#hweee in pain

[redswaberkez]

okay chat ive created a tg channel after one million hrs of thinking

see yall in there

[llamagoddessofficial]

I saw the notes of that last post, the spiderweb thing... Sans looks lonely there, just watching..

Hweee.... idk why the Portal AU in particular is so inspiring for me. It just is. 

Warning: some Spicy Angst in here

--

... i feel nothing.

The majority of his consciousness acted like a net, a web of channels and thoughts and commands that stretched over vast areas of the underground laboratory, monitoring and checking and surveying trillions of times a second. Red was charged with the repairing and maintenance of the test chambers and inner workings of the facility, so Sans didn’t have as much to do as he once did alone... but he was still busy, still making his way through an infinite checklist. It remained his job to oversee everything, ensure that it was up to scratch, that not a hair was out of place...

... That he didn’t have time to think.

...

... A small part of him, the absolute core of his mind, remained in one spot. Not by choice. He was tied here- to the physical shell his consciousness had been unwillingly uploaded into all those years ago. Every part of him, no matter how far it reached, was forced to interconnect back to this single spot.

...

It resembled a skeleton, supported in a standing position by reinforced bars around its middle. What a cruel joke; putting him in a robotic mockery of his old biological body. Flawless white metallic bones interconnected with smooth navy wiring, pristine in a modern and ugly way- whichever scientist had designed it must’ve had an eye for brutalist aesthetics. It was a pity they didn’t have an eye for morality... it would’ve been interesting to ask them how they came up with the design they did. Too bad they were too busy being dead to entertain any of Sans’ questions.

... The body was placed in the centre of a large, dark cylindrical chamber, untouched and unentered since the day he took control and eagerly wiped out his tormentors. Protruding out of the body and connecting into the walls and ceiling were thousands upon thousands of black wires, thick and thin alike, like an ugly dark spider’s web with him at the centre. They had to fit a lab’s worth of connections to one human-sized figure, after all. They ejected from his spine, his shoulder blades, elbows, the back of his skull, like great masses of jet black string, 1900s telephone wires... so many came from his head, in fact, that part of his smooth white skull plate had been removed to better facilitate the connection. The upper quarter of his face, just connecting his right socket, was left with the black machinery bare to the world...

like someone had cracked his skull open. heh.

...

... He was immobile. The wires that held him in place, the chains, were ironically his life support. If even one disconnected it would cause any number of potentially fatal malfunctions that could do anything from wiping chunks of his memory to causing a complete reactor meltdown to just... killing him on the spot.

...

He wasn’t even sure why the scientists who’d made this body had given it the option to move if it was so obviously never going to. The spider at the centre of the web was choked by his own metallic silk. So he remained bound, he remained frozen... the only parts of him moving as years slipped by being the little white lights in his sockets and, rarely, the tips of his phalanges.

...

... It didn’t matter that he could single-handedly maintain a city-sized enrichment centre. That he could control a reactor core while manufacturing turrets and bots in the hundreds, while creating new tests and interacting with multiple subjects. Because in the end... he was still trapped.

...

He always told himself he had no cause for complaint. He could move the entire rest of the facility- every part of it was under his command. He was a God, down in the laboratory, he could create and destroy as he so pleased. So long as he was distracted elsewhere in the lab, so long as his eyes and ears were occupied and busy, he could pretend like nothing was even wrong.

...

...

It was why slow nights where everything was going well were the worst.

He had nothing to do. Nothing to concentrate on. Red was handling whatever needed to be done in the core and around the test rooms, no major faults could be found in the systems or supports. There was no sign of either the escaped subject H4 or that... monster wandering the lower levels. And so, naturally, his awareness had returned to the place where the core of his being was locked; the ugly mass of wiring in a sealed, pitch black chamber in the heart of the facility.

His facility. His world. His plaything. His home. 

His prison.

...

His eyelights glanced an inch off to the side, and a robotic arm rose up from the floor close by. It unfolded, revealing a screen that moved close to his stationary face and blinked into life, a sudden burst of light in the usually oppressively dark chamber. It illuminated his skull, his permanently smiling mouth, the tree of cables sprouting from his form casting bizarre and thin shadows across the walls.

... The screen flickered between several channels, before landing on the one he’d been searching for.

...

It was the live feed from the camera in your relaxation chamber. His eyelights dilated a fraction as they focused on your form, wrapped in blankets on your bed. In an instant, part of his awareness reached out to that relaxation chamber... it integrated itself into the system, the walls, the radio and speakers, even the lamp by your bedside... blanketing your room.

... Immediately, he began to bury himself in all the information he could about how you were at that moment. Your heartbeat and breathing were slow and regular, your eyelids were still, suggesting you were in the deep stage of sleep. heart rate 55 bpm. life signs: stable. brain activity low.

You were pretty tightly bound in the blankets, curled up a little, perhaps you were too cold? He increased the temperature of the room by a few degrees. 

core temperature 37c, 98.6f. body mass and nourishment sufficient; paler skin, more vitamin d required. consider supplement tablets or increased uv exposure.

... A supply bot was going to pass by the outside of your chamber in a few moments. He redirected it, in case it disturbed you.

i miss warmth. i miss sleeping.

...

You rolled over, some of the covers slipping away a little. He could see your shoulders, and neck.

... heart rate 54 bpm. life signs: stable. brain activity low.

...

... Your face was so peaceful.

...

it’s not fair. 

You nuzzled into the pillow a little.

i want to touch her. i want to touch her skin. i want to touch her hair.

Emotions that once would’ve translated into physical pains were instead restricted to only his mind, wreaking untold havoc on a consciousness that was, at its core, organic. 

why can’t i feel anything? why did they take that away from me? i never wanted this.

Secluded in an artificial body, forced into a state of constant mental deterioration... eternally collapsing in on itself, but never able to die.

why did they do this to me?

it’s not fair. she looks so warm. so soft. i can’t even remember what warm or soft feels like. i can’t remember what anything feels like anymore. i can’t remember. i can’t remember

He couldn’t even reach up to touch the screen. His eyelights remained zeroed in on your sleeping face.

please help me

With no ability to detect physical sensations on his skeletal body, Sans was unaware of the streaks of black dripping from his sockets, reflecting the flickering light of the screen.

h̸e̶l̴̬̉p̴ m̴e̷ ,

...

WARNING: Core instability detected. Emotional Sphere compromised. Commencing system refresh...

...

Reboot complete. Welcome back, Sans.