vvt

[vivisectale]

cw : non sexual grooming, psychological manipulation , graphic violence , coercion

002 XVI · The Tower 01

Frankie woke to the cold air seeping through the rusted vents. Her shirt was off, and the only thing covering her torso was a layer of worn bandages. Blinking, she glanced around the room—something was different. Darker. More unsettling.

The dim light revealed silhouettes of tables, chairs, machines, a bed... and a few posters she couldn't quite make out, all illuminated by dozens of flickering computer screens.

Sitting in front of the monitors was a short lizard, her back hunched over in focus. Some screens displayed security cameras monitoring the entire underground, while others calculated statistics or played some anime.

"Um... Doctor?" Frankie spoke up, her voice hoarse.

The lizard flinched visibly, and her glasses slid down her nose as she adjusted them. "Ah... you're awake." She paused the anime and game in a swift motion. "I wanted to bring you here, to give you new clothes—and maybe a bath..."

Frankie shifted, wincing as she sat up. Her stitches strained painfully, and she hissed in discomfort. "How long was I out?"

"Four hours," Alphys replied without hesitation.

Frankie's gaze flickered to the monitors—particularly the ones displaying security footage. "Do you, uh... usually spy on people?" She sniffed and wiped her nose.

Alphys glanced back at the screens, a flash of defensiveness crossing her face. "It's not spying, it's monitoring." She shot Frankie a sharp glare before turning away. She walked over to a nearby table, picked up a set of clothes, and tossed them toward Frankie. "I measured your size. I had these made for you."

It was a long-sleeved grey top, black high-waisted trousers, white underwear, and a white trench coat. Frankie raised an eyebrow, inspecting the clothes. "So, what, I'm gonna start working here?" She looked up at Alphys and snickered. "I don't know a lick of science or machinery! And you measured me? Do you know how creepy that is?"

Frankie started raising her voice, but Alphys didn't flinch.

"What? You're just gonna stare at me? Damn it, say something!" Frankie yelled, slamming her hand on the bed in frustration.

After a beat of silence, Alphys spoke, her voice sharp. "Are you done? I don't have time for this. Get up, get dressed, and meet me outside." That was it. No further explanation. She turned and walked out of the room.

Frankie watched her leave, disbelief flashing across her face. But as Alphys disappeared through the door, something else caught her eye. A red cane with a bird-shaped handle leaned against the wall. Was that for her?

Slowly, Frankie got up, wincing as her legs protested, and limped toward the cane. Her eyes never left the bold red.

It didn't seem like something Alphys would own—it looked far too tall for her to even hold. So, whose was it?

The cane reached up to Frankie's chest. She could use it as a staff if she wanted to. She leaned against the wood and looked back toward the bed, gathering her clothes before heading toward what she assumed was the bathroom.

When she stepped inside, she sighed in relief and closed the door behind her. The bathroom was dimly lit with pristine white tile walls. A single rectangular mirror hung above the sink, and a white rectangular curtain shielded a silver showerhead. The toilet sat to the side.

"Cozy..." Frankie muttered, peeling off her socks and jeans. She turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm up. In the meantime, her eyes drifted to the mirror, landing on her now-dirty bandages.

She sighed again, careful as she unwrapped them, wincing slightly.

After checking the temperature of the water with her hand, she stepped into the shower, letting the warm bristles cascade down her body. Her curly hair, once flattened halfway, now spiraled in loose waves that framed her face and cascaded down to the start of her spine.

Frankie closed her eyes and sighed deeply. She scratched her head, pushing the curls back, letting the water rush down over her face. For just a moment, everything felt calm. Peaceful.

Frankie limped out of the room, gripping the bold red cane for support. A few gasps sounded from the others nearby. Alphys, buried in a stack of papers, barely glanced up—until she saw it.

Her eyes widened. "Put that back."

Frankie straightened, gripping the cane tighter. "Why? Whose is it?"

Alphys didn't answer. She marched over, snatched the cane from Frankie's hand, and shoved it back into the room. Frankie stumbled but caught herself.

"You don't need it," Alphys muttered, voice clipped.

Before Frankie could argue, Alphys grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. Her grip was tight. Unyielding.

"Listen to me, and listen good." Alphys' voice was sharp—colder than Frankie had ever heard. She jabbed a clawed finger at the girl's chest. "Don't ever touch that cane again."

Frankie swallowed, nodding quickly.

"From now on, you'll learn medicine and science under me," Alphys continued. "You'll follow a strict schedule. You'll do as I say. And you will never—ever—go into my room again. Got it?"

Frankie hesitated, then mumbled, "Yes... doctor."

Alphys stepped back, adjusting her coat like nothing had happened. "Good. Let's start." Without another word, she turned and walked off.

Frankie lingered, glancing back at the room. The cane sat where Alphys had left it, its bold red practically glowing in the dim light.

Whose was it? And why did Alphys react like that?She didn't have time to think. With a quiet breath, she forced herself to follow.

Alphys led her into the operating room.

"Why are we here?" Frankie asked, scanning the dimly lit space.

Before she got an answer, the doors on the other side slammed open. A group of large monsters barged in, dragging a scrawny kid who kicked and thrashed, his screams raw with panic.

Frankie's stomach twisted. "Doctor, what the—"

"Get the tools," Alphys said, unfazed. "You'll be operating on him."

Frankie's breath hitched. "What? I don't know how to— I thought you were going to teach me!"

"This is how you learn." Alphys' tone was cool, almost bored. "I'll be right here giving you instructions when you need them—"

The kid's screams grew louder, cutting her off. Alphys sighed in irritation.

"Shut that kid up."

The two larger monsters nodded and went to work.

Frankie flinched as fists met flesh. The kid's screams were quickly drowned out by wet, sickening cracks as they pounded his face in. The sound of breaking bone echoed off the metal walls. Blood splattered onto the floor in thick, sluggish drops.

Frankie wanted to turn away. She wanted to run.

"Don't look away," Alphys said casually. "If you do, this will be you next."

Frankie froze.

Her breath came in sharp, rapid gasps. Her fingers curled into the hem of her coat, knuckles white. She couldn't move—couldn't even blink—as the boy's body twitched and convulsed under the monsters' fists.

Alphys watched her closely, eyes sharp behind her glasses. Calculating.

Frankie's shoulders shook.

—

Ten years later.

Her hair had grown longer, curlier. The white trench coat she wore now boasted bloodstains along the hem—old, dried, permanent. Dark circles had settled under her eyes, and a pair of square glasses sat perched on her nose, a sign of age and exhaustion.

She didn't call Alphys "Doctor" anymore. There was no doctor. Just Alphys. And frankly, Frankie was tired of this life.

Frankie pushed her hair back as she walked into the lab, hands shoved deep in her pockets, fingers fidgeting with her room key.

"Frankie!"

She cocked her head lazily, searching for the voice that dared utter her name. A small rodent-like monster skipped toward her.

"Emphany," Frankie drawled. "What a pleasure." Her shoulders rose and dropped in an exaggerated shrug.

Emphany twirled a small braid between her fingers. "So, um, the doctor wants to see you—ehe." She grinned nervously. "She said she has another delivery for you to pick up."

Frankie clapped her hands together, leaning in with a grin. "Oh! Greeeaaat."

Emphany beamed, clearly misreading the sarcasm. "Okay!" She clutched her binder a little tighter as Frankie brushed past her.

Then, Frankie paused. "Oh, and Emphany?" The rodent turned, expectant. Frankie flashed her a sweet smile. "Go fuck yourself."

She walked away without another word, leaving Emphany standing there, shocked and maybe a little flustered.

Frankie shoved open Alphys' door without knocking. She'd stopped caring about courtesy a long time ago. After all, Alphys wasn't going to kill her. Not her best doctor. Not her little go-getter.

"What now, Alphys?" she drawled, leaning against the wall. "I just got back from a 'delivery'—and you're already sending me on another? Give me a fucking break."

Her eyes flicked toward the empty space where the red cane had once stood. The owner had picked it up a month after she arrived.

"You don't need a break," Alphys said, adjusting her cracked glasses. "And the delivery is in Snowdin."

Frankie pushed off the wall. "Snowdin? Where the hell is that?"

"Past Waterfall." Alphys handed her a picture of the deliver-ee.

Frankie frowned, glancing between the photo and Alphys. "So let me get this straight. You want me to go on a week-long trip to this frozen dump, search for some asshole, and then drag him all the way back? That's gonna take at least a month, if I'm lucky." Her voice dripped with passive aggression.

Alphys barely looked at her. "When you find him, extract his heart and bring it here."

Frankie scoffed. "Fuck you."

"Emphany will give you money and a cooler. Get to it."

"I really hate you, you know that?"

Alphys only hummed in response as Frankie stormed out.

Outside, Emphany stood there, wallet and cooler in hand. "F-Frankie—!"

"Still go fuck yourself!" Frankie sang in a mocking, sing-song voice, flashing her a fake smile as she snatched the items from her.

Emphany stuttered, taken aback, but Frankie didn't wait to hear whatever she was about to say. She shoved open the heavy metal doors and let them slam shut behind her with a resounding clang.

She stomped up the stone steps, her scowl deepening with every step. When she finally reached the top, she stopped, staring into the gaping mouth of a dark tunnel.

"Never gets any creepier..." she muttered, pulling out her flashlight.

Her boots clanked against the stone floor, the sound bouncing off the cavernous walls. Every step soured her mood further. A gust of warm wind howled through the tunnels, making her groan.

Everything echoed—the rhythmic thud of her footsteps, the cooler bumping against her leg, the distant hum of ventilation systems, and the murmured whispers of the homeless lurking in the shadows.

Soon, she reached a familiar crossroads—three massive tunnels stretching into darkness. One led to Waterfall. The others? A mystery. Alphys had forbidden her from ever exploring them, and despite her curiosity, she obeyed. Eventually, she got used to always taking the same path.

She sighed and headed down the tunnel she knew best. The passage stretched endlessly, vines curling down from the ceiling, their tendrils swaying in the damp air. Moss clung to the walls, thriving in the perpetual dimness.

With a flick of her flashlight, Frankie pressed forward.

The water in the tunnel started to rise, slowly at first—just a small puddle—but soon it expanded into a full lake. A log bridge, old yet sturdy, stretched across the water, a structure that had been there long before Frankie's time. Alphys had once told her it was built centuries ago. Yet, despite its age, the bridge looked remarkably well-maintained.

As Frankie hurried across, the bridge creaked and rumbled under her weight. That was when a sudden, bright light hit her face. She quickly turned off her flashlight and shielded her eyes with her arm. To her surprise, this part of the underground had natural light, allowing crops and plants to thrive.

The people of Waterfall worshiped this light like a god, revering it as a blessing. It was strange, though—after all, they had a king, Asgore, but he never cared for this place, or Hotland, or even Snowdin. Alphys had told Frankie once that, during her time serving under her master, she'd met the king.

Alphys wasn't much for storytelling, nor was she fond of speaking to Frankie at all, but when the mood struck, she would share a bit of her past.

"Wanna hear a story?" Alphys had asked one day after watching Frankie absentmindedly roll her pen.

Frankie perked up, grinning. "Seriously? Yeah! Tell me!"

A smile that was reminiscent of her youthful days spread across Alphys' face. "I met the king once," she said softly.

Frankie leaned in, intrigued. "The king? What was he like?"

Alphys leaned back in her chair, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I was a teenager, like you. I worked under my best friend's father. He took me to the fancy part of the underground—New Home. The king and queen had just had their heir."

She closed her eyes for a moment, lost in thought. "The streets were cleaner, people were kinder..." Alphys sighed, sitting up straight again. "But then... something happened to the royal family. They've never been the same since." She looked distant as if the memory weighed heavily on her.

"...Doctor?" Frankie started, but Alphys immediately raised a hand, silencing her.

"It's nothing," Alphys said quickly, her cold demeanor returning. "Get back to work."

With that, Alphys stood up and walked away, the conversation over.

frankie sighs and continues to walk on the bridge, from a far distance she could see waterfall's town surrounded by the endless deep blue, a siloette with a hood stood on a boat humming a song "hey rp" frankie gave them a lopsided smile 

"oh! frankie! what a pleasure, though i didn't expect you to come back so quickly..." the look down at the cooler "a quick delivery? ...that's new" the commented slowly 

"yeah.." frankie dropped down onto the boat "don't go to the usual spot go to the port... gotta get a few supplies" she shifted slightly "as you wish" river person nodded and took off

frankie stared into the water, lost in thought, this was gonna be one hell of a trip

[vivisectale]

cw : alcohol use, teen substance abuse, body horror, gore.

001 XIII · Death

Every day was a party. Teens using substances, getting drunk, hoping they weren't pregnant or dealing with an STI, all while keeping up the facade of being their parents' golden child. As if sneaking out, drinking, and doing drugs weren't part of the persona.

"Not my Francine!" her mother placed a hand on her chest, turning her face away from the computer.

Her father patted his wife's back. "How did we not see this?" He gritted his teeth, shaking his head. "Check her location..." He hesitated. He'd never had to track Francine's whereabouts before, not now, not ever.

But, alas, Francine's mother complied and searched.

"She's at the Milton's Manor!" she exclaimed, her voice rising. Her husband rushed to put on his coat.

"W-wait! Darren!" Margaret stumbled out of the chair and grabbed her coat just as Darren opened the door, only to be met with a blast of freezing cold wind and three feet of snow pouring into the rug.

Francine's mother blinked once, then twice, as her husband shut the door.

"...Let's just pray she's safe, Margaret," Darren muttered, taking off his coat and hanging it back up in the storage closet.

Margaret looked up at the window, her sigh heavy with concern. "Yeah..." she murmured, slowly sliding off her coat as Darren walked back to the dining table.

—-

"Whoo! Now that's the stuff!" a voice huffed in satisfaction as she set the glass bottle down onto the table.

"Damn, Frankie! All in one go?" A girl next to her laughed.

Frankie laughed along, moving wild strands of her hair to the side. A silvery streak invaded her strands—a birth defect, if you will. She kept telling herself she looked like Elizabeth Lavenza, just with darker skin and not murdered by her fiancée's creation.

This was probably one of the reasons why she liked Frankenstein's monster so much.

Another girl leaned against Frankie, holding a bottle of vodka in her hand. "I'll give you 50 bucks if you can drink this all in under three minutes." She winked.

"Try giving me a challenge." Frankie winked back, grabbed the bottle, and popped off the cap. She tilted her head back and chugged the clear liquid. Warmth crept up her neck as she rested her free hand on the girl's hip.

"Chug! Chug! Chug!" the teens chanted, their voices growing fainter as the music blared louder. The more they cheered, the less Frankie could hear. All she could focus on was the buzz—the way it made her feel alive.

It was something she couldn't get from doing homework or taking a morning jog. Somehow, drinking made her feel free. It numbed her brain to criticism, doubt, and fear.

"Bwah!" she gasped as the bottle emptied. "She drank it all in two minutes! How is that possible?!" a boy with a camera shouted, pointing at Frankie.

"Get that camera outta my face, Milo," she slurred, clumsily setting the bottle down on the coffee table.

"No way! This is comedy gold!" Milo laughed, shoving the bright light into her face. Frankie groaned and pushed him back, reaching into her pocket to grab her phone. The blue lightning charm dangled and sometimes clinked against her well-manicured nails.

"Shit... my parents," she mumbled. Frankie stood up abruptly, startling the girl out of her grasp. "I'm gonna take a call..." she slurred, stumbling toward the front door.

In this part of town, there wasn't much snow to block the door. She dialed her mom's number as she walked down the street.

"Hello?" Her mom's voice came through, full of concern. Frankie tried to sound as sober as possible but was quickly failing.

"Oh my goodness—Francine! Are you okay?? Are you at a party right now?" Her mother bombarded her with questions, making Frankie's head throb.

"I'm fineee, don't worry, Mom!" she laughed forcefully, trying to seem okay as she turned the wrong corner, leading up to Mt. Ebott. "And no, I'm not at a party... because I just left!" she continued, sounding like a first grader lying for the first time.

On the other end, there was talking, followed by muffled movements.

"Francine! You better bet your ass you aren't drunk by the time you get here!" her dad raged. Frankie straightened her posture, this time sounding a lot more sober.

"I'm not drunk!" she lied, continuing down the path toward the hole. "Get here soon," her dad said, his voice sharp. He handed the phone back to her mom.

"Did you at least have fun?" her mom sighed.

"Yeah, I did..." Frankie trailed off, narrowing her eyes toward the pitch-black hole up ahead. "What the...?" she murmured.

"What is it, sweetheart?" her mom's voice rang, sounding worried by the minute.

"It's nothing," she replied, glancing down at the hole. The blizzard was picking up, the wind blowing her closer.

"Ah!" she grunted as her eyes started to water from the force of the wind. That was the tip of the iceberg. She slipped on an ice sheet and fell onto her side. Frankie groaned in pain as she hit her hip.

"Francine!" her mom yelled over the phone. Frankie tried to climb back up, but the wind had other plans.

Her phone slipped out of her grasp and fell.

"Mom!" she shouted, glancing at the fallen phone. She rested one hand on her hip, but moving it caused her ribs to ache even more. And then, she couldn't hold on any longer.

Frankie gasped as she fell backward into the pit.

At that moment, she couldn't even scream. All the alcohol had blocked out everything. "So, this is how I die, huh?" she murmured, clutching her side. 

.

.

. 

Crunch!

A sickening sound echoed through the pit. Frankie's body was a disturbing sight—her knee twisted in places it shouldn't have, her neck bent at an unnatural angle. She was impaled on a large metal pole, still alive but barely breathing.

Yet, the strangest thing was her face—completely calm, as if she'd been expecting this to happen. Blood from her stomach dripped down her face, hands, and sides. It was all too much.

Large footsteps thumped in the darkness, drawing ever closer.

"Oh my!" A feminine voice gasped. Despite the near-total darkness, the woman still managed to see Frankie.

She stepped closer to check if Frankie was alive. "Barely breathing..." she muttered, slowly lifting Frankie off the pole. The movement made the girl let out a weak, pitiful whimper.

"Hush now, child. I will heal you," the woman said, her furry hands gently setting Frankie down.

Her red eyes raked over Frankie's bloodied form. The woman's furry paws hovered over the girl, a green light shining as Frankie's good eye opened to stare at the brightness.

"No... no light..." Frankie gurgled, the blood loss from her stomach traveling up her throat, making her cough up more blood.

"Shh... I'm trying to help you," the woman soothed.

Frankie's organs mended themselves, her bones retracting and snapping back into place under her skin. Her neck twisted back into position, and the hole in her stomach began to close—not fully, though. It would still need stitches.

Though her body was mostly back to normal, there were still parts that needed stitching, and she was in excruciating pain. The woman got up, plucked the pole from the ground like it was a weed in her garden, then picked up Frankie in her arms and disappeared into the dark.

—

Gasp!

Frankie clutched her chest, right where her heart should be. Her breathing grew rapid and shallow. She should be dead, shouldn't she? So why was she alive?

Panicked, she patted herself down, searching for her phone, only to spot it resting on a metal table nearby. Her eyes trailed down to her clothes—her flared jeans were ripped at the knees, her yellow sweater dress had a gaping hole, and her belly button ring was gone. Her boots were stained with blood.

She shivered slightly. Where was her coat?

"Ah, so you're awake," a monotone, feminine voice spoke from the darkness, startling the curly-haired girl.

"Where the fuck am I?" Frankie huffed, pulling her knees to her chest.

"You're in Hotland—my lab, to be specific." A short, yellow lizard stepped into view, pushing up her glasses.

"Hotland? You mean like hell? Oh my God, am I dead?!" Frankie shrieked.

"Calm down," the lizard deadpanned. "My name is Dr. Alphys. You can call me Doctor."

Frankie eyed her warily. The lizard—Alphys—wore a worn-out lab coat over a black dress. One lens of her glasses was cracked.

"Um... Frankie," she responded hesitantly, sizing up the monster before her.

"To answer your earlier question, you're not dead. You're in the Underground—specifically, one of the areas called Hotland," Alphys explained vaguely.

"The Underground? Like that old legend my parents told me?" Frankie's muscles tensed slightly, though she was beginning to ease up.

"Yes." Alphys nodded, then cast a glance at Frankie's phone. "What year is it now?" Her voice softened slightly, losing some of its previous indifference.

"2016..." Frankie answered slowly. Then her brows furrowed. "If I fell down a hole, how did I get here?"

Alphys picked up Frankie's phone, inspecting it like it could either be a potential threat or a new piece of tech to study. The screen was shattered, cracks splintering in a million directions, and the once-bright blue lightning charm was covered in dirt.

"You were handed off," Alphys said, her response short and vague.

Frankie took note of her tone—detached, uninterested.

"How old are you?" Alphys asked, turning to eye the white streak in Frankie's hair.

"Seventeen... if that makes any sense to you," Frankie muttered, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze.

"Hm." Alphys let out a small hum before saying, "Follow me." Without waiting for a response, she grabbed Frankie's phone and pressed her hand against a sleek black panel. A soft beep sounded as it scanned her palm.

Frankie scrambled off the bed, but the moment her feet hit the ground, a sharp jolt of pain shot through her body.

"Ugh!" she groaned, collapsing to her knees, clutching her side.

Alphys barely spared her a glance. "If you can't walk, I'll leave you here until you can." She turned to leave.

"N-no! I can walk!" Frankie gasped, forcing herself to her feet. As she moved, her stitches tore, sending fresh pain rippling through her body. A small, pained groan escaped her lips.

Alphys watched her struggle but said nothing.

Slowly, Frankie trudged toward her, shoulders hunched, blood seeping through her side. Each step felt like a chore, and by the time she reached the lizard, she was leaning heavily against the wall, breath ragged.

Alphys continued walking, unfazed. Around them, assistants and scientists stopped what they were doing, staring at the living corpse trailing behind the lizard.

Frankie's vision swam, her legs unsteady as she struggled to keep up.

"W-wait... slow down a bit..." she muttered, clutching her side as blood dripped more furiously from the torn stitches.

Alphys didn't respond, didn't even slow her pace.

Frankie barely made it a few more steps before her body gave out. She collapsed onto the cold floor with a pained gasp. Only then did Alphys turn around and sigh.

"Get me the medical kit and a bed!" she barked, her voice commanding.

The monsters jolted from their awestruck daze, scrambling around the lab, working themselves high and dry to fulfill her request.

Alphys stepped closer, standing over Frankie's trembling form. "Get up."

Frankie weakly turned her head, looking up at Alphys with half-lidded eyes. She let out a shaky breath, then glanced down at the open wound in her side.

Her vision blurred further, and the muffled sounds of voices and machinery faded into nothingness.

Darkness swallowed her whole.

[vivisectale]

got too lazy to actually render

read c1

[eyelessmoon]

i js made an account for dk tale or.. vivisectale now igig @vivisectale

(sneak peak but again nkt really)

U (yes you) should check it out

false advertisement non

good averyize ment qui

[vivisectale]

“Every day was a party. Every lie was a performance. But one night, when Frankie fell, she learned the Underground is no placefor mercy.”. cw : alcohol use, teen substance abuse, body horror, gore.

(keeping this just for the archives)

The Fall

Every day was a party. Teens using substances, getting drunk, hoping they weren't pregnant or dealing with an STI, all while keeping up the facade of being their parents' golden child. As if sneaking out, drinking, and doing drugs weren't part of the persona.

"Not my Francine!" her mother placed a hand on her chest, turning her face away from the computer.

Her father patted his wife's back. "How did we not see this?" He gritted his teeth, shaking his head. "Check her location..." He hesitated. He'd never had to track Francine's whereabouts before, not now, not ever.

But, alas, Francine's mother complied and searched.

"She's at the Milton's Manor!" she exclaimed, her voice rising. Her husband rushed to put on his coat.

"W-wait! Darren!" Margaret stumbled out of the chair and grabbed her coat just as Darren opened the door, only to be met with a blast of freezing cold wind and three feet of snow pouring into the rug.

Francine's mother blinked once, then twice, as her husband shut the door.

"...Let's just pray she's safe, Margaret," Darren muttered, taking off his coat and hanging it back up in the storage closet.

Margaret looked up at the window, her sigh heavy with concern. "Yeah..." she murmured, slowly sliding off her coat as Darren walked back to the dining table.

—-

"Whoo! Now that's the stuff!" a voice huffed in satisfaction as she set the glass bottle down onto the table.

"Damn, Frankie! All in one go?" A girl next to her laughed.

Frankie laughed along, moving wild strands of her hair to the side. A silvery streak invaded her strands—a birth defect, if you will. She kept telling herself she looked like Elizabeth Lavenza, just with darker skin and not murdered by her fiancée's creation.

This was probably one of the reasons why she liked Frankenstein's monster so much.

Another girl leaned against Frankie, holding a bottle of vodka in her hand. "I'll give you 50 bucks if you can drink this all in under three minutes." She winked.

"Try giving me a challenge." Frankie winked back, grabbed the bottle, and popped off the cap. She tilted her head back and chugged the clear liquid. Warmth crept up her neck as she rested her free hand on the girl's hip.

"Chug! Chug! Chug!" the teens chanted, their voices growing fainter as the music blared louder. The more they cheered, the less Frankie could hear. All she could focus on was the buzz—the way it made her feel alive.

It was something she couldn't get from doing homework or taking a morning jog. Somehow, drinking made her feel free. It numbed her brain to criticism, doubt, and fear.

"Bwah!" she gasped as the bottle emptied. "She drank it all in two minutes! How is that possible?!" a boy with a camera shouted, pointing at Frankie.

"Get that camera outta my face, Milo," she slurred, clumsily setting the bottle down on the coffee table.

"No way! This is comedy gold!" Milo laughed, shoving the bright light into her face. Frankie groaned and pushed him back, reaching into her pocket to grab her phone. The blue lightning charm dangled and sometimes clinked against her well-manicured nails.

"Shit... my parents," she mumbled. Frankie stood up abruptly, startling the girl out of her grasp. "I'm gonna take a call..." she slurred, stumbling toward the front door.

In this part of town, there wasn't much snow to block the door. She dialed her mom's number as she walked down the street.

"Hello?" Her mom's voice came through, full of concern. Frankie tried to sound as sober as possible but was quickly failing.

"Oh my goodness—Francine! Are you okay?? Are you at a party right now?" Her mother bombarded her with questions, making Frankie's head throb.

"I'm fineee, don't worry, Mom!" she laughed forcefully, trying to seem okay as she turned the wrong corner, leading up to Mt. Ebott. "And no, I'm not at a party... because I just left!" she continued, sounding like a first grader lying for the first time.

On the other end, there was talking, followed by muffled movements.

"Francine! You better bet your ass you aren't drunk by the time you get here!" her dad raged. Frankie straightened her posture, this time sounding a lot more sober.

"I'm not drunk!" she lied, continuing down the path toward the hole. "Get here soon," her dad said, his voice sharp. He handed the phone back to her mom.

"Did you at least have fun?" her mom sighed.

"Yeah, I did..." Frankie trailed off, narrowing her eyes toward the pitch-black hole up ahead. "What the...?" she murmured.

"What is it, sweetheart?" her mom's voice rang, sounding worried by the minute.

"It's nothing," she replied, glancing down at the hole. The blizzard was picking up, the wind blowing her closer.

"Ah!" she grunted as her eyes started to water from the force of the wind. That was the tip of the iceberg. She slipped on an ice sheet and fell onto her side. Frankie groaned in pain as she hit her hip.

"Francine!" her mom yelled over the phone. Frankie tried to climb back up, but the wind had other plans.

Her phone slipped out of her grasp and fell.

"Mom!" she shouted, glancing at the fallen phone. She rested one hand on her hip, but moving it caused her ribs to ache even more. And then, she couldn't hold on any longer.

Frankie gasped as she fell backward into the pit.

At that moment, she couldn't even scream. All the alcohol had blocked out everything. "So, this is how I die, huh?" she murmured, clutching her side.

.

.

.

Crunch!

A sickening sound echoed through the pit. Frankie's body was a disturbing sight—her knee twisted in places it shouldn't have, her neck bent at an unnatural angle. She was impaled on a large metal pole, still alive but barely breathing.

Yet, the strangest thing was her face—completely calm, as if she'd been expecting this to happen. Blood from her stomach dripped down her face, hands, and sides. It was all too much.

Large footsteps thumped in the darkness, drawing ever closer.

"Oh my!" A feminine voice gasped. Despite the near-total darkness, the woman still managed to see Frankie.

She stepped closer to check if Frankie was alive. "Barely breathing..." she muttered, slowly lifting Frankie off the pole. The movement made the girl let out a weak, pitiful whimper.

"Hush now, child. I will heal you," the woman said, her furry hands gently setting Frankie down.

Her red eyes raked over Frankie's bloodied form. The woman's furry paws hovered over the girl, a green light shining as Frankie's good eye opened to stare at the brightness.

"No... no light..." Frankie gurgled, the blood loss from her stomach traveling up her throat, making her cough up more blood.

"Shh... I'm trying to help you," the woman soothed.

Frankie's organs mended themselves, her bones retracting and snapping back into place under her skin. Her neck twisted back into position, and the hole in her stomach began to close—not fully, though. It would still need stitches.

Though her body was mostly back to normal, there were still parts that needed stitching, and she was in excruciating pain. The woman got up, plucked the pole from the ground like it was a weed in her garden, then picked up Frankie in her arms and disappeared into the dark.

—

Gasp!

Frankie clutched her chest, right where her heart should be. Her breathing grew rapid and shallow. She should be dead, shouldn't she? So why was she alive?

Panicked, she patted herself down, searching for her phone, only to spot it resting on a metal table nearby. Her eyes trailed down to her clothes—her flared jeans were ripped at the knees, her yellow sweater dress had a gaping hole, and her belly button ring was gone. Her boots were stained with blood.

She shivered slightly. Where was her coat? Her hat? Her gloves??

"Ah, so you're awake," a monotone, feminine voice spoke from the darkness, startling the curly-haired girl.

"Where the fuck am I?" Frankie huffed, pulling her knees to her chest.

"You're in Hotland—my lab, to be specific." A short, yellow lizard stepped into view, pushing up her glasses.

"Hotland? You mean like hell? Oh my God, am I dead?!" Frankie shrieked.

"Calm down," the lizard deadpanned. "My name is Dr. Alphys. You can call me Doctor."

Frankie eyed her warily. The lizard—Alphys—wore a worn-out lab coat over a black dress. One lens of her glasses was cracked.

"Um... Frankie," she responded hesitantly, sizing up the monster before her.

"To answer your earlier question, you're not dead. You're in the Underground—specifically, one of the areas called Hotland," Alphys explained vaguely.

"The Underground? Like that old fairytale my parents told me?" Frankie's muscles tensed slightly, though she was beginning to ease up.

"Yes." Alphys nodded, then cast a glance at Frankie's phone. "What year is it now?" Her voice softened slightly, losing some of its previous indifference.

"2016..." Frankie answered slowly. Then her brows furrowed. "If I fell down a hole, how did I get here?"

Alphys picked up Frankie's phone, inspecting it like it could either be a potential threat or a new piece of tech to study. The screen was shattered, cracks splintering in a million directions, and the once-bright blue lightning charm was covered in dirt.

"You were handed off," Alphys said, her response short and vague.

Frankie took note of her tone—detached, uninterested.

"How old are you?" Alphys asked, turning to eye the white streak in Frankie's hair.

"Seventeen... if that makes any sense to you," Frankie muttered, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze.

"Hm." Alphys let out a small hum before saying, "Follow me." Without waiting for a response, she grabbed Frankie's phone and pressed her hand against a sleek black panel. A soft beep sounded as it scanned her palm.

Frankie scrambled off the bed, but the moment her feet hit the ground, a sharp jolt of pain shot through her body.

"Ugh!" she groaned, collapsing to her knees, clutching her side.

Alphys barely spared her a glance. "If you can't walk, I'll leave you here until you can." She turned to leave.

"N-no! I can walk!" Frankie gasped, forcing herself to her feet. As she moved, her stitches tore, sending fresh pain rippling through her body. A small, pained groan escaped her lips.

Alphys watched her struggle but said nothing.

Slowly, Frankie trudged toward her, shoulders hunched, blood seeping through her side. Each step felt like a chore, and by the time she reached the lizard, she was leaning heavily against the wall, breath ragged.

Alphys continued walking, unfazed. Around them, assistants and scientists stopped what they were doing, staring at the living corpse trailing behind the lizard.

Frankie's vision swam, her legs unsteady as she struggled to keep up.

"W-wait... slow down a bit..." she muttered, clutching her side as blood dripped more furiously from the torn stitches.

Alphys didn't respond, didn't even slow her pace.

Frankie barely made it a few more steps before her body gave out. She collapsed onto the cold floor with a pained gasp. Only then did Alphys turn around and sigh.

"Get me the medical kit and a bed!" she barked, her voice commanding.

The monsters jolted from their awestruck daze, scrambling around the lab, working themselves high and dry to fulfill her request.

Alphys stepped closer, standing over Frankie's trembling form. "Get up."

Frankie weakly turned her head, looking up at Alphys with half-lidded eyes. She let out a shaky breath, then glanced down at the open wound in her side.

Her vision blurred further, and the muffled sounds of voices and machinery faded into nothingness.

Darkness swallowed her whole.