The two of you exited Snowden, the future a looming topic over your minds. Your death, it seemed, was a vital part in restarting the timeline, no matter how much you insisted otherwise. G offered words of reassurance, a clouded look in his eyes. It seemed, to you, that he was simply tired, as you had been too, watching humans go by and sacrificing themselves for the machine of the reset.

A warm gust of air pushed past you, a contrast to the cold climate that you had just become accustomed to. With a sigh, you took off G's jacket and tied it around your waist, taking in the fresh air.

Besides Snowden, Waterfall had always served as one of your favorite realms within the Underground, devoid of any signs of development, just acres upon acres of marshland. Carefully, you bent down and whispered a phrase into a nearby echo flower, smirking in triumph as the words were repeated over and over again, until the entire terrain it seemed was alive with your words.

"Furry," the flowers repeated the two syllables, forever to be a mockery of G's perfect resemblance to the anime topic. Thousands of years later, the phrase would still be relayed, untouched by time.

"I'm going to kill you," G growled and brushed past you, the hints of an amused grin on his face. As you raced to catch up with him, the flowers repeated traces of his words. Kill you, kill you.

With a savage war cry, magnified by the echo flowers, you launched yourself onto G's back, digging your fingernails into his turtleneck. With a grunt of surprise he toppled over, taking you down with him.

"Get off!" you wailed, struggling to escape him as he held you pinned to the ground. A sudden idea manifested itself inside your mind and with a smirk, you began to bat your eyelashes at him. "I didn't know you felt that way about me," you gasped. He answered with an eye roll and pushed you away from him.

"You never answered the question," you pestered, scooting closer next to him.

G turned to face you, blowing a puff of smoke straight at you. With a hiss, you retreated from him and threw yourself into a patch of echo flowers. "Come and find me!' you shrieked like the wild animal you were, making it almost impossible for G to locate you with your voice repeated several times over courtesy to the echo flowers, the word FURRY relayed quietly all the while.

"You're such a child," he sighed reluctantly and took a step off the path and into the marshlands.

"I prefer maturing adult," you scoffed, putting on your best English accent.

"It pains me to think that you are the future of America..." G shook his head. You eyed him from your hiding spot, your muscles tensing as you prepared to fling yourself at him. He paused for a moment as if in deep thought. "Then again it's not that surprising since Trump was elected. My advice? Hoard burritos like they're made of gold, because once that wall comes up..."

With a savage war cry - one that you had perfected during your time in this twisted timeline - you once more launched yourself onto G, trapping him on the ground. You pulled his arms behind his back, confining the man-child of a skeleton to forever be subjected to your mercy.

"Fine I surrender," he grunted. "But please, grant me my dying wish."

"And that would be..."

"I would like one last cancer stick," he nodded towards the box that had been cast aside.

You considered it for a moment and then in a fluid motion, tossed the box into the river below. "You've had enough cancer sticks in your lifetime," you scolded G. "Try vaping instead."

G said nothing, a look of pure murder plastered on his face. "I'm going to tear your heart out and feed it to the buzzards," he growled and a wave of Gaster Blasters surrounded you.

With a shriek you began to run in the opposite direction, narrowly missing the lasers fired in your direction. One singed the back of your [F/C] sweatshirt. "This is new!" you hollered over the uproar caused by the lasers. Technically, it was a lie. The sweatshirt was hundreds of years old if you considered the fact you had been wearing it each and every reset. You decided that if you were to survive this, you would seriously need to reconsider your fashion choices.

"Do you know how many people have thrown away my cigarettes and lived to tell the tale?" G growled, stomping through the marshlands, attempting to locate you. "None, and I'm not intending on changing that."

There was absolutely no way you were going to survive this unless you had...

A weapon.

You reached into your belt and produced the silver knife you had grown familiar with during your genocide runs, attached to, even. You stared at your reflection in the blade for a brief moment before tossing it into the river. You then produced your Sharpie, your new best friend.

This was a better choice, you thought.

It was less stabby.

Having his back turned on you, you took advantage of this moment. With the Sharpie outstretched, you tackled G to the ground, catching him completely unawares. "This is for ruining my sweatshirt," you growled and hovered the Sharpie over his face.

"No!" G screeched and thrashed under your grip, but to no avail.

You uncapped the marker of death and began to doodle on his skull. It was one big sketchpad, really.

You added to the collection of Japanese art. For some reason, you felt compelled to draw a figure from one of your favorite cartoons. It resembled a Mickey Mouse, only this character was more likely to tear out someone's heart than start a clubhouse.

Welcome to America, folks. Home of the brave, dorito demons, demented Chuckee Cheese spin-offs, emo skeletons, and ink demons.

"You may have won the battle [Y/N]," G grunted, reaching into his back pocket to reveal a Sharpie of his own. "But you haven't won the war."