HAZE

COLD BODIES AND THE PAIN YOU'VE PUT THEM THROUGH

Aster had no idea where he was.

He laid on a table—that much he could tell, considering how cold his back and shoulders were. A sheet rested on top of him, stifling him, blocking his line of sight from the room. His arms and legs hung loosely at his sides, sore from the fall. The room smelled of gas and cooked meat.

Machinery churned somewhere else, churning in time with Aster's stomach.

I'm gonna be sick...where the hell am I?

He tried to sit up, to stand, but his body wouldn't move. In fact, he couldn't do anything; his fingers wouldn't flex, his leg wouldn't twitch, his mouth wouldn't open. He could barely breathe.

Am...am I paralyzed? Then, breath quickening and eyes darting around, he wondered, Where's Dings? What's going on?

Bzzt!

A buzzer went off somewhere, followed by a door opening. Footsteps echoed, getting closer and closer.

Aster struggled to keep himself from spiraling into a panic attack. Breathe, just breathe, calm down, you're fine, you're fine everything is fine justbreathe—

His thoughts were caught off by people talking, their voices hushed and level.

"How long do we have?"

"Ten minutes, maybe."

"And you're sure our Majesty's distracted?"

"For now, though I'm sure when he finds out that Queen Toriel's tending to the children instead of in the gardens, he'll be back before we know it."

Aster's mind reeled. What...no...nonono...

It can't be...this can't be happening—

"That's unfortunate. We'll have to make this quick, then." Though muffled due to the cloth over his head, Aster could clearly hear his brother's voice, though it sounded older and mature, before all of this had started. Cold and indifferent, his voice drew near, hovering over him now. "Have you taken the readings yet?"

"Dings, what do I look like to you?" His own voice—older, but shriller than his brother's—answered, followed by a huff. Aster pictured himself crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the other scientist, a repetition of a memory that happened a long, long time ago. "Just do your job and get the hell out, wouldja?"

"As far as I am aware, this isn't my job, it's yours. I just happened to take pity on the fact you can't focus for more than three seconds." Wingdings sighed, Aster choking when a hand landed on his chest. "Let's see if any progress has been made."

The sheet was removed, and, by doing so, revealed the old, crumbling, makeshift lab beyond. He couldn't look around much, what with his body betraying him and locking him in place, but he could clearly see the faces of Wingdings and himself, worn, tired and utterly engrossed in their work. A lamp beamed down on them, blinding the boy with no way as to block it out.

I'm in the lab, he thought, the one in our basement...but how am I here?

...Wait...if I'm here, then...

Aster glanced over to his right, peering from the corner of his eye, straining to look around.

Sure enough, resting on another table not far off, completely lifeless, was Papyrus. His body incomplete and broken, eyes open and staring blankly at the ceiling, he looked like a dead human. The thought made Aster shudder.

An outline of a soul hovered above his body, shimmering dimly, barely holding together. When Aster directed his gaze back to the scientists he found the same to be true of his own—nothing but an outline. Not even his usual spitting cracks and bruises could be found.