#ynbfh

65. Gods & Monsters

  “I-, I-I…“

You really wish you knew some more words than that, and you’re pretty sure you did at one point, but they have suddenly, collectively decided to abandon ship, that ship being your grey matter.

Which is probably going to get splattered all across the lovely wooden paneling of the lounge any second now, judging by the way the tall, dark frame of your eldritch boss looms over you; his mad, triumphant grin stretching his face to the brink of physically possible while all you can do is claw at the armrests of your seat.

How?! How does he know? I thought Wingdings distracted him so he wouldn’t notice that we were talking- I thought that stupid cloak he gave me worked!

Blackhat takes a gliding step closer to you, red veins ready to burst within his single eyeball, exuding nearly tastable waves of malice now that he has you caught - thoroughly bumfuzzled, exhausted, and out of blinking juice!

“Wait- waitwaitwaitwaitwait!” Ah, so you do know at least one more word. It doesn’t help your either, though: your horrible boss crosses the remaining distance with a blurred motion, tipping the heavy armchair you’re still cowering in back with one hand, causing you to squeak at the jolt and protectively draw your arms and legs up. Ooooh you fucked up. Big time.

“No- wait- please! I c-, I can explain!” But Blackhat only bellows out a raucous laugh at your pathetic squirming.

    “Mwahahahahar! Did you really think I would not notice what is going on beneath my own bloody roof?! Do you take me for a fool?! Is that it, ______?!” His thunderous roar shakes the small space of the lounge, making your ears ring even harder than before. You try desperately to come up with something that would enable you to talk yourself out of this without getting blasted to smithereens. Minor injuries were acceptable.

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Dings has something to say...

(I'm sick but I wanted to doodle this 💜 new chapter up on Sunday I think)

62. Mr. Blue Sky

 You sleep soundly the rest of the night, despite of what had happened, and no other spooky sleep-blinking or anything else of the sort occurs, which you normally would have welcomed with open arms.

Now however, you shoot up from beneath your comfortable silken covers the second a ray of sunlight tickles your eyelids, heart immediately kick-starting into a frantic canter that leaves you gasping for air, eyes wide, your body scrambling to move – Shit, I only have like a day and a half to scope out the concert area, find a suitable ambush location, get intel on Miss Heed’s bodyguards, engage with her, ask Flug about the antidote-

Your helter-skelter thoughts spur you on all the way to the bathroom – urge you to get up, get ready and get shit done, until you catch your reflection in the mirror and you pause to stare yourself down for a moment. Your hair is a tangled mess, the dark circles beneath your eyes have reached a new level of yikes that startles even you a little and… is that a hint of bloodshot around your irises? Lovely.

The sudden realization is enough to grind your derailing train of thoughts to a halt. You’ve seen this particular face of yours before. You’re doing it again. Running yourself down. Spreading yourself thin. Just like when you had frantically tried to juggle your gang jobs with your own hustles on the side and keeping your intentions, safe house and extra-cash hidden from Sans… and everyone else. Hiding your utter exhaustion and anxiety behind easy-going sass and witty remarks, never staying at the gang hideout long enough for the others to scrutinize you more closely or ask questions… or for Frisk to confide in you and maybe get some sort of comfort in this hell they were living in because of you-

Your hands clench into fists on the marble counter but this time you know better than to stupidly injure yourself before a mission.

One: get back at Sans for murdering your parents and everything he did to you. Two: get Blackhat to let you go. Three: get Frisk back. One: get back at Sans for…

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64. Become the Beast

   “Mawrasite?” the brutish villain echoes your words back at you, with confusion scrunching up his face. You already take a breath to absolutely unload on his ass for daring to play dumb, but then the zombie-like, white eyes widen in visible recollection. And visible guilt. A soft “Oh” escapes his crusty lips and he shoots you another, now scared look.

With an impatient growl ripping from your chest – a sound so unnatural it makes the by standing villains flinch back in unison, but you don’t notice it – you whip back around to the hovering hat drone and Dementia, swinging your way up to the railing again so the three of you can stick your heads together.

    “I’ll go get Maw, you guys look for another hiding spot until I radio you – the hat ship’s too big and conspicuous to take it to the city and this area is gonna be swarming with cops soon.” You order, noticing how Dementia eyes the flayed corpse of Heed. “Dee, for the love of fuck, you can take a leg or an arm as trophy or snack, but let the identifiable parts be!”

She wrinkles her nose at that and jabs a thumb over her shoulder.

    “I thought we’re supposed to clean this mess!” she pipes up, and Flug’s voice already nasals something about covering tracks and remaining unseen, but you pointedly pull one of the remaining BHO business cards out of your jacket’s pocket, a stack of which Blackhat hat basically forced on you back at the LOVE congregation. A flick of your writs, and the pristine white card with the black top hat logo lands square on Miss Heed’s cracked ribcage, the blood slowly blooming through the thick cardboard like rose petals.

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63. Wreak Havoc

Hours later, and, surprisingly enough, indeed properly rested, you are back at the abandoned factory building. Flug had seconded it as the prime location in the area for your ambush when you had proposed the idea in the lab after your return, being both remote enough to prevent any law enforcement from showing up immediately should Heed call for backup or inform them beforehand, and also big enough to prepare everything you needed to lure the heroine into a trap.

That trap consisted of Dementia, visibly and audibly itching for a fight, Flug and two dozen Hatbots standing by in one of the neighboring buildings, with the hat ship as your emergency get-out-vehicle, and, finally, your humble self, masked up and geared out to the maximum of your carrying capacity. You have to hand it to Flug, he made good on his promise to finally get you upgraded tools to replace your DIY assemble, as he liked to call it.

Your hand runs over the shiny, flat disk on your hip, the spool of your new and improved gaff; although now it was more like an actual grappling hook, with four claws that would only extend once thrown, making the device a lot less bulky than your repurposed bridge gaff from the good old days. The thing was ridiculously light but could support more than three metric tons in weight! And with the spool securely connected to your equally new harness that housed innumerable compartments for knives, lock picks and stuff you hadn’t even come up with yet, you could have both your hands free in a pickle.

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