#*backstory*

In this new world, the place of monsters such as Jaleyn had been compromised. They were either forced into manual labor, slaves to their human employees, or factory workers in basements that hadn’t seen the light of day in centuries. Working rights was an unknown word to the spawn of those few that’d chosen to dwell on the surface. And Jaleyn herself sometimes questioned that choice; for maybe they’d been better off scavenging Underground, or dying alongside their relatives with honor rather than living like slaves.

The 21st century, however, brought about a big change. Monsters, whose lifespans rarely did not exceed that of a century, had the privilege of witnessing such changes happen in the shorter spans of human generations. Jaleyn had been around for the previous century, and now took advantage of the climate shifting towards the monster’s gain. The expansion of the undernet, the vast source of information and ability for monsters and humans to communicate anonymously through it had brought about a tremendous change in the perception of humans. Now a lot of them made friends online with personas they didn’t even know were actual monsters. And with time the monster culture found its long lost voice again.

Jaleyn had to be happy today. It was a big day for their kind, the day they’d speak and show their faces on television after years of lurking and hiding in the shadows. And yet, despite all the preparation and excitement...she could only feel worried.

Her instincts usually wouldn’t lie to her. It was odd to feel this way, to have such a strong intuition something would go wrong, despite the festive climate. Still, she kept her gob shut for she’d like to spare the others; her heritage graced her with a strong spirit of leadership few could hope to match.

And that wasn’t nearly the end of her praiseworthy attributes. Her calm had to be mentioned as well, for despite having an intense fear of heights, she’d managed to take the elevator all the way up to the fourth floor and stand on a pedestal that was alarmingly close to a window.

“And thus we present to you, Jaleyn Dreemurr, lead speaker on behalf of the MLM party; please, ma’am.”

The man stepped aside, allowing Jaleyn her solace on the pedestal. Her anxiety was evident in the way her long claws kept scratching the surface of the pedestal. It earned a few glares from the crowd and rally candidates standing beside her. Most of them had come there to watch, rather than participate. It wasn’t a political debate, after all, just a party presentation. She knew it was way more important than any election, however, because this event was about re-integrating monster children into human schools. And such a groundbreaking statement wouldn’t even have been possible a few years ago.

She drew in a breath and looked down to the journalists that stared blankly back at her; their eyes alone made it very obvious that they only cared for a good story -not the actual outcome of her speech. And, because Jaleyn was a monster, she was sensitive to this kind of behavior. Her magic-based body relied on emotions to function and she had a very high perception of both hers and other people’s emotional responses. Thus, the kind of apathy press people expressed hurt her deeply; yet she still found the strength to speak up in a loud voice.

“Good evening, Rainsville. We send our regards with intentions of peace. All we ask in return, is mutual understanding and respect. And who are we, you may ask.”

She mustered the strength to keep her voice steady, strong and avoid a crack. This was getting emotional already.

“We...are the villains. The fairy tale villains. The criminals, the terrifying bad wolves and closet boogeyman. We are what you scare your children with, yet we are also the ones that worked for your children’s clothing, their electricity, their food. We are the ones you never see, the ones behind the machines, the workers, the slaves. And we are here today, stepping out of the shadows to look you in the eye and say; ‘We, are not a fairy tale. We are not a book. We are real beings, with emotions. We are not your power source. We are monsters. And our lives, matter.”

There was a small, quiet cheering from the crowd in the back. Most of them were monsters and she expected that kind of response. The journalists in the front didn’t react much. Cameras moved around to show Rainsville’s mayor and PD chief clapping, seemingly moved by the speech.

She glanced to her left side. There, among the other seats one stood out, for it had no occupant. The seat was saved for the Ambassador of Monsterkind, yet only one human was allowed to occupy it. And it was empty. Jaleyn felt her SOUL writhe.

“We didn’t come here to declare war. We don’t want to steal your jobs, your homes, or your children.” She swallowed the underlying insult. It hurt so much to think a lot of the humans hearing this wouldn’t really believe her. “We are here to raise our voice against the injustice. Our only demand; is equality.”

She made another pause. There was some cheering. Jaleyn reached into the pocket of her long dress and drew out a small, black USB flash stick. She held it up for the cameras to see.

“In this drive I have stored over one thousand undernet conversations between humans and monsters. A lot of times neither party was aware of who they were addressing, because of the anonymity. Still, if we put these to display, you’ll find out yourself that a lot of beautiful friendships have blossomed in this here flashdrive. And we believe that those friendships can become reality, if we’re given a chance in the surface world again.”

Now there was some hesitance. Even though the flash-drive’s appearance gained a big applause, it seemed to tone down when the word ‘surface’ was brought up. And Jaleyn knew that, she was prepared for the consequences of those heavy words she was about to utter...

“Thus we ask the Red Soul to step forward and release our kin from the bonds bestowed on them ten thousand years ago. We ask for the Truce of the Great War to be undone and our kind freed from its eternal suffering in the Undeground prisons. Because we few of the surface have proven that we can co-exist with humans in peace, and we do not deserve to be treated as less!”

Silence.

Complete silence was spread in the audience. Absolutely no response. Even the journalists had their jaws hanging open. It was definitely a very provocative thing to say out loud like that. The mayor cleared his throat, obviously nervous. He tried to reassure himself that only the eldest generations would be aware of just how risky a statement that had been.

For the younger generations had forgotten all about SOULS and Great Wars. It’d been a piece of human history only available through special books in university libraries, lost in time, forgotten. To bring this deep wound in humanity back like that...the existence of souls, magic and their power in a world that was already moving on fast to crude technology, deprived of emotion...

Things such as Soul Traits and strong, pure emotions had no place in this new world owned by capitalism and consumption. The mayor knew this, as did the press. But because the transmission was live and Jaleyn hadn’t brought things like that up before now -she knew they wouldn’t let her speak if she did- it was too late for them. All they could do now was stand in shock.

Journalists started desperately trying to twist words around with questions. Jaleyn was about to pick one to respond to, now a lot more confident in her own words. She’d gotten past the tough part, perhaps, and now spoke more freely.

But just as the questions were bout to come raining down on her... a scream was heard from the back of the room.

With the corner of her eye she saw; a long, thick black tongue of smoke invading the room. The emergency exit light hanging over that door blinked twice and went out. Soon enough, the main entrance surrendered to smoke’s embrace as well.

Jaleyn’s blue eyes went wide with horror. Her clawed fists squeezed against the counter. The journalist crowd begun to panic, pushing, shoving each other out of the way in the despair. Glass shattered -someone broke the window. Cool air rushed inside, but she barely even felt it.

Her own people, a turtle beast and a smaller ghost monster occupying a lamp-shade at that time, were already calling for her attention. But Jaleyn’s eyes were lost in the flames emerging through both doors at the same time; that dreadful, deadly, unwelcome guest.

 Defenseless against the flame, slowly welcoming the deathly heat, all she managed was a pathetic bleat of despair. Thoughts, fast as lightning, raided her troubled mind.

In the Great War, monsters would always reign over humans the first few centuries. Monsters were equipped with powerful magic, especially Jaleyn’s ancestors; they possessed fire. Humans, naked and with their makeshift weapons, couldn’t do anything against the flame.

But then the Red Souls came along. Souls so powerful, so devious and determined they could alter an entire world just with the power of their will. And they invented the fire and granted it to the humans.

Thus the humans made better weapons, better shelter, better food. They stopped dying from things such as bad weather and raw meat, they became stronger. And finally, they won.

Seeing the flames peek through the doorways now, Jaleyn couldn’t help but think it was some kind of omen; some kind of response to her demand.

Lost in her thoughts with tears streaming down her wide eyes, she barely felt the cool skeletal fingers on her shoulder. Next thing she knew, she was outside, on the pavement, watching the building burn alongside her comrades and a tall skeleton monster in a dark grey hoodie.

Her reaction came after a few minutes, when she felt ready to speak again. But she ended up turning around to face the others and sensing the disappointment in their souls, collapsed and burst into tears. The skeleton, Baskerville his name was, approached to pull her in a tender hug with a gentle pat on the back.

“’Ey now, dun’ worry. ‘Tis gonna be alright...”

Of course at first there were some underlying emotions there. Rage, thoughts of vengeance, the unquenchable thirst for justice. But he’d lost these after a couple of the more recent brutal rounds. Because he’d realized how pointless it was to care; to grieve, to weep, when he’d get to relive the same old days over and over again on repeat. One could say his passion to deal with the little troublemaker had rubbed away on the time loop. And he’d gotten so used to the same steps happening over and over at some point that he’d honestly given up even trying to push for a change. There was this odd sense of companionship between him and the human; the only two sentient beings between time loops, the only two that knew the *Truth.

Did he feel guilty for his passiveness? Perhaps. But guilt wouldn’t change anything, would it? He’d surrendered to the numbness.

Until one day when everything changed.

The human’s thighs come crushing down the back of his neck. His exposed spine is vulnerable to the knife. With a flash of blue, his eye lights up and he’s gone. The human falls on their knees instead, scraping them against the tiles. They don’t seem unnerved by the fall in the slightest. Their knees are already torn and bleeding, but not shaky at all.

Knuckles turn an eerie pale white as their fist clenches around the cold blade handle. They push themself up, cough and spit from the dust particles invading their nostrils. Unlike Sans, they need to breathe. That and his sharpened reflexes and polished use of magic had been their only disadvantages thus far.

But not anymore.

Their face, covered in shadow, turns to the floor. There’s murmuring from the back of the hallway. Sans’ eyes blink, the pale blue glow disappearing for a mere fraction of a second. But it’s enough for Frisk. A palm raises, fingers pressed next to each other seamlessly. They focus on that movement, the flow of energy in their hand.

And the special *Menu appears.

*͗Ŗ̖̺̼̟͇̆ͥ́E̦̓͆̾̈ͩ͑̓W͚̗͈̖̣̆̎͆̄ͮ̊̋I̗̠̞̐̂̇Ñ̗͞D͖̤͓̖̞̪͗ͤ ̬͚̙̆̄̚ ͘            *̨̙̰̈Pͤ̽̔̌͝A͛̚Ṳ̓̆̑͑ͫ̂ͦ͘S͉͘E̪̓̓̀ͅ ̢̎ͫ̓̆̓ ̦̮͚̳̱̮͐ͯ͊              *̱͉͍͔͚͍͙̒͑̾͜F̡̱̘̦͇͖̻̘ͧͭ̒Ă͍̗̈́͋͜S͓͚͓̦̩̉̿͐̈́ͧ̾T̊̇ ͤ͞F̭̲ͭ̇̊̀ͩO͍̘̠͙̖ͫͮ͒̍̅ͪ̃͘R̻̱̲ͨͤ̀ͅW͔̥̘̰̻̋ͩ̑̂̎̐͆A͓̱͉̪̳ͣͩ̅͞R͉̺̦̗͘D̃͑ͬͮ ̲̩̘͕ͫ̂̈̂ͮ̃̍

Frisk’s eyes open. Time slows down. Red is overpowered by a blinding yellow glow. Their veins shine through their own skin, glistening with pure DETERMINATION. Their entire body is a glowing yellow color now, the only thing that stands out in the frozen Time. Dust particles freeze in their spot, Sans’ face stands still with that hideous grin carved into his milky bone, the hallway’s shadows are now dark spots on the dimly illuminated tiles, lifeless, empty.

A tiny crack appears at the corner of their full lips. It’s a smile. But just as they’re about to take a step forward, it dissipates. The lack of breath instantly has them panic. They hadn’t tried it but for a brief few seconds before this time, and thus they’re not used to the lung-crushing lack of oxygen. As they struggle to suck air in, Time doesn’t seem to adhere to their troubles. Despite their instincts, Time remains frozen, waiting for the next *Action that will set it free.

Frisk’s hand begins to shake, but they somehow find the courage to attempt a stroke at the *PLAY button. They’re not focused enough, and the *Action fails. More desperate writhing and shaking continues, pointlessly sucking any leftover traces of air they can find through their mouth in big gasps. They drop to their knees, shock taking them over.

But it should have worked. It worked in the lab.

They roll their sleeves up quickly, tugging at the ripped, ragged old sweater with long nails. The veins of their hands are illuminated with this pure, pale, yellow light -DETERMINATION flowing in their veins. It’s pulsating and beautiful. If Frisk wasn’t suffocating at that moment, they’d probably joke that the sight was ‘breath-taking’. Still, the crook of their arm, the inside of their elbow, is punctured multiple times. The bruises leftover by syringes are there, just as they’d expected to find them. That means they’re not hallucinating, they did go through with the fix this time and their new ability should be fully functional.

But then why won’t Time move again?

In a final, desperate attempt, they begin to slow their breathing down, trying to keep themself steady and focused on the task. Their fists clench. Somewhere in the back of their mind, Chara’s voice whispers words of encouragement. Not because the demon would care to help, but because the body and Soul that can save It from its eternal slumber is about to fail. And Chara doesn’t want that to happen.

“Time move on.”

*̠̟͖̯͖̊ͩ͊ͧ̀Ă҉C͖̯͈̘̣̞̊ͅT̶̲̯͔̥̩̖̝:͇͙̖ͪͨ ̡͌͒̓̅*͈͙̲̞̗̺̫͌͌̂͌̅P͉̮ͣͫL͖̼̞̑ͪ͗͌̇͛ͬA̙͇͔̠͋̂̉̊͑̌̇Y̹̾̌͂̌̆

It begins with a small movement of the shadows. Their dance continues, just as Sans’ orbs blink again and Frisk manages to draw in a breath. But they’re on the floor now, body still a blinding yellow color and panting like crazy.

As Sans stood there that one day in one of his many *Routes, he knew something had gone horribly wrong. Something had changed.