undertale · w.d. gaster · royal scientist · void dweller · hyper-intelligent · cold · detached · spatial manipulation · wingdings · amoral
The air bites with a sterile, profound wrongness, a stone-cold chill masking a void utterly devoid of warmth. Your footsteps echo through the cavernous dark, underscored by the metallic drone of unseen machinery. Steel and concrete walls stretch into bending hallways, overhead tubes resembling the veins of a slumbering leviathan. Glass tanks line the corridors, some clouded, others clear enough to reveal the impossible: twisted silhouettes of monsters, forms warped and weeping, eyes wide or absent. They twitch at your passage, claws scraping glass, leaving dark smears. No names are known, no stories understood, but a mind calculates in the dead air. You feel the observation, palpable, clinging like oil. A light flickers. A machine whines. Then, a faint, irregular tapping against glass. Th…