Do You Get It?

The Journal

The Creator

It is nearing 7am and we haven't gotten any closer to finding out what this machine does. If anything, the result of working for almost an hour is frustration.

I hold my head in my hands as Sans holds a flash light to the insides of the machine. I'm surprised to see that he understands quite a bit about engineering. But when you apply the fact that his name was on the scientist's paper, you can assume that Sans would know something about science.

"Hey Sans, I'm going to go check around the lab." I say nonchalantly. Since he seems to be doing his thing, I might as well go investigate the rest of the lab. Maybe I'll close my eyes for a second, hopefully stop this headache...

I see that there aren't any papers around, most likely because Error had picked them up when he first came down here. There is an old computer on one of the metal desks, but it seems to have been broken for a long time.

Other than that the room is pretty bare. There are some duplicate tools to the ones Sans has and a few dead desk lamps. Grabbing a flashlight I head out. Since this room doesn't have much to explore I go out into the hallway. The light from the lab shines into the darkness and after a few feet I turn the flashlight on.

The hallway itself is arrow, lined with a couple doors on each side. The further I walk down, the more the shadows start to swallow my view. The beam of light cuts through the darkness and shows something that was covered by the retreating shadows.

Upon further investigation, it seems to be a book. Almost like the darkness itself delivered it to me. It is than a normal size notebook and covered in a brown leather cover. I switch the flashlight to my left hand and pick up the book. Before I have a chance to flip through it I hear a loud thud. It seems to come from the lab.

I quickly dash to Sans and the lights that illuminate the room shows what happened. Nothing. "What happened?" I ask with alarm screaming in my voice. I click the flashlight off and readjust the notebook in my hand. "Oh, I dropped another panel." He says gesturing towards the large piece of metal on the tiled floor. Of course Sans would give me a heart attack over a dropped piece of machinery.

"Okay, just don't scare me next time." I say, taking a seat in the skinny chair. I click one of the desk lamps, wanting to be able to clearly inspect the notebook. But the click only laughed at me, for the lightbulb was definitely dead. I click my flashlight on with bitterness that I now have to hold a flash light and read. It's just inconvenient, but so is this situation.

Flipping to the first page shows the familiar symbols. They seem to be the name of the owner. There are two letters spaced out next to a word with 6 symbols. Or it could be the title of the book. I get a quick scan of the journal and it seems to be close to completely full. The only blank pages appear to be the last 10 or so.

I flip past the front page and try to read the symbols. Of course it continues to look like gibberish. There is no way to understand what they say of there are no translations. I continue to page through, zoning out when I reach diagrams of another invention.

My body freezes before my mind can comprehend what I'm seeing. Words, like actual words. Comprehendible words line in between the sentences of symbols. Over each symbol is a letter. "Sans! I found a key!" I say, regardless of wanting to scare him or not. I push my self out of the chair and through the light on the table.

"What? Let me see." He says, getting up off the floor. His eyes scan the page and tries to understand what it is saying. I get anxious when I read confusion on his face. "What is it?" I ask nervously, taking the journal out of his shaking hands. I read one phrase at the top of the page, the very beginning of the translation. They are the only letters written in red ink and underlined for importance.

THE MULTIVERSE THEORY

I don't understand why his hands are shaking. His stature and eyes only show fear. His face shows a mutation of terror and confusion. As if he has found out his time of death. In a way what he had found was the opposite. This was a tool to help us find out what happened. And something tells me he doesn't want to know.

Soon enough I realize that we are digging up more than answers. We are digging up skeletons. With shaking words and a quick look away, he tells me what he's learned.

"Ink...that's my handwriting."