get a proper glimpse.
“What the heck was that?” said Undyne.
“Did a roof tile fall off?” Asgore pondered.
Alphys shivered. “I-I-I saw something at the window before it ran away!”
“Me too,” added Frisk. They rushed over to the window and opened it. “Hey, it’s a biker’s helmet.”
Great. Just great. I’m stuck in that man’s game.
Sans stood up. His magic poison, ‘Karma’, consumed the oily remnants in his hands. “I’m gonna give chase.”
Before anyone could object, he teleported to the roof. No one in sight. Sans lit his Eye and initiated an intensive scan around his immediate surroundings.
There, he spotted the Seer scurrying between the trees. A streak of purple and orange trailed between the covers of budding branches.
You want a bad time? Be my guest.
Sans sliced through spacetime to get above the canopy. The fleeing foe was quite fast, but it’s pointless if Sans can estimate the trajectory.
Furthermore, Sans knew that he’s superior when it comes to the quickdraw. His own agility is higher than his target.
He summoned his Blaster, then aimed for the hipbone with the intention of letting the poison cripple the escapee waist-down.
This isn’t the right time to kill.
There were too many unanswered questions.
The laser ripped through an unfortunate tree, rotting it into brittle splinters. Yet, the true target escaped deeper into the woods unscathed.
Weird.
That should have landed a hit.
Welp, nobody said it’s gonna be easy. I’m dealing with an experienced Seer after all. There has to be some sort of trick up his sleeve.
Sans began a series of teleports. Did nothing but observe the enemy Seer’s movements and reactions.
Let’s see. He’s going max power just to outrun me. Not exactly efficient, but he has stamina to burn. By exploiting the sticky properties of purple web-style magic -- closer to Muffet’s than Lucidia’s -- he can traverse literally any surface…
I need to see how he dodges my next blow.
Sans conjured some bones and sent them flying into the canopy.
As expected, the other hopped down a tree and up a cliff. Another miss. Sans noticed an oddity in that man’s movements, though he had yet to identify its exact nature.
…The darkness of night and dense foliage makes it hard to expose him even with my Yellow.
Where is he taking me? This could lead me to a trap.
The thought of Lucidia flashed through his mind.
…I hope she’s not at the end of this chase. That would be awkward.
Despite the risks, he decided to follow.
The Purple one led him to a clearing. Then, the light of fire extinguished.
Sans found himself alone in the dark, surrounded by potential climbing spots.
“Good evenin’, mate.”
Location identified.
Sans snapped his sights there and saw the mystery spy perched on a strong branch.
His active Eye exposed the outlines of a serpentine skull: whatever rounded, human shape the bold man was born with hid under the crafted slopes of the beast he embraced.
Unnerving. This man underwent extensive cosmetic modifications. Possibly permanent.
“Me name’s Gaelic. ‘Tis been a long time ah wanna strike a chat with ya. In private.”
The way this slithering snake talked was miles different compared to his sign language. Understandable. The Code can’t really translate slangs well.
“Ah know what yer thinkin’, sir. Well, whether or not this be a trap depends on yer actions. Really.”
“So,” Gaelic continued, “Mind answerin’ me question? What’s yer objective?”
Sans slipped his hands in his pockets, trying to relax in hopes that Gaelic would let down his guard.
He replied, “Nothing important.”
“Oh? Why do ya think so?” Gaelic hopped over to a neighbouring tree. Restless. Curious.
The blue one shrugged. “Nothing really matters in the grand scheme of things. We all die one day, so why bother fighting? Just live a peaceful life and be nice to others.”
“So yer sayin’… that I be a paranoid coot thinkin’ yer got a sinister brew behind that grin?”
“Yup.” Sans answered plain and simple. “You’re overthinking it.”
Gaelic continued to question. “Nothing ever matters, ya say. Be at peace with everyone, ya say. Fine then, if futility is how we define our lives then why should ah be nice to anyone? ‘Cause bein’ cruel attracts trouble? Oy, if that be the reason then it’s all just a matter o’ convenience… is it not?”
The reptile growled, accompanied by a brief flare of violet. “Aye, that defeatist vision… It makes me wanna spit.”
“Oh ‘tis be why yer a husk o’ a being, seraphim,” said Gaelic. “Yer carry the stance o’ a brittle coward. If life be nothing, then why are ya slavin’ away fer yer brother’s sake?”
Sans responded, “That’s a personal matter. Don’t think you’ll understand.”
“Aye, ya underestimate me. Ya think I be a cold-blooded fooker just ‘cause I behave like a beast? Tsk, tsk. The Ebott folk recite that monsters be made o’ Love and Compassion, but do ya ever understand what that means?”
Gaelic continued to stalk around his prey. Tree after tree, branch after branch…
“There be a difference between bein’ nice and bein’ kind, and between bein’ kind and bein’ loving! It’s commitment! It takes little to be nice. A bit more to be kind.”
“But love? Love be a steep mountain.
Love be goin’ against all hardships fer the betterment o’ those dear to ya.
Love be both persevering and determined.
Love be fighting the entropy and despair even at the brink o’ death.
Love be hoppin’ along crippled together with yer fellow wounded souls hand in hand.
Love tells nothingness to go to hell!”
“Great things never come from nihilism. Aye, I dare say it be an insult to life itself.”
The blue skeleton chuckled. Laughed as if Gaelic had told the worst joke in the world.
Perhaps it is.
With a shrug, Sans said: “And yet everything ends someday. Even the greatest folks can’t evade death. Even if it’s not physical death, it’s emotional. If it’s not that, then it’s cosmic death. Basic Thermodynamics.”
“Maybe you knew this already, but I used to be a quantum physicist. I know what’s eventually gonna happen to the Sun, to the universe. Even if Boss Monsters are practically immortal, they will still die at the end of time itself. Provided nothing else kills them first.”
“As the Surface’s saying goes: everything is meaningless. So, all that talk about living? Eh. It’s just passing the time. You seem to have a pro-life slant. That’s okay. It makes you happy, right? Don’t let me ruin your day.”
Here came a full, venomous hiss. Gaelic opened his maws in a show of absolute disdain. He flicked his glowing, purple tongue. It’s made up of magic. Long. Forked at the tips.
He’s more of a monster than an actual monster.
A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Sans’ skull. Cursed his own poor luck. He understood that Lichborn were known for their odd behaviour, but why must he keep meeting the borderline insane?
Do all Seers have a screw loose?
Normal people don’t hiss like that.
Stay calm. Stay vigilant.
Gaelic crawled with a hunched back. “Me day’s been ruined ever since I hear that blasphemy fallin’ out of yer slobberin’ mouth! Do ya dare say that in yer brother’s face? That all his efforts are fer naught?”
Sans clenched his hand under his pockets.
“Aye, aye. Ah see now. Yer thought o’ it. But ya didn’t wanna break yer brother’s precious heart.”
“Why? If we follow yer philosophy, there be no meaning in life. Value? Nay. Total nay. There be none in yer life. None in yer friends. None in yer family.”
“Unless that defeatist stance just be a skin to hide yer true faith.”
Sans felt light-headedness rushing to his skull. What is this sensation? He doesn’t have an identifying clause for it. He questioned: “…What are you getting at, reptile?”
Purple flames illuminated the canopy in an eerie, subtle glow. The reptilian lips curled upwards to expose his beastlike fangs.
So the snake said: “Ya have a god, seraphim. His hallowed name be none other than The Great Papyrus!”
Something snapped.
Blasters, summoned.
Aim.
Fire.
A beam of magic sawed through the trunks of six trees. They collapsed and crashed, succumbing under the all-consuming wrath of the offended angel.
Why?
Sans clutched his chest. His outstretched arm shaking from the inferno ignited in his hollow heart.
Why did I do that?
No. Stop. Stay cool. This guy’s riling you up and you know it.
The bone reptile had long since escaped back into woods.
Gaelic's voice echoed in the darkness. He continued to haunt Sans like a ghost.
“Oh how cute. That be the actions o’ a fervent zealot right there. Ya acted the same when a certain trenchcoat Vanquisher implied yer lovely ol’ goddess suffered harm. Toriel, was it?”
Recalibrating trajectory.
More trees fell as victims of indignance.
That snake was never amongst them.
Don’t listen to him!
…………
No.
I must listen to him like my life depends on it.
Ignore the way he moves.
“Hah!” said Gaelic. “Offended, aye? Ya should. ‘Cause they be your everything! Yer a dead husk o’ a man, so yer cling to anything that gives ya the illusion o’ living.”
“Wanna know what ah find ironic, seraphim? In yer mighty effort to protect yer lil’ bro from the burden o’ a hero, ya handed him the heaviest, biggest, and most impossible o’ them all:”
He resurfaced from the shadows to point an accusing finger square at Sans Serif.
“You.”
Sans froze, stunned by the proclamation.
“Aye. That be it. Aren’t we lucky yer brother’s fookin’ oblivious? If he be a bit more perceptive, he woulda noticed. In yer heart, Papyrus must remain pure, ‘cause if he loses the light he be no different from yerself. Ya think if yer god has to leave this sinful earth before it stains and corrupts him… so be it.”
When the shock faded…
The Seraphim began to chuckle.
He dimmed his sockets before breathing out a long, drawn out sigh.
“You really like to ramble, huh? Welp. Whatever suits ya. But…”
Sans whipped out his left hand, pointing it five degrees to the right of the taunter’s very being.
“You’re blue now. That’s my rebuttal.”
Earth’s gravity lost its hold on Gaelic’s SOUL.
The surprise ambush shattered the illusion that once made him so elusive.
Gaelic gasped. He tried to scratch the enchanted colour off his being, but it’s useless. “W-wait. How?!”
“Seers can’t maintain time-freeze forever,” said Sans, “You’ve been running on a rapid switch. By staggering the freeze with your Aspects, you’ve created lagging visuals to conceal your real position.”
“Neat trick. But, there’s one little problem: sound’s slower than light, and its perception asynchronous. The more you talk, the better I can pinpoint the difference.”
“Let’s see how you’re gonna slither your way out of this one, scaly-ton.”
Sans swung his arm towards the night sky, tossing his unfortunate victim high above the safety of the canopies. Meanwhile he recalled how he had tried to smash the kid into submission down in Judgement Hall. Alas, that spot was far too narrow.
On the Surface? The sky’s the limit.
Gaelic flew upwards so far, he shot past the maximum limit of the cheated blue magic.
It’s going exactly as intended.
The bone lizard flailed, desperate for grip. Panicked ‘no’s’ stretched across the starlit night as he descended from grace.
He can latch onto walls. It’s possible he would try to throw a safety line when he reaches the canopy…
Like hell I’m gonna give him that chance.
The moment Gaelic fell in range, Sans latched on his enchantment again. Flipped him on the side before slamming him down onto the rough wilderness dirt below. It’s the combination of natural physics and the pressure of magic for maximum brutality.
A blood curdling cry overpowered the sickening snaps of fractured, dislocated bones.
Sans just stood there, contemplating on his next course of action.
I don’t get it. Why do some humans get a kick out of torture? It’s loud and honestly grating.
Power? Control? Too much of a hassle. I shouldn’t have taken this approach anyway. Lost my temper when he turned Paps into some human-history idol.
……………………
Agony racked his body, yet Gaelic attempted to crawl his way to safety with the unbroken half of his being.
The logical action now would be to peg him down.
So the assassin in blue pulled Gaelic close and pierced a bone through the metatarsus.
Again, more cries of trauma. The hunter had become the hunted.
“How about we make things simple for the both of us?” Said Sans, “Tell me who sent you here, and why.”
Bones rattling, Gaelic snickered. Between grunts and heavy breathing, he answered: “Ha… ah came here on me own accord. Heard yer name again and again… over multiple timelines. So. Thought I should see ya fer meself, aye?”
Sans commented, “Wow. You’re brave. Maybe too brave.”
“Indeed… many call me a fool. But. Heh, heh, heh… ah be a survivor. That’s me job.”
When Gaelic’s Eye flared up, the ground began to shake and loosen. Sans’ slippered feet struggled to find a balance in the localized quake.
A giant skeletal snake erupted from the earth. Gaelic managed to grab on the creature’s empty socket with his only remaining good limb. Used all his strength to pull himself onto the safety of his steed.
Each segment of the spine was as tall and long as a racehorse. There’s ten of them, not counting the massive head and its tapering tail.
Sans couldn’t believe it’s happening for real.
What the fuck, THAT’S his Blaster?!
The bone snake unhinged its jaws to spew out a thick cloud of glowing purple smoke.
Immediately Sans covered his nasal opening with a sleeve. His preliminary analysis indicated that it’s denser than air: made up of vapourized paralytics and irritants. Any monster or human who gets caught in it would be both immobile and in tears.
He teleported upwards before the smoke filled the whole clearing. Going vertical was the safest and surest way to avoid the chemical attack.
From above, Sans spotted the outlines of an orange spiral.
A beam?!
This guy really wants a bad time. Sans summoned four Gasterblasters, set them on full power, and initiated a series of quick rapid fires at the cloudy mess.
The force of the blasts cleared away the miasma.
Except Gaelic was nowhere to be seen.
Only an unstable collapsed burrow remained where he once stood.
Back on solid ground, Sans pressed the side of his skull, trying to estimate the tunneling snake’s exact location. Alas, the earth all sounded the same.
How the tables had turned: the prankster had became the pranked.
“Damn,” the shortie muttered to himself. “That guy got me good. What’s his name again? ‘Gaelic’? Isn’t that from some old human language?”
“Sheesh, I’m so scared now.” Despite his statement, Sans chortled. “You Surface Seers are sure something else. This is what we call adaptation, huh?”
Sans dusted his hands and turned towards Ebott Town.
I’ve wasted too much time.
I need to refocus my efforts.
Soon, everyone will be safe from the threats of the Surface.
Tori. Papyrus.
Please wait a little while longer.