The hand that holds the chain(swapfell)part 2

chapter 3

“Y'know, YOU could stand to have some upgrades yourself, bonehead.”

Sans huffed, adjusting the straps that held his homemade armor together on his outfit. “Right, whatever,” he replied. “Not my fault idiots need to be beaten before they know I'm actually a threat.”

Alphys rolled her eye, sitting back on a bench. “That's just the POINT,” she shot back. “In the Guard, first impression are everything. And that first impression should be, 'fuck with me and you're dead where you stand'. I mean, Papyrus didn't need that much more to work with. He's seven feet tall and his armor made him look even bigger. But he still got some work done.”

Sans gave up trying to fix the strap and just let the whole shoulder armor drop. “So, what?” he demanded. “You want me to 'get work done'?”

“Yes.”

Sans scowled. “Ridiculous,” he grumbled, already in a bad mood since the shoulder armor would take some work to be latched back onto his shirt, which was already starting to go threadbare despite his upkeep. In fact, his whole outfit needed a rehash. He was starting to feel less like a Lord and more like some asshole who went dumpster diving. He gave up on the shoulder armor and let it drop, sitting back on the ground with an annoyed huff.

Alphys watched his demeanor with a critical eye, her fingers drumming the handle of her axe for a moment before leaning forward. “If you're feeling ancy, I...may have a job for you already.”

Sans looked up, his eyelights constricting slightly. “A job?” he parroted back. “What kind of job?”

Alphys's tail swished in the snow almost anxiously. “I don't think I have to tell you about the fuckery that goes on the Capitol,” she said quietly, as though someone might be listening. “And it's the kind of stuff the Guard normally can't be seen dealing with. The Capitol's already on the border of anarchy without them needing a reason to give the Guard shit for stooping to their level.”

Sans frowned. “What's your point?”

“Point is, if you want to get paid for doing something off the books, here's your chance.” She paused. “You get pardoned for anything you do to get the job done, and the pay is definitely worth it.” She pulled a small notepad from her belt pouch and jotted down a G number, handing it over to him. Sans took it, looking it over with a critical eyelight.

“You're serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

Sans leaned back, staring up at the 'sky' for a few moments to mull it over. This was generous; ENTIRELY too generous. He absently wondered if it was a joke or a trick, but considering the nature of the work and the threat that came with it...it was suitable.

“........alright,” he said. “I'm in.”

“'I'M' in?” Alphys repeated, arching a brow. Sans's eyelights flicked in the direction of Papyrus, who was mumbling to himself over a Sudoku puzzle.

“....WE'RE in.”

Sans HATED the Capitol.

Overcrowded, overworked, too many Monsters in his personal space, and Papyrus's safety all mucked together in a cloud of stress, which didn't make this job any easier.

Alphys had texed him the job from one of Undyne's untraceable numbers to avoid any official standing with the Royal Guard; there was a counterfeit operation going on where Monsters were making pyrite G and using them to rip off Monsters, especially those working in dangerous or demeaning jobs. While the Guard would normally handle this, new operations kept springing up, and Queen Toriel had made mention to Alphys during a Guard meeting that she wanted it 'permanently taken care of'.