Smoke in the Machine

by vallyWorks

Summary:

You never thought you would move to New Ebott, but after learning more than you should have, it was the only city where you could hide it.

It was the city where monsters and humans lived side by side, where both could be mobsters, thieves, dealers, or saints. Sometimes all in the same breath. New Ebott didn’t ask questions, though. It didn’t care who you were, just what you brought to the table, or what you could pay to keep off of it.

Of course, you had plans to stay out of trouble. That was until you met a golden tooth skeleton who won't leave you alone.

Notes:

Please keep this in mind for the fic: while Sans and Papyrus were inspired by "Sooner or Later, You're Gonna Be Mine," they're not the same characters. Consent is very important here. None of the main pairings will have non-con in them. That is no hate to the original story, I love it very much, and it has inspired a lot of this. There are still red flags Red has throughout this. And Dark things will still happen, this is New Ebott, after all.

One other thing, later on, once the ball gets moving, it will have some sexism and fantasy racism in it, so keep that in mind if that triggers you too much.

Chapter 1: Welcome to Your New City

Notes:

A quick disclaimer- while not tagged in the fandoms, there will be characters from Deltarune and Undertale Yellow. They will mostly be side characters, but I love the goobers too much not to let them shine in my work. But I will say, some characters will come back in a big way down the line. If I feel like they are becoming more relevant to the story, I'll add it to the fandom tag.

Also! Tags will change as the work goes on. While I have all the big plot points laid out and the beginning part of the story written, some things are not set in stone just yet, like relationships. If you see something that might be a plot hole, feel free to point it out! Constructive criticism is always appreciated!

But without any more interruptions, I hope you enjoy the story!

The rain slid down the cracked windshield, making it hard to see the empty street you were driving on. 

The car was a mess, really. The wipers squealed at every pass, barely helping at all. One headlight was out. The heater coughed but didn’t kick in. It was a miracle that the car could still drive at this point.

Stopping at a red light, one of your hands started to pet your cat absently as you stared through the dripping glass. Your other arm rested on the car door, the hand twitching. You wished you had a cigarette. 

Far away, the sound of sirens echoed.

It was a good reminder that the city never slept- though to be fair, what city ever does? Your last one certainly didn’t. At least here, the streets didn’t look as filthy. Not that it was saying much. The streets still had trash littered around and grease stains that never washed out. The amount of newspapers in the gutter could fill a small novel. And homeless people were still huddled away under anything that got them away from the heavy rain.

The light turned green, and you nudged on the gas. The engine wheezed like an old man trying to stand. Without thinking, you muttered an apology to the car. She was old, rusted at the corners, and coughed like she’d been through war, but she was yours. She was all you had, really. That and the cat.

You squirmed uncomfortably, letting your grip on the steering wheel loosen. The ache in your back was getting hard to ignore. It made you glance at the time. 11:17 PM. God, you have been driving for hours now.

Even with the heavy rain and late night, the streets were just bright enough to see. It was thanks to the lights around, mostly due to the neon lights flickering around. Liquor. Open 24 Hours. Rooms by the Hour. Live Music. All the advertisements let you see the streets better, which was much appreciated since it helped your tired eyes to see. 

Your cat, Beatrice, stirred against you with a quiet mrrp, her tail twitching as your car bumped through a pothole that sent a concerning rattle through the floor. “Sorry, baby,” you muttered, rubbing between her ears. “Almost there.” Wherever there was. Thankfully, she stayed tucked in your lap as you continued. 

It’s not like you had much of a plan, but you had to keep moving. Somewhere, you told yourself, there’d be a place to crash that you could afford for the night. You just needed a place to gather yourself and plan what to do next. 

This side of New Ebott City was nice enough, considering you wasn't on the rich half of the city.

Turning onto a new street, you finally spotted what you were looking for. 

It was a Sleep-E-Z Inn, with its “Z” flickering so violently it looked like it was trying to leap off the sign. The building beneath wasn’t anything to write home about; it was the kind of place that hadn’t seen a coat of fresh paint since the war. A small building in the front, and a bunch of rooms on two different stories. The parking lot was nearly empty, save for a couple of beat-up sedans and a delivery truck with the words Fresh Produce barely legible thanks to time. The likelihood of it actually being used for “produce” was slim to none.

You pulled into the lot, your car protesting with a creak as it rolled into the nearest space. The rain had softened some, but it still drizzled steadily. Beatrice shifted on your lap, giving a low, groggy meow that almost sounded annoyed.

“I know,” you murmured, giving her a gentle pat before moving her to the passenger side. “I’ll be back in a minute, sweetheart.”

Killing the engine, you stepped out into the night. An uncomfortable feeling immediately formed in the bottom of your stomach. You shivered. It didn't help that the cold bit through your shoes and the rain slid down your back under your shirt uncomfortably. You tucked your coat tighter to you and made your way to the front office as quickly as possible.

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped in. Once inside, you shivered again from the warmth that greeted you. It smelled of old coffee, bleach, and something vaguely moldy. Behind the front desk sat a man in his sixties. He didn’t look up from his newspaper as he addressed you.

“Room?” he grunted.

You nodded, fishing out your wallet. “Three nights, please.”

He gave you a look, eyes flicking from your wet coat to the rusted keys hanging on the board behind him. “Cash only.”

You slid over a few crumpled bills, enough for the night. He handed you a key labeled Room 6 without another word, “Heat’s patchy. No phones in the rooms. Don’t bother the neighbors.”

You gave a quiet nod and took the key, backing out as the bell jingled again behind you. 

Quickly making your way back to the car, you reached in and scooped Beatrice up with one hand. “Got us a room,” you muttered, more to reassure yourself than her. She gave a quiet purr in reply and tucked her head under your chin. Once you had made sure she was secured on your shoulder, you went into the back and grabbed your two suitcases. 

Beatrice clung close as you trudged across the parking lot toward Room 6, shoes squelching in every puddle. Your poor feet were soaked now, but it barely registered; it was just another inconvenience in a long night of inconveniences.

The key slid into the lock, and after a hard twist, the door gave way with a low creak. Inside was everything you expected from a place like this, a single bed with a scratchy comforter, a tiny desk with a dingy lamp and chair, and wallpaper that had peeled. A cramped little bathroom tucked into the corner. A cigarette burn marked the bedside table. There was a rotary phone on the nightstand, disconnected. No TV. No clock. The smell of the room was the same as the front.

Still, it was dry. And… warm-ish.

You shut the door behind you with a sigh and tossed your bags down with a dull thud. Beatrice hopped from your shoulder to the floor. She found a place she liked in the corner and immediately started to clean herself, as if the whole night hadn’t been a disaster.

You shrugged off your coat and threw it over the desk. Then, grabbing the chair, used it to block the door for double protection. You never liked rooms on the first floor; it always made you paranoid. 

The radiator under the window clanked to life when you fiddled with the dial. It started with a sputter a few times, before the warm air began to fill the small room. You peeled off your damp socks and threw them in the corner. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking in protest, but you couldn't bring yourself to care at the moment. You stretched your legs and arched your back until it gave a satisfying pop.

Using one of your elbows to prop your head up while you used the other to pet Beatrice. She gave a slow, contented blink, then leaned into your touch with a small rumble of approval. You scratched gently behind her ears, and she purred louder, curling her body toward your side like she meant to protect you.

You smiled, for the first time since you started your long drive, you let yourself relax. This was nice, really. But, after letting yourself indulge in the long moment, you forced yourself up. After grabbing some toiletries from your bag, you went to the bathroom. 

Flicking on the light switch, the fluorescent light immediately buzzed to life. The bathroom wasn't much, a narrow sink that had a missing chunk in the corner, a toilet with a crooked seat, and a shower barely big enough for. The mirror above the sink had rust all around the sides.

You ran the water in the sink, letting it gurgle and spit before it turned warm. Good enough. You scrubbed your face without looking in the mirror.  Exhaustion clung to you too tightly for the water to really wake you up, but it was enough for it to take the edge off. The kind of tired you carried wasn’t skin-deep anyway.

After brushing your teeth and freshening up the best you could with a scratchy motel towel, you stepped back into the room. You could take a shower in the morning.  Beatrice had moved onto one of the pillows, now curled like a cinnamon roll, her ears flicking every now and then at the radiator’s clanks.

Not trusting the blanket, you went into your bag to grab your warmest clothes, an old sweater, and a pair of thick sweatpants that had definitely seen better days. You layered them on quickly, then flobbed down onto the bed. Beatrice mewed in soft protest but didn’t move when reached to pet her. 

Your eyelids grew heavy. The ache in your shoulders dulled into something bearable, listening to the soft rain tapping the window and the occasional creak of the old radiator.

Turning your head to look out the window, you let your mind wander.

This city was so different from your old home. But, to be fair, this city had a lot more history than any in the country. You remember how there was a whole unit in high school about learning about the city.

New Ebott City was built on the grounds of the original Ebott City. Most of the old city had been destroyed in the Great Fire of ’25. Years of violence, failed promises from politicians for reforms, and economic downturns had left the city battered and broken. The blaze swallowed entire blocks, reducing homes, businesses, and lives to ash.

But in those ashes, the Dreemurr’s were able to rise to power. 

Aegros Dreemurr was able to rally the people together and rebuild their city. The Boss Monster had brought people together in a way no one thought possible. He wasn’t flashy. He didn’t give long-winded speeches or make empty campaign promises. What he did was show up. Every day. In the wreckage, sleeves rolled up and dirt on his hands. He worked side by side with the laborers, the widows, the disillusioned youth, and worn-down veterans. And somehow, in that shared grief and sweat, people started to believe again.

He united humans and monsters alike, something that had been unthinkable in the years before, thanks to the war. It was almost unthinkable. He showed them a future where everyone had a hand in building something better.

Brick by brick, street by street, New Ebott rose.

You remembered the photos in your old history book, black-and-white images of Aegros standing in front of steel girders, smiling with grease on his face and a child on each shoulder. He’d refused any monuments in his honor, claiming the city itself was a monument enough. But people still put flowers at the site of the old fire line every year on Reclamation Day. 

Of course, there was the dark side of the story. 

There always was, wasn’t there?

Aegros Dreemurr may have worn work boots and a humble smile for the newspapers, but anyone with half a brain and ears in the street knew that wasn’t the whole picture. You didn’t rebuild a city that fast without bending the rules, or breaking them entirely. And Aegros? He didn’t just bend them. He melted them down and reforged them into something that suited his needs.

The Dreemurrs had muscle, and they had money, neither of which came from bricklaying and ribbon-cutting alone.

Whispers said Aegros was the first real Don of New Ebott, the one who unified the scattered gangs and crime families under a single crest. The Boss Monster. Not just by species, but by title. People said he brokered peace the same way he laid concrete, with strong hands and no patience for fragility. If you got in his way, you disappeared. If you followed him, you thrived. It was that simple.

Some said he kept order in the streets through respect. Others said it was fear. The truth, probably, was a cocktail of both.

His eldest son, Asgore, took over after Aegros died, peacefully in his bed, if you believed the papers. A stroke, they said. A quiet end for a man who had once stared down riots and made the concrete bleed. But on the street? People whispered something else. Some said Aegros had been poisoned; old age didn’t make you drop that fast, not when you were still calling meetings the week before. 

Either way, Asgore Dreemurr stepped into his father’s shoes with a slower step and a heavier heart.

He wasn’t like his old man, apparently. He was much calmer. Gentler, even. Some folks loved him for it, while others thought it made him soft. But rumor had it that was just a public facade. That, behind closed doors, Asgore Dreemurr wasn’t so soft. He just knew how to play the game differently from his father. Where Aegros had ruled with a clenched fist, Asgore used a handshake. Where Aegros barked orders, Asgore asked nicely, and made sure people understood that asking was a courtesy. 

Taking a deep sigh, you finally closed your eyes. The drama of the city would hopefully only add flavor to your stay here, not influence it. You had no intention of getting involved in anything of the sort.

But, when did life care what you wanted?

---

The rain smashes against the cracked pavement and flickering streetlights as two figures dash through the narrow alleys of the city’s underbelly. 

The shorter of the two, a human, gasped out, “Why the hell did he have to show up tonight?”

The taller figure, a monster with glowing yellow eyes and a trench coat soaked through, didn’t answer right away- too focused on the sound of footsteps echoing behind them. Heavy one, but there was no rush to them.

“He wasn’t supposed to know we were even in this district,” the human spat, ducking under a low-hanging fire escape. “It was a clean grab!”

“Clean until you started shooting,” the monster growled. “I told you to wait. But nooooo! Trigger finger had to get twitchy.”

“I panicked, alright? He looked right at me! He knew!”

The two of them continued to run down the alleyway, their footsteps splashing underneath them. The heavier footsteps behind them kept pace, unhurried, joined in by a fog of deep bloodly red smoke.

The human stumbled, nearly falling into a trash bin, but the monster’s hand shot out, gripping his arm and hauling him back up, then letting go. “Watch it!”

A sharp crack echoed, a loose pipe snapped underfoot, and the footsteps behind them quickened.

“He’s getting closer,” the human hissed, eyes wide with panic. “We’re so dead ,” he muttered, eyes darting wildly.

The monster’s jaw. “Keep moving,” he barked, turning into the alleyway, hoping to weasel their way away from this situation.

But that was a fatal mistake.

At the end of the alleyway, a high plank fence stood in their way. Too tall for either of them to jump.

The monster skidded to a stop, the human crashing into his back. The monster’s barely registered it as his yellow eyes flicked desperately from side to side. No way around. No way over. Just cold, wet brick walls closing in.

“heh. shoulda knew runnin’ won’t save ya.”

Both turned around to face the entrance of the alley. The red smoke had swirled thicker now, the corner of it twisted and turned like fire. A bulking silhouette was just barely seen through the mist. 

The human raised up his hands in surrender. “Hey, hey- look, man, I-I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” the human stammered, voice cracking as his soaked clothes clung to him. “

“nah,” the voice said lazily, taking slow steps out of the smoke. It was easy to see that the monster was dressed nicely, despite the night covering up most of the details. The only thing truly able to make out was the red waistcoat under a black jacket. 

Suddenly, the monster slammed into the wall. He let out a sharp gasp as something stabbed him from behind, feeling his HP drain out of him slowly. The pressure on his SOUL left, making him collapse on the ground. The human jumped, his scream catching in his throat as he backed up.

“Look- we didn’t know, okay? W-We didn’t know they were under your protection! We were just doing a pickup, that’s it! We didn’t know they were selling out to a different gang!”

The skeleton didn’t stop walking forward, making the human back up into the alley wall. His thumbs were in pockets, letting the moonlight gleam on the golden rings on his fingers. The monster tilted his head, his left eye flashing gold for just a moment.

He stood in front of the human now, towering over him. The human was shaking terribly now, not looking into the monster's eye sockets, which were devoid of any light. Instead, all his eyes could focus on was the monster's fanged grin, the golden tooth gleaming just like his rings.

“funny thing,” he said as he leaned closer, to the point the human slid down the wall painfully. “you say you didn’t know, but see… i think you did.”

The human choked on a breath, shaking his head rapidly. “No- no, I swear-”

He didn’t get to finish.

A snap rang out in the alley.

The monster stepped to the side as the human fell to the ground, dead. A bone sticking out of his back before disappearing.

The skeleton sighed deeply. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and rolled it between his fingers. The flame from his lighter flickered for only a moment before catching, and he took a long drag. At that time, most of the smoke had dissipated.

He exhaled, letting the smoke roll past his teeth as he turned his gaze toward the one still alive.

The monster on the ground groaned weakly, clutching at his side. “Don’t-” he wheezed. “Don’t kill me…”

The skeleton turned just enough to glance over his shoulder.

“relax, hotshot. wasn’t planning to. not yet.”

He crouched beside him, squinting as if sizing him up. “you’re smarter than the other one. didn’t talk as much. probably why you’re still breathin’.”

The monster winced, jaw clenched as another wave of pain rolled through him.

“tell your boss,” the mobster said, calm and low, “if i catch another punk messin’ with my people again.” He raised two bone fingers, making the monster's SOUL glow red. The skeleton curled his fingers, making the SOUL race forward along with the monster. The yellow-eyed monster was lifted off the ground and forced to look into empty eye sockets. “i won’t be this nice next time.”

The grip on the monster’s SOUL tightened, it sent a flash of cold fear through the monster. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped. He dropped to the ground with a choked cry, coughing hard as the connection severed.

“I'll… I’ll tell him,” the monster gasped out, looking up. But when he did, the hulking monster was gone. 

The monster glanced at the dead human before looking back down the empty alley. How he just met the Judge of the underbelly and lived was beyond him, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

After he delivered that message, he was moving out of the country.

Chapter 2: Get Your Foot in the Door

Notes:

Despite this being an Underfell AU, some characters are much nicer than their Fell counterparts. Think normally Undertale for them. It isn't all characters, it really only applies to background characters. Sorry if that is a deal breaker for anyone.

Waking the next morning was… disorienting.

For a moment, you weren’t sure where you were. The musty ceiling tiles, the clanking radiator, the rough sheets, none of it looked familiar. Then it all came flooding back.

With a groan, both of your hands reached up and ran down your face. A part of you wished it was a nightmare. 

Pausing in your movements, you turned over to look at the bed. Curled up like a fuzzy comma on the pillow, still sleeping soundly. You smiled without meaning to, careful not to disturb her as you sat up.

The light bleeding through the blinds was a dull gray, obviously early in the morning. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and rubbed at your face, trying to gather the will to move.

The bathroom’s cracked mirror greeted you again as you entered. You brushed your teeth and splashed cold water on your face. This time, you looked at yourself.

God, you were a mess. You had bags under your eyes so deep they looked bruised, and your hair stuck out in a dozen directions like you’d wrestled someone in your sleep. All the color was gone from your face as the corners of your mouth were drawn with exhaustion that still clung to you. 

You stared at yourself for a long moment.

Was this it now? Living out of motels, chasing scraps, barely staying ahead of the mess that you had left behind? You exhaled sharply through your nose, grabbed a towel to dry your face, and glared back at your reflection.

No, you had to believe this wasn’t it. Couldn’t afford to think like that. If you let yourself spiral now, you’d drown before you even figured out where the hell you were going.

Back in the room, Beatrice had begun to stir, stretching out her limbs with the grace only cats could muster. She blinked up at you sleepily and let out a soft, questioning mrrp.

"Morning," you said hoarsely. You needed some water. “I didn’t forget about breakfast. Don’t give me that look.”

Your stomach growled in agreement. You rummaged through one of the suitcases until you found a granola bar, which you split in half. One part for Beatrice, who accepted it begrudgingly, and the other for yourself. It wasn’t much, but it’d do until you could find something better. Once you get some more money, you would make sure to spoil her.

You checked the clock again, still dead. You almost instinctively went to grab your phone before remembering that you left it turned off in the car.

Great.

Would there even be any service out here? That was something you needed to look out for. You really needed to get used to technology 

A lot of people thought the city was a time capsule. Because of Aegros rebuilding the city and Asgore preserving it, it was thought the city was trapped in time. But that wasn’t really true. Yes, the city's technology and style were slightly behind the times, but most cities were.

You were born and raised in Cyber City. It was… different.

While the rest of the world felt like it had never truly moved past the ‘30s or ‘50s, Cyber City had shot forward. Innovation was one of the biggest drives of the city.  Glass skyscrapers, automated everything, digital billboards screaming for your attention in every color known to man. Most people laughed at places like New Ebott, with their old phones and radio broadcasts, their newspaper boys on every corner like they were clinging to the past with bleeding fingers.

It wasn’t perfect. God, no. Underneath all the flashing lights and high-speed transit systems, it was just another city bleeding from the seams. Poverty still thrived in the corners where the cameras didn’t look. 

Crime wore a corporate logo instead of a leather jacket.

You had always liked the appeal of cities like New Ebott.

There was something raw about it, something honest, in a way Cyber City never was. In Cyber City, people stabbed you with a smile and made sure you paid for their time. You could vanish beneath a thousand surveillance cameras and no one would ever see you. But in cities like this, the people watched with narrowed eyes from doorways and alley mouths. Yes, it was out of suspicion, but they still looked. 

Your Mama did say that to be loved is to be seen. 

Rolling your shoulder, you went to your bags to look through what you had brought. You had packed the two suitcases in a blurry haze.  

One was filled with clothes and underwear, most of which were completely out of place in a city like this, especially on a woman. Loose-fitting clothes, jean pants, hoodies, sweatpants, a few worn T-shirts, and skirts went mid-thigh. You realized just how obvious you'd be sticking out on the streets of New Ebott. You need to invest in a few outfits to get by for the time being. 

The other suitcase contained another assortment of random items that you had thrown in there. A bundle of toiletries, a switchblade, a laptop hooked up to a microphone, a creaky table, a few paperback and hardback books dog-eared to hell, a half-charged portable battery, drawing pads, and a briefcase filled with documentation you hadn’t dared look or touch since you left. 

You needed a plan. You couldn't afford another day of drifting with nowhere to go. Right now, the only difference between the homeless outside and you was the lock on your motel door and your car out in the parking lot. Any wrong kind of movement here could get you noticed, not in a good way. You needed money. Yes, you had credit and debit cards that you had worked very hard on. But you didn’t dare use either of them at the moment. Just like how you weren’t going to use any of your electronics at the moment. 

You glanced at Beatrice, now grooming her tail, as if none of your worries meant anything in her world. Maybe they didn’t. She had you, and that was enough for her.  

Putting on your least conspicuous outfit, you quickly gathered all your belongings and got ready to leave. You could drive around and look for any job listings. You made sure to put the switchblade pocket; once you got a new purse, you would move it into there.

Hopefully, you can find something soon. 

The morning air outside hit you like a wet towel. The clouds above were a heavy gray, almost like a grey blanket over New Ebott City, with a very slight drizzle in the air. After throwing the bags back into the car and leaving Beatrice in the front seat, you made quick work of returning the key.  You went back to your room to grab your suitcase back in the car. You didn't trust the motel with any of your belongings. 

By the time you had finished, the rain had fully stopped. The streets still glistened like they were coated in oil. The multiple potholes were filled with dark water, and most of the neon signs turned off at this point. Beatrice meowed softly from the passenger seat as you climbed in, pawing at the window like she expected you to open it.

“Not yet, sweetheart. We’re not settling in just yet,” you murmured, buckling in with one hand and turning the key with the other.

The car sputtered a few times, but didn’t turn on. “Come on, sweetheart. One more day.” The engine continued sputtering before finally roaring to life. You patted the dashboard. “That’s my girl.”

You drove slowly. Since it was the morning, you could make out more details of the city than you could in the rain-soaked darkness of the night before. Despite some points being run down, it was a charming little city. 

You turned on the radio, just to break the silence.

“-And in local news, authorities are still refusing to comment on the dead body found in the alley near the dock early this morning. At this time, there are no leads, and no identification has been released. Witnesses say the scene was closed off early this morning, and the area remains under investigation. Locals have reported increased patrols in the nearby warehouse district, though officials are keeping tight-lipped about the nature of the crime and if it is related to the gang violence in the area. More at the top of the hour.”

You switched the station. You didn’t feel like hearing the news at the moment. Instead, soft jazz filled the room. 

As you continued to drive, more and more people were starting to wake up now. Humans and monsters were beginning to bustle down the sidewalks to their jobs or other obligations. Fedoras, scarves, long coats, suspenders, and clothes you definitely weren’t used to seeing made you remember your need for new clothes and made you mentally shift your goal of job hunting to clothes shopping. As much as you wanted to chase after employment, walking into a job interview dressed like a Cyber City dropout would only get you raised eyebrows and a polite “don’t call us.”

You took the next right and headed toward what looked like a commercial strip, small boutiques, a pizza shop, thrift stores, and corner grocers lined the block. You slowed in front of one that seemed promising: “Garbage Glam.” That was the name painted in bold, curling pink letters on the cracked glass of the front window. Beneath it, in smaller font: “Thrift & Threads for All Walks of Life.”

The display was eclectic, mannequins dressed in a mishmash of decades, some in conservative ‘50s housewife dresses, others in disco-era suits with sequins catching what little morning light filtered through the clouds. One wore a leather bomber jacket with spikes, another a modest wool coat buttoned to the neck. Another mannequin in the window wore a well-fitted trench coat with a tag that read “10 - Lightly Bloodstained. No Questions.”

Charming.

“Worth a shot,” you muttered, parking your car at the curb.

Beatrice meowed in protest when you stepped out, her green eyes peering up at you from the passenger window. “Just give me ten minutes,” you promised. Thankfully, the weather was just turning to spring, and you could leave her in the car at the moment. She gave a small flick of her tail as if to say debatable, and resumed napping.

A small bell jingled overhead as you stepped inside. The shop smelled faintly of old perfume and lavender cleaning oil. A battered radio played quietly from the back, the same jazz station from your car.

The monster behind the counter was an anthropomorphic alligator, definitely on the older side. Her scales were a soft lime green and had curly brown hair tied up in a loose bandana.  She looked you up and down once you fully stepped in. 

“Cyber City, huh?” she drawled, somehow clocking you instantly. She put her magazine aside as she looked at you in amusement. “You tourin’ or settlin’?”

You blinked, caught off guard. You felt uncomfortable, but kept looking at her.

The alligator chuckled dryly and stood up. Her standing let you see her thick tail behind her. It was long enough to reach to floor. “Relax, sweetheart. Ain’t judgin’. Takes guts to show up in a place like this lookin’ like that. Come on in. What’s your poison? Greaser? Working girl? Maybe a little ‘don’t-talk-to-me-I-bite’ trench coat vibe?”

“You couldn’t help but huff a quiet laugh at that last one. “Honestly? Just looking to not stand out.”

The gator grinned, revealing sharp teeth that gleamed beneath the shop’s lighting. “Oh, hon. Too late for that. But lucky for you, that’s kind of my specialty.”

She gestured for you to follow her into what felt like a jungle of racks and displays, moving with a practiced confidence through the chaos of vintage fabrics and mismatched styles. Like most Monsters, she towered over you. She had to be nine feet tall. “Name’s Dottie,” she added over her shoulder. “This little corner of paradise is mine. I fix the threads, patch the tears, and tell folks when they’re about to make fashion decisions they’ll regret in a week.”

You gave a small, tired smile. “Thanks. I’m… still figuring things out.”

Dottie gave a sidelong glance but didn’t press any. “Aren’t we all,” she muttered. She stopped at a rack filled with coats, skirts, slacks, and button-ups. “Alright. Let’s see where to start. You want to blend in around here, think... practical. Conservative. Not too stiff, though. People’ll smell a faker faster than they smell a rat.”

You nodded, running your fingers over the fabric of a muted gray skirt. The material was heavier than what you were used to, but sturdy. “I… don't have much money.” 

Dottie snorted softly, folding her arms and leaning a hip against the rack. “Sweetheart, you’re in a thrift store, not a designer showroom. Everything is dirt cheap here.” She looked you over again, then added, “How about this- I’ll make you a deal.”

Your hand paused on the edge of a dark wool coat.

“What kind of deal?” you asked warily.

Dottie smiled, but not unkindly. “You help me unload some boxes from the back and clean up the break room, and I’ll knock off more than half the price. You get two outfits to your name, maybe a pair of shoes if your feet aren’t circus-sized.”

You blinked, surprised. “Seriously?”

“I’ve done worse trades. And I’ve had worse company. You seem like the quiet kind. I like the quiet kind.” She turned away before you could reply and waved a clawed hand over her shoulder. “Dressing room’s over there. Pick a couple of things out. I’ll be in the back.”

And just like that, she disappeared into the shadows between racks, humming softly under her breath.

You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, shoulders easing for the first time since you arrived in the city. Maybe it was the lavender in the air or the fact that someone didn’t immediately slam a door in your face for once, but you felt something close to… hope.

Monsters were always kinder than humans.

You moved quickly through the racks, picking out different clothes. A modest but stylish skirt below the knee length, a button-up shirt with short sleeves and a square collar, and a pair of worn leather flats that fit snugly but not tightly. You also grabbed a long coat in dark navy with clean lapels and hidden pockets, a little frayed at the cuffs, but it felt right.

You changed back into your old clothes and brought your picks to the front counter, where Dottie was already dragging out a box labeled “SUMMER, MAYBE” with a permanent marker. She arched a scaly brow at your choices and gave an approving grunt.

“Good eye,” she said. “That coat’s from the estate of some old monster who ran an underground poker ring. Never found blood on it, so that’s a win.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you just smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

“Alright, fashion show’s over,” she grunted, motioning you toward the back room. “Time to earn your keep, sweetheart.”

The back of Garbage Glam was somehow even more chaotic than the rest of the store. There were boxes stacked to the ceiling, hangers scattered around the room, and the faint smell of something gross and lemon cleaner in the air. 

With a determined grunt, you rolled up your sleeves and got to work. One thing you knew you were good at was making sure a job got done.

---

There were some areas in Ebott City where the Great Fire didn’t touch. Most had long since been abandoned or torn down for new buildings. Some, though, had been taken well cared of. On the west side of the city was the largest area of buildings that were untouched. And yes, most were unoccupied or left to crumble, but there was a small community that lived there. On paper, the area was named Old Ebott, but the locals have long since nicknamed it the Ruins.

In the middle of the Ruins, there was a large chapel, with a small cemetery in front of it. 

The chapel was made of old purple stone. Ivy crept up the walls and threaded through the cracks in the stone. The doors, heavy oak with the Deltarune symbol in the middle of their two doors. The cemetery in the front was modest. There were dozens of headstones, most crumbled into nameless slabs, with a few that had fresh flowers or tiny handmade charms on or next to the graves. The names on the stones were a mix of monsters and humans.

Out in the corner of the cemetery was a bench tucked beneath a leaning willow tree. It overlooked a gravestone, with a bunch of golden flowers layered on top of it. Sitting on the bench, though, was an older lady. She was wearing a purple and white ‘20 tea dress and a purple linen cloche hat. In her hat were little cuts where her horns pointed out. She was larger than any human, but seeing as she was a Monster, a Boss Monster in fact, it wasn’t abnormal. 

She was knitting.

The goat monster’s hands moved with ease, looping soft yellow yarn like she had done it a hundred times. Her long ears moved softly in the same breeze rustling through the willow leaves above her. Her posture was relaxed, but she still looked almost regal. Old habits die hard. The bench seemed to sag beneath her weight, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her focus was on the work in her hands. It was hard to tell what she was making. 

Then again, she might not even know what she was making. 

Now and then, she would glance at the gravestone in front of her. Each time, her gaze was soft but unreadable. 

There was nothing to give away that she wasn't alone anymore.

The goat monster didn’t look up, and her hands kept moving. She finished the row she was working on before setting the needles in her lap, folding her hands neatly over the half-knit yarn. Only then did she call out. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” 

From behind the gate, a shape leaned lazily against the stone archway. A skeleton was dressed in a black suit pants, suspenders, and a nice maroon shirt. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and one foot crossed over the other. His skull tilted slightly as he looked at her, his black fedora sitting nicely on his head.

"didn't know i was on a schedule,” he said. His voice was dry but not unkind. His voice was much nicer than last night. “figured you liked your quiet mornings.”

The older monster smiled faintly, her gaze returning to the grave. “Some mornings are quieter than others. Especially when you’re waiting for someone who’s always late.”

The skeleton snorted softly. He pushed himself up and started walking to her. He let the gate swing shut behind him. His gait was casual, easy- like someone who’d made this walk a hundred times before.

“hey, i’m not always late,” he said, meandering down the gravel path between headstones. “just fashionably unpredictable.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” she teased.

The skeleton shrugged, hands still in his pockets. He glanced at the stone she sat before as he got closer. His grin faltered just a fraction as he looked at it.

The bunch of golden flowers sways in the wind.

He flobbed down on the edge of the bench. It creaked again under the new weight but held. He didn’t say anything right away. 

The silence stretched on. 

“how long’s it been?” he asked after a while, eyes on the stone.

“Seven years today,” the goat monster replied, brushing a bit of lint from her dress. “Feels both longer… and shorter.”

He gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment. “hard to tell time around grief.”

They sat with that for a while. In that time, the goat monster reached for her knitting again, resuming her work. The yellow yarn twisted delicately under her hands.

“They would’ve liked the flowers,” the skeleton said suddenly, tilting his head toward the golden blooms. “you plant them?”

The goat monster’s smile grew a little softer, a little sadder. “No. They grow here now. Just started coming in a few springs ago. I like to think their responsible.”

“heh. sounds like them.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers laced. “always was a stubborn kid.”

The skeleton didn’t say anything right away. He took off his fedora and set it down in his lap. 

His fingers tapped against his knee, obvious in deep concentration. She hadn’t looked up from her knitting, but she could easily feel the tension in his shoulders.

“someone made a move last night.”

She paused, one loop halfway finished on the needle. “On whom?”

A long exhale. “you.”

She didn’t react. Not visibly. Her knitting resumed, but the yarn tugged a little tighter than before.

“How serious?” she asked softly.

“serious enough i had to take a walk,” he replied, eyes narrowing. “couple of punks got it in their heads to sell you out. tried runnin’. didn’t end well.”

Toriel gave a quiet hum, not surprised. Not anymore. “Which family?”

“don’t know yet. but it wasn’t random. one of ‘em... tried to get close to the kids.”

That stopped her knitting cold.

She didn’t speak, not for a long moment. Just sat there, hands clenched tight enough on the yarn that it stretched. Finally, she drew in a slow breath, and the needles dropped quietly into her lap.

“Is it done?”

“one’s dead,” the skeleton said, voice flat. “the other’s breathin’. for now. sent him packin’. told him to deliver a message to whoever’s stupid enough to be pokin’ this far into your life.”

She closed her eyes. “Thank you, Sans.”

He shrugged. If he were talking to anyone else, he would probably punch other person for using using his given name. He had been going by Red for years now. But seeing as the two of them had known each other for years now, and there very short list of people he didn't mind calling him that. “just doin’ my job. underbelly’s got rules. you’re off-limits. always have been.” 

She snorted, “Some of the newer families don’t remember the rules. Or they think they don’t apply anymore.”

Red leaned back on the bench, an arm draped across the backrest. “yeah, well, memory’s cheap when you’re trying to climb fast. got a whole new generation of jackals who think history’s just a bedtime story. no respect for the blood and dust already spilled.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes had opened again, her red-eyed gaze resting on the headstone before her. Her fingers found the yarn once more, but didn’t move it. She just held it.

“I left that life behind for a reason,” she murmured.

“I know,” Red said quietly. He looked a little awkward, and his fingers twitched. He would kill for a cigar, but she always hated anything related to smoking. 

“Did you tell him about the hit?” She asked, her voice flat. 

Red sighed, “i don’t know. we don’t talk about you much.” Toriel didn’t respond. Her face didn’t move, but her grip on the yarn tightened again. It ruined the row, making her restart. “don’t think he knows yet,” Red continued. “or if he does, he’s pretending not to.”

“Neither surprises me,” she said at last, her voice carefully even. “He always did have a talent for selective awareness. Especially when it came to me.”

There wasn’t bitterness in her voice. Not really. It was too tired to be bitter. Just old disappointment wrapped in quiet resignation.

The golden flowers swayed gently in the wind. 

Red tilted his head, watching her from the corner of his eye. “you want me to tell him?”

“No,” she said instantly, the answer sharp enough to cut. Then, more gently: “Not yet. If it gets worse, if they push further, maybe. But not unless it’s necessary.”

He didn’t argue. Just nodded once and looked back at the grave. He opened his mouth to say something, but- 

From the church, a bell rang out, silencing the skeleton.  Instead, he put on a fedora and rolled his shoulders. He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his pants.  The bench creaked as the pressure shifted, and for a moment, it felt like the air shifted too. He looked down at her, gaze hidden beneath the low brim of his fedora.

“guess that’s my cue.”

Toriel gave a small nod but didn’t look at him. Her eyes remained fixed on the stone before her, on the golden flowers that danced gently in the morning breeze. “You’ll keep watching?” she asked softly.

“always,” he said. No hesitation.

She gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment and picked up her knitting again, though her hands didn’t move just yet. The yellow yarn drooped between her fingers like something exhausted.

Red lingered a second longer. His gaze drifted from the old chapel to the willow tree, then finally back to her. He seemed to look through her, through the strength she never let anyone see fray.

“i’ll circle back later,” he said. “make sure no one else gets stupid ideas.”

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice steady, but touched by something gentler this time. “Be careful, Sans.”

He gave her a lopsided grin, his golden tooth gleaming in the sunlight, “always am, tori.”

And like that, he was gone. 

Toriel sat there for a long moment, watching the grave as the wind continued to gently sway everything in its breeze. Her knitting tools were folded neatly in her lap as her eyes remained on the gravestone. 

Then she giggled.

Then she laughed.

She had been doing so well too, keeping on her medication and keeping sober. Going to all of her appointments. Oh, but how they tested her. Did they want her to snap? Why did something always happen once she was just starting to put her guard down?

With a slow breath, she reached into her handbag and grabbed her pills. She slowed two without much effort. Then she placed her knitting into her purse and rose. The kids knew to be home soon, and she needed to get dinner ready. 

Well, one thing was sure. If they kept pushing... they would learn why she had earned the nickname "Mad Queen."

---

After a few hours, you had finished cleaning out the back storage area. Well, as much as it could be cleaned. You’d wrangled the chaos into something resembling order: coats on one rack, boots in a line, accessories sorted into mismatched bins. The old vacuum cleaner coughed its way through two clogs and one near-death experience before giving the dusty carpet something close to dignity.

As soon as you finished, you went back to the front to find Dottie lounging behind the counter, reading the same battered fashion magazine, now propped open with one elbow. A mug of something hot and vaguely purple steamed beside her.

She looked up as you approached, her expression unreadable for a moment, then her gold eyes softened into something like approval.

“Well I’ll be. Thought you’d throw in the towel halfway through and bail like the last girl.”

You wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your sleeve. “Not really the bailing type.”

“Good.” Dottie stood, stretched with a grunt, and grabbed the clothes you’d set aside. “Because I think we just became mutually useful, sweetheart.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “How so?”

Dottie shot you a grin. “You’re quiet, quick, and you don’t bitch about elbow grease. I’ve got too much inventory, too many part-timers who ghost after two shifts, and not enough hands who know how to keep their head down and mouth shut.”

You blinked. “You’re offering me a job?”

“A handful of hours a week, cash under the table. Not glamorous, but it pays. I toss in employee discounts, you keep the shop clean, and I maybe sleep better knowing someone else is covering Thursday deliveries when my back acts up.” She leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “We got a deal?”

Your throat tightened. You weren’t expecting... that. Back in Cyber City, no one looked out for one another. Not without a contract, a cost, or a favor to be cashed in later. Kindness always had strings, usually barbed and bloodied. So this? This simple, straightforward offer? It felt almost foreign. There had to be a catch. 

Despite your thinking, you nodded.

“Yeah. Deal.”

Dottie handed over the bundled clothes with a half-smirk. “Welcome to Garbage Glam, sweetheart. You start tomorrow, my daughter will show you everything you need to do.”

She paused, looked you over again, and added with a wry tilt of her head:

“Try not to die between now and then. I already printed the schedule.”

After paying for the clothes, you weren’t sure how but you ended up standing right outside of your car with the bundle of clothes tucked under one arm and your other hand gripping the door handle. For a moment, you just stood there, letting the late afternoon light hit your face, warm and soft through the patchy cloud cover.

Beatrice pawed at the window from inside, her face pressed against the glass like she was reminding you she hadn’t forgotten about lunch. You opened the door, and she immediately jumped into your lap as you settled in the driver’s seat.

“Alright, alright,” you murmured, stroking behind her ears. “You win. We’ll find something to eat.”

Your stomach agreed with a low grumble.

You started the engine, thankfully, it didn’t complain this time, and pulled out of the curb. The streets were a little busier now. You didn’t have a specific destination in mind, just “food,” something cheap but filling. Preferably something that didn’t come out of a crumpled vending machine or get unwrapped from greasy wax paper. You drove for a few blocks, letting yourself relax in the traffic of the city.

That’s when you saw it.

A small diner on the corner of the street. It stuck out a bit, a ‘60s-style building against the backdrop of drab brick apartments. On the roof, in pink neon lights read “QC's Diner”

You smiled as you looked at it. It was the closest thing that reminded you of home.

Charming.

You pulled into the tiny lot next to it and parked. Beatrice made a soft mrrrow of disapproval as you gently nudged her off your lap and back into the seat. Using the clothes you had just gotten, you made a makeshift bed for her. You gave her one last scratch under the chin before stepping out. The bell above the diner door jingled as you stepped inside.

The smell greeted you instantly, coffee, bacon, something sweet like syrup or pie crust. It was all so warm but there was the scent of smoke in the air. Red vinyl booths lined the windows, a long counter with spinning stools ran the length of the room, and behind it stood a purple bunny monster. She was still taller than any human, like all monsters. She also wasn't dressed how you expected, wearing a black pants with suspenders and a lilac purple button up and a summer hat with holes for her ears.

The bunny monster looked up from the coffee pot she was pouring and offered you a bright smile, one that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Well hey there, sugar,” she greeted, her voice smooth and had a slight Southern drawl. She gestured to the rows of booths. “Sit wherever you like, hon. I’ll be right with you.”

You slid into a booth by the window. The table had that classic checkerboard laminate, worn thin at the edges, with a metal napkin dispenser, and funny shaped salt and pepper shakers.

You leaned back, exhaling slowly, letting your body melt into the seat. It felt safe here. Well, safe wasn’t the right word. Nowhere felt truly safe anymore, but it felt... you can take a break. Your hands twitched, either for your phone or a cigarette you didn’t fully know. Both of the withdrawals were starting to hit you a little hard. 

The bunny monster approached, her footsteps light despite her size. Up close, she smelled faintly of lavender soap and coffee grounds. She held a small notepad in one paw, pencil tucked behind one floppy ear.

“Well now, you look like you’ve had one of those days,” she said kindly, flipping to a clean page. “What can I getcha, hon?”

You scanned the laminated menu stuck between the napkin holder and the sugar caddy. “Coffee please, with three sugars, cream, and cinnamon?”

She smiled like you’d just passed a test. “Mmm, now that’s a proper cup,” she said approvingly, scribbling it down. “You got taste, sugar. I’ll get that started for ya. Is there anything else?"

You glanced at the menu again, the faded pictures and sticky corners somehow making everything look even more appetizing. You were pressed for money at the moment, but it had been days since you had had a full meal. 

“Uh… yeah,” you said, your voice hoarse with the sudden realization you hadn’t spoken much all day. “Can I get the breakfast plate? Eggs scrambled. Hash browns. Pancakes instead of toast?” 

You would buy something for Angel when you were ready to leave. 

The bunny monster hummed, “I’ll have it out in two shakes, sugar.”

Now that you had placed your order, you looked out of the widow, watching as people walked by.  You used to think you had a good read on people, that you could tell someone's intentions from a look or first conversation. Looking out the window, you saw how most walked quickly, their heads down, and shoulders hunched. All of them were something befitting the ‘20 or ‘30 style. Though, some women were pushing it to the ‘50 with their clothes. It was interesting to watch them though, seeing as you were in a mostly monster dominated area. They came in all shapes and sizes- tall, broad, short, scaly, furry, fuzzy. 

It wasn't like you hadn't seen monsters before. Back in Cyber City there was a good mix of humans and monsters. There were a lot of problems in the city, but integration wasn’t really one of them. People were too busy trying to out-hustle each other to care who had horns or skin. Monsters were just a hella lot more interesting than humans. And there was the whole robot and cybernetics thing.

That was the real tension point in Cyber City.

Cybernetics started out as a luxury, something only the rich or injured used to “improve quality of life.” But soon enough, it became a trend. Then a movement. Then an expectation. Before you left, people were lining up to trade in their arms, their legs, even parts of their faces, for newer, shinier versions. And it wasn’t just humans. Rumor had it that there had been a few monsters that dusted and were somehow turned into the first full robots..

You remembered the billboards: “ New You, Now! ” under a girl with circuitry stitched into her cheeks like makeup and realizing you couldn’t tell whether she’d once been human… or monster.

And maybe that was the point.

Some saw it as evolution. Others, assimilation. But you…

Weren't… sure… how you felt about it.

It hadn’t gone past the city yet. Cyber City was a very closed-off place. You had to pass a gauntlet of security clearances and background checks just to set foot inside. A natural river and forty foot walls enclosed the city, and were under constant supervision. And it took the same amount of effort to leave the city. The rest of the world saw it as a gleaming tech utopia that kept all its advancements locked away.  

Your thoughts were interrupted as a cup of coffee was gently placed in front of you. “There we go,” the bunny monster said, “One comfort in a cup.”

You met her gaze, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel the need to fake your smile. “Thanks.”

She nodded and turned away, calling over her shoulder, “Food’ll be up soon, sugar. You take your time.”

You did.

Taking another sip of coffee, you let your mind come back to the present. This city was so very different from Cyber City. And you still had no idea what you were going to do with your life. Back in your city, you had dreams and goals that you had been climbing up to. Now, all of those plans were dead and buried. 

Maybe, you got the swing of things, you could try and do something you could build here. Not the future you planned, but something that still felt like yours. Something you could love. 

Letting out a sigh, you knew how hard that was going to be.

Notes:

It was lightly brushed up apun here, but I wanted to make it clear. Ebott City has the style of the 1920s and most of the technology of that era. There are a few exceptions, like the TV technology is up to par with 1950s. Most of the cities in this country are mixed from the 1950s to 1990s era. But Cyber City is very futuristic for those times, think present-day (2020s) San Francisco. But- please keep in mind- while the aesthetics are those times, the actual year in the fic is not specified yet.

Once we get to more of the main cast, the mob elements will come in, I swear.

Chapter 3: New Friends

Notes:

A potential trigger for anyone, there is a male character who thinks violence onto a woman. If that bothers you, feel free the skip the middle part, and a summary will be at the bottom of the chapter.

The next four days were filled with going from business to business, seeing if any place had a “Help Wanted” sign or looked desperate enough to consider someone walking in off the street. You handed out your resume, you had written it up after you had gotten back to the motel from the diner and modified as needed, along with a polite smile and a carefully rehearsed story about being new to town and “in between things.” Most people gave you that same tight, tired smile in return. A few were kind, some were indifferent, and most didn’t bother looking up from their newspapers.

You also quickly learned that New Ebott ran on connections. Family-owned shops, neighborhood ties, regulars who’d known each other for decades. Outsiders were seen, sure, but not always welcomed. And there was another layer of human-owned businesses that didn't want to hire you because you were a woman, while monster-owned businesses didn't want to hire you because you were human. 

Humans in New Ebott allowed some women in their workforce …mostly in roles they considered "suitable," front desk jobs if you were pretty, cleaning work if you weren’t. The kind that came with low pay and expectations to smile no matter what was said to you. You’d walked into one office and watched the manager’s eyes slide over your body like you were a dessert on a tray. He asked how flexible you were before even looking at your resume. You walked out before he could finish his next sentence. Monsters let you finish your pitch, most of the time, but you could see the hesitation in their eyes. Some masked it behind politeness, tight smiles as they said they’d “get back to you.” Others didn’t bother pretending. You’d gotten more than one flat-out no, followed by a dismissive wave, like you were a door-to-door salesman interrupting dinner.

Monsters let each other in, not humans. Not unless you had something useful to offer.

On the plus side, though, the money you had taken with you was lasting much farther than you had originally thought. New Ebott was cheap, at least, if you knew where to look. A week’s worth of groceries costs less than one meal in Cyber City’s fast food slums. Gas stations didn’t need loyalty cards to buy and use, and laundromats ran on coin systems instead of taking bills.

Your mother had been the one to show you how to pinch pennies. She could stretch a dollar until it screamed, could feed your family on leftovers for weeks, and make it feel like a feast. She used to say, “Money doesn't make you smart, being broke does.” At the time, you’d rolled your eyes, the way any teenager does when their parent starts sermonizing about “back in my day.” But now, you understand what she meant.

She’d also taught you to hide your fear behind polite conversation. That you should always look like you knew what you were doing, even if you were barely holding it together. That skill had gotten you through more interviews and awkward shopping counters this week than you could count.

The Garbage Glam so far has been the only place that really gave you a shot. Dottie kept her word, after training you for all this week, you would work three three-hour shifts a week, cash in hand. You would work every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from 8 to 11. You liked the hours, even if you have to get up early to work. You also had a growing pile of “damaged but salvageable” clothes that Dottie let you take home for practice mending. You weren’t great with a needle, but Bratty showed you a few tricks during downtime. Your jobs were simple. Clean and organize the store. However, Dottie had said once you had gotten better at mending, she would let you into the back to help her. Plus, she would add more hours and pay to your shifts. 

She even let you keep Beatrice curled up behind the counter on slower days, tucked into an old basket lined with a scrap of faux fur. Most customers cooed at her before they even said hello to you. She soaked up the attention like royalty and occasionally hissed at anyone who reached out without asking. You let her have that. She deserved to be picky about who touched her.

Bratty herself had a sarcastic streak that would’ve landed her a black eye in Cyber City but seemed to pass here as charming. She had a knack for reading people, especially the rough-edged regulars who looked through the store almost daily. She was nice to you, helping you whenever you needed or asked. She had even helped you pick out a purse. It was a handbag, really, fitting the time period. You only kept your wallet and switchblade in it at the moment. But Bratty's attitude shifted whenever her best friend, Catty, walked through the door.

If you had to describe them, it would be classic mean girls. The two of them would gossip in low tones near the register, laughing behind perfectly manicured claws and casting not-so-subtle glances in your direction. You weren’t sure if they were actually talking about you or if that was just your nerves whispering lies, but either way, it made your skin crawl.

Catty always arrived in a cloud of perfume strong enough to be weaponized. Her fur was immaculate, her outfit trendy in a retro kind of way- 1950s housewife chic with just enough edge to say she was still “modern.” She didn’t talk to you directly much, not unless she was asking you to move or sighing loudly when you stood too close.

Bratty, for her part, didn’t openly mock you. She became more performative, louder, like she was putting on a show for her friend. You tried not to take it personally. It wasn’t the first time girls like them made you feel invisible. Probably wouldn’t be the last.

Still, they didn’t get in your way. As long as they didn't pick fights, you wouldn't worry about it. 

At the moment, you had just finished your shift and were walking down the sidewalk to your car. Beatrice was sleeping on your shoulder. Not for the first time, you wished you could grab your phone and headphones and listen to music. But out here, in a city like this, walking alone without paying attention wasn’t just careless, it was stupid. Plus, you still haven't turned on your phone. 

The technology withdrawal was hitting you hard.

And you still needed a place to stay. You hadn’t even tried looking yet. The money from the Glam helps get food and other supplies, but it wouldn't be enough for an apartment. Especially with the “protection fees” rates you had heard in passing. Even if you had a full-time job, you would probably need a roommate.

This was all so overwhelming-

“Hey! I told you, I don’t have anything‐!”

Your steps slowed. It was coming from the alley just ahead of you, between the now-closed pizza shop and an old pawn shop. A dull grunt. The sound of something heavy hitting the wall. Then-

“Give me the damn wallet.”

“I just told you I don’t have any cash!”

“Did I ask for excuses?”

You hesitated on the sidewalk. For a brief moment, you considered walking away. This wasn’t your business. You couldn’t afford attention.  Not now.

But you didn’t keep walking.

Even as your heart pounded and your brain screamed at you to mind your damn business, your feet were already turning toward the alley. Beatrice gave a soft, questioning mrrp. You pressed your lips into a thin line and gently nudged Beatrice off your shoulder, and turned into the alley. 

From what you could see, there were three monsters. One was currently pinned to the wall with a clawed hand wrapped around the front of his jacket- a young-looking, humanoid cat, gold fur and hunched shoulders, breathing hard through gritted teeth. The other two were bigger, one …muscular merhorse looking thing? He was the one pinning the cat monster to the wall. The other was a humanoid green duck standing beside him. Both were dressed like wannabe gangsters. Though the merhorse was missing his shirt entirely, his jacket and tie were the only things on his top half.

“Last chance, punk,” the merhorse growled out. “Wallet. Or we take a finger.”

See, there was something you learned in defending yourself. Many people, monsters especially, were bigger than you. Because of that, you always had to make sure you used every advantage to your benefit. 

The element of surprise being one.

Flicking open your switchblade, you moved fast. As soon as you got close to the duck monster, you kicked behind his knee, and it made him crash down to the ground on his other knee. You pressed the knife flat against the side of his neck, right up under his jaw. “Let him go,” you said.

“Whoa- whoa, hey!” he croaked, hands raised instantly as your blade touched skin. “Is- Is that clean? Did you sanitize that? You’re pressing it against my neck-!"

“Shut up,” you snapped, shifting the blade just enough that he flinched and fell completely silent. You could feel the trembling in his body through the pressure of the knife as you glared at the other monster.

The shirtless monster didn’t let go immediately.

Instead, he tilted his head toward you with a smirk that made your skin crawl. His grip on the younger monster’s shirt didn’t waver.

“Well, well,” he drawled. Flexing his free arm just slightly, the veins bulging under his skin in a very deliberate show of strength. You noticed that he had an eye twitch in his left eye. “What do we have here? A pretty little thing who thinks she’s tough?”

You didn’t flinch. Not visibly. You made sure not to react any way he would notice. You kept your grip steady on the switchblade and leaned just a hair closer to the duck monster's trembling face. He was frozen, his wide eyes darting between you and the blade pressed under his jaw.

“Tell your friend to let him go,” you said again, calm and firm.

The Woshua whimpered. “A-Aaron, man, she’s serious, she’s got a knife, and it’s unsanitary! Do you know how many germs are on that thing? I could get tetanus, rabies, even touching this sidewalk is already a risk and-”

Aaron growled. “Shut up, Woshua!”

Woshua immediately snapped his mouth shut with a squeak.

You flicked your eyes back to Aaron. “Let him go,” you repeated coldly. “Or I make you bleed first.”

That got his attention.

Aaron’s smile faltered for just a second. You saw the shift, the moment he realized you weren’t bluffing. His gaze lingered on your knife, your stance, the steady grip of someone who’d used a blade before and wasn’t afraid to again.

Then he let out a snort through his nose and finally, finally released the cat monster, who slumped to the ground with a cough, clutching his chest. Aaron raised both hands in a mocking gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright. You got guts. I like that.”

He stepped back a pace. “Not enough to save you next time, though.”

You let go of Woshua, but your grip didn’t loosen on the blade until both of them were a good ten feet down the alley and retreating, Aaron chuckling under his breath, Woshua nervously wiping his face and neck with a handkerchief and muttering about tetanus shots and air quality.

Only when they turned the corner did you lower the blade.

“Holy crap,” the gold-furred monster on the ground wheezed, looking up at you with wide eyes. “You just- wow. That was… wow.”

You offered a hand to help him up. “You okay?”

He took it, standing with a wince. “Yeah, yeah. Just bruised. Nothing broken. You really had that knife to his neck.”

You shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

He gave a breathless laugh. “Yeah. It did. You saved my ass.”

You looked at him properly now. He looked young, a teenager at the least. Like most monsters, he was taller than you, around 6 and a half feet tall. He was wearing a pizza boy outfit, and you recognized the logo of the pizza shop a few stores down. His fur was a little messy from being roughed up.

“I’m Burgerpants,” he said, wiping a smear of dirt from his cheek. “Don’t ask. Long story. And you are…?”

You slide the blade back into the purse before taking a few deep breaths. You were still catching your breath. God , the adrenaline was already crashing through your system like a wave into the shore. Your hands were only just starting to shake now that the danger had passed. You focused on breathing, deep and even, just like your mom taught you to do when things got too loud inside your head. In, hold, out. Again.

Burgerpants was watching you, his expression somewhere between concerned and awed. “You okay? That was... intense.”

You nodded slowly, pressing your lips together. “Yeah. Just... needed a second.” You extended your hand and said your name. 

He took your hand in a surprisingly gentle shake. “Cool. Cool-cool-cool. So, uh... thanks for that. Really. I mean, I could’ve taken them. Eventually. Maybe. With a... stick or something.”

You gave a tired laugh. “Sure. I’m sure they would have been terrified of your stick.”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “It probably would have been a terrible stick. But I appreciate you saving my hide anyway.” His brown eyes flicked toward your purse. “You always carry a blade like that?”

“Only when I expect the possibility of being mugged,” you said, dryly.

“So... all the time, then?”

“Exactly.”

He grinned and for the first time, you saw it wasn’t just nerves or awkwardness that made him jittery, he was just like this . Fidgety and fast-talking, the kind of guy who cracked jokes through a crisis just to keep his knees from giving out.

“You need a ride home?” you asked after a moment, your voice softer now that the tension had ebbed.

Burgerpants blinked. “Seriously?”

You nod and shrug. “It’s getting dark and they might come back.”

He hesitated, just for a second, then gave a grateful nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great. I’m off the clock anyway. Just gotta let the boss know I got jumped and totally didn’t scream like a child.”

“I’m sure the boss will believe every word.”

“Absolutely. I’m very trustworthy,” he said with a mock salute before jogging toward the back door of the pizza shop. A minute later, he returned with his delivery bag slung over his shoulder and a little more color in his face.

Your car was a short walk away. Beatrice was sitting on the hood of the car, waiting for you. Beatrice flicked her ears up as soon as she saw you, then stretched languidly on the hood. She gave a low mrrrow of annoyance, then froze when she spotted Burgerpants walking beside you.

“Is that your cat?” he asked, stepping a little sideways when Beatrice's eyes narrowed at him.

“She’s mine,” you said, reaching up to scoop her off the hood. Beatrice allowed it, but kept one eye on Burgerpants like she didn’t quite trust him. You rubbed her chin with your thumb. “Don’t worry. He’s a guest.”

“Right,” Burgerpants said, raising both hands like he was surrendering to her judgment. “No sudden movements. I get it. Cats hate me.”

“She hates everyone at first,” you said. You try not to smile at the idea of the cat monster not getting along with cats . “You’ll earn your way off her hit list. Maybe.”

You unlocked the car, and Burgerpants climbed into the passenger seat while you set Beatrice into the little nest of blankets and worn clothes in the back. She immediately curled into a tight circle and closed her eyes, still pointedly ignoring your new companion.

The engine coughed to life after two tries this time.

“Thanks again,” he said as you pulled out of the lot. He had given you a few directions to get started with. “I know I said it already, but seriously. If you hadn’t come along... I don’t know. I think Aaron was actually gonna do something this time. Like, real violence. Not just shoving and posturing.”

You glanced at him as the streetlights blurred past. “You know them?”

“Unfortunately,” he said, fiddling with the frayed strap on his delivery bag. “They hang around sometimes. They think they own this territory. I’m usually good at avoiding them. Guess I slipped today.”

You nodded, your eyes flicking briefly toward the rearview mirror. The streets were mostly empty at this time. “They think they own the place because no one tells them otherwise.”

Burgerpants scoffed. “Yeah, well, most folks around here aren’t exactly in a position to push back. And even if they were, Aaron’s a showoff. Real muscle-for-hire type. Spends more time flexing than thinking. Woshua’s just along for the drama. Probably thinks it makes him edgy.”

You didn't say anything for a moment. It was quiet, other than him directing you around the city.

“So,” Burgerpants said eventually, glancing sideways at you, “you, uh, from around here?” 

You had planned this, “Yeah, I just moved from Card City.” 

Card City was a twin city to Cyber City. Geographically, the only thing separating the two cities was the large river. But the two cities had nothing in common other than that location. While Cyber City was the technology capital of the world, Card City was old like Ebott. Old and very much a traditionalist city. But the one thing that made it stick out was its corruption. Gambling was the city’s lifeblood. Card City didn’t run on electricity or civic pride- it ran on bets, scams, and IOUs written on napkins.

And the cops, good lord, weren't just corrupt; they were practically entrepreneurs. Shake downs were standard, bribes were baked into budgets, and if you were unlucky enough to be poor and honest , you might as well have walked around with a target on your back. The only real law was who you knew and how much you could pay to stay off their radar.

The two cities also hated each other. Cyber City called Card City “the roach pit,” full of sleaze and backroom deals. Card City, in turn, called Cyber City “the dollhouse”- all bright lights, fake smiles, and tech-heads too busy uploading their egos to notice the world burning down around them. 

It didn't help that the Dons of the cities were very much divorced.

But it made for a good lie. Enough distance to be believable. Rough enough to explain why you carried a knife. No one from either city wanted to be associated with the other. Close enough to Cyber City that no one would question you knowing the city. And most importantly, no paper trail anyone could trace.

Burgerpants gave a low whistle. “Card City? Damn. That’s… that’s a long way. You had to have a good reason to leave.” When he caught your glance, he immediately backpedaled. “Not saying it’s any of my business! I mean, hey, people move all the time. New start, new opportunities, you know?” He laughed nervously. “I just meant, it’s kind of a jump, is all.”

You shrugged, playing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. “It was a jump, yeah. But sometimes staying put is worse.”

Burgerpants nodded, fiddling with his hands. “Yeah… yeah, I get that. I’ve been wanting to jump outta here for years. Or at least outta my parents’ house.” 

You glanced at him. “Still living with them?”

“Yeah.” He let out a long sigh, like he’d been waiting all day for someone to ask to finally complain. “It’s not even that they’re awful, it’s just... suffocating, y’know? My mom’s a neat freak, my dad thinks he’s just- he's loud. My brother is just a dick. Everything in their way, or I'm doing it wrong. I’m nineteen, and I feel like I've wasted my entire life.”

You gave a small huff of sympathy. “That sucks.”

He groaned and slouched further into the seat, “It super sucks. But rent in this city? Forget it. Even if I worked full-time delivering pizza, which, by the way, they still only let me do part-time, I’d barely be able to afford a place with running water, let alone anything that wouldn’t give me tetanus from looking at it.”

You nodded. “I've been meaning to look for a place. I'm still working on getting a stable job.”

Burgerpants turned toward you, his ears perking a bit. “Wait, seriously? Where are you staying now?”

You hesitated for half a second, “Just a motel outside the main drag. It’s… fine.”

He winced. “Oof. ‘Fine’ motel in New Ebott usually means ‘don’t touch anything without gloves.’”

You gave a tired smile. “I’ve slept in worse.”

After he gave you a few more directions, you pulled into an area with a bunch of townhouses. They were surprisingly well-kept, especially compared to the surrounding area. Sure, the paint was cracked or faded, but it didn’t reek of mold or despair the way most budget housing did. You could see a couple of kids’ bikes in one of the front lawns and a windchime tinkling faintly from a nearby balcony.

Burgerpants pointed to the end unit. “That one’s mine. Upstairs window with the cracked curtain? That’s my room. A+ view of the dumpster and someone’s questionable grill setup. Smells like burnt plastic on Tuesdays.”

You parked just outside, throwing the car into park as Beatrice stirred in the backseat with a soft chuff. She blinked at Burgerpants like she was still deciding whether he was worth remembering.

He leaned back in his seat for a second, like he didn’t want to leave the car just yet. “You know,” he said, glancing at you, “I don’t usually talk this much. Like, not real stuff. Not with people.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been talking nonstop since I met you.”

“Yeah, but that’s nervous talking. This is… I dunno. Different.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re easy to talk to. Like, not in a ‘therapy session’ way, but in a ‘you’re not gonna judge me for being a screw-up’ way.”

“I don’t really have the energy to judge people,” you said honestly. “Especially the ones I saved from muggings today.”

That got a short laugh out of him. “Fair.”

He hesitated, then gave you a soft look, gentler than any expression he’d worn before. “Thanks again. For helping me. And for the ride. I... really mean it.”

You nodded. “Any time.”

He opened the door and stepped out, slinging his delivery bag over his shoulder. He walked almost uncertainly to the door. You watched him go, before looking back at Beatrice, and making sure everything was in order. 

Once you looked back, you saw him pause by the front door. You were about to drive off, as he might not get comfortable going into his house while you're out front, but then he turned on his heel and jogged back to your car.

You rolled down the window before he even reached it.

He leaned down, breathless like the decision had taken all his courage in one go. “Okay, this is probably stupid,” he said in a rush. “But… you said you were looking for a place, right?”

You blinked. “Yeah…”

“Well, um. There's a place I've been looking into for a while now. It’s near the Ruins area. I… I was gonna move there myself if I ever got the chance, but…um…” He rubbed the back of his neck again, glancing at his shoes.

You tilted your head, curious. “What kind of place?”

“It’s, uh, basically one of those old apartment,” he said. “Used to be a boarding house, I think, but the landlord broke it up. Kinda run-down, yeah, but it’s quiet. Cheap, too. Real cheap. The catch is, you’ve gotta do some of the upkeep yourself.” He gave a half-smile. “I think the landlord’s motto is ‘if it hasn’t fallen over, it still works.’”

You were already intrigued. “How’d you hear about it?”

“My boss lives across the street,” he said. “Told me about it after I had a breakdown over the fryer catching fire. Again. Said I should get out of my parents’ place before I end up on the news.”

You snorted softly.

Burgerpants grinned. “Anyway, I don’t have the money saved yet, but I remember thinking... if I had a roommate, maybe I could swing it.”

Your brow lifted. “You’re asking if I want to be roommates?”

He immediately backpedaled, throwing his hands up. “Only if you want to! No pressure! I mean, obviously, we just met. And yeah, I’m technically a stranger who talks too much and got rescued by you in a back alley, which doesn’t scream ‘roommate material,’ but-”

“Sure”

Burgerpants froze mid-ramble, ears twitching like he hadn’t heard you right.

“…Wait. Did you just say ‘sure’?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. “I-I had a whole speech prepared. Like, a serious one. I was going to use big words and reference the cost of living and… stuff.”

Your mouth tugged into a smirk. “Were you gonna cite sources too?”

“Only the most trusted ones,” he said solemnly, then broke into a relieved laugh. “Angel, you’re serious? Like, for real?”

You leaned one arm out the window. “As long as it’s not a scam, doesn’t smell like mold, and has a door that locks? Yeah. I’m serious.”

He looked like he didn’t know what to do with that. His shoulders sagged in relief, “Buddy… you just made my entire year.”

“I live out of a motel with a cat at the moment. My standards aren’t high.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve said no,” he said, scratching the back of his head. Burgerpants gave a breathy chuckle, like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “Okay, so... it’s Friday now. I’ll talk to the landlord this weekend, make sure the place hasn’t, like, crumbled into dust or been overrun by raccoons or something. But if it’s still standing, I’ll swing by after your shift on Monday? We can go check it out together?”

You nodded. “Sounds good.”

His grin was crooked, but genuine. “Alright. Cool. Uh, cool-cool-cool.” He looked a little awkward now. Looking off to the side before looking back at you. “…Hey,” he said, leaning forward again. “I’m not saying this just because you saved me, or because you didn’t laugh at my stupid nickname, or because my cat sense is telling me you’re cool-”

You narrowed your eyes. “Cat sense?”

“Look, don’t question it,” he said, holding up a finger. “The point is... thanks. Really. I’ve been stuck in this town for a long time, and you’re like the first person who didn’t treat me like a joke.”

You tilted your head. “You’re not a joke, BP.”

He gave you a grateful, slightly shy grin. “Yeah. You either. Roomie.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

He took the hint and started backing away toward the front steps again, but he was still grinning when he reached the porch.

“Night!” he called.

“Night, BP.”

He disappeared inside, the porch light flickering overhead as the door clicked shut behind him.

You sat in the car for a moment, the engine humming softly beneath your fingers, Beatrice shifting in the backseat, settling back down.

You pulled off and started back to the motel.

...

So, that just happened.

How did that just happened? You weren't sure. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash talking, or maybe you were just tired. You knew very well what you just did wasn't the smartest move, you knew better than to trust strangers. He could be a serial killer or mafia associate, or have some dark secret hidden behind an awkward smile and pizza grease on his apron. You didn’t know. 

But, to be fair, he did look like you could take him in a fight.

That thought gave you a weird sense of comfort as you drove through the quiet streets of New Ebott. There was another reason you still had an anxious feeling in the pit of your stomach.

After college, you had never had a roommate before. You never liked the idea of sharing space, not really. You liked the quiet. You liked having somewhere to collapse where no one could ask questions or look too closely. Even in college, you’d managed to snag a single after your second semester, claiming “sleep issues” and allergies that didn’t exist.

There was a truth there, but you didn't want to look at it too closely.

With a deep sigh, you pulled into the motel's parking lot. At the end of the day, you were too tired to overthink it anymore. What happened, happened. And you would deal with anything when the time came.

---

Fucking humiliated.

Aaron was still pissed off beyond belief. 

He and Woshua were heading back to the hideout, making their way to the Waterfall District. Aaron had his hands shoved into his jacket pockets and was currently kicking a rock down the sidewalk as he walked.

Woshua wouldn’t shut up.

“I mean, seriously, did you see the size of that blade? It was probably rusted all the way through, which is so not safe, by the way. And the way she held it? That was, like, professional! I’ve seen movies, Aaron. She could’ve killed me.”

“She should’ve,” Aaron muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

A girl. A damn human girl.

She had balls, he had to give her credit, pulling out a blade on a monster twice her size. 

She didn't even flinch. Didn’t blink. Just slid right into that alley like it was her damn living room and stuck a knife under Woshua’s throat like she’d done it a thousand times before.

Crazy little bitch.

Aaron's arms flexed at his sides. His lip curled, and for a second, he saw her again in his mind. Those eyes. They were flat and unreadable, like she had been looking down the barrel of a gun. There was no fear in her, not even a tremble. Just that calm, almost bored expression.

He’d seen that look in the ring. Fighters who didn’t care about the crowd. The kind that weren’t in it for the money or the thrill, just the finish.

Pale skin, dirt-smudged and sharp at the corners, but there was strength in her, too. Lean muscle under a tired face. And underneath all that… she was small. Fragile-looking.

And that mouth…

Aaron's eye twitched again. He imagined her pressed to the wall instead. That same mouth opening for a different reason. A different kind of fear. Or maybe not fear at all.

Maybe she'd enjoy it.

Maybe she'd fight.

He kicked the rock harder.

Beside him, Woshua kept talking, something about his therapist and antibacterial wipes, but Aaron wasn’t listening anymore. His mind was already working angles.

She was new. He could tell. No one else in New Ebott had that kind of attitude and didn’t know better. No one came into his turf and pulled that kind of stunt unless they were stupid or didn’t know who he was.

She wasn’t stupid.

Which meant she needed to be taught.

He wouldn’t come at her directly. That could get people to ask questions. Undyne hated questions. She wanted “clean” operations, for the moment at least. Orders were to keep the pressure low until she gave the green light. 

Aaron's grin spread slowly across his face, teeth bared. There were ways to make someone hurt without touching them. And if it came down to touching… well.

No one would miss a girl like her if she disappeared into a corner of this city no one cared about.

He and Woshua turned down the alleyway and walked down it until they reached the dumpster, then twice more in a pattern he barely had to think about. A slot at eye-level screeched open. A pair of reptilian eyes glared out, narrowed in suspicion, then rolled with a grunt of recognition.

The door buzzed. Opened.

The hideout wasn’t much, just an old warehouse converted into a half-assed base of operations. It was temporary, and after the hit, it would be abandoned. Crates lined the walls, and an old chalkboard listed names, routes, and favors owed in crooked handwriting. Guns were cleaned on the same table where pizza was eaten. The air reeked of grease, gun oil, and cheap cigar smoke. A few monsters were already prepping. Aaron recognized most of them, muscle- like him. The bruisers, the problem-solvers. 

In the far corner stood the boss herself.

Undyne.

She was wearing nice, rich, fitting clothes. Her black dress pants reached up to mid-waist, two large on her side. Black mid-thigh short heeled boots that clicked as she paced. Two black suspenders were clipped on either side of her pants. They were hugging her tailored white shirt. A slim black tie hung loose around her neck, tucked just beneath her navy vest. Over it all was a long, soft black wool coat draped casually over her shoulders, almost like a cape. Her red hair was tied back under her fedora. The black fedora itself had a green stripe around the base, angled on the right side of her face. It almost covered the eye-patch that lay on the right eye.

Currently, Undyne was pacing like a wolf in a cage. She had a cigar in her right hand as her left hand was holding a notepad that the woman was reading over. 

Woshua peeled off to the corner of the room where the errand boys and hangers-on usually hovered, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Aaron didn’t blame him. This wasn’t the kind of room where you wanted people looking too hard. He straightened his shoulders, trying to wipe the frustration from his face as he approached the table. The air buzzed with tension, but it always did before a hit. 

Undyne didn’t look up as he approached. She was flipping through the notepad, flipping back and forth between pages with quick, decisive movements. The green smoke from her cigar curled around her face as she continued to walk. 

“Report.” She said bluntly.

Aaron squared his shoulders, forcing his tone flat and professional.

“Surveillance sweep on Lower Ebott perimeter went fine. Mostly quiet. Minor disturbance with a human, though. Nothing that interferes with the job.”

Undyne stopped mid-step. Slowly turned her head toward him.

“‘Minor disturbance,’ huh?” Her voice was cool. Dangerous. She took a slow drag from the cigar, the end glowing hot. “Define minor, muscle boy.”

Aaron didn’t blink. “Recognized one of Grillby’s runners making deliveries through our sector. Thought I’d shake him down, mess with him a bit. Standard test. Make sure they know whose turf they’re walking.”

Undyne stared at him for a beat. Then another. The only sound in the room was the low hum of the overhead lights and the faint scuff of someone loading a shotgun in the corner.

“You decided to mug someone,” she said slowly, “on the eve of a goddamn hit, when I told everyone, and I do mean everyone, to keep things quiet.”

Aaron gritted his teeth. “Was just a pizza punk. Didn’t think it’d matter.”

“Didn’t think?” Undyne hissed. “That’s your first fucking mistake.”

She flicked her cigar into a nearby ashtray and stepped forward. Aaron held his ground, but that was because every muscle in his body was locked in place.

“And the second mistake?” she asked, stopping just in front of him. Her single eye bored into his. “Tell me you didn’t pull this stunt in public.”

“…Alleyway,” Aaron muttered. “It was secluded.”

Undyne stared him down like she was weighing whether to beat the shit out of him now or wait until after the job. Her eye narrowed, before yelling-

“WOSHUA!”

The duck monster flinched like he’d been shot. He scrambled from the back corner of the warehouse, nearly tripping over a crate of unmarked ammo. “Y-Yes, boss?!”

Undyne didn’t even glance at him as she circled Aaron like a shark with a vendetta. Her voice dropped to something colder than any back-alley threat. “Tell me what happened. And don’t make me repeat myself.”

Woshua hesitated, feathers twitching. “Um. So we were doing recon, right? Totally by the book. Then we saw one of Grillby’s delivery kid- Burgerpants, y’know? The nervous one with the twitchy tail and attitude problem. Aaron said we should ‘shake him down.’ And then- then this girl showed up.”

Undyne raised her brow slowly. “Girl?”

“Yeah. Human. Knife. Big energy. Like... big.” Woshua spread his arms wide, then immediately dropped them when she glared. “Not like, tall big. More like ‘could’ve ended me in two seconds’ big.”

Undyne exhaled through her nose, a long drag of smoke streaming out from the side of her mouth.

“You brought attention,” she said flatly. “On our turf. During a quiet window.”

Aaron growled under his breath. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“No, see, you think it’s not a big deal.” Undyne’s voice turned sharp. “But I just got a tip that the human gang across the river has been sniffing around. You know what that means, jackass?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

“It means they’re nervous. And if they get wind that we’re getting sloppy out here, they’ll smell blood.”

She turned, stalking across the room to a crate where her coat hung heavier. She tossed the notepad down and slammed her palm on the chalkboard beside it. Everyone in the warehouse flinched as the echo snapped through the metal walls. Then she clicked her tongue once and turned back to him. “You’re lucky this op matters more than your pride, Aaron. If it didn’t, I’d have you cleaning blood off the floor from the inside of your own nose.”

Aaron bristled but didn’t speak.

She continued without looking at him. “The hit’s still on schedule. Midnight. West side. Full strike. Who’s driving is on the board. My orders are to make it clean- firebomb the front, sweep the floors, grab the ledgers if they haven’t already torched them. If anyone is there, take them out. Got it, boys?”

A quiet murmur of approval passed through the room.

Undyne turned again, slower this time. Her eye settled on Aaron like a weight.

“If I catch you pulling that stunt again, endangering this crew, this op, or our image, I’ll bury you so deep not even Alphys’s scanners’ll find what’s left. Understood?”

Aaron forced a nod. “Yes, boss.”

“Good. Now get the hell out of my face and prep.”

She turned back to her notes. Aaron stepped back like he’d been dismissed by a firing squad.

She meant every word.

He made his way toward the back of the room, ignoring Woshua’s pointed “I-told-you-so” glance. He grabbed a half-clean rag and a gun from one of the side crates, checking the chamber out of habit. The weapon gleamed in the low light, but his mind wasn’t on the job anymore.

It was on her.

That girl. That human with the dead eyes. She was still out there.

He couldn’t touch her yet, not without risking Undyne’s wrath- and pissing her off twice in one night was basically suicide.

But later?

Later was a different story.

Aaron didn’t forget slights. He didn’t forgive any embarrassment. And he sure as hell didn’t let some human rat get the last word.

And when this job was done, when the heat cooled and Undyne turned her eye somewhere else-

He’d make her regret ever pulling that blade.

---

Saturday was filled with the same disappointment as the other days of job hunting. You couldn’t get any places to look at you or even get an interview. Sure, you could work somewhere nice uptown, where they would take you seriously. You had experience and education. But in your haste to leave your city, you didn’t bring your credentials. You didn’t even have a proper ID.

There was always a last resort you could do.

You knew objectively that you were attractive. You’d been told that often enough, by strangers, by exes, by people who wanted something from you. You knew how to make someone feel seen. Desired. And here, in a city like New Ebott, some places welcomed that. Where people came to forget or to pretend to be something else. 

You thought about it.

More than once.

It wouldn’t be the first time you danced too close to that edge. Back in Cyber City, the offers had come often. Easy money. “Just one night.” “Just drinks and talk.” Sometimes from people with hollow smiles, sometimes from the desperate. And sometimes… from the rich. The powerful. The ones who thought they could buy your dignity with enough zeroes.

But at the moment, you weren’t that desperate.

Not yet.

Friday night was the last day you had slept in the motel. You could get a few other days or stay at another cheap spot. But you were saving your money on important things, like gas or cat food for Beatrice. 

Last night, you slept in the back of your car. Wasn’t the first time, but it was the first because you didn’t have anywhere else to go. 

You’d parked in a quiet part of the city, near a closed-down laundromat and a small playground that looked abandoned. No one had bothered you during the night, but you still slept lightly, one hand curled beneath your coat, the other near the blade that you kept close. Just in case. Beatrice had been curled on your stomach like a tiny, furry furnace, purring in her sleep. She didn’t seem to mind the lack of space or the chill in the air. She never complained.

You woke up with a crick in your neck and a dull ache in your spine, curled awkwardly in back seat. 

You rubbed your face, the ache behind your eyes threatening to become a headache. Another night in the car would probably do more than just stiffen your back.

Your fingers itched for a cigarette, something to bite down on, to take the edge off. But you’d quit. Mostly. Didn’t stop the craving.

Beatrice yawned beside you, stretching out until her paws nudged your thigh. You scratched behind her ear and whispered, “Morning, baby. Sorry, it’s not better.”

She blinked at you like she understood.

You slid into the front seat, the vinyl cold against your legs. There were a few dollars left in your coat pocket. Enough for coffee and maybe a bagel, if you skipped lunch.

You’d find a bathroom in a gas station and wash up. Try again.

Because that’s all you could do. Try again. Until you broke.

But not today.

Not yet.

After washing up at a gas station, a very run-down and gross one, you splashed cold water on your face, ran fingers through your hair, and scrubbed at the shadows under your eyes. You wished you had some makeup to hide it. The mirror was cracked, but it didn’t hide your face enough to prevent you from wincing at the reflection. You looked like someone who hadn’t slept properly in days.

Because you hadn’t.

Back at the car, Beatrice was cleaning her paws, perfectly content in the passenger seat. You gave her a soft smile and dropped your last few dollars into the pocket of your coat.

“Let’s see if we can get something sweet today.”

It took another fifteen minutes of driving through the streets of New Ebott before something caught your eye. A painted sign, old but colorful, hung slightly crooked on a corner brick building: “Muffet & Tuffet’s Bakery- Sweets, Bites, and Spider Delights .” Below it, in tinier print: “ We don’t bite… much”

You parked around the corner, checking for meters (none), and glancing at Beatrice. “You guard the place,” you said softly, stroking under her chin. “No deals, no snacks, no alliances with squirrels. I’ll be right back.”

She gave a noncommittal mrrp and went back to lounging.

The inside of the store had a black, red, and purple color scheme. It had a near-gothic vibe to it. The floor was dark red wood, scuffed with age. The walls were a deep purple with black trim around the floor and ceiling. The ceiling itself was black, with white painted spider webs painted on. Around the room were strings of fairy lights woven through what looked suspiciously like real red silk. There was also a bunch of clatter around the room and on shelves that made you think more of a ‘Halloween store’ than a bakery, but it smelled like heaven. Sweet, warm, and rich. Cinnamon, clove, and the buttery weight of something fresh from the oven.

Charming.

Right of the door, and hugging that whole side wall, was the counter and the kitchen. It was cute, the same colors and spider decorations as the rest of the room. Currently, behind the counter, was a young-looking spider monster. Younger than Burgerpants even, around seventeen maybe. She was cute, with very light makeup on. She had two smaller eyes under her normal two, and two more on the top of her head. She had light red skin and dark red hair that was shaped into a '20 faux bob. Four arms, the bottom two located in the middle of her sides. She wore what was typical of the time, a ‘20s dropped waist purple dress and she had a white apron on top of it.

She looked up as the bell jingled and immediately straightened her posture. “Hi there!” she chirped, her voice bright and a little nervous, like she wasn’t used to working alone yet. “Welcome to Muffet & Tuffet’s! Can I help you with anything?”

You stepped further in, letting the door close behind you with a soft creak. It was only then that you realized that you were the only human inside the store, that the other customers were all monsters sitting at booths or tables. Either they were trying not to look at you or were just plain glaring at you. 

You kept your expression neutral as you stepped toward the counter, not meeting any eyes but feeling every single one of them. You’d been stared at before, back in Cyber City. But that had usually meant someone wanted something from you. You’d learned not to flinch under scrutiny.

You kept your voice polite. “Just looking to grab something sweet. Maybe a coffee, if it’s cheap.”

The young spider monster’s face lit up, like she was relieved you hadn’t barked at her or caused trouble. “O-oh! Totally! Yeah, we’ve got, uh, specials right now! My mom says it’s good PR.” She gave a sheepish grin, then quickly added, “If you want anything else, I mean, we’ve got stuff in the case.”

You looked down at the display case. Little cream-filled webs piped with powdered sugar, what looked like chocolate scones with lavender drizzle, a few muffins with something red and jammy inside, sugary sweet donuts. Your stomach twisted in on itself. All of them looked so good.

“The combo’s good,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual. “What’s your favorite?”

The girl brightened again, four hands moving in a blur as she boxed up one of the donuts. “Oh! Definitely this one. It’s made with spider silk sugar, but don’t worry- it’s all food-safe and monster-approved. No webs in your teeth or anything.”

“Can’t wait,” you murmured, managing a faint smile.

As she turned to pour the coffee, you felt some of the other gazes slide away. Maybe they’d decided you weren’t worth the trouble. Or maybe your small talk earned you a second of grace. 

Either way, you didn’t care. You had food coming.

You stepped off to the side, so if anyone else came in that you could go to the counter without. It would have been a perfect time for your phone. You sighed. Maybe you should get one of those little sketch books that fit into your handbag. You could doodle to pass the time.

As you stood quietly, letting the warmth of the bakery settle into your tired bones, something small skittered across the counter to your left. You turned your head just in time to see a tiny spider, no bigger than a coin, wave one of its front legs at you.

You blinked.

It waved again, very deliberately.

“…Hi?” you said, unsure if you were hallucinating from lack of sleep or food.

The spider bobbed on its legs in what you could only describe as a pleased little dance. Then it darted toward a stack of napkins, pushed one free with surprising strength, and nudged it toward you. A second later, it produced a sugar packet from gods-know-where and dropped it beside the napkin like an offering.

“Whiskers,” the girl behind the counter called over, glancing at the scene. “Don’t crowd the guests!”

The spider froze mid-skitter, like a child caught stealing cookies, then slowly turned to look at you again. You could swear its eight eyes looked apologetic.

You gave it a faint smile. “It’s alright.”

“Whiskers just likes people,” the girl added quickly, setting down your cup of coffee on the counter. She sounded worried. “She’s harmless. Kinda like a shop gremlin.”

Whiskers did a little tap dance in approval.

You took the napkin and the sugar, setting them down beside your cup at the same time as the other lady placed the donut next to the coffee. “Thanks for the help,” you said to the spider.

She waved a leg like a tiny hostess, then darted away behind a jar of biscotti.

You wrapped both hands around your coffee cup, letting the heat seep into your palms. “Thank you,” you murmured. “This place is nice.”

The girl’s face lit up again. She beamed at you, proud and bashful all at once. “Thanks. My mom says it’s all about ‘a good impression and strong sugar.’”

You took a cautious sip of the coffee. It was sweeter than you expected, which was good considering how much you loved sweets. You turned to look for a seat and spotted a small, two-person table tucked in the back, partly hidden behind a display of cookies shaped like tiny skulls. It was just far enough from the others that you could breathe.

You took a bite of the donut and nearly moaned. It was so good. It melted into your mouth. A gut-punch of sweetness and fried bliss, so sweet it made your jaw ache. You were just about to take another bite when-

The door slammed open.

The bell above it gave a frantic jingle, like it was startled.

Every monster in the bakery tensed.

You didn’t need to look to know something had changed in the room. The warmth had shifted. Your muscles stiffened before your head even turned.

The human who stepped in was gaunt, twitchy. Skin pale and splotched, lips cracked, eyes red-rimmed and wild. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, or maybe hadn’t eaten in longer. His clothes were layered and torn in places, hands jittering by his sides. You knew that look. You’d seen it before, back in alleyways and underpasses. Addiction had carved them out like rot. 

They scanned the bakery fast, too fast, and zeroed in on the counter.

“Hey!” they barked, lurching forward. “You freak bug got my money or what?!”

The junkie slammed his hands on the counter so hard that the napkin display jumped. The spider girl flinched backward, knocking over a cup of straws with her bottom two hands while she raised the others defensively.

“I-I think you have the wrong place,” she stammered, trying to stay calm. “We don’t do-”

“Shut it!” he snarled. His hands curled, fingers twitching like he was seconds from throwing something or someone.

Nobody moved.

None of the monsters. Not the hulking beast sipping tea in the corner. Not the ghostly woman with tendrils for hair near the window. No one. Their eyes followed the scene, careful, distant. Watching. But not interfering.

Because it was none of their business.

And you realized with a cold, ugly certainty that unless he struck first, unless he attacked, they wouldn’t do a damn thing. Because they only looked out for themselves. You had seen it before, everywhere. On the streets or at a party. If it didn’t affect them, they wouldn’t lift a finger.

Something lit up in the bottom of your stomach. Something akin to rage.

You weren’t sure what happened next. The human was still yelling at the poor girl when suddenly, you were behind him. He was so focused on the girl that he never saw you. 

Grabbing the back of his neck, you slammed his head into the counter. Hard. You heard the crack of his skull hitting the counter before you repeated the motion, not giving him time to react or scream.

The room fell utterly silent.

The spider girl gasped, eyes wide, frozen behind the counter. The junkie sagged backwards, and you held him up with one hand on his collar, keeping him from hitting the floor.

“Enough,” you hissed, “You want your money? You don’t come in here screaming and threatening people. Got it?”

He blinked up at you, dazed and trembling, the wild light in his eyes flickering out like a dying candle. His jaw moved, but no sound came. Then a bitter, cracked whisper: “I… I just need-”

“Save it,” you cut him off. “You want help? There’s a clinic down around here. Find it. But you don’t scare kids or break their stuff.”

You dragged him outside and left him on the pavement, where he curled into himself.

The spider girl was wiping a trembling hand across her forehead when you came back. “T-thanks,” she stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, “No problem.” You turned away from the counter, ignoring the dozens of eyes boring into your back. Your heart was still pounding, adrenaline sizzling through your veins. You went back to your seat, grabbed your food, and then returned to the front. You left the rest of your money on the counter as a tip. “Have a nice day!” 

As you stepped back out into the crisp spring air, the door clicked shut behind you. 

The junkie was gone. Whether he crawled or ran, you didn’t know, and frankly, you didn’t care.

You made your way back into your car quickly.

Beatrice was still curled in the passenger seat of your car, asleep. You opened the door and slid back in, placing the donut gently in your lap and the coffee in the cupholder. You exhaled.

Hard.

That was when the panic hit you.

Why did you do that? 

The rush of adrenaline drained all at once, leaving your limbs heavy and trembling. Your breath hitched in your throat, chest tightening like a vice had wrapped around your ribs. You pressed your forehead to the steering wheel, jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“What the fuck was that?” you whispered.

You didn’t even think. You moved. You just… moved. Like something ancient and pissed-off inside you had taken the wheel and decided- nope, not today. 

You could’ve been arrested. You could’ve been stabbed. Shot. He could’ve had anything on him. Hell, you didn’t even check his pockets. You had no idea who he was, or if someone might come looking for him. And worse: you were still new in this city. No protection. No friends. No ID. No lawyer. No money.

No one to call if this went sideways.

You sat back, gripping the wheel with both hands to ground yourself. Your heart was still jackhammering under your ribs. 

You can’t keep putting yourself into these situations. You were trying to keep a low profile. You couldn’t do that if you went around cracking skulls in broad daylight.

Even if he deserved it.

Even if every part of you, every scar, every bruise, every sleepless night, told you it had to be done.

Still. You knew better.

This city wasn’t kind. It didn’t offer second chances. It remembered. The wrong person could’ve been watching. The wrong crew. The wrong enforcer. And just like that, you’d go from anonymous to marked.

You scrubbed your hands over your face, dragging your fingers through your hair. “Stupid,” you muttered. “So fucking stupid.”

Beatrice stirred beside you, stretching in a lazy arc before blinking up at you with slow, feline indifference. She let out a soft mrrrp and nestled against your arm.

You let your hand drop to pet her gently. The rhythm calmed you a little. In and out ..

“Yeah,” you whispered to her. “I know. I can’t help it.”

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t help it. Not when someone looked scared. Not when no one else was stepping up. Not when you knew how it felt to be the one behind the counter, begging for someone to care.

You’d seen too many of those moments pass by in silence.

And now here you were, sitting in a borrowed city in a car that barely ran with nothing but a half-eaten donut and a cat who depended on you.

Still shaking.

Still alone.

But at least you did something.

Notes:

This will be the last of Cyber City brought up for a while now (other than backstory stuff). The focus is on Ebott for this fic. I do have a fic idea to explore this Cyber City AU, but thats on the backburner for now. Cyber City does have plot stuff with it, but it was mostly used for "your" backstory to show how much of an outsider you are. The mob stuff and (if I write it right) the old timey stuff will be more prevalent now.

Summary for those who skipped;
Aaron and Woshua are going back to the gang’s hideout in the Waterfall District. Aaron keeps thinking about you and thinks about how he could return the humiliation you gave him. At the hideout, the gang’s leader, Undyne, immediately confronts Aaron for stirring trouble on the eve of an important operation, a scheduled hit on a human group. Though Aaron avoids punishment for now, Undyne makes it clear she won’t tolerate another slip-up. Though, the merhorse has a lot of unresolved rage and a blooming obsession.

Chapter 4: Looking Up

Notes:

Bro- Ao3 curse is real. At first, I go inspo to writing something with Superman because the movie came out. Then, somehow, despite me having my shots and rarely going out, I got COVID. It was bad for a while but I'm better now. I just need to find my motivation again. The next chapter should be next Friday and after that there might be a short break.

Thank you for all kudos and comments! They do mean the world to me!

You didn’t sleep much that night. Even with Beatrice curled against your chest and the city quiet for once, your brain wouldn’t shut off. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw that junkie’s face, the way he looked at you right before you shoved him out the door.

You didn’t regret it. Not really.

But it didn’t stop you from thinking he was going to pop up right outside of your car. Maybe with friends.

When you started your shift at Garbage Glam, Dottie had looked you up and down and said that you looked like something the dumpster coughed up. 

You had gave her a tired look. “Appreciate the pep talk.”

Dottie snorted, flicking a switch behind the counter to light up the back room. “Get used to it, sweetheart. If I ever start lying to make you feel better, that’s when you should worry.”

Despite the sharp tongue, she didn’t press you. She didn’t ask why you looked like hell, why your eyes were red, or why your hand flinched every time someone passed too close.

The three-hour shift of organizing clothes and cleaning the floors was exactly what you needed. It kept your mind off of yesterday and let you think about today. 

You hoped that today would go a lot better. And that Burgerpants pants kept his word in looking into getting that place with you. Your back couldn’t handle much more of the back seat of the car. 

He didn’t strike you as the flake type, nervous, maybe, and a little too talkative for his own good, but not unreliable. Still, as the end of your shift crept closer, you kept glancing at the door with more and more emphasis. 

“Waiting on a date?” Dottie asked as she passed you, hauling a crate of clearance socks.

You didn’t look up from the racks. “Potential roommate.”

She grunted, unimpressed. “Same thing if they don’t do dishes.”

Bratty and Catty were in the store now. Bratty was sitting in the front, and Catty had gotten a chair from somewhere and pulled it up near the counter. The two of them were talking nonstop with each other and giggling every now and then. 

You weren’t sure if they even noticed anyone else in the store, but every so often, one of them would glance your way and snicker. Whether it was about you or just a joke between them, you didn’t know, and didn’t care enough to ask.

You were tired. Tired in that bone-deep, soul-humming tired where even caffeine wouldn’t help anymore. You just wanted a bed. A floor. Hell, a clean patch of carpet would do.

So when the bell above the door jingled again and Burgerpants stepped through, you nearly sighed out loud.

He looked relieved to see you, too. Still wearing that grease-stained outfit as he waved at you. “Hey!”

You raised your brows. “You made it.”

He laughed nervously, his eyes glancing at Bratty and Catty occasionally. He looked anxious, but he kept his focus on you, stuffing his hands deep into his pants pockets.

“Yeah,” he said, voice lower now that he was close. “I called the landlord. The place is still available. No raccoon infestations. Yet.”

You snorted. “I’ll take ‘yet’ over condemned.”

Dottie poked her head out from the back just long enough to catch him standing near you. “This the roommate?”

Burgerpants startled like he’d been caught doing something illegal. “Uh, uh, maybe? I mean- yeah. If they, uh, still want to. I mean, if-”

“I still want to,” you cut in, sparing him from spiraling.

Dottie looked him up and down like she was trying to get a read on his SOUL. “Just don’t let her get murdered, catboy.”

Burgerpants gave a jerky little nod, still reeling from the emotional whiplash of Dottie’s interrogation. “Cool. Yeah. Totally. No rush. I’ll, uh… just stand here. Casually. Like a normal person.”

You left him there and made your way to the counter. Dottie had said it was okay for you to grab your money earlier. It wasn’t much, just seven dollars a shift. But it would get you food and other things you needed.

You slipped it into your handbag and glanced toward Bratty and Catty as you rounded back. They were still whispering, both of them watching Burgerpants with the same look you couldn’t identify on their faces. Catty was halfway through a slushie the size of her head. Bratty had her feet up on a stool like she owned the place, which she kinda did. 

You ignored them and nodded at your new almost-roommate. “Ready?”

He jolted upright like he’d been caught slacking. “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go before I start sweating through my shirt.”

You pushed open the door, holding it for him. “Already happening.”

“I know,” he hissed, stepping out into the warm dusk air. “Those girls give me the heebie-jeebies."

Tilting your head, you asked him, “Why?”

Burgerpants groaned. “Ugh. Long story. Ancient history. Like, fossil record stuff. We went to the same school. They were, like, every where. Every club, every dance, every hallway.”

You gave him a sideways glance as you walked to your car. “Were they mean?”

“Worse,” he muttered. “They were nice , but only when it benefited them. They’d compliment your shirt just so they could make fun of it two periods later. Real ‘plastic smiles’ kind of vibe.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And the nickname?”

He groaned again and covered his face with both hands as you got into your car. “Okay, so technically, I earned it. But I didn’t know anyone was watching, alright?”

You didn’t say anything, just waited, the faint smirk creeping up your mouth doing all the prompting. To hide it, you gave Beatrice a chin scratch. She had been sleeping in the back seat.  

“I was working at this fast food joint, Burgertown, at the time,” he said with clear bitterness. “Fresh uniform. Grease trap from hell.  They asked for free burgers, and the naive teenager that I was, brought them some. But right as I’m handing over the tray, bam, my belt gives out,” he said, face flushing deep under the orange of his fur. “Pants around my ankles. Full view. Boxers with cartoon hot dogs on ‘em. I hit the floor like I’d been shot.”

You choked on a laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was!” he groaned, sliding down in the passenger seat like he could escape the memory through the floorboards. “I was sixteen. Sixteen! I’d barely survived sophomore year, and now suddenly I’m Burgerpants forever.”

You blinked, then tilted your head. “Wait. That’s why everyone calls you that?”

“Yep,” he said, dragging the word out with all the weight of trauma. “Bratty coined it. Catty made it stick. I tried to go by my first name again, but that ship sank with my dignity.”

“That’s kind of adorable,” you said, lips twitching.

“Don’t romanticize my suffering.”

“You’re the one with hot dog boxers.”

“It was laundry day!” he shouted, throwing his hands up. “God. You should’ve seen their faces.”

You were laughing now. It was almost surprising, you hadn’t laughed like this in weeks . Maybe months.

Burgerpants gave you a sideways glance but couldn’t help smiling too, even if he was clearly still mortified. “Glad my childhood trauma amuses you.”

“Deeply,” you said, wiping your eyes. “Thanks for sharing.”

He sighed, defeated. “Whatever. At least you know my dark origin story now.”

“The most tragic of tales, betrayed by your own belt.”

“Exactly. I’ve known real pain.”

You reached over and patted his shoulder. “Well, BP, let’s go see if our tragic asses can survive a lease agreement.”

He cracked a grin. “Let’s.”

The place was only a ten-minute drive away. 

It sat just outside the Ruins District, tucked behind a row of squat brick buildings and a boarded-up laundromat that looked like it hadn’t run in years. The apartment complex stood stubbornly, looking like it had seen much better days. 

You parked on the street nearby and looked up at it. Burgerpants squinted up at the building. “Cozy,” he muttered.

The two of you crossed the street and walked to the building. The place smelled faintly of dust, cleaning chemicals, and mildew, maybe memories. The lobby was small, barely more than a bedroom itself, with a cracked bench against one wall and an elevator that looked like it hadn’t been serviced this decade.

The lighting flickered once as the door shut behind you.

"Charming," you said dryly, eyeing the peeling paint along the baseboards.

Burgerpants wrinkled his nose. “I’ve seen cleaner bus stations.”

To the left was a small office with a warped plastic sign that read Property Manager - Knock First. The two of you chanced upon each other, then you knocked on the door. 

A hulking figure opened it after a minute. At first glance, you weren’t sure if he was a bear or a boulder that had grown limbs. His face was mostly hidden under a mop of wiry black hair, but you could tell that he was glaring at you. 

“Oh, great ,” he growled, but then he shook his head. “... You're the ones who called?”

Burgerpants cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. I’m Kevin. We spoke over the phone?”

The landlord grunted, unimpressed. “I remember. You sounded younger.”

Kevin. Huh. You made a mental note as you continued to look up the monster. 

“I don’t usually rent to mixed pairs,” the landlord muttered as you walked through, arms crossed. “Roommates turn into couples, couples break up, someone leaves, and I get a call about ‘unfair eviction’.” He said it like it was a dirty word.

“We’re not dating,” you said flatly.

“Stars, no,” Burgerpants added with a shudder. “She’s way out of my league.”

That earned a single snort from the landlord. “Fine. Rent’s a hundred-fifty at the end of the month. Split it or fight about it, I don’t care. No pets bigger than a toaster, no loud noises after eleven, and if you clog the toilet, you fix it. Got it?”

Burgerpants fumbled in his jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled envelope. “Yeah, yeah, got it,” he muttered, handing it over. “First month and deposit. In cash. Like we agreed.”

The landlord took the envelope, opened it right there, and started counting the bills with slow, deliberate movements. His claws clicked faintly against each one.

You glanced around the cramped office as he worked. A fan buzzed uselessly in the corner. A corkboard behind his desk had a few faded flyers, a “NO SOLICITING” notice, and a photo of a younger, slightly less grumpy version of him standing next to a broken vending machine.

“Fine,” he finally said, tucking the envelope into a drawer. “Apartment 3C, third floor. Stairs only, elevator’s busted. Keys under the floor mat.

After the two of you leave, you turn to BP, “You should have told me that you were paying.” 

Burgerpants scratched at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Yeah, well… figured if I told you ahead of time, you might’ve argued with me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Because I would’ve.”

He gave you a tired, half-shrug, the kind that said please don’t make this weird. “Look, I’m not trying to be a hero or anything, alright? I’ve been saving for this place for, like, a year. Was gonna do it solo. Figured I could at least cover the boring stuff upfront if it meant not living with my dad, who's drunk yelling at the TV all night.”

You frowned. “Still. I could’ve chipped in. You barely know me.”

“Yeah, and you still saved my life and gave me a ride and agreed to live with me despite the unfortunate burger-related nickname. You’ve earned a little trust.” He gave you a weak grin. “Besides, it’s not a gift or anything. You can just cover next month. Fair trade.”

That made you pause.

“…Fair trade,” you echoed, finally nodding. “Alright. But I’m buying the first round of groceries.”

Burgerpants perked up. “Wait, we’re gonna have groceries? Like, plural?”

You smirked. “Maybe even non-expired ones.”

“Dream big,” he said, voice full of reverence, as the two of you started climbing the stairs. “Just imagine , no mold, no cockroaches, and maybe even… frozen waffles.”

“Don’t push your luck, catboy.”

“Right. Right. Baby steps.”

By the time you reached the third floor, both of you were sweating. The hallway was narrow, lined with mismatched doors, but you found 3C easily enough, even though the number was barely clinging on. Sure enough, the key was under the welcome mat.

You unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The apartment was… well, it existed. That was something. Mostly open room with a kitchenette on one side, a living space with a lumpy couch and a wobbly table in the middle, and two tiny bedrooms off the back, and a bathroom in the middle of them. The walls were stained but intact. The windows were grimy, but unbroken. The air smelled like old wood and dust.

You finally got a place. 

Now you just need a real job. 

---

“You shoulda seen it Al! It went perfectly.”

There was a pause on the other end before Undyne barked out a laugh. 

“Nah, nah. This was clean. Slicker than a greased snail on a glass slide. Firebomb on the front, smoke brought out every rat in the walls, and we cleared it like a summer picnic. Nobody got wise until we were halfway back to the bass.”

Another pause, but much shorter.

“Got ‘em,” Undyne said proudly, flipping a thin black book in her hand. It slapped against the desk with a dusty thud. “Three years of laundering, stash drops, and names. Some real juicy ones in here, too. We’re gonna own the east side by the end of the month.”

Undyne kicked her feet up onto the edge of the desk, cigar between her teeth, eyes half-lidded as she listened to the quiet scratching of scribbling on the other end of the line. The woman was almost high on life, blowing green smoke up to the ceiling. As the other woman on the phone talked, she could help but smile softly. She caught herself quickly, coughing into her hand and looking out of her office window and down at her lackeys below. They were celebrating the hit gone well as well, slapping each other on the back and passing around a bottle of booze. 

“Yeah, I'll hand-deliver it to you tomorrow.” She paused, plucking out her cigar and staring at it, its end glowing faintly green. “Maybe you know… we could get dinner…?”

The line went silent on the other end.

For a second too long.

Undyne immediately scrambled. “Y’know- not like dinner dinner,” she said, coughing into her fist again. “Just two criminal masterminds unwinding after a hard day of crime and ledger-thieving. Business dinner. Mafia dinner. Mob chow.”

The person on the other end snorted so hard into the receiver that it crackled. The sound was unmistakably somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze. 

Undyne grinned, “Y-yeah! We can go to that fancy place you like so much. I'll pick you up- seven sharp.” After that, the boss hung up the phone after that with a big grin. She gave a big laugh, spinning in her chair. 

When she faced her desk again, she immediately went back to the paperwork. Completely unaware that she was no longer alone. 

“say,” drawled a low voice from the shadowed corner of her office, “is this the part where you start doodlin’ little hearts around her name in the margins?”

Undyne jumped, or rather nearly did, only barely catching herself as she slammed the black book shut and whipped around in her chair. She just barely stopped herself from summing a spear and chucking it.

“Stars above, RED-!” she barked, gripping the desk like she might flip it in sheer reaction. “You wanna get your knees broken sneakin’ in like that?!” Her eye snapped up to see a familiar silhouette leaning against the doorframe, cigarette tucked between his teeth, smoke curling upward like a second grin.

Red was dressed to the nines now. Full black threepiece suit, red silk tie, and a red undershirt. He even had his fedora on, which was titled low on his face. Undyne wondered why he was dressed like this. He never got this dressed up unless his brother forced him or something big was going down. 

“aw, c’mon, boss shark,” he teased. He step forward, letting her see his golden tooth almost shin in the dark light. “i knock and you jump out the window anyway. figured i’d skip the part where you pretend you’re not finishin’ a call from your favorite little lizard.”

Undyne grumbled and rubbed her forehead, “It’s none of your business.”

“oh, so it was alphys.” Red’s smirk turned downright smug. “thought so. you get all soft in the sockets when it’s her.”

“I do not!”

He ignored her, glancing briefly out the office window at the thugs partying below. “heard about your little fireworks show tonight. flashy. you’re makin’ noise, fishbones.”

Undyne’s grin returned, this time sharper. “That the problem? Or you just here to complain?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “nah, i came to talk to ya about somethin’ else. got a little wrinkle blowin’ in.”

Undyne’s grin dimmed just a little. She sat up straighter, flicking her cigar ash into the tray. “Wrinkle?”

Red strolled further into the office, before flopping down in one of the two plush chairs in front of the desk. He took a long long drag of his cigar, its red smoke long since over powered the left of green smoke. 

“yeah,” Red said, exhaling slow and deliberately, the red smoke curling toward the ceiling like lazily. “some outta-towners. muscle, money, and no manners. Some of them tried to pull something on tori's kids.  

Undyne’s expression turned to stone.

“…What?”

Red didn’t flinch. He knew the weight of what he just said.

“they didn’t get far,” Red said, pushing his cigar into her ashtray with a casual flick. “i took care of it before anything got ugly.”

Undyne’s jaw clenched so hard the green light in her eye flared. She leaned forward, elbows hitting the desk, voice like steel wrapped in fire.

“Who the hell are they?

Red shook his head, hat still low. “dunno yet. they’re smart- no colors, no tags, no stupid entrance music. just whispers. a few names bein’ dropped in places they don’t belong. few folks goin’ missin’. Edge is lookin’ into it on our side.”

Undyne drummed her claws against the desk, thinking. “And this was in Tori’s territory?”

Red nodded once. “yep. small job. a couple of muscle-heads tried to corner one of her kids in the alley behind the bookstore they like. real subtle. but the brat was smart. sent a call straight to me. by the time i got there, they were already runnin’.”

Undyne’s hand curled into a fist. "You kill them?" 

Red didn’t answer right away. He leaned back in the chair, arms draped over the sides like he had all the time in the world. Then, slowly, he tilted his head toward her.

“one of ‘em,” he said simply. “the loud one.”

Undyne’s eye narrowed. “And the other?”

Red’s smile dimmed into something harder. “let ‘im run.”

The silence that followed was long. Heavy.

Undyne’s eye flared again. “You what?”

Red didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “let ‘im run,” he repeated. “kid was shakin’ so bad he damn near tripped over his own feet tryin’ to get outta the alley. not a soldier. not a killer. just another pawn they threw into the dark with a knife and no clue who he was messin’ with.”

“Should’ve put him down,” Undyne hissed, slamming her hand on the desk. “That’s how you send a message.”

“nah.” Red’s voice was calm, too calm, like water just before it boils. “you wanna send a message? let ‘em crawl back to their boss with piss in their shoes and their partner’s blood on their jacket. that talks. louder than a bullet.”

Undyne glared, teeth grinding. She hated it—hated that she knew he wasn’t wrong. Still, she leaned back in her chair with a frustrated growl, glaring at the ceiling like it personally offended her.

“They’re pushing,” she muttered. “Testing. Seeing who gets angry. Who gets scared.”

Red nodded once. “exactly. they picked tori’s block for a reason. we both know why."

“Tori’s territory is neutral,” she growled. “Always has been. Always will be. Everyone agreed to that. Asgore signed off on it himself.”

“yeah,” Red said, tipping his hat back just enough to meet her eye, “but not everyone who’s movin’ in knows the rules. or maybe they just don’t care.”

Undyne let out a bitter laugh. “No, they care. They’re counting on us to care more. That’s the play. They want us to blink first. Start something. Break the truce.”

“you think they’re gunnin’ for a war?”

“No.” She leaned forward again, eyes burning now with something sharp. “I think they want a vacuum. They want someone to snap. Turn a neutral block into a battlefield. Get the mob to implode from the inside. Then they swoop in with clean suits and dirtier money.”

Red was quiet for a second. Then, low, “sounds like corpo tactics.”

Undyne didn’t reply. She didn’t have to.

"welp," Red muttered as he pushed himself up from the chair, brushing invisible lint off his coat. "the big guy sent me to inform you. Remember you and my bro have that cooking thing on wednesday.”

Undyne hummed and looked back down at the paperwork in front of her. Then her eye widened, and she looked back at Red. “Hey, I almost forgot. I got something interesting for you.” 

Red’s non-existent eyebrows rose. 

"One of my muscles, Aaron, got himself embarrassed by some human girl. I don’t usually care about that kinda thing, but since you brought up this new gang..." She paused, voice lowering,

Red’s smirk flickered. “Oh?” 

“Yeah,” Undyne said, tapping a clawed finger against the edge of the desk. Then she laughed. "Apparently, she had 'dead eyes,' whatever that means."

Red hummed, looking away- almost lost in thought for a moment. Then he shrugged, “i’ll look into it.”  

Undyne gave a slow nod, standing and walking to the window. “Good. I don’t like surprises, especially when they come in the form of a human who can walk into my territory and make one of my guys look like a damn fool.”

But when she turned around, he was gone. The only evidence that red was ever in the room was the barely lit cigar in her ashtray.

---

After the two of you decided who was going to get which room, you took the one with the slightly bigger closet, and Burgerpants claimed the one with the better view of the alley, you both went back out to get your belongings. 

While you didn't have much, and placed your two suitcases and the clothes you had gotten at the Glam. There was a single mattress in the corner of your room, and that was it. Out of the winter clothes you had gotten from Dottie, you had made a little nest for Beatrice. She seemed to like it at least. Once you have more money, you would furnish the place. But you knew that was going to take a long time before that happened. 

Burgerpants had more clutter, but nothing valuable. A couple of trash bags full of old clothes, a box of VHSs, a beaten-up microwave with “DO NOT PUT FORKS IN” written in Sharpie across the top, and a laundry basket filled with a bunch of random stuff. 

You left shortly after that. You wanted to look around the area before nightfall settled in. You had heard that the Ruins were a nice place and wanted to see it for yourself. You had also decided to walk, so you could save your gas for work. 

A hundred fifty a month… It was doable, especially since the two of you were splitting the rent after next month. You needed to talk to BP abouhow much he got paid a month. While most businesses paid their workers ‘50s wages, the cost of living in the city felt more like the ‘70s. You didn’t doubt that it was related to the mob somehow. Trying to get everyone just desperate enough to keep working without asking too many questions. Keep folks poor, tired, and grateful for crumbs- it was a classic play. One you’d seen before. One you were now, unfortunately, living through.

Now you just have to worry about the promise to BP to cover the next month's rent. Fully. Because your conscience made you. 

Like an idiot.

You had done the calculations in your head. BP had paid for this month, which was halfway done. Then you had the whole of next month to work at the Glam and hopefully pick up another part-time job, maybe even regular if you were lucky. Even if you didn’t, by the end of the month, you would have enough to just scrape by and pay it. 

Then again, that's not counting groceries. After this first batch, you might need to lean on BP a bit for the next month and then work on and then work on balancing it out once you had your footing. That was the idea, anyway. Survive first. Make it fair later.

The streets around the Ruins District were quieter than you expected- fewer cars, fewer eyes, fewer everything. You didn’t know if that was because of the location or because of the late time. 

New Ebott changed near the Ruins, but that was only due to the fact that this was the only surviving history of Old Ebott. Where the fire didn’t touch. You’d heard stories about this place. Why the Ruins were such an important piece of history. That this was where the monsters first settled after surfacing. 

And even though everything was old and crumbling, you could see the love that this place held. The streets were the cleanest that you had seen in the city so far. The lack of graffiti. The way a few people actually waved to you.

You had also heard, whispered in the store, that someone protected this area. Kept the mob out for the most part. A monster. What was her name-?

“HEY!”

You blinked in surprise, turning back to the source of the sound.

Honestly, you had just turned because you heard something, not because you were expecting they were talking to you. But to your surprise, the person was waving and looking directly at you. 

It was the spider girl from the Bakary. She was wearing the same thing as yesterday, sans apron. Her hair was down as well, though slightly frizzed from the humidity. She looked even younger somehow, less stressed.

She jogged up to you, “Hey!” she repeated, a little breathless now that she’d caught up. “Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to startle you or anything. I just- uh. You left kind of fast earlier.”

You blinked at her, thrown off for a second. “Yeah. Sorry about that. Just… needed air.” In truth, you hadn’t wanted to be in that room any longer. You hadn’t wanted to feel everyone’s eyes on you. Not after that.

But instead of saying any of that, you just shrugged at the end of your sentence.

The spider girl didn’t press. “No, it’s okay! Totally! I just…” She scratched the back of her neck with one of her middle arms, suddenly bashful. “I didn’t get to say thanks properly. Or, like, really say it. You helped me. Most people don’t.”

You offered a tired smile. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“I do,” she said, more firmly than you expected. Then she immediately flinched, like she thought she’d overstepped. “I mean- sorry. I just meant, you do , as in you do need to be thanked . Most people just stare. Or wait. Or hope someone else will step in.” She shook her head, “But my mom and aunt want to meet you.” 

You blinked. “Your… mom and aunt?”

“Yeah,” she said, a little breathless, as if she’d said something much heavier than she meant to. “They run the place. And, uh… they’re kinda protective.” There was a flicker of something behind her voice- nervousness, maybe, or just the weight of what protective might mean in New Ebott. She waved both her middle arms quickly, “Not, like, in a bad way! They just- look, when I told them what happened, they wanted to meet you. To say thanks. Properly.”

You hesitated. People wanting to “say thanks” around here usually came with strings. And right now? You have too many problems to worry about right now already.

The girl noticed your pause. “You don’t have to, I mean. They won’t, like, come after you or anything, swear. They just… they just like to know who’s watching out for their family.” Her voice dropped a little on that last word, and one of her hands twisted at the fabric of her belt.

You exhaled slowly, the edge of your nerves smoothing out just enough. She wasn’t being dramatic. She was being earnest. Which was worse, in some ways.

“…Alright,” you said. “I’ll come by. Say hi. But I’m not looking for anything.”

That made her perk up so fast it was almost comical. “Really? I mean- cool! Yeah! Totally fine! Come in whenever it works for you. My name is Velvet, by the way.”

You did your best to give a warm smile and introduce yourself. She smiled brightly and shook your hand again before waving again before turning around and jogging off.

Watching her leave with your head tilted, you sighed and then rubbed the back of your neck. You weren’t sure what you’d just agreed to, hopefully just a conversation and not some sort of spider-matriarch blood pact, but at least she didn’t seem like the type to trap you in one. You'd had your fill of traps lately.

It was time to get back to the apartment, seeing as the sun was just about to disappear. You turned and started to walk down the way you came. But as you did so, you stopped dead.

You could have sworn that you heard something. 

It sounded like… singing?

It was faint, barely there. It sounded... mournful. A lullaby, maybe. 

You were already moving toward it before you thought better. 

Down an alleyway and turning the corner, you ended up at an area that looked like a Chapel. When you kept walking around the side of it, you could see there was something in front of it. Technically, there were two. There was a path heading up to the Chapel, and on either side of it was an iron-enclosed graveyard. 

You weren’t sure what made you keep walking, but you did. Following the noise, you slipped into the right side cemetery. 

The air shifted as you stepped closer.

The singing stopped.

The cemetery path was uneven beneath your shoes as you walked around. There were plenty of gravestones around, some with text that was under readable to you. The area was well kept, with fresh flowers and small charms-things in front of most of the graves. 

That’s when you saw it.

Out in the corner, there was an area that looked newer than the rest of the cemetery. Beneath the large willow tree and in front of the worn bench was a gravestone. In front of it was a bed of golden flowers. 

You don’t know how, but suddenly you were standing in front of it. Placing a hand on your head, you softly shook it. A headache was starting to take root, making your eyes water. 

Coaching down, you read the gravestone. Some of it faded out, but what you could see was written in a soft, looping script.

Chara Meri Dreemurr

200X - 201X

Taken from us too soon, but never forgotten.

May your SOUL find the peace you didn’t have in life.

 

Looking at it, you chest was filled with.... with something. Being in front of a gravestone did something to you. Resignation? Looking at the dates, whoever this was died in the single digits. For some reason, that filled you with something.

You were not going to give up. Not yet. Not going to die in the ditch or a dumpster. You were d e t e r m i n e d to make this work. That no matter what happened, you could handle it.

Then a sharp pain lighting stuck your head

You pressed your fingers to your temple, trying to ground yourself. Your vision blurred. You stumbled up, and you had to use the gravestone not to fall over. 

Turning around quickly, you didn’t stop walking.

Past the iron gate.

Past the chapel.

Back into the alley.

By the time you reached the sidewalk, the pain had dulled into a thick throb. Manageable. But still there.

You didn’t look back. 

Whatever that was, it didn’t concern you. 

Right?