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Despite the fact that only murderers lived in the castle, who were initially quite difficult to control, each of them followed their own daily timetable to the minute. Especially the Killer. For him, the wake-up call was set to exactly one minute before breakfast, while the others, especially Horror, who cooked, and Dust, who kept company, would wake up half an hour or even an hour before. However, today, the Killer woke up fifteen minutes before breakfast.
The empty black sockets stared at the clock hanging on the wall, and the sockets widened in shock. There was still a lot of time before breakfast, which was quite unusual. Killer rolled around under the covers for a while and extinguished his non-existent pupils in an attempt to fall back asleep. He knew that if he got up this early before breakfast, he would probably run into some trouble and catch hell not only from them, but also with Nightmare, who would definitely not be pleased with this.
The blood-red sun, which had not yet fully risen, was shining through the window, and the ticking of the clock was deafening in the silence of the room. The Killer was trying unsuccessfully to match his surprisingly noisy breathing to the ticking of the clock.
"Fuck it, I'm not going to sleep," said Killer, pulling the blanket off abruptly.
He had only lasted one minute. Besides, when had the prospect of getting his ass kicked by Nightmare ever stopped him?
Killer was never slow. In anything. Quite often, even when killing someone, he could rush, just to get the desired result faster, let along his usual morning rituals. He’d pull on the usual black sweater, then his shorts, find socks in different corners of the room, get the sneakers that were under the bed in an unknown way, and take off the only thing that was on the hook — a jacket. Then, with a cheerful step and a familiar smile on his face, the Killer walked down the stairs, where, taking the opportunity to make silly faces in the mirror, he quickly washed his face and then went to the kitchen.
“So I’m telling him-”
“Sup, Dust!” said the Killer, barging into the kitchen. "Horr, when is breakfast?"
Stunned by Killer's early awakening and his sudden question, Horror looked at the clock while slowly stirring his oatmeal in a really large pot with an equally large spoon.
“Ten more minutes.“
“That long?” Killer also looked at the watch on the wall to make sure. "Well, then I'll go find something to do."
The Killer shrugged his shoulders and left the kitchen with a brisk step, heading off to find some adventure. And he knew how to do that better than anyone. Dust and Horror stood there for at least a minute, staring at the doorway where Killer had recently stood. After coming to their senses, Dust approached the open door, which Killer never bothered to close, and closed it for himself to keep out the outside noise. Then he returned to Horror.
"So I tell him, 'Stop saying that everyone deserves a second chance. There are some bastards you've never even heard of, so stop preaching about things you don't know about,'" Dust continued, bringing the kitchen back to the atmosphere it had before Killer arrived.
"Just like that? I thought you'd send that little guy away quickly and efficiently," Horror replied, briefly glancing at the pot where a rather tasty-smelling breakfast was slowly turning in a funnel.
"I was just feeling a bit philosophical at the time. And yes, he really annoys me. Just by looking at him, you can tell he’s a copy of Papyrus. I understand that we're both just alternative versions of the original, but it's not just me who finds this similarity with my Papyrus annoying, but also him," Dust looked away from him. "Isn't that right, Papyrus?" He then listened to a brief response that only he could hear.
"So what did this little guy reply?" Horror continued, ignoring the familiar "communication with Dust’s brother."
"He pretended to be angry, because I don't believe he's ever been really angry with that baby face of his, and then he started repeating the same thing in a higher, louder, and more squeaky voice," Dust replied, adding in a disgruntled tone, "It's like he was practicing in front of a mirror."
“So you?”
"This time, I just sent him away and left him with a couple of fractures. I wanted to break his skull and turn him into dust, but he was too quick for me, and then he escaped," said Dust, still annoyed, clenching his fist and muttering under his breath.
"So that's why you were so angry," Horror replied thoughtfully, glancing at the pot where the porridge was still boiling.
The door suddenly and abruptly opened. The emerald eye immediately looked around the kitchen, while the slimy tentacles, not promising anything good, wriggled displeased behind their owner's back.
"Morning, boss," Horror said, confident that he wouldn't get in trouble, at least not right now.
"It's never a good morning, especially with you," Nightmare muttered unhappily, and then continued louder: “Have we run out of sedatives or at least sleeping pills? Why didn't anyone send the Killer to sleep?”
Dast immediately, clearly realizing that he’d better hurry, went to the medicine chest and, climbing into it, began rummaging through it.
“No, boss. There's nothing left.”
"We’d better never run out of sedatives again..." rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers, miraculously avoiding hitting something with his tentacles that clearly showed Nightmare's bad mood, Nightmare said with extreme displeasure.
"Why?" Horror asked.
The next moment, a crack of glass was heard through the open door, Killer flew past the kitchen window, waving his hand, and then a crunch of branches.
“Fuck, Killer…” Horror didn't have to be answered anymore, so Nightmare, at the end hitting down some, fortunately, extremely strong jar with tentacle, quickly left the kitchen.
Rapid and heavy footsteps sounded throughout the first floor, until only the crunching of the dry grass under the Nightmare's feet could be heard outside. Only when he was extremely unhappy Nightmare walked so fast and loudly at the same time. The slime-covered skull immediately blocked the Killer's view of the red sky, who was sprawled under the window right on the crumpled bushes, making him laugh softly and nervously.
“Oops?..” Killer said with the same smile on his face, as if suddenly, plunged into Nightmare's goo, he found himself in some universe.
"Time until breakfast…” Nightmare, who had teleported away with the Killer, glanced at his wristwatch. "Seven minutes. No more, no less. I don't want to see you at the base before, understood?” striking the snow of some neutral universe with displeased curling tentacles, said Nightmare.
“What am I supposed to do here?" having already taken out his favorite knife, Killer began to look around.
"I don't care, just keep yourself busy for these measly seven minutes," Nightmare said finally, moving back to the quieter part of the gang the next moment.
Well, the Killer kept himself busy. His target soul was spinning wildly, a wide grin stretched across his face, black drops stained the snow, and the blood of the opponents screaming in agony painted a knife and clothes.
It seemed like only seven minutes, during which you could only slowly eat some ice cream and roll around in the snow, but Killer had already turned an ordinary neutral universe into a negative one, from which, he was sure, the boss's favorite negativity flowed like a river. The killer was already in the Waterfall until he noticed the familiar black-boned skeleton, which seemed to be messing with the universe’s code.
“Oh, Glitchy, hi!” waving someone's severed arm, Killer attracted Error's attention.
"Killer? What the hell?" Glitch asked, staring at the familiar bloodstain.
In response, the Killer had just opened his mouth to tell his not very long story when he was abruptly interrupted by an extremely displeased voice:
"Nightmare, it's fucking seven am, what the hell?!" a sleepy, rumpled, and clearly annoyed Dream stumbled out of the positive portal.
"Yes, Nightmare, I understand that Error doesn't have a sleep schedule, but I didn't expect this from you," Ink, who had appeared out of the ink, added.
“Who doesn't have a schedule there, Rainbow asshole?! You don't sleep at all, you idiot!” Glitch growled in response, preparing to break the cause of his spoiled mood.
"Oh, Glitchy, you're here!" Ink said, taking a sip of yellow paint.
But Dream, unlike Ink, wasn't staring at Error, but at the cause of all this negativity in the universe.
"Killer? What the hell?" Dream repeated Error’s phrase word for word, watching the black-eyed man break into an even wider smile, although it was already wide.
"I'm just keeping myself busy while I wait for breakfast. By the way, what time is it?" Killer replied, looking at Dream.
"Six fifty-eight," said Dream, still shocked by the presence of a single Bad Guy rather than the entire gang.
"Oh! Only two minutes left!" Killer said with a pleased smile.
"Well, even though you're the only one here, I'm still going to eliminate the source of negativity," Dream said as he drew a blue arrow, and Ink joined in:
“Let’s dance, Erry?”
“Fuck you!”
"Set the plates out, there's only a minute left," Horror said, glancing at the pot of almost-ready breakfast, and received a brief nod in response.
***
Dust took some deep plates from the cabinet, stacked them, and carried them to the dining room.
At this time, Nightmare, spotting Dust with an emerald eye through the open door, sat on a sofa in the living room with a book in his hands, waiting for breakfast. And for Killer. He could feel a significant wave of negativity emanating from the previously neutral universe where he had placed Killer. Although he had confidence in Killer's ability to entertain himself, a sense of unease lingered in his soul. Strangely enough, he was afraid that in a minute he would come to pick up the Killer and find a bloody pile of bones instead. Although, this skeleton was practically immortal, so nothing could kill him. Practically. And this word was a great torment to his soul. Nightmare knew that Killer would not try to escape even if he was on the verge of death. He should have found some other entertainment for him. Suddenly, there was a soft crackling sound of the familiar portal, followed by the sound of something falling to the floor, and then a familiar voice:
"Thanks for the ride, Glitchy, I'll be in your debt," said Killer, sprawled out on the floor with a satisfied expression.
Alive. Covered in blood, ink, threads, blue arrows, and missing a leg. But alive.
From the portal, there was a stream of extremely unpleasant, glitchy voice. Neither Dust, who was looking out of the dining room, nor Cross on the stairs, nor Nightmare on the couch, nor Killer understood what the black-boned man was saying, but everyone was certain that there were no good words about the Killer.
"It was nice to see you too, Erry," Killer said in response to the endless stream of curses, only to be punched in the face with his own severed leg.
"Hey, only I can call Error that!" Ink's displeased voice was heard, and then the portal finally closed.
"Ants-in-your-pants asshole," said Nightmare, rubbing his nose in annoyance.
"Actually, in my pants there's only an arrow, not a single ant," Killer replied with surprising pride.
The slimy tentacles immediately grabbed Killer by the shoulders, turning him around to face the audience. Indeed, in addition to all the other places where the positive twin's attacks had hit, an arrow was also sticking out of Killer's pelvic bones.
"By the way, what about breakfast?" Killer asked, looking over his shoulder at Nightmare.
At that moment, the clock struck seven o'clock, and Horror appeared from the dining room:
"The table is set," he said briefly, then paused to study his battered but contented companion.
“Hooray! I'm already hungry.”
But this is only the beginning of the day…