Judge Thyme said nothing as he waited for your next move.
First thing you checked, your item stash. It’s a free turn so it should be safe. Maybe. As long as he doesn’t pull a Sans.
* ITEM
* T. Harv. - ‘The Trap Harvester’, your family heirloom. It’s a huge DT battery in the shape of a double-sided pocketwatch. You’ve been storing it up for days now.
Oh no! Where are your monster candies?! You pocketed some food and a knife for this big day and they’re not there!
Somehow, only The Trap Harvester survived the transfer…
* ACT
* Check * Negotiate
You chose to check.
* Mezil Thyme, the Vampire of Time.
* A man burdened with fate. Tsunderjudge extraordinaire.
* ACT
* Check * Negotiate
You chose to negotiate.
You told him that you will take the Trial properly this time, but under a number of conditions. This is supposed to be a place of justice, right?
Mezil responded: “If your requests are reasonable, I will consider them.”
You asked Mezil if he could remove all the bullets from you and your parents. It’s uncomfortable to have a solid object embedded in one’s being.
“Fair enough. But I warn you that your chest wound will remain open.”
That’s okay. As long it’s gone. It’s pretty shallow anyway. Look, the flow stopped.
“Also, the memory bullet must remain in your Psychia for the remainder for the Trial.”
That’s fine too.
He reached out his right hand, palm facing up. “Return.”
It a simple command that did its job. All shots minus the one in your SOUL returned to his hand. That’s three in total, including the blood-soaked bit.
“I can do this because I have a Cyan Minor,” he explained. “This trait allows me to insert two commands in the space of one. A person’s colour affects their magic. Living Victories are no different. Since you are a Pure Red, I do not suggest you to copy any of my tricks.”
Noted.
* ACT
* Check
* HP ATK DEF… guess you can’t read those stats without Chara’s help. Not that it’s important anyway.
* You should note down what you know about him.
* Red / Cyan / Yellow?
* You have a feeling it’s Yellow since he’s so good with a gun.
* ACT
* Negotiate
You asked Mezil to send your parents to a safe space. This is your Trial, not theirs.
What about the Jury chamber?
“A wise decision.”
One of the side walls slid open. You hear the Jury beckoning your parents to join them. They’re not on their microphones, so it’s hard to grasp their exact words.
Dad seems surprised. Does he recognize someone in there?
You encouraged Mom and Dad to go. Reassured them that you’ll be fine. They’re reluctant, as you expected. But they don't have much of a choice.
Once they’re inside, the wall slid back in place. Everything seemed so seamless.
* ACT
* Check
* You’re not sure about it, but you had a feeling that Mezil is trying to teach you the Red Arts.
* Papyrus described him as a tsundere principal for a reason.
* ACT
* Negotiate
You requested a weapon to defend yourself. Preferably your own.
Mezil narrowed his eyes. “Frisk. This means you’re openly admitting your criminal potential. No one can object based on your tender age anymore. Not the Jury. Not even the Grandmaster. I will have the right to judge you as a fully responsible adult.”
You agree to those terms.
“Very well. Chronographer, if you please.”
A masterfully crafted knife materialized before you. It’s floating in mid-air, waiting to be picked up.
You equipped the ‘Knife’. It spun between your nimble fingers as you showed your slashing skills. Deadly style points, off the charts.
Gasps of shock and astonishment came from the Jury chamber.
“Huh? The lil’ whippersnapper’s a Gungnir Knife Dancer?! Number 1. You’re the resident expert, ain’t that right? What can you tell us about ‘em?”
“Yes, Number 6. You had just observed the first six steps of the routine. The complete moveset consists of 92 steps, which teaches the practitioner all the necessary combat skills: from the basics to assassination.”
“I believe Frisk had once called upon the name of their kin. Chara, was it not? Could you confirm, Judge Thyme?”
“Yes, Number 1,” he answered. “Frisk had once become the Persona of the deceased Chara, almost destroying existence as a Seven SOUL DEMON-GOD. You’re witnessing the proof of their skill.”
“The DEMON may be contained, but the knowledge remained. I see.”
* ACT
* Check
* Mezil Thyme, the Vampire of Time.
* His stoic face makes it hard to tell if he’s losing his patience.
* ACT
* Negotiate
* You want to know what happened in the past timeline.
Mezil huffed. “It’s rather tedious to play it like a standard documentary. Why don’t we raise the stakes? Fight. And we will see if you’re worthy of the burden.”
…You don’t want to use the FIGHT button at all. The knife you had was just for self-defense. You don’t intend to strike unless he does.
You reached out for the ACT button. But then, you heard yet another gunshot.
Another Marked pellet dug into your SOUL. A butterfly Mark blocked all access to both your ACT and MERCY options.
A weird sensation tickled your throat. When you tried to ask, you realised that you could say nothing.
“I impose my will to deny you of your usual tactics.”
Oh crap.
Oh. Crap.
He had just robbed you of your voice! In RPG terms this is a definite ‘Mute’ status!
So, this is how he wants to play?
That’s fine.
Dad forced you into a similar corner before. It doesn’t phase you.
Your sights locked on the gun. There's your target. If you could get rid of that, you win. Most likely. Hopefully.
Here you go!
* FIGHT
You dashed straight forward with the knife. The sooner you finish this fight, the better.
Mezil vanished. When he did so, you quickly turned around. It makes the most logical sense for your enemy to teleport right behind you.
Bingo! He’s there--
And then he’s gone again.
He just teleported twice in a split second!
The next thing you knew, one of the bullets grazed the tip of your ear.
Huh?
What’s happening?
You felt like someone slapped a screen right in front of your face.
One moment you’re in the Crimson Hall… the next, you’re looking at a news report?
Mettaton?
He’s hounded by reporters. In a fit of frustration, he cancelled the concert and retreated back to Ebott.
Wait, what?
You couldn’t wipe away the daze of witnessing that vision. Blood dripped down your ear and you even didn’t realise it.
“How does it feel to be Sans Serif?”
That question snapped you back to reality. Your shocked expression asked a universal question: what the hell did he just do?
Mezil noticed it despite the lack of words.
He said: “I’ve imposed the Chronographer’s data straight into your memory.”
Dammit. You got so caught up with Mezil, you forgot that he’s working as a tag team!
“If you recall, Ebott Town experienced a few months of fragile peace. At the time, The Gungnir thought that the Magi would oppose the Dreemurr Nation on the grounds of bad blood. When titans fight, it's best to stay on the sidelines after all. That changed when they realised that I had played them for the fools they are.”
“Well. As you can see, Mettaton fell into their trap like a moth to a flame. They twisted his fanciful, superlative statements as anti-human sentiment.”
Mettaton told everyone in the chat that Judge Thyme helped settle the vandalism issue.
Mezil just showed you the result if he hadn't intervened.
…You’ve got a bad feeling about this.
You SAVED your current position. This time, you’re going to use the Judge's tricks against him.
Be more cautious.
Anticipate his next move!
Remember, Mezil’s trained to counter every time you strike.
* FIGHT
He blinked away as expected. You teleported back to your previous position as soon as possible to gauge his new location.
It turns out, he’s always a step ahead. By the time you noticed the side-shot, it’s too late.
This time it hit your non-dominant arm.
Another vision flooded your sight. If this is what Seers feel on a daily basis, it sucks. Big time.
Undyne stood over the dead body of a teenager. His heart stopped beating the moment her spear shattered his SOUL.
It made headlines. Said that a monster inflicted unfair retribution for a simple break in. They argued that Doctor Alphys only suffered a slight head injury. Why must murder be the answer?
Mezil added: “Strength becomes meaningless when politics conspire against the strong. Behold: this is Undyne’s fate. Behind bars. Her spirit broken. The life she had taken in a fit of fury further fuelled the flames of hatred. More and more took Gungnir’s side.”
No…
No!
Be determined, Frisk! Don’t lose hope!
You know he's trying to get you worked up, hoping you’ll make a mistake. Relax your muscles. This isn’t a good time to get a spasm or a sprain.
…Ngh. A part of you wished that you had Sans’ physical laxness. You gained a new appreciation for his hyper-efficient fluid dodging.
There has to be a weakness on Mezil! You need to understand how he moves. In order to do that, you must ramp up the pressure.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
* FIGHT
You decided to be more active with your teleport markers. You ran all around the room, planting as many mini-SAVES as you possibly can.
Mezil realised what you’re trying to do and opened fire without mercy.
You blink back and successfully dodged the bullet. He switched his aim, but he’s a moment too slow. The next plastic bit smashed into the floor.
Aha, that’s it!
Mezil’s still human! A 50-year-old human to boot. No amount of badassery can change the fact that he will slow down with age.
Each dodge must be taking its toll on his body. This whole mini-SAVE business is quite stamina draining.
Confidence levels rose in your heart.
For each success, you inched yourself closer and closer to Mezil.
You’re almost in range.
It doesn’t matter if he starts another chain of teleports.
One strike.
After all of that…
One strike is all you need to win!
You drew back your arm to slash.
The circuitry in Mezil’s legs then lit up bright. He jumped high above your head, flipped himself upside down and glued his feet firmly on the ceiling.
Huh?!
He’s doing a Papyrus?!?!
Wait, that’s definitely not a Yellow trait! Isn’t that a Blue?!
Can he have four colours? No way! Maybe? You don’t know! What is his other colour? Red, Cyan, then--???
He’s taking aim for another shot. Move, move, move, move!
Zigzag around.
Stay erratic.
Don't stop!
…Crap. You have no spots on the ceiling to teleport to. Not to mention that it’s a literal pain in the neck to keep track of his movements!
While you panicked, Mezil struck you on the shoulder.
He forced yet another vision. This time, you’re looking at an epic showdown.
It’s the battle of the ages.
The whole town joined Sans to protect you. The Judge Thyme of the past dodged a massive storm of lasers, roaring fire, and a variety of bones.
You heard him narrating in the real world. The judge thus said:
“Anger and disappointment fed into your Determination to the point where you overpowered my initial Mark. It was about time anyway. I knew I could not keep you capped forever.”
“So, what did you seek with your newfound resolution? Independence. You demanded that the Dreemurr Nation remain a sovereign entity unaffiliated with the Magi: upheld by the Keys of Fate within your hands.”
“‘Why trust those who failed?’ That’s the summary of your choice. Admirable, but foolish.”
“If you were alone, I would’ve just ‘fetched’ you and ran the Trial right away. But, of course life is never so simple. You refused to fight me: instead you sent your best warrior to do the job.”
“Indeed, he's none other than the Seraphim. Your confidant. And your most trusted. Before I realised it, the whole of Ebott had turned against me. Some participated, others cheered.”
Papyrus tried to stop the conflict. If Mezil didn’t force him to stay back with his Mark, your cinnamon roll friend would have thrown himself right into the crossfire.
In the end, Sans managed to land multiple blasts on Mezil. Flakes of Karma chewed through the edges of his segmented SOUL. It also destroyed all clothing articles that wasn’t his underwear.
Sans tried to be cheeky. You could tell.
Humiliation was a valid battle tactic. It made a point that if you weren’t so merciful, Mezil could end up as atomic dust.
Except… things didn’t quite go as expected.
Mezil had all sorts of Gram circuitry tattooed into his skin. Magic code lay infused in anything that wasn’t his hands or his face. That sight frightened most of the Ebott citizens: just what kind of a person had they tried to tangle with?
You recognized the thirteen-point star on his chest. That’s the one he used to finish off Persona. It’s still there, ready to be summoned again.
“You seem mortified. As you should. You are no longer ignorant about the weapons embedded in my being.”
“Upon your foolish defiance, I had prepped the same bullets I utilized against Persona. Laid down the foundations while the brawl commenced. Imagine what would happen to the townsfolk caught in the trap? I’ll be honest with you: without so much as a fraction of Determination they would have died of a broken heart.”
“Yes. I was prepared to kill all who stood in my way for a better tomorrow. Why should I be concerned? I’m a DEMON, am I not? If I wrestled the Keys out of your hands, the lost would return with no memory of their demise. I could settle that mess under my terms.”
“Yet, in the end I retreated. Hoped for peaceful diplomacy no matter how nonsensical it seemed. Did my actions not puzzle you at all? The most feared Magi of my time, letting you go scott free? If you are still too dull to notice, let me jog your mental gears… “
“Don’t you remember the one friend who believed in you despite your darkest moments?”
The moment the recording ended, Judge Thyme of the Crimson Hall stood right in front of your face. His imposing self loomed over your head.
He reminded you of thunderclouds.
“Do you?” he asked.
Startled, you swung your knife across Mezil’s body.
* FIGHT
Wait, no, this is not what you want--
The sharp knife glanced off an invisible force with a loud ‘pling’. Mezil had a magic shield, a Green trait.
A part of you felt relieved. At least he didn’t get hurt, you thought, while the rest of you got ready to flip out. What the heck was his third magic colour?! You need to know that to come up with a plan!
Mezil tried to shoot your leg next. You braced for impact.
Instead, you heard the clicks of an empty gun.
…You actually made him run out of ammo. Is it over?
No way. He had to have some trick up his sleeve.
Will he try to use the whole DT-consuming Gram?
That compelled you to put your back against the curved wall. You really, really, really don’t want to be in the center of THAT spell.
“Hmph.” He huffed as he lowered his gun. “To think that you lasted this long. Here I thought that I could finish this in a single clip. I suppose I have proven my case to the Jury then. You are not a mere helpless child, despite appearances.”
The Judge blinked back to the same position as the beginning of this fight. He pushed a part of his coat away to reveal a slim belt pouch strapped to his belt. It contained a fresh magazine of plastic pellets.
Okay. It’s… a conventional reload?
Cautious, you raised your knife in preparation for what’s to come.
Then Mezil reached out his right hand towards you.
“Return.” His voice boomed through the hall.
With that command, he yanked out the bullets he had embedded into you.
Ouch! That hurt.
He held two bloody bits in his hand.
“Only so few… You’re better than expected. But, not good enough.”
“Blood. Determination in liquid form.”
Nope. It’s not conventional at all!
He smeared your blood over the top of the gun. You think it’s called a ‘slide’. Doing so turned the grooves of his pistol red with determination…
…Determination?!
“Determination’s greatest weakness is itself. I shall hound the life that courses through your veins. From now on, not a single shot will miss its target.”
“You are already ‘marked’.”
IS HE FREAKING SERIOUS?!?!?!
He fired a red glowing bullet. You tried to flee, but your tricks fell flat on their face. The bit slowed down and changed trajectory along with you. Ever homing.
You swung your knife towards the glow. Crossed your fingers and prayed to the stars that Chara’s knife skill was good enough to slice the bit in half.
It worked!
But it’s pointless because the follow-up came without delay.
A direct hit.
Linda’s group managed to excavate the corpses of the Six Children. It set the news portals on fire. The world reported on the heinous conspiracy of monsters hiding their murders under the mountain.
Reports suggested that the victims had suffered extreme levels of violence before they breathed their last. Some died in a single overpowered strike, others… not so fortunate.
Is this what Doctor Gaster tried to hide?
Another bullet knocked you off your feet.
Fire danced all the way up to the sky.
Angry mobs stormed through the flames, and into the lobby of the Magi’s Spire. Anyone who tried to stop them were beaten in a fit of rage. Students, staff members, and bystanders… the crowd spared no one.
It’s a modern-day witch hunt.
You took the third one without much chance to retaliate.
The scene switched over to Ebott Town. Screams of terror echoed into the smoke-darkened clouds.
Monsters died left and right to the brutal efficiency of gunfire.
An unfortunate Froggit was trampled underfoot. Popped into a puff of dust in a single step. You watched the mighty Dog Clan succumb to the masses.
While you staggered forward, you had become the bullseye again.
Dust of the fallen kicked up in the air, carried away on the embers of their burning homes.
You tried to evacuate with Mom. Cenna covered your back as you fled. There was hardly any backup.
Did law enforcement betray the Magi too?
Cenna had enough of the ensuing chaos. She threw caution to the wind and rained hell on the rioters. Many lost their limbs, if not their very lives.
In the end, she too got gunned down. The mob continued to charge forward, while the traditional Gungnir pulled her aside. They set her corpse ablaze to finish their ritualistic purging.
All the Magi who died in the defense suffered the same fate.
Mezil’s next bullet crashed into your back.
It’s intentional poetic irony. Mom in the past suffered the same. You tried to protect her with your body. And she refused to let you do so.
You argued that they won’t hurt you. They need you alive for their brainwashing plans.
Mom would rather die than to let you fall into their hands.
Tears dripped down your chin. No wonder Chara tried to convince you to destroy the world.
“Behold. The price of your independence. In an attempt to escape history, you only repeated it.”
“What is your answer now, Frisk?” thus asked Mezil.
“Do you still want to bear the responsibility of Ambassador? Not every outcome has the fortune of being this instant. Sometimes, it takes years before you realise the error of your ways. Though you could undo whole sections of your life, not everyone will cooperate. An ignorant self-justified ‘hero’ may try to take your life. What will you do then?”
…Hopelessness threatened to engulf you.
No matter what you did, or how hard you tried, you couldn’t land a single blow on Mezil.
He’s invincible. Experienced and mighty.
While you’re puny. Weak and outmaneuvered.
………………
No! Stay determined. There’s always hope: that’s the only way Mezil could endure this history of time-travel induced despair.
He’s not alone.
And neither were you!
* ITEM
* T. Harv.
* Use.
Your Big Sis gave you this watch for a reason: to protect yourself from this man!
You pointed the reversed-side of the watch at his general direction and released the stored Determination. The intense red glare blinded you.
You imagined that you’re gonna encapsulate everything except his gun. While he’s frozen, you’re gonna rush up and chop that weapon off once and for all!
The Jury’s screams of horror interrupted you.
“Frisk, stop!”
“Let go o’ M’lord this instant!”
“…Oh no… his legs are going to rot…”
Legs?
Rot?
When you peered past the light, you realised that your arm wasn’t straight: it’s tilting slightly downwards.
The red bubble of spacetime trapped only Mezil’s legs.
He’s in deep agony. Sweating bullets. Grinding his teeth. Trying his darndest to not scream. It’s a stark contrast compared to his calm composure from before.
He tried to fire the gun. Mark you to ban the use and effects of that item no doubt. But the pain was so great, he dropped the weapon instead.
You heard a new voice that you don’t recognize. A lady. Sounds very refined.
She said: “Cancel the Trap Harvester! A partial encapsulation inflicts ischemia to the afflicted zones! It causes embolism, leading to necrosis or cardiac arrest!”
This is not the time to use super-technical terms. What in the world are ‘ischemia’ and ‘embolism’?!
Did she just say ‘necrosis’? You had heard about it on crime shows before. It’s a fancy term for… tissue decay? The quiet Juror said his legs were going to ‘rot’.
…Oh god, what have you done?
You heard the hissy snake guy yell: “Why the fook are ya standin’ there ya doof? Let him go! Do somethin’ or I’ll get down there to whoop yer sorry ass!”
It’s not that you don’t want to. You can’t. Judge Thyme himself imposed the rule of ‘No Mercy’.
Using the item again doesn’t cancel it out. You need to ACT. Worse still, you can’t communicate your issues to the Jury because your voicebox got locked up.
You rushed up to Mezil.
“Release me…!” he growled.
You shook your head. As much as you wanted to do so. Until this battle is over, all you can do is…
* FIGHT
You raised the knife.
Right now, you probably just gave everyone a major heart attack, but it’s not your plan to attack Mezil while he’s down.
Instead. You plunged the blade into the gun with all your might. Dang. It’s so sharp that it pierced through the floor. You’re glad that nobody got stabbed or slashed by this.
Clause of victory: fulfilled. The fight is officially ‘over’. Now you need to get Mezil to release the lockdown so the both of you could spare each other.
You rolled your lips inward. Your pained expression begged him to stop this game and free you from his rules.
“Nngh…! Fine…”
The moment he said that, the butterfly Mark on your ACT and MERCY shattered. You hammered on the non-violent options as fast as you could.
* ACT
* Release
The bubble vanished the moment you selected that option.
Mezil collapsed on his knees, huffing and puffing. It took his remaining stamina to raise his arm and snap his fingers.
Time rewound. It looks like he’s not willing to risk any permanent injuries.
You were back at the other end of the Hall, but with a few key differences.
First, your voicebox was free of any forced limitations.
Second, Mezil leaned against the wall. Looks like his brain had yet to catch up with his functioning legs.
And the third most important detail: his gun remained stabbed and stuck on the floor. A red star shimmered at the the point of impact. That prevented the weapon from returning to its original state.
You… you did it? You actually did it!
You managed to make a REAL Mark! On the eleventh hour too.
“Chronographer… My cane, please.”
On request, a black cane materialized. Much like your knife. It floated right towards the Judge, and he took it without hesitation. Now he’s using it to support himself.
Huh, come to think of it… he had that fancy prop when you first met him at the whole exorcism hooplah. Then, it kinda vanished? If it’s a walking aid, shouldn’t it be by his side at all times?
You approached him.
* MERCY
* Spare. It’s yellow.
Finally, you could breathe a sigh of relief.
The victory resulted in 0 EXP and 0 GOLD of course.
“…Well played,” he said. “It may be accidental, but you were nonetheless resourceful enough to turn the tables. To think you’ve mastered the Mark on such a short notice. And I can’t say I’m surprised that Cenna gave you the Trap Harvester. It would be yours sooner or later.”
You apologized for trapping his legs like that. It was an accident. You wanted to catch the whole him just as Cenna taught you to do so.
Mezil didn’t respond.
You’re not sure if he accepted your excuse. You then asked if you can go home now.
A glint of severity flashed in his eyes. “Not yet.”
Huh? But the fight is over. You won. That’s… that’s the whole point, right?
“Disarmament: the removal of an opponent’s weapon. A valiant effort. But a temporary measure, nonetheless. Against the determined who’d rely on underhanded tricks, your naive ideals shall become your own undoing.”
Mezil straightened his back, making it clear that his strength returned.
“Yet here you are… ready to condemn me as a dictator.”
“Do you have what it takes to change the world? The more I observe, the more I’m inclined to say ‘no’. Yet, a so-called ‘forgettable’ person insists otherwise. If I stop now, I won’t be able to face him.”
Papyrus?
Did something happen to him in the past timeline?
An aura of simmering anger emitted from Mezil’s every being.
His eyes… th-they’re turning red!
“Secrets. Truth and lies. The principles of power for both the oppressor and oppressed. Nothing is as it seems. Yet reality remains undisputed. In such a world, the obvious is often overlooked.”
“This is the ‘Crimson Hall’. And I am called the ‘Vampire of Time’. You must have heard of it before. At least once. With little explanation. Allow me to educate you on the hidden meanings of those terms.”
Mezil tapped his cane on the ground. Square by square, from floor to ceiling, the opaque whiteness flipped into transparent glass.
Butterflies.
Hundreds of thousands of red butterflies fluttered above your head and underneath your feet. Maybe even a million. They’re so numerous, they formed an ocean of crimson within the void of black.
Optical illusion or not…
It's. Freaking. Scary.
Mezil pointed his cane towards the swarm as he explained: “Every butterfly you see within these walls represents those who had surrendered. Voluntary or otherwise. Consider them containers of determination, if that’s easier to imagine.”
“I made sure every single Red Major out there belongs to me. Otherwise, Gungnir could turn any one of them into their next Persona in a moment’s notice.”
One of the butterflies fluttered down. It touched ground on Mezil’s outstretched palm. This would have been a fairytale moment if he’s not a guy chock-full of killing intent.
“This one represents you. Your very own ‘Claimed Mark’.”
Holy bananas on a caramel stick! You’re a part of the system and you never even realise it?!
In hindsight, it all makes sense.
The lack of memories, the weird sensations, Sans’ seal…
It’s all connected to the fact that Mezil had already made your Determination his.
“The ‘Claim of Conquest’ is the primary method for a Supreme Judge to secure the Keys of Fate. This particular process requires access to The Void: the source of our power. In other words, here within this ‘Crimson Hall’. Nevertheless, I’m the only one who carries the moniker ‘Vampire of Time’. For a good reason.”
He crushed the butterfly in his hand. No, that’s inaccurate. He transformed it into raw power and absorbed it!
Your head spun.
Knees, jelly.
You imagined a pair of vampire fangs biting down on your neck, sucking the life out of you.
Mezil twisted the top of his cane, popping off the handle. You saw the gleam of sharpened steel. It turns out that the gentlemanly gear was not for show: it’s a sword in disguise.
You feel heavy.
Too heavy.
You dropped. Tried to prop yourself up with your arms. You failed and almost kissed the ground.
From the floor, Mezil’s footsteps echoed like the drums of war.
You looked up. He’s getting closer and closer. Cold sweat rolled down your skin. Drenched your back. Soaking through your shirt.
You imagined Chara mocking you from afar. It’s in character for them to do so, you think. If they still possessed your body, maybe -- just maybe -- they might whisper this into your ear:
‘Welcome to the real world, Frisk.’