The hand that holds the chain(swapfell)part 2

chapter 11

Sans flicked the blood off of his clawed glovetips, glancing down in distaste at his sullied clothing. “I just washed these pants,” he groused, pausing before kicking out, his boot catching the head of the Monster he had caught hard. “What IS it about you people that makes laundry day a nightmare for me?”

The Monster in question, a bound and bloodied Hare, could only sit and shake with shock and pain as Sans crossed his arms. This sting operation was taking far too long, the Skeleton though as he awaited the arrival of the backup that was anticipated for this job.

He checked the time, his teeth grinding in agitation; this had better be finished before six, he had other places to go.

A loud blast from the end of the tunnel caught his attention. “About damn time,” he said, leaning against the wall and waiting as a hoard of Monsters raced down the hall toward him, led by an old nemesis.

“Sans, you disgusting louse,” the wounded Crow Monster hissed, his feathers rustling in despising of the Skeleton before him. “Isn't it enough you're already right in the Monarchy's back pockets? You have to be the attack dog of anyone else who shakes a bag of G at you?”

Sans shrugged, grinning. “At least the G they pay me is real,” he shot back. “And at least everything I want can be bought with it. How IS your wing doing?”

The Crow gave him a hiss, his feathers cresting around his neck. “Better than your spine by the time I'm done with it!” he screed back. “We're not those lowlife thugs we hired as a front, Sans! WE actually have something to lose!” The other Monsters hissed and growled assent; all of them, Sans knew, were not the average Monster lackey. More than one of them were dirty Guards and had more than just a profit to lose out of this.

“That sounds like a 'you' problem,” Sans replied, examining his gloved clawtips. “And I like G and job security more than I like any of YOU. SEVERAL of which...” He gave primarily the Guards a piercing glare. “...I KNOW had a hand in bringing back those videos of my brother.”

A couple of Monsters edged away from the Guards, knowing what Sans was referring to; a couple of weeks ago, just after Papyrus was re-granted independence from servant status from Sans, videos of The Incident resurfaced as a means to demoralize the former Captain in a gesture of cold cruelty. It was quickly quelled within hours by a team effort of Undyne and Papyrus, who scrambled the frequency and destroyed the shared files with a virus that would subsequently destroy the rest of the phone or computer that contained it.

In the end, the last shred of recorded evidence of The Incident was destroyed forever, and Papyrus would be pocketing profits from his new cellphone designs he created to replace the phones of those who inadvertently received a copy of the file. A win-win, in Sans's opinion.

Sans yawned, sitting up from the wall. “Alright, so here's what's going to happen,” he said, stretching out his arms. “You lot are going to attack me. You're all going to die. I'm going to collect my bounty and use the profits for a wonderful birthday gift for my darling brother. Your dust will be sent down the sewers, your names and lives forgotten, and that will be that. So you can all either accept your fates and make it painless, or you can deny your fates and die anyway. So what will it be?”

Naturally, he observed, they went with panicking and attempting to save their own skins as most of them collectively sent a hodgepodge volley of attacks at him.

'Pathetic,' he thought, not moving from his spot. 'And to think it took three years to take THIS mass of idiots down.'

The resulting explosion of combined attacks shook the cavern, kicking up stone dust everywhere. The swell of victory was extremely short-lived as a glow of orange magic shone through the dust and a thrum of familiar magic rippled in the air.