UltSans walked steadily through the dense forest, effortlessly carrying both tubbies under his arms like bags of supplies—Guardian tucked under his right arm, and Grayson under his left.
UltSans: "So... if there's nowhere left to go, apart from that weird station... where do you think you're taking me?"
Guardian: "I don't know. But we have to reach the Satellite Station. Maybe... just maybe, there are survivors left who can help."
Grayson: "I already told you, Guardian—there's no one left! Why are you so obsessed with that place? What's so special about it?"
Guardian: "It's the only place with working communications. We can contact anyone who's still alive—any help is better than none!"
Grayson: "Ugh, you're impossible. Always with that station... You say you want to help others, but all you do is hide! The only time you act is when it's to beg for help!"
Guardian: "I tried, Grayson! You think I stayed in that secret lair because I wanted to? I couldn't face Tinky Winky like that—not after what he became. You saw it yourself. I lost one arm, and a single newborn almost took my other!"
UltSans: "Alright, both of you, enough. You're arguing like toddlers. Geez."
The two tubbies fell silent, if only out of embarrassment. Still, they kept pointing and guiding him along the overgrown paths.
UltSans: "Look—an arm is just an arm. You can get a new one. It won't be the same, but hey, with the right tools and some metal, maybe even better. Mechanical upgrades and all."
Guardian: "And do you know how to build an arm?"
UltSans: "...No, not really."
Grayson: "Doesn't matter. Sooner or later, someone will. You'll have an arm again, Walten."
Guardian (softly): "...I'm infected. It's only a matter of time before it gets me too. Replacing a lost arm won't fix that... and now, he's infected too."
UltSans blinked, glancing at the now-empty custard canister clipped to his side.
UltSans: "You mean the infection is from the custard? What even is this virus you keep talking about? I thought it was just parasites or... something basic."
Guardian: "We're not exactly sure. But the custards—they're contaminated. They're how it spreads. That's all we know for sure."
UltSans: "So this is a race against time, huh? Heh... I guess it's speedrun time. I was never a great speedrunner, but might as well try."
Grayson: "I don't know what that means, but sure—run fast, survive faster."
Guardian: "How long can you keep carrying us like this, human?"
UltSans: "As long as you need. I don't get tired from walking. Just a bit sore holding you two like this. Might shift one of you onto my back later. And don't call me 'human.' My name's Raziel. Most call me UltSans, or just Sans. Or pick whatever nickname works for you."
The Guardian paused, thinking.
Guardian: "Alright... then I'll call you simply by your name, Raziel."
Grayson: "Huh. Well then, since we're doing names... I'm Grayson. Grayson Cross. People used to call me The Survivor."
Guardian: "And I'm Walten. A friend gave me that name long ago. But most just know me as The Guardian... or White, being the only white tubby anyone ever saw. Guardian of the 'original four'... though that part was mostly a lie to keep people hopeful."
UltSans: "That's a solid backstory, not gonna lie. But in the end, none of it really matters anymore. The past, your titles, your choices... All of it's dust now."
Guardian: "...Yeah. I guess that's true..."
Grayson: "...Guys? Is it just me, or is everything way too calm right now?"
Guardian: "You're right. It's too quiet..."
UltSans: "Isn't calm better? Or do you prefer getting mauled by a screaming mutant every few minutes?"
Guardian: "That's not what I mean! Something's wrong. The infected should be on us by now. We haven't seen anything for too long..."
He scanned the trees uneasily, eyes narrowing.
Guardian: "Let's stop at the mountain lair. It's close—just a bit farther. With luck, we'll make it before the infected find us again."
UltSans said nothing, but adjusted his grip and quickened his pace. The silence didn't feel like peace. It felt like a warning.
But yet, they continued forward, climbing the path to the mountain lair.