Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Welcome Back To Frisk’s World!
written for scribblingTiresias in A System of Giving 2026
The day’s activities has concluded by you flopping on the bed. You are sore. Even after the hot shower you had.
“I hate climbing,” you tell me. I give you a mental pat on the back. That mountain range seemed like it was tailor-made to torture participants, who are, as far as I know, less than fifteen years old. Ones prone to pushing each other down. Especially the scrawny non-binary brown kid who’s the youngest and smallest of all of them and being followed by a flying camera. These overgrown babies use their harness, helmets, and knee guards as an excuse. Memories of another mountain climbs up into the summit of my mind- You block it out. No use thinking of them.
You continue, oblivious to my ache in your shared SOUL, “I wish I had Alphys’ jetpack.”
I sigh. Wistful.
Wistful means longing. Thinking of better times. In a gloomy way.
You grin at my memories flashing in your head. I grin back.
“It’s always a pleasure to open you up to new vocabulary, Frisk.”
“It’s nice to hear you without you doing that fake TV show accent,” you say, “I love your real accent.”
Now, don’t be ridiculous. I did not train myself to do a Trans-Atlantic accent for years for you to think me sounding like a Bond villain from the Soviet Union is better! Back to the jetpack! I hope that incredible invention still sits safely under your pillow.
You smile sadly.
Sadly? Don’t cry, now! Don’t look at me like that. I think your accent is amazing. People who call you a “call center scammer” should- no, no, don’t laugh at me like that! It is different for me, Frisk!
You giggle.
I gasp indignantly. Indignant means you’re angry because of something you think is unfair. Or insulting. I will not engage with your flattery. Flattery means insincere compliments. Or compliments that are too much. I will observe the room. Thank god everyone else is asleep. Still. The air is rank with the smell of teenage sweat mingling with soap and Axe perfume.
Ew.
Even after decades, this perverse habit never changed. Perverse means awful. Not proper. I take your hand and cover your nose. I advise you bury your face in your blankets, Frisk. It at least smells like your neutral body odour and not whatever this hellish mix is.
You shake your head. “I need to record a closing scene.”
I roll my eyes. Your eyes roll accordingly.
You sit on the bed and take the flying camera from your bedside table cupboard- “Drone, Chara. You’re really old-fashioned!” - and turn it on. The drone, yes, I know what it is called, floats to shoot you as you lean on the pillow in a simulacrum of relaxation. Its so-called AI apparently frames you in the best light. Literally. Around the lens is a ring light that should be illegal for its capacity to blind human children.
But you adjust quickly. With a blink, your face stretches into a grin most unnatural. As you have before every scene. I wince at your chipper tone. Even as you talk about how tired you were from the “super fun sports that’ll make you so strong”, it hides away all the exhaustion that tears and tenses your muscles. You at least forgo the trite greeting and the name you tell me never to call you.
“Okay, I'm gonna sleep now! See you tomorrow, stay determined-” I hear Asgore's deep, warm voice saying those words. I suppress the urge to cover my ears. “And don't forget to subscribe, my-” What an awful fandom name they have come to force upon you! You still smile. Even if your body heats up. You wave to your audience. Your ability to feign childhood joy astounds me.
The drone, ostensibly detecting your goodbye, turns off and floats back to your bed.
Finally.
“NOW, do you agree to bask in the smell of your bed?”
You nod excitedly.
Then it is agreed. You stand up, flop onto the foot-end of the bunk bed. The drone bounces up... and crashes ignobly on the floor.
“I am sorry,” I tell you through our shared SOUL, or brain, or… whatever it is.
You grunt as you check the drone for damages- oh, thank goodness there is none. “It’s fine, Chara.”
All right.
You click on the drone. A holographic display springs out. You click the send button so your parents and editor can review your footage.
When it is done, you wormily shift back to the headboard and put the drone back inside. Then you flip your body around like a pancake. Your head lands on the pillow, which sags with your entire muscular system. It’s not a comfortable pillow by any means. It’s a wilderness camp. What do you expect? But yes. You are correct. It is worsened by putting our phone-jetpack under it. But it is much better than any phone you may have back home, Frisk.
You snort.
“It’s true!” I insist, “When I was alive, phones did not have unskippable ads every time you unlock the screen!”
You laugh at me- oh, the gall of you, Frisk! Phones were better in 201X! I will not change my mind! Now I was just trying to formulate how to defend myself from your predictable “you’re old!” joke when your pillow vibrates. A too-foreign swear word comes out of my mouth.
Your body tenses. Is this what you think it is? It must be, right?
You pull your blanket up to cover your entire body and take the phone-jetpack out.
There it is. The screen shows a familiar contact name… You're asking how can the connection still work? I have no idea, Frisk! Answer them!
Click.
“Heya. Is anyone there?”
Your heart thunders in your chest. Your breaths quicken.
“He’s calling at a bad time,” I sigh inwardly.
You grip the phone tighter. Untangle the blankets around your feet. Your legs. “But when else would he call?”
I can’t answer that. At least we’re actually here to answer the call. Plus. I suppose we should just listen. Put the phone under the pillow again, Frisk. We can’t make this much noise or Mr. Jerkinson will run into our dorm.
“Well... just calling to say,” Sans continues, so relaxed in his silly mafia-esque accent, “You made a snowman really happy.”
Your chest tightens. Your eyes mist with hot tears. You had to leave the snowman piece in front of the Mt. Ebott Children’s Retreat. You couldn’t bring it far away. You’ve failed. You’re a failure… I don’t think you are! I never do! But you think- you sob- I pull the blankets closer around us… wrap us tight… no one should be able to hear you cry. Teenage boys are cruel like that. Not just to me. But also to you.
“... guess I should say something else, too.”
You get my hint. You turn your body again so that you cry into the pillow. Now. What will Sans say?
“so… it’s been a while.” He chuckles. He probably hears you sob, and ignores it. Good. I don’t think I can console a killer like you, either. “since you left... things have gotten really strange. overnight, a bunch of people mysteriously disappeared. as well as the human souls.”
I gasp. How dare Flowey steal the hopes and dreams of monsterkind?
“It’s not real.”
It is. I’ve known it is. Asgore was my father. Toriel was my mother. And yet you’ve denied it.
“None of that was real.” You don’t say the words out loud, but your body is wracked with the tears. You are gripping that pillow so tightly you’re scratching your own palms. I try to loosen it. But you refuse. “It was just a game. I gained LV and EXP.”
“people were heart-broken. everyone they looked up to... everything they were relying on, in one night, disappeared.”
You hear what Sans said? Monsters died, Frisk. People died. Some of them were people I knew. They’ve grown up-
“I died too, Chara! So many monsters killed me, except Papyrus!”
You saved and loaded. You could have loaded and spared Toriel. And Undyne. And-
Sans continues, “everyone clamored to elect a new ruler as fast as possible. so, uh... by process of elimination ... papyrus became the ruler? why doesn't he talk to you about this ...”
“That means it was just a game,” you insist. Stubborn. “No one can live again after they die.”
Right. The both of us aren’t proof of this.
“HELLO!!! HUMAN!!!” Here he is. Papyrus is loud as ever. I’ve missed his voice. He’s nothing like the loud of the boys in this stupid camp, you think. “IT'S STRANGE. ASGORE, ALPHYS, METTATON, AND UNDYNE WENT AWAY.”
“They are dead, Papyrus,” I want to say. But you lunge into me and bite your lip shut.
“SANS SAYS THEY WENT ON VACATION. I HOPE THEY'RE HAVING FUN!!!”
You are irresponsible.
“It’s not real,” you argue, “You’re not real.”
You want to escape the consequences of your actions. Including jumping into Mt. Ebott. Including having me latch onto your SOUL.
“You're just like me. You comnent on everything.”
I am nothing like you.
“Fine. You're an audience watching my life. Like Alphys.”
So why did you kill Mettaton? Is it not the same? Did he not simply give you another audience?
“Mettaton is the worst. You know why!”
Yes. I do. I get why you wanted to kill Mettaton-
You close your ears, both inside and out. “No, you don’t!”
Pick an answer. You are acting childish.
“I’m only ten!” you whine. “You’re what? Eleven? Twelve?”
I have every right not to answer that. Moreover. I do not use my age to justify being a crybaby.
“We’re both kids, Chara! You’re so mean!”
Right. I am mean. Unlike your mother, and unlike myself, Toriel would have given you comfort. You isolate yourself in the corner of your mind. I conjure up imaginary pillows and blankets for you. I hope you are happy.
Now. I push you aside to focus more on the corporeal world. What is Papyrus saying now?
“…AS FOR OUR HUMAN POLICY... WE'VE DECIDED, UM. SANS, WHAT WAS IT?”
My heart clenches. Maybe it’s actually yours. Who knows. You don’t seem to possess much of a conscience-
“we can't judge humans to be all good or all bad.”
“RIGHT!”
Wrong!
“SO IT'S CASE-BY- CASE!”
Case by case?! All humans are filth! I myself feel the desire to hurt others constantly! And so do you! To live as a human is to fight! To fight against this inextricable sin with every breath-
“IF THEY'RE EVIL... WE GIVE THEM PUZZLES! IF THEY'RE GOOD... WE ALSO GIVE THEM PUZZLES! THAT SEEMS TO BE THE BEST WAY!”
You… You think it’s the best solution? What do you mean, Frisk? Humans caused our war with Monsters. Humans cause their own wars all the time for power. For territories. For pettier reasons! Do you think-
“My parents are usually wrong, but I think they’re right in one thing,” you cut in, “good and evil isn’t just what you do every day, but what you do when God is testing you with… what’d they call it? Ext-ror-d’nary sir-come-stances… whatever that means…”
Extraodinary circumstances. You grin when my horrible accent returns. It means situations that you don’t usually face.
Like falling into the Underground, I continue, properly now. And seeing a whole world of Monsters. Of people. Whom you killed. You failed the test. You failed all of it! Just like Flowey said. It’s kill or be killed. Isn’t it?
…what…?
You said you didn’t fail them all? Because you didn’t kill Papyrus?
You spared the life of a single person? Aren’t you a sweetheart, sunshine?
Your breaths rattle in your chest. Your blanket seems inadequate a cover from your sins.
“…is Sans gone?”
Papyrus’ voice is usually so loud, that you jolt in shock when he sounds so quiet. Defeated, almost. You clench your phone. Are you sure you want to hear what he has to say? Find out further about the consequences of your actions that we missed before? I am sorry, Frisk. I contributed to us not hearing the entire phone call-
“You know...” Papyrus continues, “Don't tell my brother, but... despite the improvements we've made... sometimes this job is kind of hard.”
You’ve never heard him out of breath. He barely moved during your fight with him. He didn’t get winded on your date. And yet. His voice sounds like a deflating balloon. His breaths… are more and more noisy and you don’t wanna hear it you wanna get the phone away- No. No. I firmly grip the phone and rest our hand on the mattress. No. We must listen. You must.
“Since the king went away... lots of people just want to give up. Sometimes, even my best encouragement ... doesn't work.”
Papyrus stops with a noise that almost qualifies as a sob. You find yourself sobbing, too… you cry, and you can’t stop. You shouldn’t be crying. Boys don’t cry- no! Frisk! I disagree. Boys can cry. But even so! You are not a boy! You can cry- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a crybaby. By doing so I am following in your parents’ sexist footsteps-
“And, and-” Papyrus is gasping now. His friendly voice, soothing you after you got ‘imprisoned’ in his garage, joking around with you in your date, seems like a lifetime ago. “I miss Undyne, too.”
You remember what I called her. The heroine that NEVER gives up. Undyne. 7 ATK. 0 DEF.
“She never answers my phone calls... She must be having a lot of fun on vacation. I just wish she'd send a postcard.”
I don’t know what else to say to you now, Frisk. You seem to feel guilty. You- you remember the time where you whip the ballet shoes like a lasso and struck Undyne down. You thought she’d turn to dust like Toriel did. Like the Canine Unit did. But she-
Undyne. 7 ATK. -15 DEF.
“BUT HEY!!!” While it’s wavering with what I assume is full-on tears, Papyrus’s voice has jumped back to its usual energy. “I WON'T GIVE UP!”
The heroine that NEVER gives up, you remember me saying. Undyne and Papyrus were two peas in a pod, were they not?
“Say what you want about Papyrus. He’s weird, he’s naive, he’s self-absorbed… but Papyrus has NEVER missed a meeting.”
They were inseparable. Like we are now. Except they actually wanted to be with each other.
“And no matter what time you call him on the phone… Night, day, afternoon, morning… he ALWAYS answers within the first two rings.”
“I’m sorry,” you want to say, but your tongue refuses to move. You feel like it’s weighed down by boulders. Undyne suplexes a boulder, just because she can. You think she’s throwing them all into your mouth, your throat, your chest-
“I CAN'T GIVE UP!” Papyrus bellows. Now with the determination of a true orator. A King of the people. “I HAVE TO MAKE EVERYONE GIVE UP GIVING UP!””
“In the name of everybody’s hopes and dreams…” Undyne’s body is wavering. You wanted to kill her. You… didn’t…? But why did you kill her if you didn’t want to? “I WILL DEFEAT YOU!”
“WE'LL GET OUT OF HERE, SLOWLY!!! THEN WE CAN ALL HANG OUT AGAIN!!!”
She should have died instantly. But she was determined. More determined than you, at least I thought so. I was rooting for her. Much good it did her…
What? You don’t believe I truly want you dead?
…I don’t know.
You hear the harsh rip of fabric against bone. You think he’s wiping his tears with his glove. Why can’t you say sorry? Why can’t you speak properly, with your mouth, when you need it the most? “I really AM a bad kid. wonder I got sent to the Retreat, and now here…”
No! No one deserves to be sent to these wilderness camps. Even if that is the natural state of humans to force those who are different to conform to their arbitrary boxes… NO ONE deserves to be treated like those scum of the Earth have been treating you.
“NYEH HEH HEH!!!”
Click. Papyrus hangs up.
I let go of the phone.
The fact that the Underground lives on, limping on bony legs across a dusty land of your making, fills you with something heavy in your gut.
“If only," you burst out, hiccuping, sobbing even worse, I try to clamp your mouth shut you can't wake them- "you could control me and make me a good son and a good boy and a good Youtuber and a good person in the Underground…”
Frisk.
What do you mean I could have used your body to make things better? You must take responsibility for your own body. Not everyone has another being occupying their SOUL. And besides… We’re both human.
Nothing we do ever makes things better.