The days passed. A couple days turned into a week, and a week turned into two. That turned into a month, and still, things went on.

Gradually, Gaster became slightly less worried about Sans hurting Papyrus. More and more evidence supported that the white streak in his Soul was Pure. Gaster was still pretty cautious, as something like Sans' trick and attack were hard to forget, but the data eased things along.

Sans, for his part, completely hated Gaster and tried to be the best possible brother for Papyrus. In fact, it was only for Papyrus that he didn't try to kill Gaster, as he knew that would hurt Papyrus immensely. And he still cooperated for Gaster, if only to ensure that he got to keep seeing his brother. But, he still regularly remarked on how much he hated things, and quite regularly engaged Gaster in verbal battles, as well as the occasional verbal war.

And Papyrus was Papyrus. He loved his brother unconditionally, and did everything he could to get Gaster to lighten up on Sans a little. He helped Gaster with whatever he could, as long as it wasn't painful to Sans. He stayed hopeful that he could help Sans, or help Gaster find a cure.

And he continued to ask about getting Frisk to meet Sans.

If there was one thing Gaster and Sans agreed on, if for different reasons, it was that that could be a very, very bad thing.

~o0o~

"... Do you not like puns anymore?"

The question was so abrupt, both Sans and Gaster both stopped what they were doing and looked at Papyrus.

For his part, Papyrus was kind of glad that Sans hadn't really been making many puns since he became Corrupt. But Sans had said multiple times recently that if Papyrus was happy, he was happy, so Papyrus wondered if he had only stopped because he knew Papyrus didn't like puns. But, then, Papyrus wanted Sans to be happy, so he would willingly put up with puns if Sans really liked them, and then he had asked the question so suddenly he had kinda surprised himself.

Sans was sprawled across the cot in the cell. Papyrus was sitting on the floor next to the cot, and had been working on homework. Both doors to the cell airlock were open, so that, as Gaster said, "if Sans does something, I can get there faster" and were only closed when Gaster and Papyrus left the lab now. Gaster was sitting at his desk, working on something, or, he had been before Papyrus asked his question.

"um. can... can you say that again? i think i misheard you." Sans had his head sticking out over the edge of the cot, looking confused at Papyrus.

Papyrus dutifully repeated the question.

Sans' expression changed from confused to shocked, and from there, to an almost... pained look. "uh... i-... well... the corrupt army... puns are... kinda discouraged there... and, uh..." Whether it was intentional or subconscious, Papyrus didn't know, but Sans lifted his fingertips to brush the edge of his left eyesocket, his cracked sphere of a pupil flickering out of existence for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. "and if ya do it anyway... they kinda... beat it outta you."

Shocked, Papyrus took a minute to absorb that. Then, noticing how Sans' expression was becoming increasingly more distressed, he leaped to his feet and hugged Sans tightly.

"It's alright, Sans." He murmured. "You're here, safe, not there. And... you don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to."

Sans wrapped his arms around Papyrus and hugged him back. "... thanks, pap."

And that was the end of that discussion.

Mostly because Sans didn't want to talk about it.

Also some because Papyrus's cellphone started to ring.

Sans let go of Papyrus so the smaller skeleton could fish is phone out of his pocket. He recognized the number, so he answered the call and put the phone against his skull.

"Hello, Frisk!"

"Hi, Papyrus. Toriel sent me over to deliver something. I think your dad may have asked for some pies or something."

Papyrus put his hand over the receiver. "Hey Dad, did you ask Ms. Toriel for pies?"

Gaster had gone back to doing whatever he was doing at his desk. "Hmmm... I don't... think so... but, I'll take 'em anyway. The queen's pies are the best in the Underground!"

Papyrus relayed the message across the phone to Frisk. They laughed a bit.

Then Gaster recommended to Papyrus that he go get the pies from Frisk, since they were still standing in front of the Gaster family's house. Papyrus told Frisk he'd be there in a few minutes.

Then he looked at Gaster. "Hey, Dad! Can I bring Frisk here?"

Gaster stopped what he was doing and looked at Papyrus. "Papyrus, we've been over this..."

"Please?"

"... You just won't give up, will you...?" He murmured to himself. Then, to Papyrus, "I suppose so, on the condition that they keep it a secret, and Sans promises he won't harm them."

Both Gaster and Papyrus looked at Sans, who gave a shrug in reply. Papyrus decided to take it as a "sure, whatever." shrug, and went to go get the pies and Frisk to bring them back to the lab.

~o0o~

Roughly twenty minutes later (one and a half for the elevator ride up, a little over eight to walk home, one to talk to Frisk, a little over eight to walk back, and another elevator ride,) Frisk and Papyrus stopped at the door to Gaster's lab.

Frisk was looking around curiously. They had been in the lab before, but never the tenth floor. They found that the hallway was more or less exactly the same as all the other hallways in the lab.

"Okay," Papyrus said, snapping their attention to him, "this is really, really important. First of all, what's in here is gonna be really surprising. Don't panic. Second, he's really dangerous, so try to be nice, and be extra careful you don't accidentally irritate him. Third, you can't. Tell. Anyone about this. Alright?"

Frisk hesitated, a small bit confused at Papyrus's use of pronouns. But, they nodded.

"Okay. Good. Let's go."

And Papyrus pushed open the door.

"pap! you're back! and i smell pie!" Frisk had heard that voice only a few times, but it wasn't one they easily forgot.

When they had fallen underground, Frisk found the Ruins full of hostile monsters. After dying and intentionally resetting to try something different a good many times, they managed to sneak out... into a similarly populated town in a snowy forest. More deaths ensued, but they escaped into the wet caverns.

There, it was less hostile territory, more a neutral war zone. They had made it halfway through Waterfall when a troop of Corrupters found them. They figured, what the heck, not like death stops me anyway, and made a break for it. The Corrupters gave chase.

Just as soon as they were about to collapse, they ran into a small niche, hoping to find a hiding spot, and instead found Commander Sans. What he had been doing out there alone, they didn't know, and had never asked.

But they were grateful for it. He had looked at them, and said "heya. you're a human, right? that's hilarious. i'm actually supposed to be on watch for humans right now." And then he had lifted them up, slung them over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and full-out ran back to the Pure camp.

From there, he had taken them to the mess hall, treated them to a burger, then set them up with passage to Hotland.

He had also told them that Asgore would probably try to kill them, but he was rooting for 'em.

Then they saw him again later, in the final corridor before they met the king. He had told them he was proud of them, for making it so far without participating in this duststorm. And he asked what they would do when they met Asgore, and either had to kill him, or let Asgore kill them. And he had told them, that if they were a soldier under his command, they would have top ranks, for not giving up.

And then he had died.

Now, he was sitting in some sort of fishtank-like cell, wearing the Corrupt insignia on his shoulder, studying them curiously, one eye covered in cracks.

"Hello, Frisk." Gaster was sitting at his desk, but he had pivoted in his seat to greet Frisk. Then he nodded pointedly at the box Frisk was holding. "Any chance that's a pie, and you can give me a slice?"

They giggled a little and walked over to his desk, and slid the box onto the desk. Gaster thanked them and began pulling the box open.

Frisk thought it was strange; back on the surface they had always heard, on the few occasions when the topic had been brought up, that food was never allowed in labs. But Gaster seemed to totally disregard that, using a knife of mysterious origin to cut himself a slice of snail pie and eating it with his bare hands.

They shook their head. Monsters were weird like that.

Then Papyrus was grabbing Frisk's hand, and leading them over to the airlock-style door of the fishtank-cell. It was open, and Sans watched them quietly as they entered.

Papyrus led Frisk over to Sans. "Sans, this is Frisk! They're a human! Frisk, this is my brother, Sans! He's not dead, by the way."

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then, Sans said, "we've met."

Frisk stuck out their hand for a handshake. "Never formally introduced, though."

For a very long moment, Sans looked at their hand. "... kid, i'll say this once. you're a human. if there's one thing the corrupt are compelled to do more than kill pure monsters, it's kill humans. humans have strong souls. i can feel yours right now. i'd really, really like to rip it outta your chest, and, in fact, for papyrus's sake, i'm really struggling to refrain myself from doing so. but, of you touch me, if we have physical contact, i can't promise it'll be weak enough for me to resist. if i shake your hand, i will most likely accidentally intentionally kill you. and that would make pap unhappy, which would make me unhappy, not to mention gaster would probably lock me up here and never open the door again." He paused a moment, then added, "so please don't touch me."

Frisk, deciding not to mention that they could just load their SAVE file if Sans killed them, just smiled, nodded, and lowered their hand. "... I don't think I ever got a chance to thank you for saving me in Waterfall."

Sans shrugged. "at this point, if i hadn't, the corrupt would have gotten you, and that would help me. so it's not a thing worth thanking me for, because i regret it."

"Well, I still appreciated it."

Sans looked at Frisk for a moment, then his grin widened. "... you look like you have a stupid question to ask me. the only thing worse than stupid questions are the stupid expressions people make when debating to ask their stupid questions. well, actually, no, it's pretty amusing. but you still have a stupid question i'd rather get outta the way, so out with it."

"... You keep talking like you're on the Corrupt side, but I thought you were the commander of the Pure army."

"that wasn't a question."

"... Fine. Why?"

Sans smirked. "why what?"

Frisk smiled, alright with Sans' games. "Why do you keep talking like you're on the Corrupt side if you're the Pure army's commander?"

Sans voice took on a dark undertone. "because i am corrupt."

"... Oh?"

Sans seemed to consider for a moment, then shrugged. "eh. ya already know i'm alive, might as well show ya and save myself the breath." (Frisk decided here to not point out that he was a skeleton and didn't need breath.) He reached down and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, then lifted it.

Frisk looked with a small bit of shock at the dark Soul with a white streak through it.

They pointed to the jagged line. "That doesn't look Corrupt."

Sans shrugged again and let his shirt fall back over his ribs. "i love my brother."

Frisk was silent a moment longer, then, "... Can I ask... what happened to your eye?"

"... i mean, i can't stop you if you do."

Frisk looked confused.

Sans clarified. "you didn't ask about what happened to my eye, you just asked if you could ask about what happened."

They smiled. He was clever. "What happened to your eye?"

"it broke."

"How?"

Sans frowned. These questions were beginning to get on his metaphorical nerves. "don'chya have homework to do or somethin'?"

"Yeah. Papyrus, can we do our homework together?"

Papyrus grinned. "Yeah!"

Sans, meanwhile, did something he hadn't done in a rather long time: he pulled his hood low over his eyesockets and curled up on the cot, facing the wall, his back to the world.

~o0o~

Sans supposed the human was alright, as far as non-Corrupt, non-Papyrus people went. Which is to say, he generally hated them.

Still, Papyrus liked them, so he would put up with it... as best he could.

There was the small issue of their Soul, and by that, he meant it was actually a fairly large issue. He had made the problem seem like it wasn't as bad as it actually was, but it was horrible.

The strength of their Soul would have been ridiculous, had it not been so painful. The raw power, just sitting there, begging to be claimed. It was like a siren song, calling to him irresistibly. He wanted it.

He wanted it so badly.

That would hurt Papyrus, though.

It was like something larger than him, something stronger, pulsing against him, suffocating him.

It would hurt Papyrus.

Each pulse pushing him to take it, and his scrambling for breath between pulses, struggling against using it to destroy this p̛̜̜̯i̼̙t҉̠̳͔̫̝̮i͘f̡̪̥̘̗̗u̸l̝̻̝̮̘͓ ͚̤̞͉̗ͅd̷͓̪̩̼͓u̖͓m̰̺̳͈̣͓p̮̤̦̩̹͓̥,

Papyrus.

take his captors and crush their Souls with his b̝̱͓͎̜̞͜a̫̣̪͔͇̱̺r̞̣͕͖e̵̗̬̣ ̰̲͎͇̳h͚̜̲̘̩a̻̺̙̘͡n͓̹̕d̺̀s̲̙̞,

Papyrus.

destroy their p͇̝̮̬̙̥̬a̛̹̺t͓͙̰͡h̰̹̙ȩ͙̜̪̥t̤̣̩̙͉̲i̭͖̬͉c ͎͚͕͍̫̖̣͘a̛͎̳̥͈̬̬ͅr̳m̫y̨̞͇͖͇,

Papyrus.

ṛ̲͎̼͙̗̲͔ͨͥͮ̐ï̶̸̦̥͙͕͉̼̜̯ͫ̈̈́̇͝ṕ̪ͩ̏ͥ̒͌͘ ̱̞̯̮͎ͧ̿̀͢a͑̇͊́̎̑ͣ҉̗̬̖̠͈͡p̵͚̳̳̺͓͕̖̺̱̿́͋̃́ȧ̫̋̚͢r̵̖͉͙̩͊̿̆̒ͦ̍̂̿ͅt̵̴̤͍̜̭͚̙̯̱̓ͤ̈́͊̇́̄͡ ̨͈͛͌ͦͤẗ̗͇͚̺̣͍̝͎͓́h̉̅̃ͦ̋ͫ̚͏̩̱̥̜͎͈̘e̯͍̠̥̯̫̰͇͌̎ͦͧ̆̐ͧ̍ͅ ̨̰̬͑ͩ͢ś̶̬͋̏̀ͣ͌̅͛m̜͙̟̱̜͙̿ͥͅa̼̙͚̓̀͆ͯͦͬ̂̚l͉͔͚͍̺ͪ̂͊͗͘͢͡l̥̫̜̭̦̉͊ͮ͑̈̄̊̈ͅē̎҉͏͚̫͖̥̣s̨̭͇̗̹͓͓̞̔̽̃̔t̡̛̲͙͖̿̊ ̫̣͇ͤ̄ͩ̄͢͝͡s͒̇ͣ̇ͭ͐͗͊͏̷͎̬̙̪͈̺̺͢ͅͅc̸̾̋̈́͞҉̭̳͙̘r̛͎̼̩̣̙̹͖̯͍̚͜͡ą͎̱̹͆̆p̵̣̙̯̥͕̂̒̒̽ͭ͂ͦ̑ͣ͝ ̬͚͔̹̹̰̔̇̀ͯ̽̆͌͟o̮̺̹ͬ̒͂̏̒͑ͣ̃͜͠͞f̱̙̜̺̤̺̲̦̖ͭ̑ͣ̈́͑͋̊́ ̅̂̀͏̯͇͕̗̠̗r͎̪̲̗̻̥̺̞͆ͦͨ̍ͬ́͜ę̢̯̳̒̏ͯ̔ś̵̖̳̜̬̀͡ȋ̝̺͍͔̞̤̫̽̍ͮ̉s̽̃̉͏̴̠͚̩̩̣̼͚̥̜ţ̠͈͎͎̉̏̔̓͘a̷̗͚̜͇̗̙̼ͣ̆̓͗̏̓ͭ̚͟ͅn̸̥̝̋̅ͫͮ̑̚c̠̘̹̯͍͎̙̻ͪ͒ͨ̅ͧ̅͆ͨͅe̠̱͕̜͍̩̣ͯ͗̆̉́̄ͤ,͗́̋͏̪̳͙̤͕͍̮̕

Papyrus.

D̻̳̠̫̺̙͍̠̰͖̹͕̖̹̳̮̻̒ͤͧ̋̃͌̀͟E̛̼͕̹̣͓͔͍̰̖̱̰͈̥͖̩̅͂̏̉̈̀́͢͡S̷̮̗̤̦͙͉̻̫̟͐̃͆̈́̄ͦ͋͘T̸̸̠̬͈͉̣̰͕̗͇̱̼͉̪̞̺̩̖̗̖́͛̿̀̾͝͠R͖̣͔̱̪̮̯̩̥̥̗͇͙̯̩̖̪͆ͧ́́͞͝Ȍ̷̸͕̘͓̭̪͔̙̮̻͉̞̭͔̥͖͔̯̩̗͐̄ͥ̓Yͣ̇̇̄̆̽̑̈́͠҉̨̹̯̫͕͕͡ ̢̹͇̹͇͎̥̯̲̟͈ͦͣͤ̓̾ͯ͗ͤ̽̍͌̔̑͐̂̃͊̑̒̕͢ͅT̸̂ͣ̃͌̒͛ͦ̋́͆̆҉̛͏̡͖͖̯̜̣̩̰͈̬ͅH̸͙͕͇͇̭̹̬͕ͫͬ̋ͦ͟͝͝Eͩ̄͑̿ͮ̊ͣͩ̍́̂ͫ͌̇̌͏̶̳̟͍͖͔̖̫̕M̴̧̢ͧ̇ͮ̄ͯ̿̓͒̔̉̅̍ͬͪ͌҉҉̘͎̥̞̦ ͐̾͆̂ͮ͏̼̱̩̭̣͙̖͍̳̱̟͇͙̰̮́͡Ą̭͓͍̠͔̻̳̝̳͍̟͚͕͈̹̰̓̂ͤ͊ͬ̅ͮ̐ͤ̀̕͢L̸̵̹̻̰͚͌̅ͪ̋̈̈́ͭ̇̒ͨ̔͗̚͢͝L͚̺̘̫͍̂ͩ̔̈ͨ͐̍́̕͘͞!̸̷̟̯̱͙͍͕̬̘̪̰̬̙͔͇̙͓̣̄̄ͪ̔̔̃̌͛̽̂̆̿͢͠!̨̼̦̞̠͔͇̳̣̻̩̙ͯ̈́̔ͪ͐̇̐͑ͩ̀̚͘ͅ ̴̸̢̛ͨ̒̌̿͂̿͗̿̏̈́͂͏̣̺͈̯͉̤̘͍͉͔̳̠̝̭̟K̨̩̞̠͚̻̭̖͈̙͓̼̻̳̍ͣ̍͌ͥͮ̅̃ͦͬ̂͆̂͑͢I̹͇͇̼̦̼͔̣̼̻̜̟ͪͩ͂ͭ͐͑̈̋͒̽ͨ͊̍̀͢͡L̵̷̷̢͔̬̳͉̮̤̺̜̘̤̳̹̲̱̩͚̱̿͆̓͊̉́́͆͑̌́ͯ͒ͦ̍̚͘ͅL̶̢̛̪͎͖̪̖͖̰͈͈̣̇̽ͤ͊͡ͅ ̴́̅̅̊̒̃̃ͧͯ̔̈͋͘͟͏͍̠̲͖̞̯T͔̦̖͔̱̙̰̥̻̯̳̞̳̠͈̞̤͂̈͆̋ͮ̈́ͯ̒̃̽̆̽ͫ̀̉̚̕͞H̴̡̫̣͖̹̫̠̗͇̼͍̓͌͌̓͂̔ͩ̌̋̇͗͌͐̋̂̇ͣͨͥ͟͜͞E̷͔͉͎͔̮̓͊͋̂̉͊̃̀̔ͬ̒͆̉́̚M̡̖̬̣͇̰̘͇̬ͥ̀̓̓͘͟͟͡,̇͌̓̎̈̌҉̜̬͍̲̜̮̳̹̳͎̣͖̺̟̭̠͕̤̕ ̢̻͙̪̝̮͖̹͎͔͔̪̩̭̭̟̫͔̌͋͌̌̒̎̀̿͆̌ͨ̿ͯ͒̐ͥ́͘͜͝ͅȚ̸̴̡̗̺̦̫̻͉̦̦̹̩̠̜̫͕͖̘͕̔́ͣ̓̂͒ͪ̑ͪͩ̓̚̚͝E̡̛͍͎̤͎̘̪̯͕ͫ̽͐ͬ̔͗̕͟͝Aͣ͐ͥ̍͗́̀͜͏̪͍̫̬͍͟͞R̢̖̻̹̊͛̒͂̆̉̆̂̏̋͆̏ ̴ͭͯͭ̏̔̐ͧ̄͟͜͞҉̲̜͖̲͍͉ͅT͉̼̭̱̘͈̹͕̹͓̳̱͕̞͖͂̃͛̉̀̃̆ͤ̀́̈́̊̎̚̕͢Hͯ͐̉́ͯ̐̆̇̉ͥ́͋ͣͮ̔͒̚͝͏̠͔͕͇̰͖̘͙͖̟ͅͅE̡̥̞̯͈̦̹̻̹̹͓͚̹̞̰̳̯̽͌ͯ̿̍̕Ṃ̡͍̘̻̯͓͍̮̌͊ͨͥ͌̄̔̓ͣ̐̃̇̀ͅ ̴̨͉̩͕̺̪̈͋͋̾̋̒ͯ̐ͫ̌ͨ̍̌̒̀Ả̷̧̻̻̘̼̠̭͚̠͔̬͖̜ͯ͗͌̽ͥͩ̍̿̄̎ͧ̚̚͠͠P̧͈̞̗̞̠̤̜̰͉̠̬̒̿̈́̈́́̓̅͆̓ͭͣ̓̀͜A̷ͫ͛ͧ̃ͧ̊ͮ̉ͬͧͦ̌̿ͮ̀͆҉͙̲̪̭͢͝R̨͚̗̙̗̲̹̬̬̦̣̼̜̫ͩ̂̌̎̆̿̂͒̀̋̓͋͐̎̚̚̚͢Ţ̤̠̹̻̳͈̫̰̲̪̟͉͎̬͔̰͚̙͊̔̈̈́̊ͮ̂̃̂̈̌ͪ̈̍ͨ̈́̾̀͘͞!̷̵̻͉̺̯̰͔͙̥̫̻͍̖̦̩͔̺͎̹ͧ̃̈́̄̑ͩͤ̉ͩ̚͘͝͡!̻̤̹̪̳̥͕͈̑̈ͩ̂̍͊ͦͣͩ͒̇͌ͩͦ̐̿ͬ̚͢͡ ̡̢͓͔̮͛ͬ̃͗̔̌̌̊ͬͩ́́̚M̵̃̅͂̅͘͏̴̻̯͖̪̭̲͚̘̥A͑͊ͭ̅̽͆ͪͫ͗͗ͪ̇̓ͤ́͜͠҉̭̱̞̮̤͓̬̯̟͍̖̮̤̩̺K̡̛̳̹̣̫̘̘̜̩͍̜͖̖̞̖̣̞͛̿͋͋̌̍̌͊̔̄̚Ë́̇̽̆̀̌ͣ̆̇͑ͤ͐ͫͪ̂̀͏̙̼͎͓̳̹̻͓̺̘̦̼̲͚̗̠̕ͅ ̳̟̮̾ͭ̓̓̈́̀̕͜͝ͅT̀̉̆ͯ̈̈ͣͩ̌ͪͭ̓͗ͩ͟͏͏͔̤̜͎̘͔͚̪͙̭̥͕̰̤͚́ͅHͧ̋̀ͭ̏̀ͬ̍ͩͮ̿̎͑͏҉̸͕͍͓̞͉͖͈̣̟͕͈E̢̖͇̫͛ͪ̋̋ͫ́͢͜M̸̸̧̯͍̥͇͚̦ͣ̋ͩ̋̋ͯ̊̊̌̇̆̔͌͋̇͊͐͟͝ ̷̨͇̯̳͇̟̠̖̟̩̰̾̉̏̀̉̍͆͑̔̂ͬ̍̽̽ͭ̐ͧ̇Ẅ̵̡͙̤̯̹̬͙̗̘̘̭̻̙̥̼̳̮͈̯ͧ̈́ͤ̅ͩ͑̂ͧͮ͜Ạ̢̡͔̼͇̺̞̮͉͍̺͚̲̖͔͈͍ͨ̽ͤͦ̇̀͢ͅT̷̺̩͍̝̪̜̖̮̖̺̳͉̘͚̤̲̖̪̾̇̾̆̇̄̏͜ͅC̢̢̘̲̲̱̝͓͚̘̥̪̘̟̙̙̰̥ͤ͋ͫ͋̆͛̆͂͒̍͊ͭͬͫ̃͡H̉̓͆̄ͭ̅͐̓͘͏̬̩̥̻͎̪̩̟͓̯͞ ͩ̒̋̄ͧͥ̊͏҉̧̫̦̰̘͙̜̦̯͙͜A̯̜̭̮͍̺̩̝̞̺͕̗̜̜͎͔͐ͤ̐ͣͪͮ̍͆̃̒͋ͪ̎̔̓ͮ̽͟ͅS̷̸̶̖͓͍̞̝ͨ͌̈́̂͂́͗̈̽͗͛̎̓̀ͤͬ̚͘͞ͅ ̷̪̭̯̗͓̣͓̗̞̠̗͔̼̩͓̦̖͍͇́̒̓̍̃ͥͯͨͦ̐̅ͧͫͨ̕͟͞T̨͂ͦͬͣ͏̶̵̡̲̩̭̥̩͕̣̣̭ͅH̶̸̡̲̫͕̤̟̲̆ͦ̆̈́ͭͧͯͦͪ͛͑Ȩ̡̟̟̘̬͌̓̽̇̐͜I̧̜͕̗͇͒ͥ͆̐ͮͩ̀ͬ̋ͭ͌̀ͣͤͫͬ̚͟R̶̨̨̯̝̜̪̝̰̜̫̙͚̝͕͖̜̉̉̎̅̆ͣ͑́̊̄͟ ̷͔̤͔̱̤͚͕̦͇͚͑̀̾̐͊̉̒͒̈͊̆ͣ̐̉̔̿ͤ̈́͞ͅF̷̧͓͕͔̳̜̳͎̘͕͙̙̙̼̘̼ͩ̑͒͂͋ͬ̐͞Ā̢̩̺̦̼̟̱̥̤͓͂̃͂̂̑̂ͭ̊ͨ̀͂̓͞M̢̞͙̰̻̫̦̪̼ͥ̾̓̆̐̓ͫ͂͢͠͠I̡͙̤̜̯̝̖̺̠͍̗͙̰̺̪͋̉͛ͦͩ̌̅̌̆̓͐̓ͭ͐̀̅̔͟L̴̼̞̹̬͚͌ͮ̿̾͗̄͊͆ͨ̓ͫͤ̾̿̀́̚ͅĮ̸̢̗͇̱͉̟̳̗̱̩̗̞͚̹͔̦͒ͣͬ͐̽͊͐̿̌̓ͫ̓̃͛͗̚̕ͅE̵̥͈͕͍͊ͭ͋͒͜S͖͔̝̥̲̳̮̠̮̪̠̟̔ͫ̓̃̽̎͂͆ͨ͠͡ͅ ̛̛͍̺̥͓̲̘̱̪ͧ̾͊ͫͦ̆̅͟Fͫͮ̏͏̷̶̥͈̪̱̙͓͓̣̜̝̝̪̝̟̬̻̙̩͜ͅA̖̫̙͗̇̈́͆̍͑͛́ͮ̀͡L̴̡̑̈̍̐̎ͬ̃͝҉̶̘̪̖̬͚̙̮͙L̨̢̛͉̻̜̥̫͍̎̄͋̒͐̽͛̂̈́̔̉̍̎̊͂̾ͯ̐͒̀͢ ̆̆͊̽͗ͫ͊́͐̉̚͞͏̸̰͈̙͇͙̰̩͕͇̻̜͇͉̙̤̣͟ͅB͗̉̽͛ͩ͒̍ͥ̈̔͊̆ͩ͑ͯ͂͊̚͏̸̣̣͙̘͝͝E̡͔͔͚̙̜͇̼̲̭͉͉̹̳ͫ̒͒̋̽͋͌̆̂̚͞ͅF̸̭͎̮̟̟͎̖͂̀̍̾̉̿ͣͨ̉̊͑̃̀͘͝O͆̃ͥ͐̆̊ͬ́ͬ͒͛̆̈̚͡͏͖͙̯̬̝̖̜̫̞̱͕̰̟͖͘͞͞R̵̡̘͓̞̺͖̪͉̖̪͓̱̠̤͆̑̊̔ͪ͆̈̎ͪ̃͢͡E̢̤̹̱͂ͪ́̚̕͡ ̷̵̜͓̺̠̙̩̙̱̗̪̜͉̲̫̱̇ͮ̋̈̑͒̿ͮ͐͞͞T̎̔͂̓̀̏̅̇͛̑͊̄҉͏̤̘̦̞̲̜̺͕̀́Hͪ̅̅̔͟͏̧͚̩̮̳͘ͅE̸̸̼̭̤̖̠̟͓̗͎̙ͭ̉̀ͥ̄̍͢͡͝ͅM̸̟̮̟̹͔͈̬̲͇̹̳͓̂́͆͗ͨ͂̃ͮ́ͪ̄͐̃̚͟͜ͅ!̉͊ͮ̏̒͊ͮͥͯͬ̆̕͞͏̢̪͓͎̳̩̘̲̣̭̱̹̝̫̳̖̟̺̰!̷̴̢̭̗̱̰̳̻̯̺̗̫̑ͥ͌̓ ̷̅̓̈̅̽̎͒͒̚҉̞̼̪̣̬̭̟̲̭͎̜̦H̢ͬ͆ͥͤͭ͜҉͕̯̝͈͈͕̟͉̠̠̺̯̲͘ͅO̴̵̡̡̳̮̪͔̱ͮ̃ͧ̓͋̀̃ͪ̓͑͡L̈ͨ̎̇͊ͤ̆ͭ̋̓̆ͥ̿̓̎͢͏͎̤̯͔̝̟̫͍̞̠Dͫ͌̀͑̆ͫ̇̃ͫ̑ͮ̎̓̔̐̉͒̍҉͏̭̘͔̗͍̕ͅ ̶̪̥̯͉͔̱̪̯͈̫͍̳͔͙̏̓ͭ̇̒͆͗̃̂̏͌ͥ͗ͅͅTͪͫ̎ͩ̏̾ͨ͊̌̑͗̄͂ͭ̍͆̆̿̚͏̼͙̤̻̟̤͚͙͉̩̬̗̩̤́ͅͅḨ̡̫̪̠͇̝̜̒͑̎ͦ͛͘Ȩ̷̢͖̯̯̭͉͍̜̠̩̝̔͌̃̇̓̒ͭ̋͌I̶̸̻̘͇͙̹̫̣ͭͮͩ̎̓͢Ŕ̸̴̛̥̮̙̝̱̞̭̳̲̖͎͓̳̹͇ͩ̃̈̔͋̆̑ ̼̣͙̝͓̖̘ͩ͌͑͗͒̀͛͌͋̃̽̽̃̓͡ͅS̩̙̬̜̪͇̜̖͚̮̹̪̺͚̮̦͂͊̅ͣ͋̆̈̅́O̽ͣ̽́̋̀̐̐̈҉̨̡̨̯̗͎̰Ȕ̾ͫ͛̀̎̏̋ͩ̇́҉̶͏̠̻̱͇̩͚̝̖L̢̢̧̦̗̣͙͚͈̗̞̮͎͉͙̥͂̌̅ͨͧ̇ͪ͐̈́̈́ͫͮ̂ͫ͋̑̎͊͢͠S̄͌͒͐ͣ͊͂ͥͪͮͭ̋̈̉̿͌̾̚͏͏̙͓̺̜ ͒̈́͂͒̇̏͒ͪͦͮ̏̉̌̒͏̟̩̥͙̥͈̲͇̫͙͖̦̻̼̭̰̹̪̀I̢̨̦͓̰͎͙̥̾̔̌̾Ņ̴̦̮̣̬̯̇ͮͬ͊͆̽͘͡ ̸̧̢̩̱͓̭̜̩͆̇̊͆́̃͂̊̌͂ͥͭ͂̂̑ͬ͐F̋̓ͭ̑̆̆͞͏̹̹͔͍̘̻̝̹̖͇̳̪͕̀͘͡ͅR̶̨̢͖̲͍̥͓͎̩̣̣̮̘̝̫͎̣̤͓̦͐ͪͪ̍ͭͧͩͤ̐̓̌̄͑̍̕͜Ơ̵̷̸̭̩̫̘̹̙͊́̓̽͋̐̑́̾͊ͪ͋͢ͅͅṄ̋͊̋̋͒̊ͤ̐̾̊̒͢͏̨̥̯͙͙̥͓̪̞̙̗̱̟͙̟͍͖͇ͅT̨̮͍̙̯̮̹̺̣̙͙̝͎͚͖̪̝̲̉̔̽̓͋̿̌̋ͥ͠ ̖̥̮͙̭͎̖͆̇ͦ͂͢͝Ȍ̴̫̖̞̙̠̹̖̙̳̪̞̞̙̱͖̝̲̾͗ͦ̎ͨ̈́ͥ͂̊̑͞F̷̷̛̳͉̖̥ͥ̅͑́̒͌͗̇̌̍̒̆̊̒͒͆ ̧̢ͧ̌ͫ̄̇̎̒̇ͤ̒̒͛̚̚҉͜͏͕͎̘̜͕̩̰T͋ͦ̂ͥͣͧ̊̈́͏̷͏̩̗̠͖͔̫̠͉͕͢ͅḨͤͫ̈ͥ̅͑ͨ͑͏̵̢̰̞̜̙̳͓̤̙E̹͓͍̘̳͉̙̭͙̪̞̍̇ͪ́̚͘M̝͕͚͕̣̜̦̈́̉̾ͮ̆͊̈̊͑̓̉͆͗͋̓̑̚͘͘͝ ͑͊͌̋͊̃̃̈́̒̌̚͏̢̛͉̘͉̘̘̳͇̖̺̠̹͖̖̰̟̺̙͝Ă̡͎̟̣͔̻̬̲̺̯ͨ̓͑͆̈̊ͦ̇͋͞͡S̢̛͙̝̘̻͙͙̺̭̱̅͂̎̄̏ͣ̅́͝ ̸̢̛̯̳̘̦̬͚̳̙̫͖̟̯͇̘̪ͬ͒͌̎̎̾̅̇̿̃͝͞Ţ͒̎̆͑̓̑̓̈͐ͮͪ̔͒҉̡҉̖͕͈͇̗̫̘̙̹͔͕̳͙͈H̷̥͎̙̺͉̦̜͕̥͊̽̌̄̀̏͆̕͟͡ͅͅË́ͧ͌̅͒͒̊̎̈́̆̓̓ͤ̓ͬͮ̌͏̤̩̪̖̗͈̮͜ͅÝ̶̧̧̖̖̙̰̦͙̮̺͎̻͚̝̘̦̈͗̒ͪ͂͐ͥ̈ͥ̓̽͝ ͮ̈́͊̃̾͋͏̀̀͏̘̳̠̭͉̣̲̘̦̥̩̞C̃̐͗̏̈̌͑͛ͭͧ̿̽̌̈̈͏̴͔̩̜͈R̦̱̝̹̞̰͙̩̻̮̥̘͊̂ͫ̂ͭ̌ͪ̍̽̕͟Ų̵̴̬̥̻͎̗̺̇͒ͪͬ͗̉̎̉̓͂̊́̿ͭͭ͢͞Ṁ̡̢̛̻̞̹͓̣͔͇͈ͦ́̐̉̎͟B̷̷̨̟̼̳͈̳̰̫̩̺̝̗̲̦ͭ̒ͨͤ̓̃ͦ̃̓̅̈́͞L͛ͪ̌͋ͤ͊͏̢҉͉̖̭̠̠͍͉̰͙͙̘̯̮E͙̖͈͎͇̫͔̟̹̭͈̖ͤ̐͗̉ͪ̑́͘ ̧̛̣̟̖̭̩͚̦̳͔̥͒̉̉̓ͫ̔̀̀͠ͅT̷͓̺͙̩͉̒̄ͩ̉͗͟͞O̴̴̤͔͇̱͚͉̣̩͉͓̣̗̖͚ͨ̾͋ͮ̒͌̂̇ͭͤ̾͜͜ ̵̜̳̠͚̯̤͎̦̠̙͓̜̙͚͓̲ͫ͌͆̎͐̀̀͜D̶̅ͫ̽̎͑ͤ̀̕͏͎͉͇͓̯̼̜̲̘̦̼́U̷ͩ̎͊̔̋̀̐ͥ̋͛͗̄͌̈̇̈́̽̎͝҉͏͖̻̪̦̟S̵͛͐̋͑̆ͭ̎̏̈́̿̾̒͢͝҉͏̙̤͖̺̤̮̺̞̻̜͎Tͮ̅͗ͩ̂ͪ͌ͫͤ͗͞͏͏̷̧͉͇͖͙̳͓̜̲̯̻̮̰̪̱͎!̨̡̯͙̠̣͔̖̻͙̳̪͉̆ͨ̍ͪ͐̀͟!̧̮̖̰͓̼̫̪̌̑̊̑̐ͧ̋̒ͭ̑͐̈́͆ͫ̋̋̓̀̚͠ͅ

Sans! Sans, calm down! Sans, it's alright, calm down!

He was screaming. Howling in the Corrupt language. What he was saying, he wasn't exactly sure, except he got the impression that it was very violent.

T̶̿̏̍͊͠҉̤̞̯̱͖̟͍̯̳͚̮̞̟̜̹Hͨ̒͂̔ͦͨ͆ͤ͑̇̈͆ͨ͐̈́ͯ҉̸̺̝͎͇͕̯̭̣̯̜̖͓̀̀͜Ȩ̶̰͎̤̼̟͍̤̫͓̲͑̍͐͌ͣͩͯͅY̸͚̪͍̱̫ͦ̊̒̏ͥ̾́̚͘͡ ̴̨̭̥͚̩̼̰̱̫̰̳͔̤͖̯̬̘̣̫̈͂̀̈́̾̔̀ͣͣ͒̄͛ͫ̿̂͐̅͛ͅC̸̢̹̯͉̩̘̪͖̮̯̭̱͇̣͇̳͕̑ͪ̈́̀̎̔̚A̧̢̨̱͉̘̖̜̝̣̼̯̘͔ͤ̿̓ͬ̌̽̌́̍̌ͪ́̚͘ͅN̖̝̣̼͉̥̣͉̯͔̼̪̱̐͂͒̔͢͡ͅ ̸͔͓̩̥̣̱̞̤̥̺͙ͦ́̈́͗ͣ͋̒́͂̕͟D̨̻̮͇͔̹̲ͨ̓̔ͨ̉ͬͯͣ̑̐͞O̰̲̜̭̠̣̭͕̩͎̠̥͓͛ͧ̋͘͝ͅ ̴̵̛̰̮͓̲̥̹̝̺̯̱̬̘̼ͤ͌̈́̽̽ͨ̓ͅN̋̂̇ͣ͆̕͢͟͡҉̜̪͕̯̭̗̲̜̺̙͕̠̼̼͔O̵̶̥̬̞̬̺̪͚̠͈̖̳̹̗̽̇ͨ̀ͨ́ͪ̚͝͡͠T̶̸̢͓͎̯̙̤̺̹̩̜̟͓̣̫̹͍̳̩̐͛̾̍͗͑̃́̋̍͐̎̄̃̽͘̕ͅḨ͕͈̩͇͎̪̫̗̖ͤ̒̔̋̐̊͌͋̎ͬ̽͂̈͠I̵ͯͨ̒ͨͦͣ͛ͬ̏ͮ͜͠҉̫͎̮͓̹͎̖͇̭̺N̷̡̻̬̪̭̫ͪͮ̂̆͌ͥ̑̈́̈̿ͥ̾ͪͭ̌͋ͣ̓͝Ģ͊̾ͧͫ̈̍̃̂͑̈̚͏͏̛̟̰̜̙̖̟̬̰!̜̯̜̤͚̲͈̭̖̱͔͓͉̼̪͇͂̓̋ͮͣ̓̅ͤ̎̕͡!̺̤̮̝͍̯̙̖̳ͣ͛̽̉̍̇͆̂ͫ̉̋̉̂͛̈́̃ͥ͗̀̀ ̷͓̤͓͚̩̙̣͓̞̬̫̲̙͑̓̅̈́̆̈͟͞ͅĄ̷̹̦͕̻̼̱̲̠͚̼͎̉̒̐ͦ͑ͨ̀̚ͅͅL̲̗̻͈͕͙̞͉͉̞̱̗͖̈́͛ͯ͗͑͢͞ͅL̞̝̙̲̣̪͖̜͕͍̩̲̬̲̹͆̆ͬ̽́͘͜͢ ͎̠͉̩̭͖̫̙͇̝̭̮͈̭̥͑͛ͭ̓̾ͯͣ̏͛ͧͧ͌̕͝Ţ̣̩͙͙̥̳̹͇̦̭̘͔̠̻̀ͪͮͪ͗ͦ̈́̀͝H̶̛̞̥̯͎̹͚̱̫̰̯̩̖̤͚̘̖͊̊ͬͩͫ͛ͦͭ̓͋ͨͨ̿̆͊͘͟͠E̵̞̠̖̞̬̲̰̹͚͈̺̘̮̤̪̳͖̤̓̂̇ͦ̓̿ͯͯͤ͛̿͌̑ͥͩ̍͢͞ͅI̶̘̱̲̱͖̦̳͐̒͊̄̉͝Ŕ̵̮̤̰͖͓͚̲̟̖̜̮̯̋́̌ͭͭͨ͌̏͛̌́ ̷̯̩͖̥̼̻̜͇̜̟̗͕̝̥͎̻̭͍̑ͭ̆̄͛́͛ͫ̅̏̋͛͡ͅH̴ͭ̐͋͋̌̍͛ͯͥͩ̊̓̾ͮ͊̂҉̬̥̺͎͇͉̘̥̱̼̹̯̖̝O̴͙̘̦̦͚̪̤͖̻̟̝̝̘̩̩̭͎̊̆ͯ̍͌ͥ́͝P̡̺͇̝ͤͦͨͣͪȆ̵̡̝̣̳͈͎̾ͩ͗̐ͤͥ̋̑͐ͪͩ͗͞S̥͔͇̜̒́ͩ͊ͨ̿ͩͧͫͧ͒̽̌̓̒ͥ̊͜ ̢̛̤̲̖͚̞̻͈̺̳̞͈̙̤̣̲̭̬͉͑̂ͮͥ̿̃̂̆ͨ͒̔ͩͩ̽̔͜W͆̅̽̓͂ͭ̀̈̏̏̊̒́̊ͤ͘҉҉̧̥̣̹̺̩͙Iͬͥ͑̋̚҉̧̡̫̩͖̼̯̹̹̺̯̯͚͍Ľ̘̥̥̦̺̉ͪ̅ͩ͋͑͟͢͝L̡̰̘̖̗͍̼̓̂̈ͪͪ̊̊ͫ̀͋ͩ̿́̚͢ ̢̇̂̑͝͏̡̣̺͖͉̥̣̺̙̳̯̝͠Ḑ̘͉̟̼̻̘͙͍̟̳̊͆͊̄͆̊̐̈̎ͤ̽ͩ̽́͟͝ͅI̠͎̝̞̲̻͉̙̱͚̝͔̹̥̫͖̹̓͂ͨͭͯ̎͑̌ͭ͋͂̓ͤ̉͑́̚Ê̟̖̦̲̤ͧͨ̋̋͠͝,̴̷̷͊̍̍̍̌̂̐ͭ̔͘҉͔͚̲̲̰͔͕̟̭͎̙̻̭͇̥ ̵͎̝̟̖̫͉̼͔̯͉̫̱̄ͯͪ̈̀̀ͬͥ͂͆̈́̊̄̾̎͘͞͞T̶̶̸̶͈̻͖̳̣̯̗͚͚̫̗̙͚̳̖̖͚͗ͨ̇̊͞Hͤ̌̿̆̉́͗͘͘҉̸͚̮̬̼͍͚͇̖̳̹͔̟̙̬̗̠̼̱̩E̴̙̗̗̳̟̰̠͖̰̬̠̝̺̳͍̝͔ͮͥ̒͂̋̚̕͞Ï̢̮͈̖͚͉̪̟͉̭͇̈́ͮ̌ͪͣ̋ͨ́͢R̴̦̩̪̪̯̫̬̱̼̦̲̻̥͔̰͍̲̮ͩ̏̔ͬͭͬ̂̍̽͑̐̕͠ͅ ̸̛͍̺͔̯͉̠̦̫̝̗͎͉̣͙̩̭̟̪͐̆̔ͪ͑͛̂͂͑̎ͮ̑̉̇́̈́̎͗͞͠͡D̈́̀̀͗ͧ̔ͯ̇ͦ̒̈́̽ͬ͌͜͏̴̸͖̻̠̙͖͚̝̰̣̰̹̬̙̹̬̲̖R̸̢̲̥͈̪̫ͨ̄͒̑̐͋ͫ̕͜͡Ȩ̴̵̩̪̩̯͚͙̙̣̞̫ͭͨ͛̂̔͛̃͛̾ͣ͋ͧ̔̽ͤ͟͟ͅÂ̸͖͎̱̋̓̐ͦ̚͝M̷̫̺̳̱̥̮̬͚̗̘̓̿͑́ͯ̎ͬ̕͜͠ͅS̷̨͈͓̼̮͓̙̻̤̹̟̻̹̱̭͇͐ͣͥ̑̓͊̐̅̎̽͐̐́͠͠ ̵̶̨̙̬̻̱͔̞̺̗̘̥̣̙̻̜͚͎͇̫͌̃̎͑͛ͪͫ̂̏͒̍ͭ̕͝Ḑ̶̉̂̅̎̽̽̉ͯ̎ͧͮ̈́̄ͥ̈̕҉̠̮̘̣͚̩͖̻̞̘̫̙͇ͅE͙̱͖͓̮̖̲̘̝̫͊̓͛ͪͮ̇̋̆ͯ͌̾͂̄̚͢ͅV̳͔͇̺̝͈̺̘̫̝̼̺͎̩͇͉̲ͬͥͣͭ̂̌͐̓͊̈́̔̀A̴̵͎̮͓̖̮̱̤͇͚̜̦̭ͤͯ̊̆͊͐͝S̷ͮͯ̇́̀͆ͭ̂ͣ͊͗ͦ̈͋̋͑͡͏̹̜̤̖̺̬̞̤͇͜͝T̸̵͎̰̺̻̣͈̦͙̞̓̈́ͥ͊ͥͦ̊͌͂ͫͦ͆͑̚̕A͒ͭ͑ͮ̍͐ͥ͊̈́ͣ̍̅̈̏̚͏҉̙̦̣̦̼͇̮̠̗͓͚̺̟͔̭̖͇͉́͟͜ͅT̺̜̝̬̪̑̓͆̑̾̿͆̀̔̑̈̓̄ͯͨ̀̚͢E̛̲̜̘̯̤̖̭̼̺̜̥̖̒ͧ̌̉ͤ̾ͯ̓͟͞D̵̳̥͔̞̞̠̠̖̮̮͕̳ͩ̑ͨ͛̇͜͢!̜̰̱̻̲͍ͥͤ͆͌̌̿͐̈́͋ͫ̀ͦ̔̅͒̓ͯ̅̀͘ͅ!̛̦̪̼̼̟͖̻̜̹̲̄̾̓͆ͪ́͜͡ ̷͔͕͓̥̮̘͔͔̦͔̌̀̒̈ͥ̋͆̐͞͡͞E̓͐ͯͧ̅ͮ͗ͧ͋ͬ҉̧̢͉̦͍͉̤̻̻̥̖͠V̼̭̭̥̺̖͓͖̏̒̏ͮͪ͆ͦ̏͊̔ͥ͐̍̒ͫͬ̎ͮ́͘͠Ę͙̠̹̰̠̲͕̐̓ͣͭ̿́͟͜͠R̿ͥ̉͆̃ͫͨ̽ͬ̉͐ͦ҉̡͙̦̰̱̪͍͎̘͈̱͢Y̸ͭ͆͑̾̈́̎ͨ͑́̓͂ͬͮ͡҉͍͖̱͇̼͍̜̺͈̣̹̲̖̬͚̭̱͘ ̵̛̭̮͙̩̻̳̺̦̪͈̰̩̳͖̺̩͉̳͖͋̆̏̊̓̆͊͛ͣ̏̔̕͡Ş̸̡̹̘̲̺̗̳͊̐̈ͬ̌ͧͥ̐́̉̒C̷̸͓̞̱̙̞̖̲͚̠̳̪̺̻̬͗̊̉͆̇͘͢R̴̡̟̤̥̱̯͈̙̝ͥ̊ͮͭͧ̓͢͜͞A̸̹̥̦̗̦̩̹͓̻̬̍͐̈̄͌̄̅́̈́̌̇̾͞ͅP̶̢̮͓̦̜̱̤̪̰ͫ͋ͫͦ̅̓ͥ̕ ̷̡̤̩̠͓̞͇̻̜̫̀̂̀̿̂̓͛͛͒̿ͫ́̒ͯ͘͡Ó̧͂̇̓͂̈́̅̄ͯ̆̎̓̀͋̀͘͢͏͓̬̝̙̜̭̫̖̙̟͕̰̬͍ͅF̢̣͓͔̱͖̹̘͓͓͓̂͆ͬͣ́ͪͭ̍̃̈ͤͩ͋ͩ̽ͣͨͫͬͅ ̙̦̣̯̭̙͇̝̹̜͛͛͂͌ͦ̅̍̏ͬ̈́̈ͯͨ̌ͤ̄͟Ř̵̸̜̞̘̗͑̆͆̆̒̾̔ͦ̊͗̍̊ͤ͌͂ͮ͆͊͞E̶̢̪̭͔̭̝͖͕̟̯͍̫̦̲ͫͤ̆͋̅̅͌͌͛̀̕S̢̨͉͎͖̮͓̫͙͔̗̺̭̀͌̐́ͬ̓̿̄ͥ̃ͫ̋ͥ̄̃̚͞ͅI̜̟̭̫͇͓̫ͬͭ͆̂̏ͦͮ͌ͭͫ̅̇́ͦ̆͗̾̚̕͝͝ͅS̶̸̵̟͈̤̝̭͕͚̣̩̝̞̞̙̮̦̫̲̈́ͣͤͯ̓ͤ̓̄̀͢T̜̲̫̝̖̳̖̖̦͚̯̓ͥͣ͊̃̓ͥ̍̌ͯ̌̊̆ͥ̋͘͟ͅAͫ͆̊̊ͣ̓̈́̉ͭ̿̌̊̐҉̛̳̖̪̩̻͖̭͙̜̫͚̜͜N̼̖͚͍̝̱͈̗̞̰͋̿̓ͩ͗ͧ̓͗͗͞͠C̷̼̝̝̩͕̬͙͔̖͚̻̘͖͇ͯͩͩͣͩ̐͒͑͞Eͨ̒̾ͯ̔̐͂̿́̾͛̅͗͋̋ͯ̾̚͏̩͍̳͈͉̯,͎͔̥̹̭̼̰͍͔̘̠̈́͐̆̒̓̑͂ͯ̒̇ͮͣ̔͗̚͝ ̴̢͒ͧ͋ͣ̌̂͆̔ͧ̽ͤ̈́ͣͪ͒̚̚̚͡҉̗͍̞̩̭̪̪͕͎͓͚̰̘̳͇̰͈E̴̲̬̩͖̜͈͂̿̽̎ͦ̊ͨ̔ͪͮ͒ͪ̚̕V̘͖̤̯̼̝̲̥͍͈͔̭͕̻̀̒̐ͮͦ̏ͪ̍ͨ͐ͩ̿̐͘͜͢E̟̱͙̮̫͖̘̤̲̖͇͙̲̓̈̍͗ͧ̓̊̋͛͛̊̌́͘͝͠R̵̼͈̳̝͔̖̠̞͙̗͍̼͚̼͉͚̻̓ͪͨ̃̓̌̃̃̄̆̚̕͢͞Y̡̺͚̯͕̜̥̜̘͒ͥ͑̅͛͂̍̽̏ͯͭͩ̚͘͜͞ ̶̡̧̯͚͓̟͖̲̼̣̰̹̳͍̆ͨ̾̇̎̑ͤ́̅͊ͫ͌̽̅̀͠ͅF̶̸̢̙̮͈̟̝͎͍̪̩̗̖̼̩̦̅͋̃̓̿͑ͪ̚͝ͅR̵̯̼̪̮̲̮̠͔͍̤̺̣̗̥̭̃ͯ̈ͦ͋͆ͨ̀͂́ͩ̈̔͆̿̀͜ͅÂ̸̰̞͇̖̦̦͇̘̣͌̓̋̈́͋̚͘͢G̷̛̗̥̻͖̺̼̠̞̠̭̪̫̹̼͉̼̗̻̓̾͌̽̐̑̆̀̒̓͟͡M̸͚̜̠͉̫̯̖̫ͨͤ̋̋̋͋͊͡͡Ȩ̵̱̞̮͉̥͚̦̣̟͎̠̘̲̼͈̘̰̟͊ͯͨ͊͊̊̏͒̅ͭͩ̇͂̅̔ͣ͌̀̉Ń̷̷̜̦̝̺̗̮̝̱̮̘̮̲͚̾̅͊̅͋ͫ̃̆͌ͯ͌ͯ͊̆̏́͡͠T̷̡̠͔̫̭̞̣̜͖͈̫̼̙̻ͮ͂ͫ͊̀́͘ͅ ̜̤̘̝̦͓̮̙͇̰̭̙̲͔̯͇͑̉ͨ͐ͤ̑̿̿ͣ̾̉̂̆̍̚͡͠O̵̍̽̑́̀͝͏̝̹̭̦̪̣͇͠F̵̲̰͚̟̲̯̹̼̫̹̙̳̭̹̙̮ͣ̀ͬ̈ͭͦ͌̄̽̓͒̃ͮ̋̓͊̒ ̴̸͔̻̫̭͍̟͕͉̘̬͙͍͙̎̐̈́͗̊͐̽̎ͩ͂͋̾͒͘Ŗ̵̛͙͈͍̼͎̯͎̰͓̹̼͗͊̐͗̐ͧ̒E̶̮̻̭̰̟̟̦̯͓̗̱̙͚ͣ͑̈́̎̾͌ͭ̈̑ͨ͐͜͢͡Ş̥̻̜̓͂̌̓͟͢I̶̥̹̣̠̲͓͈͎̩̤̘͉̥̅̓͌͊ͩͯ̃L̸̠̪̪̟̻͈̣̞͍̣̀ͦ̄̾̃͋͛͊ͭ͌̓͒̿̌̾̉ͭI̶̢̙͇̘̳̥̱̤̰̤͙͙͉͉̣̩ͨͨͧ͗ͬ́͟Ä̵̡̨̛̠͖̺̹͖͔̝́͊͋͊ͪͬ̃ͦ̆̄̑ͮ͋̉̓ͣ͒͜N̢͙̩̙̥̓ͨͪͣͥ̕̕͢ͅC̸͛̀̍́ͮ̈́̾͏̡̹̙̦͉̜̜͉͓̘̠̘͞E̶̢̧̛̗͓̦̳ͬ̒̇̈́ͭ̇͂,̷̘̰̱͉̹͉̥͈̺͍̳͖͍̗̻̯̫ͥ̋̉͢͢͝ ̝̦̹̥̫̦̗͉̞̠͙̺͇̔̒̈́ͭͪ̒ͨ̉ͯ͌̚͝ͅȨ̶̸̧̢̭̼̭̫̟̩͚̮̞͈̰͉̩̜̻̱̣̬ͭ̃̉̐ͤ̋ͦͫ̍̒͐ͧͣ̀̚V̩̝̭̣̺̬̼̟̹̼̝̹̉̊̎̄̔ͦ̔ͧͥ̃̿̂͂͆̐ͯ͆͘͡E̷ͩ̒ͦ̽̃̚҉̨̧̮̭̝̱͇̻͎̺̣̫̫̱̝̭̬̗͢Ŗ̷͉̼͉̖͎̦̩̙͔̀̄ͣ̒̃̿͘͜Y̅ͥ͑ͣ̽͌̑̇̇͑ͭ̓͆̂ͨͦ̚͏̨̜̥͇͈̤̘́ ̵͎̹̰̻̦͚͍͋ͭ̈̃ͮ͗̏ͮ͌̕͡B̴̖͓̖̲̬̂̉ͥͤ̈́̑ͬ́̔̾̈́͋͌̊̋̒ͯR̩͈͓͇̞̯͇̫͇̬ͤͫ̿̓̕̕͞Ǫ̶̫̲͍̖͕͉̜̖̲̜͖̰̂͑͒̋͂ͣͮ͊͢K̷̨̪̻̟̪͈̖̃̀̑̄̃̀͠͠ͅĘ̵͇̱̖̪̯̤͉̜͐̇̽ͩͣͯ̍̆͌̽́ͭǸ̿̎̒ͬ̈̒̌̉̄̎̓̆ͪ̚͏̱̠͈̹̱̫͙̠̰̼̘̻͙͈̬̜ ̶̠̗̟̠͎̰͖̰͎̜͓̜̠̲͉̉͒̎ͩͩ͘͢ͅS̡̻̱̗͕̟̣̜̬͔̳ͬ̐̐ͭ͗͐͌̾͒̀̃͆́ͮͣ͌͑̐͗̀͝ͅȞ̸̨̞̩̼̯̓̆̿̌̾̓ͧͫͩ̀ͩ͆̄͆ͨ̊͐́̚͡ͅA͒͆̔ͩ͊̉͆̀̽̚҉̛͡͏҉̙̹̳̟̼̜͈̮̺̘̖͔̥͈̣͚̭̪R̷̵̻̣̟̺͚͓̝̲̬̠̼̩͓̖̦͔̓ͧͤ̈ͯͭͧ̆ͥ͆̊̈́̃͗ͪ͒̾͞D̴̶̼̝͖̟̻̩̩̠̘̩͙͓͔̝̼̓͆̌ͭ̔̈́̓̕ͅ ̓̓͒̍̎̊̔̆͠҉̤̬̞̭̫̯̲̩̫͇̖͖̫ͅͅÒ̷̵̭̬̹̦͓͈͕̤̫̝̠͙̥͇̘͍͊͛̎̓͛̎̀͂̇͐͛̂͋ͣ̔͗̚F̢ͩ̔̀ͩ̒ͧͣ̈ͭ͆̍̆̒̽̏̇̈́́҉͏̯̰̜̙̳̯̪͖͙͚̠͇̞͔̺ͅ ̢̧̠̻̩̟̜̜̞̺̝̮ͨͪ͑̎̉ͦ̃ͬ̌ͪ̎̌̑̅́̚̕H̸̴̡̼͙͖͙̼͉̳̮̠̾ͮ̾̿̌̚͡ͅO̡̮̖̝̜ͭ̄͊̄̐̆ͪ̂ͤP͋ͬͤ̏ͩͭͪ͜͏̡̠͈̩͎̙̳̗̞͇͕̰̯͕̟E̷ͤ̓ͤͫ̽̄̍͛̏ͤ͠҉͔̹̬̹̻̩͔̖̭̣ͅ ̶̷̺̟͓͈̰͙̭̰̘͍̾͌ͤ̓ͪͨ̓ͭ̔͌̓ͤ̎͐͑̔́̕W͗̐̈̅ͫ̽ͬ̋͂ͮ̌ͥ͗͆͐͏̗̖̤̳͕̫̀͢I̐̎̈̎ͪ̃̏̒͐̽͆̍ͫ̇ͤ̋͋̽ͧ͠͏҉̴̗͍͎̬͍̗͕̳͕̺L̶̳͓͙̬͑͊̆ͬ͛ͦ̐̒̅̕͟L͊ͭ̈̈́͗̈́ͯͦ͏̧͓̫͕̼͇̠͓͠ ̷̵̴̣̗̙̖̫̠͓͉͇̬̙̝̓͐ͬ̓ͨ̍͋̋̇ͪ̿̃ͭ̒̃͌̾͠B̆̓̍̈́͆ͯ̽͛̆ͥ̅̂̈́͌̀̂̚̕͏͙͍̤͕͖̮̫̲E͍͙̙͍̗̰̹͐̎̔̄͐̇ͣ̒̅ͧ̆̒̚̚͜͡ͅͅͅ ̸̵̢̼̗̮̝͈̳̙͉͇̪͓̗̻͍͈͗̆͐̿̂͑͗ͯ̒͗͌ͪ͝S̷̡͔̫͖͎͈̪͕͕̻͙̼̝̰͈͙ͧ̄͛͑ͥͥ͌ͯͪ͆Ć̸̦̜͇̥̙̳͙̪͖ͣ̄̄͑͐̆̇̃ͦ̄ͪ͊̓͗̽ͥͮ͟͟͠ͅͅA̸̡̙̩̝̗̮͚̼̱̦̮̎̌ͭ̂͛̅ͭͮͤ͒̇͛̄̀ͩͭ̄̓͂͢͞T̹̮̫̰͙̹̱͒ͫ͊̇̓̅̏͗͘͢T̴̵̲̠͈͈ͯͭ͒ͣ̏̒̓̌ͦ͢͢͝Ę̺̲͔̥̙̝̤͇̖̹͍̗̬̟̞̦͐̓̽́ͨͣ͊̂̈́̄ͩ͌͊̓̈́ͯͫ̚ͅR̴̙̭̠̘̲̱͊̇̅͝͠Ȇ̛̜̤̫̭̩͖̜̙̜͇͈͔̏̎̅̇͐̈̑̽̎̽͑ͮͬ̂ͨ͝D̰̲̜̟̘̄͗ͯ́̀͢͜͜ͅ ̸̧̛͙̗̙̣̩̜͚̬̗͚̹͙͉̰͓̙͓̰͙͂̄ͪ̑ͩ̈̎̿̅̽͒̅͒͑̃̃͘M̶̥̠͍̘̣̲̱̳̟̗̘̣̳̳̋ͭ̒ͪ̓̎̒͋ͪ͗̆́̔͝ͅO̧̔̿̏̀͛̒ͨ̈́̄͡͏͏͓̖̳̺̞͠ͅR̨̛̤͚̙̠̾͐̌̂͡͞È̘͔̮̮̯̙͍̗̱̘͚̞̻̝̝̥̓ͣ̏̊̕͜ ̡ͫ͐ͨ̓ͣ̑̎̓̽̈́͐̏̀͏̮͈͔̪͔̣F̸͙̙̞͉͈͕̪͔̫͍͖͚̗̾̾͐̅̽͌ͭ̒̇̓̚͡I͇̦̟̫̩̦͈̹̙̣͓͈͖̍̑͆̓̓̑̿̇̋̆͛̊̒̕͜͜ͅŃ̵̷̢̰̘̼͔̘͈̙̟̰͇̙̥̳̤͓̺ͤͪ̓̎̒ͫ̐̔ͦ̆͒̀ͅͅẼ̵̥̠̬̤͔͎͖̤̜̪̠̮ͭ̽ͧͯͭͮ͟͝L̶̤̲͕̝͍͍͖̝̗̹̹͔̜̘͔̼̬̟ͩ͋ͮͬͪ͋͊͛̕͝Y̶̸̢̢͇̼̘͓̺̐̈́̌̾̒̃ͥ̈́̑̅͒̿͌̿̑͟ ̡̡͖͇͍͉̤͈͔̖̣͇͉͔̂̽ͧ̆̏͆͛̑̃͐̓̊̀̃̈́̈́͟͟͢Ţ̨̞͚̗̮̟͚̖̦̞̤̝̮́̐̀̀ͨͯ̍̅ͣ̊̋̋̇̃ͮ̒ͥͣ͊͘͞H̪͚͔̣̳̦̳͕͙̙͇͚̹͓̩̏̔̒͊͊͒̾ͨ͑̀͢͝͡͠ͅA̷̛̹̲̘̪̖̋̈̃ͭ͋ͬͬ̅̓̆̆ͣ̂̂̀̉̎͊ͅN̨̛ͯ̈́̾̐̈́͑̊̉͒͌̀ͨͧ͜҉͔̳͚͍̬̬̮̯̪̤͙̕ͅ ͨͪ͒ͨ͛̄ͣ͂͟͢҉̸͕͚̝̠̬̲͉̩̦͟D͉͍̬͚̗̱̩̮̤̫͕̍̆͋ͬ͊̀ͮ̒ͫ͋̎̇̾̈ͤͤ̚̚̚͟͟U̴̡̗̙̰̬͚͔̦̙͈̭̫̟̦̝͓͚͓͍ͩͮ̽ͥͪ̄́̀̀̏̋̃͡͝͠S̼̭̣̫̒͐̈́͐̐ͬ̓ͨ́̋̒ͯ́̚͢͞͝T̵̉ͥ͋ͤ͑̊͑̆̂ͯͮ͝͞͏̲͈̰̻̯͚̳̼̭ ̧̺͓̮̯͚̳͎̜͇͚͖͚̖͙̱͓̹̹̃̔̽̈̏͂̽́͘ͅIͯ̆̔̂̆̿͒̀ͣ̚͢҉̵̨͕͖̤͇̻̘͚̮̼̻̠̰̣̞̘N̸̨͍̫̭̒ͬ̋ͨ͆ͮ̂ͤͧ͒͂ͯ̈́̀̚̚͝ ̷̵̡̢͖̬̞͉̩̯̫̟͖̹̲̩̺̠̙̆ͥͩ̃̂ͬͯͫ̐́̂ͯͣT̷̢̜̫̪͍͎̰̼͉̖͙͒̌̓̓̈̈́̍ͭ͐͟͞Ḧ̴̷͎͕̯̱͇̘ͤ̐̅̽͗̿ͯ̑ͤ̔̈̍̚̚͘͢͡ͅḘ̵̷̡̰̞̫͚̤̝̟̬̪͔̯̻̦̳̝̹̟̌̾̆̅ͥͣͮ͐ ͚͓̫̯ͪ̌͂̂́͝W̴̞̥̖̱̫͔̪̠̮̱̥͖͕̌̐̒͑͊̃̾̓́͘͡Ï̿ͬͦ̾̍͒ͣ̓͏̬̱̙̼̣̪̬̣̠͜͠N̨̻͚͈͔̬͔̝̦̰̙̬̘̲̠̱̱̙̑ͥ̂ͤ͗͑ͪ́ͨ̆ͦ̌̂͛́͝D̡̟̟͎̻͎̗̫͍̼͉̈́ͩ̆̌ͣͥ̄̂ͥͩ̑̃ͭ̈͋ͤ̀̚!̵͓̻̮̗̥̪̙̯̣̄ͣ̓̐̊̇̚̕!̨̙̥̞͍͚̙͕̘̗̯̪̼͒̉̎̂̾ͭͩ ̧̖̻̟̗̗͖͍̳͔͚̮̙̖̤̅̊ͤ̃̿̽̈͘ͅḐ̘̖͎̮͇̟͎̙͂̃̌̿̅͐͌̑ͤ́̈͂͋͘E̵̷̛̟̘̳͍̤͚͈̙̽͐̓́͋̃̃̑̈̓ͣ̀̓̀̚Ţ̰͔͍̼̩̙̝̳͙̣̟̠̥̺̠̤̲̗͋̿̓̄ͨ͢͜͝E͈͖̖̗̓͋͐̈́ͧ̍ͫ̽ͩ́ͫͥ̔͊ͦͩ̿ͥ̏́͜R͉͔͚̯͉͖̼̦̬̫̥̻̭̞̙̤̊̒̓ͬͭͧ͊ͨ̈́̄̍͂͂̚͘͘ͅM̶̸̨̫̺̰͉̣̱̞̲͇̞͕͉͉̘̄͒ͨ̄͝ͅI̵̮͎̤͙̣͚͍͓͇̠͋̃ͩ̔̾̐͊͋ͥ̅ͣ͢Nͮ̐̆̒ͥͧͭͫ̀ͨ͆̚͟͏̵̼̞̘̯̬̟̻̤̭͇̗͔͕̗̫̝̱̮Ā̴̹͖̱̪̏̔ͮ̎̓́ͪ͑͑͟͞Ț̨̛̲͕̹̬̘̎ͨ͐̓ͩ̓̽ͦ̍̔̈ͥ̍̈̚ͅȈ̧ͩͪ̅̐̔͒̈́̒̍ͧ͂͆̕҉̴̢͇̳̱̖̖̫̞̠̹͚͉Oͭ͐̃ͧ͐̋̂ͦ̒̆҉̼̦͔͈̙̕͟N̐͂̑̾ͥ͌̃ͧͨ͂͋ͩ͊̆̄ͥ҉̧̻̼̘̟͚͓̗͇̯̤̖̦͇̝ ̶͙̰̻̼̖̮̪̦̩̮̲̪̱̻͓͚͐̐̉͊̐̄̌ͪ̔̄ͩ́̃͢ͅW̨̖̦̯̲͈ͨͨ̇ͣ̒̉İ̶̖͓̯͇̟̙̥͈̠̤͓͓̤̜̠ͧ͗ͣ̇̍̐͡Ļ̦̯̙̲ͤ͐ͣ̑́Ļ̴̲̝̠̰̼̘̬̙͎̣̥̖̣̖̺̞͆̾̇ͤͤͬ̉ͭͧ͝ ̷̢̠̮̙̣͔͉͉̲̹̥̥̠̜̦̆ͤͥ̅͂͘͟͠D̀͂̿̂̑̇̀̅ͧ́͒͑̉͗̔͏̰͇͇͎̻͈̱͓́Ǫ̷̛̬̩̞͓̙̪͓̰́̌̾̊̂̂́͡ͅͅ ̧ͨ̌͊̉ͫͮ̾͐ͮͨ̈̃͊̚͏̴̣̹̣͖̭̹̬̗̻̹̲̙Ţ̵̵̧͔͚͔͎͕̮͓̣͑̍̎̈́ͬ̌͐ͯ͐̇͑ͤ͌ͩ̕Ḩ̷̷̨̻̩̮̞͉̓̅ͣͨ̍ͧ͋͑̾̈́̒͐̈̈̈́ͭ̐ͦȨ̛̓̔ͫ̂ͫͬ̒̈̀ͣ̈́̽҉̬͎̣̬̥̲̗͈́M̆ͤ̏ͪ̾̓ͤͦ̿̒́̐̔̉҉͏̯̯̬͕̹̭̤̝̩͈͍͚͇̗͔̖͈͜͟͢ͅͅ ̢̱̗̩̩͉̟͇̣͙͓̫̭̮͛ͪ̂̎̍̔̇̅̀͘͠Ņ̸̤̗̣̻̬͎̻̦̖͚̥̈́̏̔͒ͮ̉ͫͭ̒ͣ̐ͩ͛͋̏̚̚̕͝͝ͅǪ̷̷̜̼͖͈̳̯ͮ̇̒̔̏̾͋̒̿͠Ţ̸̡̗̻̖͈̟̯̦̩̬̞̑̊ͮ͒͆͌ͤ͑̉͊͡ͅḦ̒͑ͬ̈́̀̐̅ͦ̔̔͛ͬ̍̓̊҉͜͏҉͖̗̠̤̳̼̫ͅȈ̴̧̱͖̪̟̠̦͖̠̪̥͖̼̠̼̲͙̔̎ͣ̓͐͆ͨ̔̎̾̋ͣ͊͌̚͝N̵̛̘̠̰̰̪̯̤̜̠̘̭̲̅̄̓ͫ̆͒̋̏̒̏ͪͫ͒G̞̯̹͍̟̦̬̯͉̱͎͉͙̥̱̲̔ͭ̿͂ͥ̃̋ͪ͊̚̕͜͞.̸̶̨̳͉̭̘͔͚͎̯̮͇͙̪̤͚͈̭͚̈͌͒̄̇ͤ͐́̓͡

Shh! Shh, Sans, it's okay. Calm down, it's okay. Please. Calm down.

He could feel it burning in his chest. This hunger, this megalomania.

d҉̳̤e̦͔̟͍̻s͏̼̬̣̺̤͡ţ͏̺͙͈̦̖r͜҉̘̳̟͔̼̥̺o̼̮͉͞͞y̵̩̳̺͍̗͈ͅ ̬̹̮̲̯̭͈̝t̡̟͝h͝҉͍̼̥͞i̙̩͙̼̩̟͘ͅs̩͇̜͉͖͚̙͎̺ ̵̢̣̹̝͎̭̖̗͕̕ͅp̣̙̮̗̝̩͉a̹͘t̳h̙͉̲̪̰̀̀͟e͚͎̣̗͚̼̦̦͡t̡̜̲̠̹̮̞̮̝i̲̖̜̻̞͓̜͎̕c̝̘͙͇̲̥͘ ̡͕̹͎̹̦͎̺e̙̹̖͍̙͘x̦͕͉̱̗̲͓̮͢c̡̱͘͡ú͉͈͈͠s̛͏̻̥̻̻̼̖̯͚̀e͏̞̻̻̞̲̰̥̤ ̬͓͔̜̠̣͘͟͝o̢̨̫͍͚͖͙̟̘͙ͅf̸̢̬͚̭̫͍̩ ̢͉̻̣͇͖̱̞͠a̴̭̫̰͓͓ͅn͉̬̦ ̤͎̱͕͙̪a̶͕̬̰r̳̗̦͕̮͔͙̥̲m̢͈͍̭̺̻̞̲ͅy҉̛̦-̤̭-̲̙̼̦͍́́

Sans, please. You're scaring me. Please.

W͏͔̭̹̬ͅi̳ͅt͏̯͕͡h͇̼̹͝ ̨̺̰̳͈̹͝a͈̗͖̖̗̠͘ͅ ͞҉̝͙̦͕̙h̷̡̦̪͓̗̟ͅu͚̭̜̬ḿ̛͕͓̩̝͚̻͖̝̖a̴̛̯̤̳̻̲n̜̲̹̜̱̺͟ ̧͕̻̝̝̗̩̣̥S̥ò̢͈͓͍̫͍̼u̕͏̠̳̲̫͕l͓͔̙͜

Papyrus...

i c̺̱̗͓̲͙̳͜a̠͡ṉ̼̼̲͟ͅn̴͚̭̘ǫt̹ fail.

Sans...

i...

c̺̱̗͓̲͙̳͜a̠͡ṉ̼̼̲͟ͅn̴͚̭̘ǫt̹...

Please, Sans.

... pap. Papyrus.

You're scaring me.

...c̺̱̗͓̲͙̳͜a̠͡ṉ̼̼̲͟ͅn̴͚̭̘ǫt̹...

Scaring... Papyrus...

Please...

...i...

Breathing hard. Curled up on his side. Throat was kinda sore. Clutching the jacket hood. Pulling it as low as it would go. trying to cover the glow. stop the burn. see through the purple in his sight.

...cán͠'̡t͘...

"Shhh. It's alright, Sans. Calm down. It's alright."

Papyrus was pressed against his back, hugging him tightly.

"cán͠'̡t͘..." Sans gasped. "...can't..."

"Shhh. Shhhh. It's okay, Sans. Shh."

Sans took a few more gasping breaths. "... p-pap-..."

"Yeah. It's alright, Sans. Just calm down."

Sans breathed a little easier. Eventually, having sufficiently calmed down, he stopped altogether, and sat up.

Frisk was outside the cell. Gaster was nearby, the syringe in his hands no doubt filled with the most powerful sedative he had. And Papyrus was sitting next to him, arms still wrapped around his ribcage.

The human...

Their Soul...

He could still feel it, still pulling at him, still urging him to take it. But with Papyrus right next to him, Sans thought he had a strong enough grip on himself to resist. Or maybe Papyrus was the one who had a grip on him.

Frisk looked a little scared, but mostly sympathetic. Gaster was glaring full-on at Sans. Papyrus just looked relieved.

Then Frisk said, quietly, "M-maybe I should go home for now."

Gaster just nodded.

Frisk said a quick goodbye to Papyrus, then slipped out the door.

The second it closed, Gaster's rage broke loose.

§

A/N

I think all us Undertale Trash can agree that watching Sans suffer is just about one of the most fun things you can do in the fandom.

(By the way, wh͞e͟n͘ ̵th̷e҉ te̡xt ̸h̷a҉s ͠a̶ll̨ t̕hi͡s st͟ųf҉f ͡ar̛ou͞nd͘ i͘t,҉ that's the Corrupt Language. Just in case you didn't catch that.)

ON ANOTHER NOTE--

Thank you guys so, so, SO much!! I haven't even had this story out for a month, and already it's over 300 views, 100 comments, and 50 votes!! I never expected it to do this well, especially not in less than a month!

*Your comments and votes have filled this smol fanfic author with inspiration and DETERMINATION!