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.
