Dr. Alex Blake comes out of retirement to head a new unit. The team is called to investigate a string of grisly and bizarre murders in San Francisco involving a priest, a college provost, a judge, and an ex-marine. Will they stop the unsub in time before the number of deaths continue to rise?

~o0o~ Book 2 of the "Better Times" trilogy ~o0o~ (Book one: "The Time Before") (Book three: "No One is Happy with This") Ah. Hello there. You are here in search of a story? ... I could tell you a story of a family, reunited once more, living on the surface world. But such a story has not come to pass, nor do I know how such a story would come to pass. So I will not tell that story. I could tell you the story of how I came to be here, stuck in the black depths of nothingness. But, I have the distinct sense that this story has already been told, by hands not my own. So I will not tell that story. I could tell you a forgotten story. A story of a name long gone, a time erased eternities ago. ... Yes, this one, I think, is the story I will tell. For the name that was once my own, the name that has been lost to the Void, that is a name to remember. Dr. WD Gaster is a Name to Remember.

A series of small stories attached to a few different skeletons. Some are a few chapters, some are one-shots. A companion compilation to "Reset," meant to add a few explanations, flesh out some details, and play with some post-Pacifist-Ending ideas.

"What the hell?" I took a step closer to the mirror, staring at my reflection in disbelief. The person looking back was still me, but at the same time it wasn't. I had the same thick, dark, curly hair. The same hazel eyes. The same olive skin with a light dusting of freckles (ugh) scattered across the bridge of my nose. But my curls were now streaked with highlights. And not the subtle, golden-brown ones that sometimes appeared during the summer. No, these were an aggressive, dazzling blond that went from the roots of my hair all the way to the tips. It looked like I had spent a full day getting my hair done in some upscale salon. Never mind that I had never set foot in such a place since the day I was born. My eyes appeared somehow wider and more luminous. The colour brighter, my eyelashes darker up against them. And, when I looked closely, my pupils seemed to be slitted almost like a cat. I looked down at my body. My skinny arms-which had always refused to gain any definition no matter how hard I exercised-were lined with flat, wiry muscles. My bony shoulders were now curved and smooth. My scrawny legs were toned like a dancer. I reached down and lifted my shirt, revealing two subtle lines running vertically down my perfectly flat stomach, hinting at the rock-hard abs underneath. My whole body was rippling with strength. Like liquid steel.