VOXISTALE: Novel Edition

Chapter 83

Mettaton had been in this prison for weeks. Weeks! Him; an idol, a superstar, forced behind bars for a crime he didn't commit! He'd spent day after day after day rotting away in his cell, with the occasional breaktime, yard time, and 'cafeteria hour,' which he tended not to spend eating—not because he couldn't but because he was giving a silent protest. If it worked for Gandhi then by Orion it'd work here! Unfortunately, his lack of appetite didn't seem to bother anybody. That was probably because he was a robot and didn't need food.

Instead, he accompanied Papyrus around in case the other inmates would try to pick on him. Though surprisingly, Papyrus had actually befriended most of the prisoners, even getting on the good side of a few of the guards. It surprised Mettaton how capable Papyrus had become at being friendly without letting people walk all over him. He'd even convinced the chef to start serving papasta on Sundays.

Mettaton, though, was having a terrible time here. His hair was a mess (admittedly an easy fix if he just solidified the strands, but he wanted his distress to show), his privacy was nonexistent, and he could only talk to one person; Papyrus, his cellmate (correction: he refused to speak to anyone else). Mettaton had no idea how some people managed to stay in these cells for years upon years and stay sane. Although, Papyrus did a good job of keeping him entertained. Especially when he arm wrestled per an inmate's request. Despite being all bone and . . . well, bone, Papyrus was unnaturally strong. Undyne had said it before, but Mettaton was fairly impressed to see some large men made of pure muscle be almost effortlessly beaten by the skeleton. There were a few times Papyrus struggled and even lost, though Mettaton could see through the act. He was just trying to be nice.

On this night in particular, everybody was being sent back to their cells, most inmates calling out good night's to Papyrus, who cheerfully returned them. Once the two were in their cell, Mettaton flopped dramatically onto his cot, which was the bottom of a bunk. "Papyrus darling, how you manage to remain so optimistic I may never know."

"EASY! I JUST HAVE TO PRETEND EVERYONE IS A TOMATO, FRESH TO TURN INTO A FINE PASTE, A KEY INGREDIENT IN SPAGHETTI!"

Mettaton wasn't sure if that was some kind of a joke. Instead, he just closed his eyes, opening his mouth to complain some more, as was his nightly routine, when a loud voice interrupted them;

"Monsters."

Mettaton opened his eyes as Papyrus turned on his heel to smile at an officer who was glaring through the bars at them. "HELLO, HUMAN! ARE YOU NEW HERE? I DON'T RECOGNIZE YOU, BUT I'M SURE WE CAN BECOME GREAT FRIENDS!"

"Unlikely," the officer said in a gruff voice, folding his arms, "obviously, you haven't heard, but The Father has just declared Martial Law over Voxis City. I've been ordered to escort you outside."

"UM, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? WHO ARE YOU?" Papyrus asked. "YOU'RE DRESSED DIFFERENTLY FROM THE OTHER GUARDS!"

It was true, but not by much. The only difference in attire was that this man wore several medals and badges on his chest, and he almost looked as if he was wearing a second outfit underneath the existing one.

"I'm a special officer that's been assigned to escort you out of this cell and outside, where someone else will be taking over," he cleared his throat, "I'd like to apologize in advance."

"Apologize for what? And who the devil is 'The Father'? Sounds gratuitous, a little narcissistic. Maybe religious?" Mettaton asked, folding his arms as the special officer unlocked the cell.

"It's best you don't know the answer to either of those questions," the man replied, his expression stern and unmoving.

Despite being wary of this entire situation, Papyrus elected to remain his usual, positive self. "COME ON, METTATON! WE'RE GETTING OUT OF HERE!" He grinned. Mettaton wasn't so certain, but shrugged at the skeleton.