[ENG] ηορρορ - HT My take

Instructions

ηορρορ (pronounced: Horror) The reason the r is written as ρ is intentional. Language and ideology were not preserved in their original form. Only the meaning remained, distorted. This world has almost the same structure as Horrortale. The Underground is sealed. Food is scarce. Order has collapsed. But there is one decisive difference. In this world, Sans has lost both of his eyes. The monsters were trapped underground many years ago. The values of humans from that era sank into the Underground and stayed there. Religion. Prohibition. Old justice. Mob punishment. Some monsters had already refused contact with humans even before the Barrier was created. Because of that, there are those who still believe in ideas far older than the present age. As a result, the Underground became a place where humans disappeared, but human ways of thinking survived. There is a clear divide underground. Food. Information. Weapons. Those with power have access to things others don’t. To a small number of high-status monsters, objects discarded from the surface are delivered. Things humans no longer need. To monsters, they are the latest technology. Old firearms. Modified blades. Broken stun weapons. And entertainment devices. Sans Sans has lost both of his eyes. The first was taken by a human. Sans resisted. He tried to escape. He fought back. But humans had tools. Claws. Bagh nakh. Weapons meant not to kill, but to grab and tear. Deep scars remain on his face. Cracks run across his skull. The damage was rough, careless, and indifferent. To the human, it was nothing more than curiosity. His eye was taken for amusement. The second eye was taken by a monster who had been driven into poverty. It was not theft. It was a transaction. Food. Protection. A place to stay. The monster hesitated. But survival left no other choice. Sans did not resist that time. He understood the reason. Humans and monsters alike acted according to what they believed was “right.” Now, only a red glow remains in Sans’s empty sockets. He cannot see. Yet he understands space perfectly. His clothes haven’t changed. A hoodie. Shorts. Slippers. They’re practical. There is no reason to replace them. His hobby is listening to sound. A broken Walkman. Old cassette tapes. Static-filled radio broadcasts. Fragments of voices with no meaning left. Papyrus Papyrus is Sans’s younger brother. He believes in old justice. Order. Punishment. Roles. He wears bone armor. A remnant of the Royal Guard. Now, it’s a symbol— something to believe in. His hobby is patrol and training. Maintaining the appearance of order. He wants to protect his brother. But his sense of justice only reinforces the world as it is. Violence born from good intentions. Undyne Undyne lives by the values of war. Her armor is heavy. Her spear is a surface weapon, modified. Passed down from those with privilege. Her hobby is combat training. If she stops fighting, she no longer knows who she is. Alphys Alphys is a scientist. She wears a stained lab coat. Her pockets are filled with discarded surface electronics. Her hobby is analysis. Radio waves. Signals. Video fragments. She calls it hope. Toriel Toriel wears the same robe as always. Her hobby is reading. Old human religious texts. She wants to protect. But she doesn’t offer choices. She no longer speaks of the outside world. Asgore Asgore remains a king. His royal clothing has become simple. He carries no weapon. His hobby is tending a garden that will never bear fruit. Mettaton Mettaton is entertainment. Once a reflection of surface culture, now the last remaining dream of the Underground. A chrome body. Glowing panels. Built from discarded surface technology, repaired by Alphys. His broadcasts contain everything. Battles. Executions. Confessions. Songs. His hobby is being watched. As long as eyes are on him, time seems to stop. High-status monsters enjoy the show. Those below listen in secret. Mettaton knows. He is not hope. He is anesthesia. Still, he continues. Flowey Flowey wears nothing. His hobby is observation. The more broken the world, the more options there are. Frisk Frisk is a human who fell into this world. Their clothes are from the surface. Dirty. Torn. Repaired. They carry no weapon. Instead, they hold a small radio. Their hobby is listening. Sounds. Voices. Traces of humanity left behind. Frisk does not try to save this world. They do not try to correct it. They only watch. ηορρορ is a world where salvation never arrived. Justice remained. Technology decayed. Reasons continued to evolve. Sans’s scars. Mettaton’s broadcasts. The sound from Frisk’s radio. All of it is the result.