mettatonvevo | [IC INBOX]

[He can sense the mirror's confusion in his scribbled writing, so he attempts to clarify.]

You know, timelines! Hm. Different ways your game could have gone! For example, I am from a timeline where no one died! Where The Human stayed their hand and, together with the Player, showed us all Mercy! A friend of mine from the same world is from a version of the story where The Human chose the opposite path.

[Mettaton has no idea how this knowledge will affect the mirror. Surely it won't be that bad?]

[....mercy. A game...where the Player could choose to give mercy to everyone? There was a game where something like that was possible...?

Things could have been fine and it would have just been a beautiful day and Sucre wouldn't have died and I hate you all so much stop playing this game please let us go just let The Batter kill us it's good that you kill them I'm begging you just stop stop STOP JUST LET US ALL DIE PLEASE KILL ME

It's a long time before the Mirror responds again. He brought along a paint bucket in case he needed a way to break the mirror on his side. Guess there's another use for it. The Mirror dips his fingers into the bright red paint and writes a message.]

There is no such thing as mercy in this game.

She was found. She lost.

The Puppeteer moved on.

[At first the robot thinks that perhaps that was enough. Perhaps Zacharie’s mirror was satisfied with his answer, and that their conversation is over. But then he sees writing return and- …wow.

Wow, did this guy seriously bring red paint for this? Did he prepare for this level of spooky? While, yes, on one hand Mettaton is a… tad disturbed by this development, he also feels vague amusement. Zacharie’s mirror seems to have a small flair for dramatics just like him. (Though small is not the word I would use to describe Mettaton’s ways.)

Past that, however, it takes him in kind a few moments to respond. He reads over the words on his mirror and is honestly…puzzled.]

No Mercy? None at all? Your Puppeteer has no choice?

[How? How is that possible? He doesn’t understand.]

How can there be no other outcomes? How can it be set in stone like that, how can…

[His eyes grow wide in horror as he thinks of how it could have been with him. How there could have been a world where no matter the circumstances, no matter the intent of The Player and Frisk’s SOUL, he would have died. He would never have gotten to the Surface, would never have seen his dreams come to life, or the dreams of everyone around him…

He sits back from the mirror.]

You mean to tell me that if my game were like yours, Frisk would always kill us? That even if they wanted to do something different, there would only be that end? That instead of only a few of us here who remember a time like that, it would be all of us?

[He’s schooling the panic out of his voice pretty successfully, except for the slightest hiccup towards the end of his sentence.]

[He knows it's for flair but it's eye catching. Good for awful implications, which the robot seems to be working out in his head. Good. It gives the Mirror time to calm down and find his marker again.

Silly, isn't it? To want such things, to be concerned about the endings even though you're just the merchant. To want it all to just end.]

Two outcomes. The Puppeteer chooses. Now or Eventually. No way around it. Escaping from your purpose is impossible.

[And that's the end of that.]

[Your purpose, huh? What was Mettaton's purpose? He always thought it was to entertain, but within the game it was to be a boss fight. To continue the story. But afterwards he was free to be anything and could choose it! Right? Nothing could take that away.

At least he thought so. He never considered that even after everything is over, he's still bound to the, heh, Mercy of the one in charge.

He pulls away from the mirror, angry.]

No. Things can be changed. If there is one thing from home I've learned, it's that your choices matter. Your home may be bleak, but mine never will be.

[He pulls the blanket back over the mirror with a swift movement. He sounded confident. Unshakeable. If only he felt that way.]

[IC INBOX]

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