You laid upon the high rises of the building, back against rough stone and fingers tapping out a steady, languid staccato. Your head tilts back as you considered the sight before you, absorbing the ebb and flow of Fell City's night life.
You're Fell. As Fell as someone could get, without dipping their hands into murky waters and bloated bodies. But you do dip your hands in that kind of business, even if it is on the opposite side that most think of when they hear of Fell City. You're justice... but in a Fell way.
Oh no, you're not a cop. That's the fastest way to corruption or a bullet through your head. No, you're a vigilante playing as a bodyguard. A reincarnated piece of trash that's determined to make a mark on this hell-scape. You've already died before and this place had already taken from you that mattered little. Your core is still justice, is still kindness. But... in a Fell way.
You leave the small time syndicate crime well enough alone, once in a while cashing in because of your boredom. It's free EXP that you don't particularly need anymore and it's only useful when you're bored. With all the criminals you've killed, you're already on your way to being the strongest fucker out there. Your favorite anti-hero in your past life would have approved.
What was it? If you kill a killer, that still leaves the same amount of killers in the world? And the response of "then kill two." That. That's literally your motto. Your mental health is shit... but that's less hoops to jump through in justifying your actions.
Besides... you're more interested in going after bigger, less regulated crimes instead of punishing the little people for what they have to do to survive. Like that new cult that tags people they've killed with N's on their forehead.
Do you have any idea what that's about? No, no you don't. But you're familiar with this world... and the fact that a cult leader's brother gonna get tangled up with your best friend Frisk. So here you are, drumming a slow beat as you lounged in wait for a buff skeleton monster to show his ugly mug.
You had a thing for him in your past life. This life? The thought of the slick bastard near your best friend made you want to dust him on the spot as she watches. You won't, of course, because killing him would no doubt bring his brothers on you and on Frisk. You can't risk that. So you're stuck playing bodyguard. At least her voice is nice when she sings. Besides, you're solving the issue in your own time.
You're psychotic, definitely, but you're loyal dammit. Frisk patched you up after finding you passed out on her fire escape. That was when your LVL was low and you weren't as experienced. You repay the favor, obviously.
Now, when whispers of a cult member high up in the ranks making moves in your city flares up... you find yourself checking on Frisk more often than not. In one of those check ups, her sleazy landlord got... an extended vacation and you casually bought the apartment complex she rents. If only she'd accept the money you give her to get out of this shit city.
A sleek black car pulls you out of your preoccupied thoughts. You shuffle up, unseen and ready. The moment a gold tipped cane and a grinning skeletal face emerged, you moved.
And by moving, you squeezed the trigger. No harmful intent, just dissociated enough for him to be unable to pick up on your presence. You're not mafia, fuck doing it the honorable way.
Oddly enough, it was easier than you thought. Dusting Sans... was done. No bone magic, no teleportation. Nothing. Watching the pile of dust- and the resulting screams of rage for "Sans!"- you almost slip up and forget to leave. You pack up quickly, dodging the bullets that manage to make it near your position. Then you drop the little token of another mafia family where you laid and got the hell out of dodge. You take the train- by clinging onto the top- to another city and dump the weapon, then turning and making your way back.
On the way back, you get a text from Frisk.
'hey, heads up a big mafia guy got dusted in front of Santino's Bar. holy shit, thank god you got me to quit bc they're going through it rn'
'damnnnn did they catch the fucker who killed him?'
You chuckle, knowing damn well that you're the fucker who killed him.
'nah, they're like torturing the workers, i think?'
'oof wouldn't wanna be those poor sods.'
'agreed. are you gonna watch me sing tonight?'
'yeah, save a seat?'
'boss likes it when you're in town. pays a lot for drinks, he says'
Her current boss is that purple asshole, Grillby. He's hot but also is probably hate-fucking Gaster.
You seriously need to get Frisk out of there, this woman's unconsciously attracted to danger or something.
'if only my best friend whom I adore so much would take my money, I wouldn't have to swallow my sorrows with a whole bottle's worth of those fruity martinis.'
'I'll let him know you're coming.'
'sigh.'
'You're insufferable.'
'I know lol'
It kills you you're on a flip phone, after a lifetime of touch screens, but your past life had a Blackberry during its hype. At least Frisk is now familiar with your texting style. It takes you all but thirty seconds to type in a long message nowadays. Thank whatever higher powers that it's not actually 1920's tech, you'd have killed yourself if it was. Hooray for monster driven tech.
You slip home, you and Frisk occupying the top apartments and you've got the only one with roof access, and change. You make sure to sanitize and mask yourself of any lingering gun powder scent with your overpowering rose perfume. You reek a little as you leave the apartment but it should wash out a little in the street.
You make your way to Grillby's bar, avoiding the street crazies and normal shakedowns with the ease of someone who's lived there their whole life.
"Frisk!" You wave at the dolled up singer.
"Hey!" The singer waves back at you, tugging you into the warmth of the bar.
"Boss isn't too happy right now. Turns out, his boyfriend's in a rage about his little brother- you know, the one that got dusted today?"
Frisk tells you as you both make your way to Grillby. You love Frisk, you really do, but sometimes she makes your life so much harder than it needs to be. You don a nervous mask and hunch, throwing rabbit glances at Grillby, who flickered an ever brighter purple.
"Oh, fuck, that's terrible. Uh... should I be here, then? He looks like he needs some space. Wait, he's dating a mob boss?!"
You're aware Grillby can hear you, so you pump in enough awkward sympathy and doubt to make the question plausible.
"Yup. Uh... you're paying so it's fine?"
"If you say so. I hope whoever did it gets found soon. It felt terrible to walk out here."
"Yeah, tell me about it."
You wince and pat your friend on the shoulder.
"Right, I'll go over there and spend enough money to cheer your boss up a little, and you go sing your heart out. Go get 'em."
You see Grillby flicker in amusement before settling backdown to his grump as the two of you part.
"Uh, hey Grillby. The usual, please?"
Grillby slides you a glass.
"Thanks. Uh... you holding up okay?" You ask him awkwardly.
"Fine." He grumbles. You nod and pointedly order some food items. You're hungry from the hit and you need to eat.
Dinner and a show. Nice. You clap loudly for your best friend, getting an eye roll from her. You watch as she sung her little heart out and eye the half of the bar that had promptly fallen in love with her. She attracts creeps like a new lightbulb attract moths.
You order more food and drinks, stuffing yourself full and Grillby's tip jar to the brim. He crackles at you and take it. You think he's in a better mood... and would never connect you with the murder. You walk home with Frisk and the two of you manage to make it back safely.
Of course, the next night, Gaster WingDings appear in front of you. For a moment you think he's connected you with his brother's murder. But no, he just wants to hire your services. He does question you, but you're prepared for that.
"Did you murder my brother?"
He glides to the part of the rooftop you landed on.
"Your brother's... Sans?"
At his terse nod, you shake your head.
"I'm a vigilante, not a senseless murderer." You shift, making sure your beating sticks- ah, escrima sticks are more than visible. "You and yours haven't been doing anything too untoward to catch my attention. He hasn't laid hands on civilians," yet, you think.
You also make sure to not say whether you did or did not murder him. The distressed skeleton in front of you seem to miss that detail, but you keep your guard up. He's not feared for no reason.
"Very well. How much are your services?"
"My... services?"
"Catch my brother's murderer and bring him to me alive."
You stare at him. He looks back, like the abyss. You have a very good sense of self preservation.
"No." Well, perhaps not that good of a sense.
"... No?"
Ah, here's a person that's not used to being denied. But he's a bit sexist, thinking that a man must be responsible for his brother's murder. And he's also asking the murderer to find the murderer and the irony makes you laugh.
"I'm a vigilante. For justice and whatnot. I'm neutral, a force to protect civilians only. This, whatever this is, isn't a civilian issue."
"And how do I know you weren't responsible for the act?" The cracks on bone creaks warningly.
You sigh. "Because I'm not stupid enough to piss you off."
No, but you are a bit psychotic, and sometimes that's the same thing.
"Fine. Then perhaps Fell City will lose a vigilante today."
You consider him, the terse Mafia cult boss standing on the roof. You almost feel bad. He doesn't seem to want to actually hurt you, but appearances are deceiving and you can see him reach for his magic.
"Where's your base?" You ask, snapping him out of his itch to kill you.
"And why, pray tell, would you want to know?"
"I'll pass on any suspicious activities. That's the best I can do without taking sides."
"That's not good enough."
"It'll have to be. You still have another brother, do you not?"
He stiffens. And then he lets go of the tension.
"Very well. Pass on any information through Grillby, from..."
"The bartender you're fucking, you mean?"
His glare has less effect on you than he thinks. He's reaching for his magic again but you wave him off.
"Relax, it's my job to know these things. He's not in any harm. I like the people there so I keep an eye out."
Gaster relaxes once more.
"I see." He mutters.
"Anyways, I can do that. You'll owe me, though." You wave at him before hopping off the roof to the next one.
You grin, face hidden by your paint and mask. How fun. A new game. You'll have to get Frisk out of the city soon so you can rip them apart without hesitation.
You hate cults.