The hum of the CORE pulsed beneath the platform—steady, mechanical, alive.

Sans stood near the edge, hands tucked into his hoodie, one foot lazily tapping against the metal floor. The heat shimmered around him, rising in waves from the glowing reactor below.

Beside him, Gaster adjusted a floating console, fingers moving with practiced precision. His face was half-lit by the glow, unreadable.

A faint blue light flickered in Sans’s left eye. He raised one hand slowly. The air around it rippled.

A single Gaster Blaster materialized above his shoulder—unstable, trembling, its mouth glowing with raw energy.

Sans squinted at it, then glanced sideways.

Sans: “Is this going to blow up?”

Gaster didn’t look up. His voice was calm, almost distracted:

Gaster: “It’s not supposed to.”

Sans stared at the blaster for a moment, then nodded.

Sans: “Comforting.”

The blaster fired.

A beam of light tore through the air, striking a distant wall with a sharp hiss. The platform trembled slightly. The hum of the CORE deepened.

Sans lowered his hand. The blaster vanished.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t joke. He just watched the energy fade.

Something wasn’t right. But he didn’t say it.

Not yet.