Prologue

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"Frisk stop! Please! RESET PLEASE I DON'T WANT TO KILL THEM"

a young child wept and yelled, seeing someone known as frisk kill their family and friends,  the poor child could do nothing but watch and sob.

It was their First time.

The child known as Chara followed frisk, frisk was a bit older than Chara. As they got  to a corridor, a hall of judgment, there stood a lazy, friendly skeleton "heh...heya" the skeleton went on and on about them killing monster kind, as he was a judge, and he was gonna fight for his life. "Chara, its your turn. I've done most of the work...time for you to have some fun"  Frisk sinisterly told Chara
"but I don't want to kill hi-" Frisk slapped Chara and yelled at them to kill the skeleton called Sans, it was hard as he was very strong. after Chara did, the child was forced to kill their father and brother, then...








Frisk reseted, you might ask what is a reset? Well I have a feeling you already know.

Frisk then spared the Mosters, reset, genocide, repeat. this happened so many times it quickly corrupted the poor childs soul, Chara... now wasn't gonna stand there and do nothing, they wanted to make Frisk feel what they felt all those times...so Once frisk was going to do pacifist run, The corrupted soul had enough power to control frisk,  Chara killed everyone, at first Sans thought it couldn't be frisk because why would frisk do 6 pacifist runs, then kill everyone. Well he kept with that idea and when he saw Chara doing the deed this time, he thought that it was Chara all the time...Chara managed to finish this round, but at the end, they regretted everything, they blamed themselves, if they could control frisk right now, they could have stopped all the other runs...and when She did control Frisk....she chose to kill...Frisk stood there...smiling on how she got Chara, to snap and kill everyone..."huh...guess you're just like me then" they teased the now sobbing child "NO I'M NOT! I'm nothing like you" Chara took the reset button and pressed it. . .

























B u t     a n     E r r o r     o c c u r r e d .  .  .

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