songs for the fallen

ozone

Chara
_____

 The overpowering smell of ozone. Faces it recognizes, lost in a crowd. Magical wind buffeting a body that isn't theirs, a behemoth of cords and pipes and wires and tubes snaking and towering above them. The crackle of fire. The shift of shadows. Sapphire and ruby, tiles and grates and amusement-park foam. Leering faces. Laughing shapes. Figures in the distance. They used to know how to speak in hands. They learned from the old doctor. They don't know how to anymore.

Alphys's voice over the phone, buzzing with static. Elevator. Go right up. It knows that isn't going to work. It knows she's a liar. What else is she lying about? Does she know? Does she know what Papyrus doesn't? What Sans wouldn't tell them? That one little thing they can never know?

Does it matter?

Lamb to the slaughter. The elevator doesn't work. Doe eyes, high-beams, right to a pit of fire. They knew these people once. Magician's hat. Knight's morningstar. Flashes of faces. Will they know them again?

Time shifts around them like water. They know the river well. They used to hear voices calling them from the distance when they swam against the current. Red faces, red robes, red eyes. Little trips, little mishaps, wounds that cut too deep. When someone else holds your SOUL in theirs, you can't go back anymore. They learned that lesson the hard way.

The CORE. They were never here in life. They are barely here in death. They are trying to be okay with this. Trying to accept what will happen next. Praying for anything to push it off just a moment longer. One more attack. One more enemy to check. One more potted plant to comment on. Anything.

They don't want this to be over.

They don't want to say goodbye.

They linger on every sign they read. You notice the way each individual pixel glimmers. You notice how red the letters are. You notice, you notice, you notice. They comment on the ozone smell nine times, then nine times more. They remark on the shadows of the mercenaries. They advise Frisk to take both paths, the one with the puzzles and the one with the monsters, even though they only need to take one for the End to open. Anything to make this last longer. Anything to stay with Frisk one moment more. Anything to stay here in the whooshing of steam and the gathering of fog and the presence of the only person who knows they still exist. One more song for that bird-call voice. One more joke. One more smile. One more laugh. They're holding onto something they can never have. Holding onto something they've already lost. They could fill this whole building with one mores until all the digits on all the counters tick up to nine and it would still be meaningless. Their brother used to stop reading books at the second to last chapter to make sure they'd never end. But life doesn't work like that. They can push what's coming next back one more chapter time and time again, but there will always be a final page. It doesn't matter if they're reading it or not.

It goes like this (and damn the flowery words to hell, because no adjectives or purple prose could save them now): Frisk enters the CORE. They are attacked by mercenaries who should not be there. Alphys leads them in the wrong direction, and then stops calling. Paths diverge. They end up at the last save point before the elevator to the castle anyway. It is pointless. Describing the smell of ozone again is pointless. Describing the way their worn boots make the metal of the final bridge over a pit of roiling steam sing is pointless. Describing the lights and the walls and the hiss of ice that flows all the way here from that wolf in Snowdin is pointless. The end is the end. There is no avoiding it.

Please, they cry out to the universe, too quietly for Frisk to hear them. One last battle. One last show. One last dance.

The door to the hallway to the elevator whirs shut. Perhaps the world has answered them after all.

"OH YES. THERE YOU ARE, DARLING." Mettaton. They haven't told Frisk what they remembered about him. It doesn't matter now. "IT'S TIME TO HAVE OUR LITTLE SHOWDOWN. IT'S TIME TO FINALLY STOP THE 'MALFUNCTIONING' ROBOT. ...NOT!!! MALFUNCTIONING? REPROGRAMMING? GET REAL." The air around him hums. Let this be a real fight. No anticlimax, no premature ending. They just want to stay here a little while longer.

"THIS WAS ALL JUST A BIG SHOW," he continues. "AN ACT. ALPHYS HAS BEEN PLAYING YOU FOR A FOOL THE WHOLE TIME." They...figured as much. She knew too much. All those wasn't supposed to happens...the wording was suspicious. Frisk seems shocked. Understandably, perhaps. They see things from too close. They aren't like Chara. They aren't so removed. "AS SHE WATCHED YOU ON THE SCREEN, SHE GREW ATTACHED TO YOUR ADVENTURE. SHE DESPERATELY WANTED TO BE A PART OF IT. SO SHE DECIDED TO INSERT HERSELF INTO YOUR STORY. SHE REACTIVATED PUZZLES. SHE DISABLED ELEVATORS. SHE ENLISTED ME TO TORMENT YOU. ALL SO SHE COULD SAVE YOU FROM DANGERS THAT DIDN'T EXIST. ALL SO YOU WOULD THINK SHE'S THE GREAT PERSON...THAT SHE'S NOT. AND NOW, IT'S TIME FOR HER FINEST HOUR. AT THIS VERY MOMENT, ALPHYS IS WAITING OUTSIDE THE ROOM. DURING OUR 'BATTLE,' SHE WILL INTERRUPT. SHE WILL PRETEND TO 'DEACTIVATE' ME, 'SAVING' YOU ONE FINAL TIME. FINALLY. SHE'LL BE THE HEROINE OF YOUR ADVENTURE. YOU'LL REGARD HER SO HIGHLY SHE'LL EVEN BE ABLE TO CONVINCE YOU NOT TO LEAVE." He pauses, rocking ever so slightly on his single wheel. If they had eyes of their own, they'd be staring right through him.

"...OR NOT. YOU SEE, I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS PREDICTABLE CHARADE. I HAVE NO DESIRE TO HARM HUMANS. FAR FROM IT, ACTUALLY. MY ONLY DESIRE IS TO ENTERTAIN. AFTER ALL, THE AUDIENCE DESERVES A GOOD SHOW, DON'T THEY?" The air crackles. The lights flicker. The floor reverberates with the hum of distant generators. They make their wish three times. Let this last. "AND WHAT'S A GOOD SHOW...WITHOUT A PLOT TWIST?"

The door behind them slams shut. They can hear Alphys's panicked voice from behind it, clawed hands pounding against metal. "H-hey!!!" she cries out. They can hear the deceitful tremble in her voice. "Wh-wh-what's going on!? Th-th-the door just locked itself!"

"SORRY, FOLKS!" Mettaton says, the tuning on his microphone growing louder as the round, dark room lights up in red. It's a stage?! "THE OLD PROGRAM'S BEEN CANCELLED. BUT WE'VE GOT A FINALE THAT WILL DRIVE YOU WILD!!"

Frisk drops to their knees on instinct as the ground beneath them shakes. The stage retreats just a millimeter into the ground, the whole room winding tight like a spring. Then the tension breaks. It rockets upwards into the vast, tall chamber above, air rushing past them, tangling Frisk's hair as though they're falling in reverse. Fall to rise. So it goes. Perfect symmetry.

The music starts, blue lights dancing and spinning as the stage shoots upwards still. "REAL DRAMA!!" Mettaton announces. "REAL ACTION!! REAL BLOODSHED!! ON OUR NEW SHOW... 'ATTACK OF THE KILLER ROBOT!'"

The world flickers black and white and back to normal. The music shifts. The stage lights flicker on. They'll make the most of this. They will. They have to.

Looks like their last wish came true.