Skeletons and Robots (Discontinued due to lack of time)

Chapter 31- Control

Life had grown dull since Neo, Sans, and Alphys disappeared. No one exited their houses, ghosts alone played at the parks, and all modes of transport seemed to be out of business. The only travelers were tumbleweeds. Of course, because of Neo's disappearance, almost no one turned on their T.Vs, let alone any electronic devices.
This, of course, spelled very bad news for Mettaton. His shows were not viewed anymore by his lovely eight viewers, no one came to his resort, and, worst of all, he himself was an electronic device. Of course, his brother, his creator, and his partner's brother ( and his brother's partner) ((Mettaton, as much as he hated Sans, still shipped them))being missing were also minor problems to deal with.
Just around two minutes earlier, Mettaton had received yet another complaint call. He had received around 23 of them since the cellular strike was announced. None of the callers admitted to breaking the cellular strike, but rather screamed complaints like, "Who are you, where have you taken our citizens, and why do you insist on robots killing off harmless civilians?!", and, "I know what you are up to with that brother of yours, bot. ". Mettaton had tried as hard as he could to ignore all of the hate, but it had started to get to him, as he did not have Burger Pants to take his emotional pain out on. Burger Pants, like every other monster in the underground, had returned to his home.  Not that Burger Pants really cared where he was, for Mettaton sensed that life was hell for him either way. News spread fast of the disappearances, which was ironic, for the only news channel was Mettaton's. He had shot a morning story about it two days ago. Of course, the whole underground leaped at the chance to turn on him, knowing his bad history with the people and small wandering children, namely Frisk. Mettaton scowled.
Mettaton's clinking footsteps filled his empty emporium walls, projecting the lonley felling inside of his gut. Is it wrong to fear being alone? Is it okay to fear my own creations? An eerie feeling slithered around Mettaton's spine, constricting his waist and sending him gasping for a breath he didn't need. Once upon a time, Mettaton realized, loneliness was all he knew, besides the company of Nabstablook. All he had wanted was to be someone, not ignored, not blindsided or judged. Suddenly, Mettaton felt like a child again, crying at his bedside because some kids had hurt him and called him him gay. Now, once again, here he was, pathetic and judged, left only to himself against the world. Funny, how the past repeated itself.
This wouldn't last long, and Mettaton knew it. Police would come to lock him up, throwing him in some sort of musty jail cell where his voice would never again speak to his loving audience. Someone was bound to get tired of angrily calling him, and sirens would be at his door within hours. Sure, Mettaton had experienced a rather sketchy and bloodthirsty past with Frisk when she had first came, but he had changed! Obviously, with the truncation of his soul, Mettaton had fixed that problem, for he was no longer plagued with genocidal violence as he used to be. How many speeches of his transformation would it take until monsters actually began to comprehend?
A sigh filtered out of Mettaton's mouth as he sat, breaking the eerie silence that had hence returned. His eyes wandered down to the arm of his chair, where his hand rested. Odd enough, for it surely was in no sort of resting state. His fingers bounced around on the soft leather, some movements subtle and others faint. The fingers seemed to possess life, frantically shivering in place. Mettaton grimaced and bit his lip, tightening his hand into a fist. Even then, the fingers moved, trembling and making wild attempts to flee his hand. His eyes narrowed when he discovered he could not control the shivering. Anything Mettaton couldn't control was an enemy to him. Usually this wasn't a problem, for with total electronic coverage, powerful monster connections, and the whole Underground's worth of respect, he practically had it all in the palm of his hand. Usually, but not now. Now, as everything fell apart too fast to control, all he could do was watch and wait. He knew what he was waiting for, and he had always known. That was the good thing about control- one who had total control could also predict the future. And he had.
With the little grasp of control Mettaton had, he intended to beat fate out one last time. One last chess move, one that would at least let him lose with dignity. At least he could control that.
Mettaton shuffled in his seat. The tingling in his fingers reminded him of his fear, and soon he accepted the fear at hand. He had felt fear before, but this felt different. It felt anxious and wreaked of an ominous torch freshly lit, ready to burn if handled wrong. The feeling had festered within him since the strike's beginning, so it was a feeling he had learned to face. Face it, he would have to, but Mettaton knew it would be difficult, as he had begun to shy away from the chess board.
"No," Mettaton chastised himself, " you will do this. You promised yourself. You are overreacting." . Mettaton rested his head in his hand and let out a long sigh. Why was this so hard for him to do? He had seen it coming, he had prepared for it, and he didn't have any bad thoughts to plague his head anymore! They were all with Neo, now! Mettaton sat up weakly, retrieving the memory chip he had created from his storage compartment. In scratchy lettering, the chip read, 'personal items'. Just in case. The chip carried all of Mettaton's belongings, selfies, podcasts, reports, and profiles. But, it also contained a nasty virus that could break any firewall it needed to when plugged in. Electronic poison, Mettaton called it. He had taken it from Alphys when she was kidnapped, apparently she had kept it just in case she needed to end any robot lives or protect her precious scientific data. She probably would never have used it, and she wouldn't even miss it. Not that she would probably ever come back for it. Mettaton had read up on kidnappings, and he knew that usually victims were kidnapped for ransom or because they knew something about some subject. There had been no ransom calls for Sans, Alphys or Neo, so obviously the three knew something. Usually, people who were kidnapped under that circumstance were killed to keep quiet. Mettaton froze in his position-that didn't make sense. If Neo was killed, Mettaton would have died too. So obviously that was ruled out. But what if Neo had information, and he was the only access to it? What if he wasn't talking? Mettaton glanced back down at the file in his hand. If that was true, then he needed to act fast. If he was to keep that information secret-whatever it was- then he would have to die with it. He would eventually talk, probably if Alphys or Sans was killed in front of him. If the three kidnappings were even related. It was all so hard to connect, and it had taken Mettaton some time to think of the entire crime even with the aid of his advanced AI. Of course, others would figure it out too. However, Mettaton would still be to blame, and his sentence would change from kidnapping to murder. Despite his pleading, he would be a criminal.
Mettaton gulped and sat up. His thoughts raced at a 100 miles per hour, and it gave him a headache. If only he would stop thinking, just for a second. Maybe things would seem okay, like they used to be. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. King Asgore had no physical evidence to prove Mettaton kidnapped anyone, all he had against Mettaton was the angry mobs and Mettaton's memory chip, which he could easily check if he needed to. Then, without finding any kidnapping evidence in Mettaton, he would allow Mettaton to seek a private audience with him. Then, Mettaton could explain his theories to the king, and the king and him could discuss ways to stop the kidnapper(s). Mettaton curled his lip, remembering the kill chip he had made. It could be used in Asgore's presence to protect the information, if that is what the two of them decided. A gulp welled in the back of Mettaton's  throat, but it wouldn't swallow. Mettaton gagged, unable to breathe. The lump in his throat constricted his airway, filling his head with nothingness. Like a noose tightening, the ominous feeling lingered for precious moments before Mettaton could gasp for air. The lingering feeling reminded him of his decision and the cost it would fine on him. It was a price nobody could ever want to pay, and, since he had become corporeal, he felt likewise. Life, he had learned, was precious, and to give it up was unforgivable. Mettaton sighed. Okay, maybe he was being a little too dramatic about all of this. Maybe it was better not to think. "Life is precious?" He chuckled to himself, standing up. " What are you, a poet? If anything is precious, it is this here leg!" He thrust his left leg up to meet the sweet fragranced air, his pink metal glamboot practically flying off of his foot. He puffed air from his nose angrily. Not even his own attitude could cheer him up, and he didn't even sound like himself anymore. The whole thing sounded fake and half-assed, and so not Mettaton. Then, he noticed a tall figure standing outside through a window. Papyrus had come, just like he had said he would. Mettaton had called him earlier, one of the only people he could call anymore through the strike was Papyrus. Ah, Papyrus, at least Mettaton still had him to count on. Mettaton pulled his hands to his cheeks and arranged the best shy smile he could, then made his way for the door.
Papyrus had waited outside for what felt like hours before, finally, the door to Mettaton's emporium of a house creaked open. Papyrus' eyes flickered upwards briefly, then continued to blankly stare down at his folded hands. It wasn't raining, but something inside of Papyrus' soul had convinced him it was, for drops of salty water pattered his red rubber boots. The storm clouds resided in his head, where his thoughts churned and waned. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shoo them away, and soon tearful rain had poured from them. Papyrus had never truly cried before, so the raging rainstorm in his head was puffed full with tearful rain to release. The feeling was hard to describe; a painful pleasure, a tasteful blend of confusion, fear, and curiosity. Without Mettaton by his side, where would he be? Where would anyone be? With no more sexy, sweet-and-sour Mettaton to go around, what would complete Papyrus? Who would blow wind for his sails? Papyrus smirked; as a child, he had never needed an extra shoulder. He had always been a charismatic ball of fire, with all of the energy of ten men. No one used to hold him back, and the adventures he could have were limitless. But now, since Mettaton had came into his life, there was nothing left without him. It was almost as if everything he had been in his youth left with Mettaton, and he was some sort of dream theif. A thief he was, for he had definitely taken something from Papyrus. Papyrus just wasn't sure what.
  "Papyrus, I am so glad you came, darling! I didn't think you would get my call, due to the whole strike outing." A familiar voice broke Papyrus from his thoughts, and he clicked his head upwards to investigate.  "Don't hang your head, darling; it makes you look depressed. " Mettaton ambled towards him, laying a gloved hand on Papyrus' cheek. "Oh my God..are you crying? Papyrus, darling, don't cry for me- it will be quite all right." Papyrus sneered slightly, recognizing Mettaton's iconic ego.
    "MY BROTHER...NEO.. DR. ALPHYS-I WORRY ABOUT THEM TOO. BUT YES-THERE IS YOU AS WELL. " Papyrus managed to smile through his tears. Mettaton turned away from Papyrus, his face turning solemn as he glanced out at the road ahead of them. He had called Papyrus to walk him to the castle, for he wanted to say goodbye. He hoped they would meet some sort of obstacle, or that the king would not find him guilty, though- for Mettaton did not wish to say goodbye. Goodbye was a hard word to say, and Mettaton really wasn't sure if he was ready for it. Things could change. Alphys, Neo, and Sans could come back. Mettaton could go back home. If he hadn't already done something rash.
"SO...WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO FO WHEN YOU GET TO THE CASTLE? SURLEY, THEY CAN'T ARREST YOU, YOU DID NOTHING WRONG! AND, IF THEY WERE GOING TO, SOLDIERS WOULD HAVE ALREADY SHOWN UP AT YOUR ESTATE!" Papyrus sputtered, taking Mettaton's hand. Papyrus knew well why he was so sad about the call Mettaton had given him. He fretted because there was evidence, if needed, to say that Mettaton had kidnapped at least one of the three. He had motive and enough power to commit each one of them, and so many theories currently swam around the undernet regarding his secret plot. There was no physical evidence, but Papyrus feared the worst and did not want Mettaton to turn himself in.
"I am going to gain a private audience with King Asgore and tell him what I have concluded about the case. Then, we will discuss the proper way to deal with it. " Mettaton but his lip before he could say more about the case, he didn't want Papyrus involved. He also didn't want to tell Papyrus about his plans to keep Neo's mouth shut if Asgore agreed. The kill chip suddenly felt heavy in his storage compartment, and the ominous feeling that had plagued him returned. He shook his head and walked faster down the road, forcing Papyrus to take longer strides.
The two monsters said no more words, but rather enjoyed the company of each other throughout their walk to the castle.

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   Papyrus idled in the judgement hall of Asgore's grand castle, swiping his bony index finger across the podium he leaned against. Dust piled around the bones, and Papyrus made a face. He didn't quite know what else to do, so he had been cleaning the hall with his fingers for the past half-hour. Jeez, I wonder what is taking them so long. Papyrus scoffed, blowing the dust from his finger.
      The hall was bigger than Papyrus had previously thought. Its looming glass windows towered several feet above Papyrus, and the pillars would barely leave any room for his arms to wrap around if he tried to hug them. The tiles in the flooring made for a very challenging hopscotch course, and the walls enclosing the room were very breathable for any claustrophobic monster.  There was also a secret restroom hidden in one column. Papyrus had memorized the whole building-let alone castle- when he was younger, in hopes that when he got to be a royal guardsman, he could guard there. An image of a simpler time flourished in Papyrus' mind, and he found himself drawing young Papyrus in the dusty column.  Sure, it wasn't a beautiful drawing, like the ones Alphys drew, but it was good enough. Good enough to tell a story, a story behind the quivering dust lines. A smile curled across Papyrus's lips, and he began to doze off into his thoughts.
    Mettaton's clinking footsteps awakened Papyrus, and he spurted up from his crouched position on the column. He must have fallen asleep, for the lighting in the room had changed- everything was practically pitch black, with the only other light being natural and also from Mettaton's flashlight. Papyrus couldn't quite make out more than his legs, which was perfectly fine with him.
   "SO, HOW DID IT GO? AND WHY IS THE ROOM SO DA-" Papyrus' words were muffled as Mettaton scrunched him into a hug. Mettaton clung right to him-too tight for happiness, and too softly for anger. This must be fear, Papyrus thought, and he couldn't help but grin. I'm so clever, nyeh heh heh! I am going to make the best boyfriend ever!  "METTATON, WHAT HAPPENED?" Papyrus tried to sound stoic, "WHATEVER IT IS, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL PROTECT YOU!"
  "No, darling, you don't understand. It was I who was supposed to do the protecting! It was right in front of me, after all, and in front of the king's guard too! And I saw it in the wastebasket, the little bag with the white pellets in it, oh, why didn't I do something to save him?!" Mettaton wailed like a child from underneath Papyrus's arm, scrunching closer to him with every breath. Papyrus broke away just in time to see a flood of  usually concealed soldiers rushing towards the entrance to the hall, all of them carrying something heavy. They screeched orders too hastily for Papyrus to hear, but he managed to strain hard enough to hear one word repeated constantly. Poison.
   "SOMEONE POISONED THE KING?" Papyrus mumbled, his eyes widening. The lights to the hall flickered woozily back on, and more footsteps were heard up ahead of them.
   "Yes, and-" Mettaron started to speak, but his words were broken by a group of four soldiers entering the hall. They too were carrying something, but they seemed much more lively in the act then those carrying Asgore. The clink of metal echoed eerily through the walls as they walked, along with the insults they barked at their prisoner.
"WHO IS THAT?" Papyrus brushed Mettaton's elbow curiously, leaning in to get a better look. Mettaton shrugged, but something told Papyrus he wanted to know just as badly too. The two slinked to the side of the soldiers, peeking through whatever gap between soldiers they could find. An eerie feeling crept up Papyrus' spine as he trudged closer to the soldiers, for he realized that, among their armor, there was more metal. It wasn't bulky like the plates worn by the guardsmen, but intricately sculpted and shaped to form..a blaster. Papyrus gasped, staring as hard as he dared at Neo's arm hanging limply as it's owner was dragged away. What had the guards done to make him go so limp? It was a robot arm piece, yes, but the harder he stared, the less like Neo's it looked. Instead of robust plates and a small orb in the middle, the blaster was more rounded and chiseled, with a vine-like pattern running down it. As for the orb, it was replaced with a thin plate of metal. It seemed to slightly glow a baby blue color. Then, as the guards walked, a peculiar pattern appeared to Papyrus. The plate on the bottom of the blaster didn't glow blue, but rather flashed blue. It flashed to the rhythm of the guardsmen walking, and every time one leg got too close, the armor would begin to pull off of the guard's leg. It was very well known that the metal the royal guards wore was made from core iron, taken straight from the fiery pits themselves. That would mean that the blaster was not a blaster, but a magnet. A special, glowing super-magnet. This wasn't Neo at all. Papyrus didn't quite have time to think.
"METTATON," He hissed, "I KNOW WHO THAT IS. IT'S NAMI."

Mk just so you guys know I am trying to revise chapters, and the first three chapters have been revised. ~Co admin Kindle