Criminal Boundaries (An Undertale Sanscest Story)

Psychiatrist

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---Paperjam's POV----

I sat in Ink's office, flicking through his art books as I waited for him to come and collect me.

You see, today is the day I've been waiting for. Today's my sixteenth birthday.

For ages now I've wanted to help out in the police force, not as an officer, but as a physiatrist of some sorts. I've always wanted to talk to the criminals in here and ask about their problems, you know, as someone to talk to. These criminals often seem quite happy to have someone to talk to as far as I've heard from Melon, a physiatrist that works here. Apparently most of them have rather interesting stories to tell.

For so long Inks been putting off the idea. But after a whole three days of me continuously begging him, he caved in and said I could once I'm sixteen.

And that day is today.

I'd already opened all my presents from dad and my friends, and I loved them all. But this is what I was most exited for.

At the sound of the door handle turning I snapped the art book shut and placed it back where it was originally on the desk before looking up expectantly.

Ink walked in, a happy expression on his face. "Hiya Jammy."

Instantly I tackled him down in a hug, giggling. "Heya dad!"

He yelped, stumbling back slightly in surprise. "Whoah, you haven't greeted me like that since you were a kid!"

I pouted, pushing off of him. "Would you rather me greet you like a moody teen?"

Ink laughed, shaking his head. "Please don't."

"Alright then." I stood up straighter, rocking back and forth on my feet slightly. "Sooooo..."

Ink sighed loudly, rolling his eyes. "Your inmate is ready and waiting for you..."

"Yes!" I squealed, jumping up and down. "Can I go now?"

He sighed weakly again before nodding. "Just...please be careful..."

"I will be!" I said, hugging him quickly again. "Show me the way then!"

He spun on his heals, walking back out of the office and into the corridor. "You'll recognise this inmate..." He muttered. "You've seen him before..."

I glanced at him curiously, but he avoided eye contact with me, staring straight ahead instead. "Don't ask questions..."

The rest of the walk there was silent, with Ink looking slightly moody and me just humming softly as I looked around.

Eventually Ink stopped by one of the psychiatrist cells. They're the ones with really thick glass at the front so that people can see in. Inside the walls and floor are plain, all white. Inks always hated these rooms, but no ones ever changed them.

In the middle is a desk, and two chairs, one on either side. Normally they're empty, but today, in the chair for the inmate, was someone.

I recognised them immediately.

He was leant back in his chair slightly, glancing down at the cuffs that kept his hands locked to the chair. He was a skeleton, dressed in the most clashing of clothes adorned in an odd baseball cap and a pair of shades.

Fresh. That was his name. This is the second time he's been caught by the police apparently. The first time he was in here for a few months before his gang broke him out. But he got caught again four years ago and has stayed here ever since. No break outs have happened for him.