Zerathine @zerathine - Tumblr Blog

Jan 3, 2017

Chapter 1: Your Best Friend

Book 1: Dark

Breaking the barrier permanently and ending the Resets will require Frisk and Chara to choose a side: friends or enemies?

Virtual

The bed of golden flowers

I lie on stretches to soak in the feeble sunlight. The cavern is cozy, a smidge wider than my room at home but much, much taller. A tan hand that does not belong to me covered in pollen lifts to block the light. I roll…

No. Wait. That is not quite right, is it? I am not the one in control.

The voice - his? hers? theirs? - is more of a thought than speech but is as clear as the music of Mom’s crystal wine glasses.

The owner of the voice stands--and I with them--a stick clutched in their left hand as they pat the pollen from their striped shirt. Tufts of leaves poke out of the stick’s single branch. They’re lucky it didn’t impale them or snap from the fall. As though sensing my thoughts, they inspect their person for injury apart from whatever the bandage on their forearm covers.

They...they...No, that, too, is inaccurate. I am not an outsider peering in. I am...dead. Was dead. Irrelevant. I can sort that mystery out later. Correcting my perspective to right this disorientation takes precedence.

My essence is bound to...to you. As it was once bound to another. You breathe, and I breathe with you. Through your eyes, I see a white card reflecting sunlight tucked into the flowers.

That’s new, you say, and these words resound off the surrounding pillars.

Hmm, no, that perspective does not quite fit either. This person is not really “you,” are they? “You” are entirely someone else.

The child kneels to collect and inspect the empty card, and their wonderment buzzes through me, just like their question.

Name...My name is….

My name is…?

My memories of the time I was alive are far from lacking: tender moments with family sitting before the lit fireplace or moments where I was given that rare delicacy known as chocolate, but like the card, my name is empty.

/* I don’t know. */

The person blinks and lowers their arm to their side, head tilted. My answer, I suspect, is unexpected, but the hesitation lasts a heartbeat before another thought comforts me:

Ah! Let’s. Let us. Us, we, ours. Had I lips, I would have smiled. We smile anyway.

We slide the glossy card into a pocket on our shorts and snap the button shut, then follow the single passageway to a slate-colored doorway with the Delta Rune emblazoned above, supported on a pedestal by two ridged pillars. We brush our fingertips along the dry stone in the threshold, eyeing a cheerful flower bobbing along to its humming. When it spots us, its smile widens.

/* Really. Well then, what do you propose we do? */

/* And has that worked for previous encounters? */

/* Hah! Then, what makes you think it’ll work now? */

Well, that’s the finest display of optimism by my new companion…. We inhale and, it occurs to me as we run toward the flower on our exhale, that we haven’t been properly acquainted.

/* Hey, what’s your-- */

“Howdy!” The flower’s friendly smile widens. He expects us to stop. “I’m Flowey! Flowey the Flo-”

Our foot smashes into Flowey’s face, and we exult with a reverberating “whoop!” and laughter. Never, in the history of human or monster-kind alike, has a plant faced such demoralization.

“Aaaaargh! What’s the big idea, you idiot!?” Flowey shouts.

The magic he flings at our back tinks against the stone floor as we dash into the next chamber where a grand staircase hugs a pile of Autumn leaves. Our chest spasms from our giggles and breaths.

Something latches onto our collar and lifts us running from the ground, reducing us to dangling Flowey-bait. So much for our great escape.

“My child, you should pay closer attention to your surroundings,” a woman chides.

She sets us facing her on our feet and brushes down our wrinkled shirt. Ears drape over her shoulders and small, white horns poke out of her head. She holds herself with the grace of royalty, posture erect, towering even. Her face...

“You ought to apologize to the poor dear.”

...M-Mom.

It’s...it’s Mom.

But she should be at New Home. Not here.

But here she is.

Why…?

We stumble after her tug on our wrist, too dumbstruck to resist. Flowey, whose grimace reeks with suspicion, leans away from our approach and into the halo of light, which highlights the footprint stamped into his face. With a bit more force, the indentations might have been permanent. It’s too bad dirt will wash away.

“Do not be scared, little one,” Mom says. “The child only wishes to tell you they are sorry.”

She releases us but places her paw in between our shoulder blades to keep us from fleeing, a habit she developed because of my past fights with Asriel, heheh. She nudges us forward, and our hand flexes around the stick, the tip of which Flowey eyes as it teeters up and down.

“You do wish to tell him that you are sorry, do you not, my child?”

We flip the stick so the point faces behind us, grin at our masterpiece, and frame the shoeprint with our fingers. Some of the pollen from the golden flowers has mixed with the dirt. Truly a photogenic piece.

“That’s not an apology,” Flowey says, glowering.

We crouch to eye level with him and circle our arms around our legs, then pick at the bandage on our forearm. He sinks into his stem.

“Well?” Flowey snaps.

We pull our eyelid down with a finger and stick our tongue out at him.

“Rrrgh, you little--”

“My child.” We flinch at the severity in Mom’s voice as she places a hand on our shoulder and kneels beside us. Her disapproving frown foretells a Mom talk. “In life there are many choices, each of them paired with a resulting consequence.” She gestures to Flowey. “Your decision to terrorize this poor creature will result in a negative consequence such as a night without dinner. However, should you reverse your course, a positive consequence may follow such as my warm, homemade, flaky butterscotch-cinnamon pie.”

Mom’s pie...steam rises from caramelized sugar waiting to melt in our mouths. The spicy-sweet scent of the cinnamon glaze Mom brushes onto the pan and the top of the pie permeates the cavern. We can almost reach out a hand to dig our fingers into the gooey filling, but our growling stomach bursts the daydream into a pie-less reality.

I’m sorry…

“What was that?” Flowey drawls. “I couldn’t tell if that was your mouth or your stomach talking.”

I’m sorry your face found my foot.

Flowey giggles. His tipping head leads the sway of his stalk like one of those gaudy solar dancing flowers.

“Golly, that’s…” And in that instant he freezes, his expression darkened to a poignant scowl while we bite back more laughter. “That’s not funny…. Stop laughing.” We laugh harder. “I said stop laughing!”

“Oh dear,” Mom sighs. “I’m sorry, ah…”

“Flowey,” Flowey growls.

“My deepest apologies, Flowey, for the child’s misbehavior. Allow me to make it up to you somehow. Would you and your family like some baked snails?”

“Hmph, I don’t have a family.”

“O-Oh...dear. I am sorry. I, ah, did not realize….” Flowey shoots Mom a withering glare. “Well, would you like to accompany us for some pie?”

What, no!

“Hush, my child. We will deal with your punishment when we return home.”

/* Worth it. */

“No. I’m fine,” Flowey says.

“Are you certain, small one? I would like to do something to make up for the child’s discourtesy.”

“I said I’m fine. But thanks. For the invitation.”

“Well, if you change your mind you are more than welcome to join us.”

We waddle the cramps from our legs into the next room, where amethyst clusters protruding from the ceiling saturate the brick with a deep purple glow, almost disguising the stone crumbling from years of disuse. It’s certainly a stark contrast to the blackness of the previous cavern. We glance over our shoulder, but Flowey’s gone. Well, at least we dodged on apologizing, and he’s out of our hair now. Plus, whatever punishment Mom decides upon won’t be cruel.

Mom herself, now that we can get a better look at her, looks older. Her coat has lost its luster to time’s corrosion. It’s more matte, more brittle than soft. The only exception is the faintest glimmer of joy in the crinkle of her eyes.

“What an interesting creature,” Mom says as she follows our gaze to the now-empty moss. “I’ve never seen a flower monster like him before. Hmm, nevermind. It’s not as though I have spoken to every existing monster myself.” We meet her eyes. “My name is Toriel. I am the Keeper of the Ruins, and every day I pass through this area to see if any humans have fallen. Though your behavior was less than ideal, I still look forward to showing you your new home.”

We follow her up the deteriorating steps, the stone rail rough with age under our hand. Even the crystals above look like they might wiggle loose with one good quake, crushing the staircase into dust and rubble and submerging this room, too, in darkness. Mom hums a haunting lullaby that accentuates the hollowness of the Ruins. Slimes, shadows, frogs...monsters of all sizes, shapes, and stenches used to pack these vacant walls. But now they are no more.

Just how much time has passed between my death and now?

We hop up the remaining two steps, whereupon a flower pops out of the floor near the doorway.

“Howdy,” Flowey says. His face looks naked without our footprint art. “So, I’ve thought about your invitation, and I’ve changed my mind. I think pie sounds like a wonderful idea, and it’s the perfect apology.”

“Oh, splendid!” Mom says.

/* This is not splendid. */

“We would be delighted to have you join us, wouldn’t we, my child?”

We say nothing as Mom turns the corner ahead of us. We squeeze the stick to dispel our rocketing anxiety, point two fingers at our eyes, and then jab them in Flowey’s direction. Unfazed by our warning, he bares his fang-filled smile and plops underground.

“...variety of difficult puzzles,” Mom says as we’re entering the first puzzle.

/* Oops, should we have been listening to her? */

She lowers the lever and the doors scrape open to the sound of rushing water. We shuffle along the well-worn path past the six depressed buttons and into the next corridor where water flows along two parallel troughs. Flowey, waiting for us at the first lever, pulls it with a vine and a leafy wave. A distant mechanism clicks, slides, and clicks.

“Puzzles will be no problem if we work together, right?” Flowey asks as he sways to and fro.

I can do it on my own.

“I mean, I’m sure you’d be fine, but what’s wrong with a little bit of help from your best friend Flowey?”

Repaying a Loan Shark would be easier. We ignore him and dash across the bridge ahead of Mom to pull the next lever.

/* Wait, that’s-- */

“No!” Mom shouts.

We jerk our hand back as though scalded by the metal, our jaw clenching when Flowey giggles from behind us.

“That’s the wrong switch, silly,” Flowey says.

We stumble back and look between the two levers, puzzled, though it’s pretty clear which one is correct.

/* But the yellow arrows are pointing to the right one. */

“What’s wrong, my child?” Mom says. “Go ahead and pull the other switch.”

I just wanted to see what this switch would do.

“Well, if I’d have known you wanted to waste everyone’s time, I wouldn’t have given away the answer,” Flowey says with that ear-drilling giggle. “By all means, go ahead and pull it, but it’s just a dud.”

You’ve taken all the fun out of it.

We march to the other lever. We tug it down. The spikes slide beneath their plates, which opens the way to the next room where a dummy sits in the far corner.

/* A cotton heart and a button eye, you are the apple of my eye. */

“In the underground, you will run into monsters who will try and attack you, but do not fear, my child,” Mom says. “Simply talk to them and stall for time until I can come to your aid. Why not practice talking to the dummy?”

Monsters...monsters attacking us. No, that cannot be. Knight Knights, Bye Bees, Doppel Gen Mirs, Migospels, Gorgonzillas...None of them would hurt a human.

Flowey’s existence is proof enough of that. He pokes out of the ground next to the Dummy and pats the base with a leaf.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me this stuffed animal scares you,” he says.

No.

“Do you hate dummies?”

No.

“Then what’s the problem? Don’t you want to be its friend?”

We cross our arms and jerk our head away.

No.

Wait….

The dummy sheds a stuffing tear and putters into the air out of sight. We wince.

“Gosh, that wasn’t very nice,” Flowey says.

You set me up on purpose.

“What are you talking about? I just asked you a simple question. You were the one who chose to say no. Don’t go blaming others for your insensitivity.”

“Flowey is right, my child,” Mom says. “You cannot place blame on others for your actions, even if it was an accident.”

“From what I’ve heard that dummy is pretty sensitive, too. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s telling its cousin about what you said right this instant,” Flowey says.

“That’s enough from you, too, young one. It is cruel to dig at the wounds of another.”

Flowey rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

He burrows beneath the rock, and Mom leads us into the next room, where vendors with vibrant stalls once lined up in rows to sell their handmade blankets, dishware, and trinkets away from the city bustle. Only the stone remembers the echoes of the names they once hailed.

/* By the way...you never told me your name. */

/* Frisk? That name...it feels so familiar, but I am certain this is the first time we have met. */

/* What? */

/* Try me. You certainly act like this isn’t your first time through here, yet everything has taken you by surprise thus far. */

/* Changed? */

/* Calm down. Your jumbled thoughts are making me dizzy. Wait, watch out! */

A Froggit hops into our path within the narrow corridor, more startled by our presence than we are its. We keep our posture open and inviting to counterbalance the Froggit’s offensive crouch.

Aw, aren’t you a cutie.

It doesn’t understand our words, but it relaxes and blushes pink until Mom hustles up to us and frightens it away with her stinkeye. It hops by in a hurry to escape her, poor thing. It didn’t do anything wrong.

Mom takes hold of our hand anyway to guide us across the spiked floor ahead of us. She’s more protective than I remember.

/* What do you mean my name has changed several times? */

/* None of those are me. */

...None of those are me. I can’t explain how I know this, but those names do not encompass who I am. With nothing left to say, we step through another threshold into a corridor stretching into an infinite nightmare. Mom turns to face us.

“I sense some remaining animosity between you and Flowey, my child,” Mom says. “Please, forgive me for what I am about to do, but I believe it is for the best that you two work through your differences.”

Mom books it to the other end of the hall, a white and purple speck by the time she reaches the lone pillar. Flowey pops out of the ground, giggling.

“Finally, she’s gone. Now you and I can chat without interruptions.”

We sidestep Flowey and entertain the thought of stomping on his face again. He cuts us off.

“Well, gosh, from the way you’ve been acting, it seems like you already know what’s going on here, huh?”

We shrug. It’s still a long way to where Mom’s hiding.

“You seem pretty smart for a human,” Flowey continues. “Say, and I’m only making a wild guess here, but…”

We skip past him again, confident he won’t attack where Mom can see us. He sure is a persistent flower.

“...Hey…”

We ignore him.

“Aaaaaaaargh! Would you stop and listen to me, you idiot!? If you don’t, I’ll kill her. Hee hee hee.”

We pause and tap the tip of the stick against the cave floor. Flowey clears his throat to draw our attention, but we cross our arms and wait. If he wants to talk, he can come to us. He growls but pops up in front of us once more so we can talk face-to-face.

“As I was saying, it seems like there’s been a misunderstanding between us. I mean. Our first meeting was you stepping on my face. And then blaming me for your mistakes. So, I’m not exactly in the wrong here.”

We wave a hand in front of us to tell Flowey to get to the point.

“At least this time,” Flowey adds. “So, what was it before? I give you some bad advice? Try to steal your stick?”

You know the answer to that already.

We start to walk away again to let him know we won’t answer his roundabout questions.

“Okay, okay. I admit, the thought of killing you did cross my mind. I’m guessing that’s what I’ve done in the past, so I understand why you don’t like me.”

We shouldn’t have said anything, but we halt again, since he has stopped beating around the bush.

“Sure, I may have done some preeeeeeeetty gross stuff to you before. But” --he studies us-- “are you entirely innocent yourself?”

Distorted thoughts skritch along our brain like dozens of agitated bees. Our flinch is the trigger for Flowey’s next sting.

“You aren’t, are you? You’ve toyed with their lives, too. You realize this is all just a game, so you Reset to discover what you’ve missed. Hee hee hee. You sicko. You’re just like me.”

That’s not--

“But it’s okay because no one remembers. Why golly, even I can’t remember!”

You’re just assuming things.

The skritching worsens the longer Flowey considers us.

“I can be amicable, too, you know,” he says slowly. “We could be allies, you and I. Wouldn’t that be interesting? With your ability to Reset, it’d be useless to try and kill you, I see that now, but if we worked together, we’d be unstoppable. The best part? There wouldn’t be any consequences!”

No, absolutely not. We storm past Flowey, our heart and mind racing in opposite directions. His fixation on this idea bodes ill for us, and we’re only a third of the way through the hall. But if Flowey is right and we...if Frisk is some anomalous time traveler, then the probability of Resetting to sate their curiosity seems rather high.

/* Is it true, Frisk? */

/* Then why Reset so much? */

Flowey wraps a vine around our ankle, which we shake as he stretches his stalk further from the ground to twist in front of us.

“Why are you so against the idea of us working together?” He follows our involuntary glance to the pillar where Mom hides. “You think that pig hiding actually cares about you? That she’s any better than me?”

She looks more like a goat.

“Augh, whatever! Pig, goat, trash, I don’t care what you call her. The point is you are just a replacement to her, a fantasy for times long past.”

You’re lying.

“She ran away from her responsibilities and now searches for poor, injured humans to try and fill in her loneliness. Look at her. She’s a pathetic bleeding heart. She’d be more than happy to let you march off to your own death than try to prevent it. Why? Because she’s afraid. She’s afraid of facing her shortcomings and mistakes far more than she fears for your safety. What a hypocrite.”

That’s not...

Our struggle against Flowey’s hold ceases at the flicker of a memory, not from me but from Frisk, of Mom’s hug begging us not to leave the Ruins yet not offering to accompany us either to ensure our safety. Her expectations, her loneliness, her fear....she’d claimed to set them aside for us, but the truth was that she had clutched onto them all the tighter.

/* No, Mom isn’t like that, Frisk. */

Flowey continues, “But me? I’m not afraid of anything, and I’m the only one who can really understand you and your ability. Hee hee hee. I can help you. Your false trust, your loneliness, your fear. I can help you overcome them. I can show you the truth, and I won’t lead you astray. There’s just one itsy-bitsy thing you gotta do. It’s simple, really. You just have to side with me. It’s your call. Just make sure it’s the right one.”

Flowey burrows underground, leaving us to contemplate his offer.

But to accept would be absurd. We are caught at a crossroads halfway between the corridor’s entrance and Mom’s pillar. This is all wrong. Asriel’s and my plan had failed, but Mom should still be with Dad, so why is she here anyway?

/* Frisk, what happened since...since my death? */

/* What do you mean? I deserve to know what happened to my family. */

/* Fine. */

We reach the pillar in silence, where Flowey waits with Mom, who has her hands clasped before her until she sees us from the corner of her eye. The furrow of her brow betrays the dissatisfaction she won’t voice.

“Greetings, my child. I am sorry to have left you. I wished to not only test your independence but allow you the opportunity to reconcile with Flowey. However, he tells me you continue to ignore him.”

Mom hesitates and scrutinizes us. With a curt, self-assured nod, she pulls out an ancient-looking cellphone from the pocket of her robe and approaches us.

“Here, my child, take this. I must attend to some business in order to prepare the pie and think it would be best if you and Flowey used this time to continue working through your differences. I am sure that you two have more in common than you might think. Why not talk about some hobbies you may share while I am away? Or pretend you are monarchs ruling over the leaf pile with a fist of iron. I will return in a short while to see how you are doing. Be well, my children.”

In the yard with the blackened tree, our knuckles white and hand aching, we brandish the stick as the weapon it truly is for the first time against Flowey. Too many battles has that contemptible flower interfered, providing wrong directions to watch us flounder against easy enemies throughout the entirety of the Ruins.

No, not enemies. They are not enemies, no matter what poison Flowey feeds us. There’s no reason to kill them, even in self-defense, as Frisk has proven.

But this...this parasite will ruin us.

“Boy, without me around to help you, you woulda been dead by now, huh, friend?” Flowey says. “Good thing I’m here! Are you sure this isn’t your first time though? You seemed kinda lost. I mean, there was that whole thing with that stupid ghost--”

His name is Napstablook, and it’s your fault he left crying!

“--plus the puzzles you constantly screwed up at every turn despite how much you’ve supposedly done them, and have you never fought Moldessa triplets before?”

I’ve only seen them a few times, and that was forever ago.

“I’m not judging you or anything, but your form was a little sloppy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fight more pathetically than you.” His sly smile is another cut along our battle-weary soul. “Maybe it’s not that you choose to befriend everyone but rather you can’t even fight. You don’t know how to attack, you don’t know how to kill, you don’t know anything! Maybe the previous times I tried to kill you because it would be a mercy!”

Our befriending attempts may have been sloppy, but our vertical slash at Flowey is swift and precise. Flowey jerks to the side in time to catch the blast of air as the stick whistles past his face.

“Golly, you sure are quick to attack for someone who’s never killed, huh?” Flowey taunts. “Have I already angered you to homicide? Hee hee hee. That was easier than I thought.”

We sweep the stick parallel to the ground, but Flowey tunnels out of the way.

“I guess you’ve made your choice then,” Flowey says.

I won’t side with you. Lie to as many monsters as you want to make them hate me--

“What in the world is going on here!?” Mom shouts.

A wall of flame intercepts our next slash, and we falter in our step, aghast. Not often have I witnessed the sort of rage that engulfs Mom’s arms in fire to the elbows without singeing a lock of her fur--or the bag of groceries clenched in her opposite hand. We instinctively cower away from her.

“That is enough of this childish behavior. You two could get seriously hurt. Child, follow me this instant. I do not know how you were treated on the surface, but down here we do not needlessly attack one another when there is a disagreement.”

Mom snatches our arm and drags us staggering toward the quaint house, one of the only structures not falling apart brick by brick. Despite being in trouble, the lighting as we enter the foyer casts a homely glow, even as we’re tugged to the right and down a hallway consisting of three rooms, the first at which she jerks us to a halt. We relinquish the stick to her outheld paw, sulking as we’re ushered into the bedroom.

“You may come out when you have calmed down and thought about your actions,” Mom says.

Though we expect the door to slam behind us, the jamb mutters shut and the lock snicks into place. We jostle the handle to no avail. We truly are locked in. Mom’s voice fades as she exits the hallway toward the living room, asking Flowey if he’d like to help her with the pie and apologizing on our behalf, as if we’re the enemy.

We scour the room for an escape, but aside from dusty toys, a chest full of shoes, a camera on the bookshelf, and a closet full of assorted striped shirts, we find nothing. Along with the camera sits a music box, which we wind up to fill the tense silence. It’s the lullaby Mom was humming earlier, the underlying chords warming the melody.

We plunk down onto the bed and rub a hand along our face, sinking further into the mattress as we exhale.

Not particularly keen on talking to Frisk myself, I retain my silence, and we listen to our heart slowing to the music’s tempo. Throughout the Ruins, we bumbled through attacks and floundered through puzzles, our knowledge of how things should be and reality differing from one another. Our accidental insults toward the monsters had dwindled into stony silence with Flowey as our constant shadow.

Stacked atop all of that is Frisk’s insistence on withholding knowledge claiming it’s for my benefit, just like Mom used to say when I asked her questions, or like that one game, keep away, which I used to play with Asriel. Except now I’m the victim. No wonder he always tattled on me.

/* The least you can do is stop invading my thoughts. */

We unsnap our pocket and remove the card we found at the start of our journey. Both sides are still empty. It’s rectangular, about the size and glossiness of a photograph.

/* You’ve said before that it was new. */

We close our eyes, our hand covering the card on our stomach while our legs dangle over the side of the bed. We picture a long hallway tinted blue and devoid of sound, writing etched into the wall where occasionally a gray door stands.

"I can feel it,” Asriel’s deep voice echoes. “Every time you die, your grip on this world slips away. Every time you die, your friends forget you a little more. Your life will end here, in a world where no one remembers you…”

The world is ending, has dissolved to the darkness of final confrontation. Before us Asriel floats, the wings of the cosmos extending to the ends of the universe. I can feel it, too. Every soul pulsing within his body cowers at the magnitude of the power ensnaring them. They are lost, each and every one of them. Yearners, dreamers, wishers...all seek the forgotten.

Hundreds of beams punch through our paralyzed soul until it splinters into halves. But it refuses.

“Still you're hanging on...? That's fine. In a few more moments, you'll forget everything, too. That attitude will serve you well in your next life."

We bolt awake, solid and whole and shaking.

/* Frisk, was that… */

/* Asriel’s alive? */

/* Then what? */

Huh, that makes a bizarre sort of sense. Neither alive nor dead but caught within the circuitry like a glitch.

Rubbing our eyes of sleep and yawning, we slide from the bed onto our knees to grab the card and pocket it again. A dense grogginess numbs our mind, but we rock to a stand and approach the door, not like Mom’ll have unlocked--

It swings open. We blink, then creep into the hallway like fugitives. The warm smell of pie clobbers our olfactories, nearly toppling us into a starving heap on the floor as our stomach clenches into a meal-deprived knot. Mom’s too far away to summon for help. Looks like we’ll have to proceed on our own.

We slink through the foyer, straining our ears to listen for any suspicious sounds, arms wrapped around our stomach to muffle its protesting growls until we reach the wall between us and the living room.

“...digestive systems as they mature?”

Ah, facts about snails. Asriel loved it when Mom shared a new snail fact with us every week, always spent the first hour trying to guess what fact she would share by shouting nonsense like, “Talk. Really. Slowly?” Flowey, on the other hand, looks bored to tears as we poke our head into the living room. Huh, surprising he hasn’t threatened her with violence yet.

Mom catches us from the corner of her eye and smiles while she places the snail book in her lap. “Good morning, my child. You are just in time to eat pie and enjoy some facts about snails. Would you like to join us?”

We nod and enter the room in trepidation as Mom leaves for the kitchen and returns with the biggest slice of pie I have ever seen. We take the plate, plop onto the floor, and scarf down the pie, much to Mom’s amusement and Flowey’s distaste.

“Say, what would you do if you found out the human killed someone?” Flowey asks.

Mom nearly spits out her bite of pie, and we nearly choke on ours. “What?” Her attention snaps to us. “Who did they kill?”

“Oh, nobody!” Flowey giggles. “It was just a hypothetical question. You know, just in case they ever do.”

Mom contemplates her answer. “I would ask who they killed, why they felt inclined to do so, and if they thought it was the right thing to do. There is always an underlying reason for our actions. I would then explain to them that the monster likely had a family who had cared for them very much and that now the monster is gone and will never return home.”

“Wow, that’s really sad.”

We dislodge from our throat the chunk of pie that tried to kill us and set our plate aside--fork and knife included. The pie looks less appealing now as apprehension worms its way into our stomach instead.

“What if they continued to do it?” Flowey says.

“W-what?”

“You know, kill monsters. What if they didn’t listen to you?”

“I…”

“Golly, what a heavy question. They would never do that, would they?”

Flowey shoots us a pointed look, his head tilted sideways. We shake our head, our pulse racing. Flowey’s eyes sink into his disk, forming hollow orbits through which his pupils glow, and his smile curls into that of the deranged, growing wider and wider until it could swallow us whole. We fall back on our hands to scramble away from him.

“That’s why someone has to do it for them until they learn otherwise!” he says.

A barrage of pellet-sized bullets punch through Mom, who slumps back in her chair, eyes glassing over as we scramble to our feet. Her plate clatters to the floor.

“Ha….ha…” Toriel gasps the last of her breath.

Her dust plumes out to cover the chair, her soul hovering in the negative space until one pellet strikes and shatters it into thousands of sprinkling shards. Flowey cackles.

“So, you won’t kill anyone, will you? No, you want to save them. Hee hee hee. That’s okay. I’ll help you overcome your fear of watching them die by killing them myself when you’re least expecting it. Go ahead! Reload your last save. I’ll be waiting.”

Flowey vanishes beneath the floorboards.

The room tears away into darkness that sews itself together into the bedroom where we were previously grounded. We release a shuddered breath and exit into the hall. This time, when the pie’s sweetness bombards our nose, we swallow a gag. Nauseated, we slink into the living room contemplating the worst outcomes.

Mom lowers the snail book to her lap and greets us with her ignorant smile.

“Good morning, my child,” Mom says. “You are just in time to eat pie and enjoy some facts about snails.” She frowns. “Oh dear, are you unwell? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Flowey makes a show of dipping his head to inspect his leaves, his eyes lifted toward us while another of his disturbing smiles sprouts along his face.

I’m okay, just a little tired.

“Howdy!” Flowey perks up. “Boy, you slept forever. I was getting bored and was about to ask our host what she would do if you ever decided to kill her.”

“Goodness,” Toriel says, “what prompted that question?”

“Well, they're human, aren't they? And humans are notorious for believing they're above consequences! Aren't you? Hee hee hee.”

That's a lie! You’re the one who thinks there’re no consequences for our actions. You believe this world is kill or be killed, but you’re--

“Right!” Flowey says. “This world is kill or be killed. And I’ll show you why.”

Again the bullets puncture Mom’s body. We let out a strangled cry, reach for her as her dust billows outward in a cloud. We crawl toward her shivering soul, but it bursts into glass fragments that dissolve upon impact with the floor. We sink against our heels, arms limp at our sides.

“You know, my sibling used to get me in trouble all the time,” Flowey says. “It's kinda nice being on the opposite end of that for once, hee hee.”

As he twists around to face us, Flowey gives our shoulder a sympathetic squeeze with one of his vines.

“Oh, stop crying. The only reason you're suffering is because you refuse to distance yourself. You should revel in the freedom that killing others brings without worrying about the consequences. Continue like you are and you’ll only end up alone with no one to blame but yourself. I’m your friend. It’s not like I enjoy seeing you like this, but you’re hurting yourself with your constant lies. All you need to do is admit that you’ve killed, and this violence will stop. That’s it!”

We shake our head with conviction. Flowey sighs and tuts at us like we’re a simpleton.

“You’re lying,” Flowey says.

He disappears, and the world tears away to the bedroom once more. Again we march to the living room and again we stop short as Mom smiles at us.

“Good morning, my child. You are just in time to eat pie with us and enjoy some facts about snails.” She frowns. “Oh dear, are you unwell? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I’m fine, just a little tired. Can I still have some pie?

Mom chuckles and stands, placing the book on the cushion of her chair. Once she disappears into the kitchen, we snatch one of the fire pokers from the stand in the corner adjacent to the doorway, the wrought iron heavy in our hands.

“Hee hee hee. You’re so easy!” Flowey says.

We rush Flowey just as Mom walks in with the pie, which clatters to the floor and explodes into a gooey mess. Fire weaves itself into the palms of her hands, but a cascade of bullets hail through her. Her body shivers from each impact.

“Did you really think attacking me was going to help her?” Flowey asks.

Mom drops to a knee. We shout and stab at Flowey’s smug, nightmarish face with the poker, but his litheness makes him a difficult target.

“Ha….ha….I see now….my child….” Mom says before her form dissipates.

“You’re never going to save her.” Flowey’s eyes bulge with hunger-lust. “Maybe you should choose more carefully who your enemies are. Hee hee hee. Just admit you’ve killed before and I’ll end the torture. Your move.”

Flowey disappears, the living room vanishes, and we find ourselves materializing in the dark bedroom, the length of which we pace.

A rather unpleasant question with an equally distasteful answer.

/* Sometimes it’s better to keep your enemies closer than your friends…. */

We stop with our heels pressed together. Teddy bears, dolls, blocks, and toy trains overflow from the toy chest. None of these toys, however, can solve our dilemma.

/* He wants to get a rise out of us. If we submit for now, we can wait for an opportunity to gain the upper hand, lure him into a false sense of security. But we can’t give up pushing his buttons entirely or he’ll become suspicious of our behavior. */

/* We can figure that out later. He’s not going to budge on this. Unless you want to watch Mom die continuously. */

/* Make sure it’s convincing. */

We leave the bedroom and return to the living room, freezing mid-step as a pile of dust greets us, “The Book of 72 Snail Facts” face down and its pages bent from how it fell.

“You waited too long this time, friend,” Flowey says. “You should have known you were on a time limit. I wonder, how long will your Determination last? Will you cave and start killing her yourself just so you don’t have to deal with the pain, or will you watch as I turn her to dust over and over and over?”

Okay, Flowey, you’re right. I have killed during previous Resets. We hold ourself with pride, shoulders squared, back straight. I’ve killed Froggits, Vegetoids, Migosps, and Moldsmals. I’ve gained Toriel’s trust just to stab her in the back, and I’ve cut her down with one blow. But one thing has never changed, Flowey, and that’s the strength of my Determination.

Flowey grins at the conviction empowering our words. The best fibs contain a spattering of truth, but in this case I can’t tell how much is truth and how much is lie.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Flowey says. “But you’re only halfway forgiven. Hee hee hee. Reload again, and maybe this time I won’t kill her.”

We do so and roll our shoulders before entering the living room for the final time. Mom smiles at us.

“Good morning, my child. You are just in time to eat pie with us and enjoy some facts about snails.” She frowns. “Oh dear, are you unwell? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I’m fine, just a little tired. Barbs scratch our dry throat as we repeatedly swallow. I...I’ve also thought about what I’ve done. It was wrong of me to step on your face and blame you for my mistakes, Flowey, and I’m sorry for attacking you earlier. I hope you can forgive me.

“Golly, it'd be criminal of me not to forgive you, friend! You already know I’m not one to hold a grudge. An apology was all I wanted.”

Flowey sticks out his tongue and winks.

“I am so proud of you, my child. It takes a lot of courage to shoulder responsibility for one’s mistakes and apologize for them.”

We flash Mom an exhausted smile. Can I have some pie?

Mom retrieves the biggest slice of pie we’ve ever seen from the kitchen. It tastes like dust and imprisonment.

“Um, I’d just like you both to know how glad I am to have you here,” Mom says once she settles into her chair. “I know that if you give each other a chance, you could become friends. Maybe even...siblings?”

“Golly, that'd certainly be nice, wouldn't it?” Flowey says.

/* Hah. Well, whatever may happen, you must stay Determined. We are in this for the long haul, partner. */

Reality

Re: Anomalies

Ness Dink

To: Gentry Itti; Vance Serpere

7/3/18 7:20 PM

Apologies for the late reply. I just got off of work. It certainly seems as though today has been rather active for everyone in the gaming universe. Even the people I have spoken to who hate Undertale have expressed concern over Toby’s disappearance. It is quite the conundrum, but there isn’t much we can do, is there? It’d best be left to the authorities.

I suppose we could livestream. I will run Genocide, since you have already claimed Pacifist in your blog, though I am not looking forward to fighting Sans again, but since there will be plenty of others who will explore the neutral routes, I think it would be good of us to stream the two extremes first.

I think it would be best if we did not race, however. If there are as many new events as Vance has claimed, then we will want to take our time and explore all of the differences.

Bray will also want to study our recordings to come up with her own theories, so don’t get overzealous like you tend to, Gentry.

On 7/3/18, Fri at 6:13 PM, Vance Serpere wrote:

Actually, it is not uncommon for game devs to set up a scheduled time for an update to be released, especially if they’re going to be gone for a while.

Heh, who knows, maybe he faked his own death because of how much of a celebrity he’s become.

On 7/3/18, Fri at 6:05 PM, Gentry Itti wrote:

Vance, buddy! Glad you saw my post. Sounds like you and the other DedRiters have been busy. Crazy stuff, huh? Toby hasn’t updated the game in centuries, then BAM, an update goes out the day he vanishes.

Still can’t get over the fact it’s Friday 13th. I’m not normally superstitious, but this gives me the heebs.

Luv the idea to livestream, Vance. What do you say, Ness? Ready to wipe off the old Undertale livestream accounts and race like we used to?

On 7/3/18, Fri at 5:56 PM, Vance Serpere wrote:

Hey.

So, I’ve run some initial tests that I think you two might find interesting. I suggest livestreaming both of your profiles from here on out because the game gets insane.

It’s easily tripled in size and gameplay, bumping up average time to about 18 hours. At least 12 new rooms have been added along with new enemies and dozens of new objects to interact with. It’s like a completely different game with the same premise and graphics.

I’m going to see what else I can crack, but right now there’s some code that even those more skillful than I cannot access because of some high-level encryption. Dunno what Toby’s been doing for the past 3 years since the game’s release, but his programming skills have rocketed.

Oh, I also looked into the MIRAGES bit you mentioned in your blog, Gentry, and it looks like Room 269 is now off limits until an event triggers. However, it’s become more difficult to edit room values and fun values without hitting a wall. Believe me, my buddies on DedRit are trying, but every time we crack through a bit of code, a firewall goes up to keep us out.

#Chara (Undertale)#graphic depictions of violence #frisk (undertale)#flowey (undertale)#Toriel (Undertale)#Sans (Undertale)#Asgore Dreemurr #Undyne (Undertale)#Papyrus (Undertale)#W. D. Gaster #Alphys (Undertale)#Mettaton (Undertale)#Science Fiction & Fantasy #Artificial Intelligence #Physical Abuse #Emotional/Psychological Abuse #Hurt/Comfort #Dark #Adventure #Determination (Undertale)#POV Chara #POV Frisk #POV First Person Plural #Resets Must Stop #Virtual vs Reality #Sorry Not Sorry #Undertale Genocide Route #Undertale Pacifist Route #Family #Friendship

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