It turns out that eating a poisoned hot dog can leave you with some pretty nasty heartburn. You realised this as you woke once more back in your cell, eyes trained upon the green tiled roof that you had begun to hate, the way that the cracks in the walls no longer resembled tiny fractures of hope but rather glimpses into a life that you could not have, a life outside these walls that you craved for so desperately and yet could never have.

You looked over to your right to see the two empty piles of sheets on the ground, signifying that neither Sans nor Papyrus had returned from whatever the scientist was doing to them. Maybe it's better that way, you thought grimly as you remembered Papyrus' lifeless form sprawled across the cold, metal table, barely any indication that he was still alive. Perhaps it is best to die and leave this hell behind to whatever afterlife awaits us. They are the lucky ones then, the ones who can get a shortcut while I have to be dragged through the mud.

Your bout of self-pity came to an end as you recounted the scientist slamming Sans into the ground, the way that the cracks had snaked across the skeleton's skull, the same type of cracks that were on the walls of the green tile, the cracks that had once given you hope and now had become your adversary. You did not think that you wanted these two skeletons to die. Unlike the others that had come before them, you had allowed yourself to open up to these two, embrace them unlike the countless other experiments that had withered into dust.

Sans and Papyrus had lasted longer than anyone else had, the small fruitful hope that perhaps there were other creatures in existence that you could finally understand, finally connect with on a personal level because they had experienced the same pain and life that you had been going through for countless years. You remembered time after time again of skeletons shriveling into dust, skeletons and experiments whose names you could no longer remember because there had been so many. The pain of loss and grief had eventually dulled the initial shock, but now there was a flare of emotion inside you whenever you thought of these two skeletons and you were determined to make sure that unlike those before them, they would live.

You got to your feet and walked over to the machine that produced the laser beam that kept you confined to this prison. The damage that you had inflicted upon it was gone, no sign that anything had happened at all. It seemed strange that the scientist was capable of fixing such damage and yet could do nothing about the cracks in the tile, the way he seemed to ignore the biggest things that needed fixing in favour of something that didn't. The puzzle cube was also no where to be seen and that irritated you. Now there was nothing to do but stare at the wall, to delve its secrets that it was always trying to keep hidden.

As you moved back to the corner of the cell, a chorus of footsteps echoed down the hallway. You got to your feet and whirled around just in time to see the scientist typing a passcode into the wall and a second later, the laser vanished. "You will come with me," he ordered nonchalantly. "Do not attempt to use magic or any sort of resistance against me. You will not win as you learned last time and trying to do so again will result in more permanent damage to your companions. Is that understood?"

You swallowed your pride and forced a nod, not entirely sure what the scientist wanted or what he had done to the two skeletons that you had allowed into your defences, allowed yourself to grow attached to. You were not sure how you would react if you saw their dusted remains, their ashes that might coat the floor like a fine powder. You had already seen it so many times before with the dozens of test subjects, the experiments that were doomed to failure from the moment they awoke in this pitiful world.

"What happened to them?" You couldn't help but ask the scientist, not bothering to hide the venom and hatred that coated your words, embodied the hatred and resentment that had grown towards him as the years went by, torture after torture.

"They are in rehabilitation," the scientist replied flatly, though his voice wavered at the last word, a small change in tone that you caught onto having grown used to his monotone dialect and the air of nonchalance that always seemed to follow him. You almost laughed at the thought, the thought that the scientist might actually feel bad for what he had done, that a small flicker of guilt existed inside that soulless vessel of his! "1-S contains several fractures along his skull and spinal cord."

When the scientist did not bring up 2-P, you inquired, "And what about Papyrus?"

"Papyrus?" The scientist stiffened at the name. You assumed that he was not fond of assigning names to the experiments that he created, the way that it seemed to humanise them and make them appear like any other living creature. It was probably a lot easier to torture something if you could think of it as an object, something that could be cut and sliced just as easy as paper.

That connected you and the scientist, that type of mindset, the way he tried so damn hard to think of all of his experiments as things, objects without any form of consciousness, the same detached attitude that you had tried to don for years, not wanting to get attached to the test subjects. It was easier when an object went away, objects didn't die because they weren't alive or conscious. But if they had been alive, it would have hurt more, knowing that they were just another pile of dust that coated the floor of this hell.

"2-P," the scientist put emphasis on the name as if to reaffirm to himself that he was speaking about an inanimate object rather than a living thing, "suffers unknown injuries. I am not sure what is wrong with him. All test results indicate that his internal frameworks are sound. There's nothing wrong with him aside from the fact that he's comatose and refuses to respond to treatment. If his condition does not change, he will eventually stop."

"Stop?" You laughed at that word. "Cars stop. Objects and things stop. Papyrus doesn't stop, he's not some damn object! He's a living creature just like me and you! Every time you cut into us and send volts of electricity coursing through our bones, we can feel it!" You were shaking in a fit of rage. Surely there was some ounce of compassion that existed inside the scientist? You did not understand how Papyrus did it, how he insisted that there was still good that existed inside the scientist. You sure as hell saw nothing but an abysmal void where the scientist's compassion should have been.

"You are not alive," the scientist snarled. "Any thoughts, any emotions running through your mind is simply the illusion of consciousness. You think you are alive but it is nothing more than programming, artificial synapses welded inside your mind. Monsters like me and those that roam the Underground are alive. Living things are not grown in sterilised tubes as you and the two other subjects were."

"If I can think, surely I am alive?" You protested but the scientist did not answer as he stopped in front of a door.

"As you have become aware, I had to sacrifice portions of my hands to graft these two subjects from my bone marrow." The scientist held up his hands to reveal the two holes that were visible from the back and palm of his skeletal hands. "In the process, I lost the ability to heal as it was a type of magic that was specifically concentrated in my hands. But," the scientist snapped, "my loss in the ability to heal does not mean I am weak in the field of combat as you have learned. Even where I stand now, my strength will always surpass yours. Do not ever think for one second that you can escape me."

"You want me to heal Papyrus?" The world suddenly seemed dizzy. "I can't do that. I was only able to use magic for a short time, but that was only for an offensive tactic. I don't think I can conjure it up again to heal him; you can't possibly expect me to heal him!"

"Then 2-P will die and his dust will be on your hands," the scientist shrugged, not seeming to give a damn. You couldn't help but wonder if he did actually care what happened, that even if he was trying to pull on a nonchalant attitude, there was a small part of him that wanted Papyrus to live, that he did not want to witness another member of his species crumble into ash as so many had before him.

"Fine," you snarled a response and shoved past him, walking into a dimly lit room.

There were two metal tables in which the two skeletons were splayed across, both oblivious to the world around them. Sans was lost within his own dreams and you couldn't help but wonder what sort of things were going through his mind, if he was only reliving the tortures of the present and past and future in the dreamscape, or if he was perhaps walking in the land of not-dreams, the dreams that seemed more of a promise for the future than a mere fantasy. There were several bandages around his head and limbs from which hairline fractures could be seen snaking across his bones like demonic claws that were ready to rip him apart.

Papyrus, however, seemed on the verge between waking and dreaming, as if he was about to jump up from the metal table any second. But there was also a sense of lifelessness about him as well, the way that the vitality seemed to have drained from him like it never had been there at all.

"What were you doing to him?" You looked back at the scientist. "Why did you take him in the first place?"

The scientist hesitated on delivering the information, not wanting to disclose any part of what he was working on. "I was making adjustments to his physical composition. I added a dosage of liquid determination into his bone marrow to increase his structural capacity to withstand a high amount of energy."

"Why the hell would you do that?" you asked, wishing that the scientist would just come clean and explain what the hell he was doing and why it involved you and the other two skeletons to endure a lifelong torture inside a cracked green prison. What could possibly be so important that it required the suffering and holocaust of horrendous experiments? Whatever the scientist was trying to achieve or fix, surely the end result would not be worth it if it was riding upon the dust of dozens of skeletons who had died during the experimental process?

The scientist did not answer and you turned back to Papyrus, placing the palm of your hand against his skull. Despite the fact that he was composed of bone, Papyrus felt surprisingly warm as if his entire body was racked with fever. You closed your eyes and searched your mind, prodding the deepest corners of your consciousness to find the arcane source of energy that you had summoned whilst fighting the scientist, the energy that had allowed you to bring forth magic into the world.

At first you could not find it and you began to grow desperate, afraid that Papyrus would crumble into ash while you sat there without doing a thing. But then you found something, a small, reserved portion of your mind that seemed a lot older and different from the rest of your consciousness, as if it was both apart and separate from you at the same time, neither alien nor truly belonging.

You allowed your thoughts to press against the portion of your mind that seemed so strange and different, testing out the boundaries against it, trying to break through the barriers to access the magic that was stored within. The pocket of energy seemed smooth, without any edge and unbreakable.

You thought of Papyrus on the table in front of you, how he could crumble into dust at any second. You felt anger towards the scientist, but you did not think that you wanted to feel angry when summoning the magic. You needed to access magic that would allow you to heal another, not fight, and would thus require a more passive emotion. You sifted through your thoughts some more and came upon a vast amount of sorrow, lamentation that another skeleton was about to die, joining the line of corpses that had begun to pile up during the trials.

But amidst the rage of emotions inside your mind, you felt something warmer, something that was a bit kinder than your sadness and anger. There was also a flicker of hope, the aspiration that there might be a better future for you, a world where you could leave this underground prison and explore the world that waited outside with the two skeletons. You were going to have such a future, you would let nothing take that away from you.

This emotion, the hope, felt good, felt right. You allowed it to pour through your every thought and concentrated into a mental spear, stabbing it against the pocket of energy inside your mind. You let loose a sigh as the magic burst forth from its hidden spot, flooding through your veins and blood, adding a renewed sense of vitality.

When you opened your eyes you did not hunger for vengeance, did not want to ignite the world in flame and agony as you once had when you had fought the scientist inside the tiled green hallway. Instead you felt your mind searching for any sign of chaos, scanning the reality that existed around you to try and locate a living creature that might need healing.

Your consciousness brushed against Papyrus', taking in his physical composition as you allowed your magic to extend into his bones, trying to locate the source of what was forcing him to remain in a comatose state. Everything seemed normal, no prominent signs of anything wrong with him. But, you reflected, perhaps him being normal was the problem. If anything, the skeleton seemed as if he was nothing more than an empty vessel, a hollow structure that was waiting to be filled.

You recalled your magic and turned back to face the scientist, hatred gathering in the bottom of your stomach as you gazed at him. "Well?" He asked impatiently, not understanding the gravity of the situation.

"Whatever experiment you were performing on him, trying to enhance his physical capacity to harbour an energy source, it was too much. In trying to make it so that Papyrus could hold a larger amount of energy inside of him, his original soul was absorbed, eradicated from existence. It was no longer able to support itself inside the vessel it was in because the vessel required a greater energy source to sustain itself," you spat out each and every word, not bothering to hide the bitterness in your words.

"But the experiment was a success?" The scientist looked over your shoulder. "He can now hold a large energy source?"

"Why the hell does that matter?" You were practically shouting now. "His soul is gone, it doesn't exist! He's just an empty shell waiting to be filled!"

"That's as it should be," the scientist muttered, writing a few things down on his clipboard before turning back to face you. "Your services here are no longer required as it has become clear that 2-P's structural capacity is not in danger of collapsing."

"But what about his soul!" You screamed as the scientist took control of your soul, beginning to drag you down the hallway, away from where the two skeleton brothers slumbered, locked inside the world of nightmare and future. "Isn't that important? Even if he does wake up, he won't feel anything anymore! He won't be - "

"For the purpose of my experiments, a soul is not required for either 1-S or 2-P. The fact that 2-P has lost his soul is rather a relief more than it is a hindrance in my research," the scientist replied coldly as you were thrown back into your cage, the dog no longer needed.

"Than why did you give them souls in the first place?" You snarled, your face mere inches away from the laser beam that now separated you from the scientist. "Why give Sans or Papyrus the ability to feel anything at all? Wouldn't it have been easier for them to not have souls at all, to be empty shells that you tortured and mutilated for your own sadistic entertainment? Why the hell am I even here!"

"1-S and 2-P were given souls initially so that they could grow and develop. Without a soul, they would have not been able to respond according to the treatments applied to them. I was intending to remove their souls upon the conclusion of my experiments and the fact that 2-P has lost his soul is just checking off a box that I was going to do anyway."

"And what about me? What about Sans? Are you just going to rip out our souls once you've grown tired of torturing us?" You growled.

"I would enjoy tearing your soul from your chest and watching you bleed across these floors," the scientist snapped, his voice revealing a manifested rage that seemed to be aeons old, reflecting the bitterness that had built up inside him long before you had even come into existence. "But I am not done with you yet. As for 1-S, I am not sure what I will do with him. But I can reassure you, whatever fate awaits him, you will not be around to witness it."

And on those words he left, not bothering to listen to any other question that might have left your lips, entombing you once more in a crypt of darkness and despair.