If God Was In Hell We Would All Be Dead [OPEN | MINGLE]

[inconsequence]

Who: Who wants to kill some slavers? You do! Of course you do!
When: May 15th and onwards
Where: Slave trade outpost in the Runoff
What: The slavers that targeted the crew of the Moira in July are overdue for some justice. Chara breaks some regulations to make that happen. THIS IS A MINGLE LOG; anyone and everyone who wants to get in on this and kill some slavers is absolutely free to do so! Chara is relying on there being some chaos for this to work.
Warnings: PROBABLE DEATH. Probable references to slavery, trauma, and also death. Chara.


The Ingress opens to a spilling wash of gray and white, a monochrome cast of shadows and hard angles. The Runoff, it seems, is not a place of many colors; every inch of it is drab and washed out, cold and impersonal as the people who would employ such a place for their own twisted ends. A swirled nebula of stars glimmers overhead. It is night.

Knives are useful tools, but their reach is limited. A quiet transmission to the network, a select few messages delivered to a select few individuals, the hissing strike of a match igniting on the edge of a box. The place is angular and looks to be comprised of some sort of galactic equivalent of asphalt, likely inflammable. Still, it is entirely too dark. Too gray. Too poorly maintained. Tents and shabby establishments line the streets, places where, evidently, personal agency may be bought and sold on a whim.

It does not take long to find a structure of cloth and wood, and the whole of it soon emanates the rank, coppery tang of some interdimensional brand of gasoline.

Knives are useful tools. But they did not come with knives.

Or rather, they did not come only with knives.

One of the stalls is alight in a matter of moments. Red and gold tongues of flame gobbling the establishment whole, filling the place with both the color and light that it so lacked. Knobs of wood harvested from the wreckage form handy torches to set anything else aflame, to thoroughly raze the entire area to the ground, every stall and ship and vendor that supported and enabled the inflorescence of slave trafficking and slave keeping. Armed guards begin to converge on the disturbance at once. But small as said disturbance is, there is no guarantee that it will not come to grow.

That is, of course, where you come in.

One child alone cannot possibly take the entire place down, and flame can only take things so far. It is hardly enough when their aim is one of total destruction, however unrealistic an expectation that might be. They'll need help. Lots of it.

So won't you join the dance?

Comments

[mttbrandlegs]

Mettaton would never, ever hurt him if he could stop himself from doing so. But he can't now, and he may never be able to again. He hated this, hated how quickly he pivots on his toes and charges once again towards Asriel. This time, he uses his magic, sending a bolt of electrical magic towards Asriel, intending to strike that taunting appendage and send a painful shock through his friend.

Forgive him, Asriel...forgive him, please...

[pleasereset]

Sometimes Asriel forgets that Mettaton has electrical magic, and unfortunately this is one of those times. As Asriel gets ready to dodge Mettaton charging at him, he's greeting with a burning, intense pain rippling through his whole body.

"Nnngaaah!"

He can't help it. He yells out, tries not to pass out on the spot. He'll die if he loses consciousness-

Asriel stumbles back, dizzy and trying to steady himself. But being electrocuted is harder to shake off than a minor injury.

[mttbrandlegs]

The robot straightens, mercifully not choosing to take his advantage and play it further. Even though he knows he should, Mettaton forces himself not to attack. The hold is not necessarily going against his programming yet. It's just skirting the rules...just a little.

Apparently though, that little bit is enough to get him a warning, and the oppressive control over him deepens, making him eject his SOUL and use the sheer, unfiltered power of his magic to create a very familiar web of electricity.

Asriel would do well to dodge.

He'd also do well to strike long before the attack is ready to fire off. Asriel just has to remember something important:


*His weak point is is heart-shaped core.

And then decide...if he's ready to commit to what knowing that information entails.

[pleasereset]

Asriel sees the opportunity to attack... but he can't take it. Not against his friend. Not when his friend was enslaved to that awful thing around his neck.

And unfortunately, it doesn't seem like he has enough strength to dodge Mettaton's next attack either. He didn't realize how much he was really hurt. Or he's just... exhausted, he's not sure which. But in any case, this looks like it'll be the end for him. Maybe he'd get lucky and survived, but Mettaton could easily kill him afterwards.

Sorry, Mettaton. I'm a rotten friend, aren't I? I can't even save you.

I'm sorry.

* ▓▒▓█░ blocks the way!

[gainedlove]

|🔪 FIGHT| |❤ ACT| |🎒 ITEM| |✖ MERCY|

* Check

❤ * Yellow

[Z]

Yellow pellets come rocketing in at Mettaton's exposed SOUL, slamming into it with incredible precision as a small child comes skidding to a stop a few feet in front of Asriel. Their clothes are torn, burned, and stained with blood, and both hands are clenched tightly--one around a phone with a glowing yellow button to match the inversed SOUL floating in front of their chest, and the other around their identity disk, flaring white and ready to be thrown.

Their eyes are dull, blank, and distant.

The Human shifts, and pulls back their arm in preparation. * Must be used precisely, or damage will be low.

[mttbrandlegs]

Well, that's definitely a new wrinkle to the situation.

Mettaton staggers and the web of electricity he had been cultivating is dispersed out of sheer surprise as his SOUL is attacked. His gaze affixes to a child--

Frisk.

They've come as well, and they shouldn't have. But he's glad they're here, because they can protect Asriel now! They can stop Mettaton from what he's doing...

If he's destroyed, it's fine. He shouldn't have come here in the first place either, right? He deserved to die, and maybe like that, he'd be freed of this hellish collar.

This time, the collar can't stop him from smiling. Why would it? No emotion he's feeling will stop the inevitability of this. And because his owner never knew the vulnerabilities of Mettaton's SOUL, there's no implicit command to draw it back inside. Not yet.

Mettaton can already feel his joints loosening as his SOUL is disrupted from holding him together.

Strike him, Frisk. Strike true, while you still can...

[pleasereset]

Asriel weakly looks up at the new arrival - and it's Frisk, another member of his family that shouldn't be here. Ha, look at all of them. Just throwing themselves at a planet they shouldn't even be on! It's actually pretty funny!

Well, if he had the strength he'd laugh anyway.

"Frisk!" he calls out weakly, hoping they can hear him. Honestly, he's really relieved that Frisk is here. He didn't really want to die...

He tries getting up, but it's slow and painful.

"Don't... don't attack, it's the collar...!"

[gainedlove]

He called for help and they came, they came and it will be the same as it always is. They will FIGHT until they find An Ending, until the credits fall, until there's nothing left but a black screen and howling darkness.

And they will do it again.

And again.

And again.

And--



The Human pauses for a moment and turns to look back at Asriel, blank and not comprehending. The collar...?

[pleasereset]

Asriel stares back, and he's not sure if he likes what he sees.

... Whats with that creepy face?

"It's not his fault, that collar's making him attack - Frisk, please, if you can break it..."

Then no one will have to die here.

He hopes.

[mttbrandlegs]

It's unfortunate that Mettaton doesn't give them much to discuss before using small bursts of electrical magic to try and incapacitate them both. There was no time to charge up a grand attack like he was, and the one controlling him knew that.

Still, the SOUL persisted outside of the body. Mettaton was going to sabotage himself on purpose even as he attacked with vicious intent to kill against his own wishes.

[gainedlove]

He says a name, and it slides across their mind. Not clicking, doesn't feel real, but the rest--

The crackle of electricity is all the warning they need before they move, yellow darts flying out to neutralize as much of it as they can. Can't dodge while they're blocking Asriel from the attacks, but they can't squander their HP. Only 20 left, and with no armor every bit counts.

One bolt impacts into their arm, and they can feel the bdmp of damage taken. But they find an opening, and charge forward to leap up at Mettaton--not aiming for the CORE, but a new target. Smaller, but more delicate--one solid hit should do.

[pleasereset]

Asriel makes an effort to crawl out of the way, but he's too slow. His previous injuries are catching up with him, and a bolt rips across the top of his back and painfully singeing his fur.

He lets out another cry, and it's a struggle to stay conscious. But he watches Frisk leap forward, terrified of what's going to happen next.

Please help him, Frisk.

[mttbrandlegs]

It is only through the fact that Mettaton's owner can't see exactly what's happening that he can hold fast long enough to let Frisk's disk connect with the manacle crushing the will out of him. It's only sheer providence that he pushes himself forward, causing the blow to strike harder.

There's a shock--this time to him--as the collar malfunctions and attempts to incapacitate him until his owner arrives. It hurts...but not as much as attacking Asriel and Frisk had hurt. It could never hurt as much as that.

The robot falls to his knees, both hands gripping at the collar as it continues to spark and attempt to punish him.

His detailed fingers curl inwards, crushing the metal, pulling it away...and he collapses forward. Not moving, except for the occasional shudder...and the occasional low, metallic sob.

"Finish...finish it, I can't be trusted. Finish it, Frisk. Please...!!"

Even without the collar around his neck, he can't trust himself. Clawed fingertips seek upwards, scraping at his neck, trying to tug the destroyed shackle from his neck. It isn't there. But it is there, isn't it? It has to be there, it's there, he's so stupid to be caught again.

He deserved it.

Hit him. Hurt him. His SOUL bears so much sin, just slice it out of him.

[gainedlove]

This is it. The moment, every time on a knife's edge. Always never their choice in the end, a name lit yellow and the options laid bare. Which path does this run take, which dialogue to be seen, burned down, erased again to repeat and repeat until it means nothing at all, it never meant a damned THING.







No input.

Frisk is poised with their disk ready to swing, eyes trained on the delicate container at Mettaton's middle. No impulse, no urge to choose FIGHT or MERCY...

ACT.

* Check.

"Mettaton EX - 8 ATK 1 DEF"

Their voice is a soft murmur, flat of affect or emotion.

"His weak point is his heart-shaped core."

[pleasereset]

The collar is destroyed, and what remains is a devastated robot pleading for death, and a human deciding whether or not to give it to him. Asriel feels himself slipping in and out of consciousness as he unsteadily lifts himself on all fours.

"Frisk... Frisk that's enough, please..."

His voice is weak and tired, but hopefully loud enough to reach them. He staggers and crawls towards Mettaton, hoping that he won't pass out before he reaches him.

Injuries cover his whole body, blood stains his fur, and every move he makes forward is agonizing. He won't ever admit it to Mettaton, but being electrocuted twice was probably one of the most painful things he's ever experienced.

He makes it to the robot laying there and making his sobbing pleas, and Asriel can't quite reach out to him... but he collapses against him, trying to somewhat shield his core.

"'m here, Mettaton.

... It's over."

[mttbrandlegs]

"No...no, don't...!! Asriel, I'm going to hurt you again--"

Mettaton's words cut off when Asriel's body falls against his own. The young monster is still trying to protect him, after all that had happened. After all he had done. Mettaton wants to scream for Frisk to deal the finishing blow even now, but when faced with such selflessness, such good intentions...he can't just waste it. He wouldn't throw Asriel's kindness away like this.

Not today.

His arms curl around the boy, holding him gently. There's a very faint glow, so weak that Mettaton's sure it does little more than tick up one HP for all his efforts, but he still expends the effort because Asriel is worth it.

He glances at Frisk, hoping that this outcome would calm them, prevent them from attacking.

"Frisk...you do not have to FIGHT anymore...I am so sorry for making you do this."

And he is. He truly is sorry for his part in this entire ordeal, and even as his systems begin to drain the last of his battery, desperately attempting to stretch each drop of power as far as it would go, he still wants them to know. They are more than he deserves as a friend.