The air shimmered with heat as Frisk stepped further into Hotland. The ground beneath her boots pulsed with geothermal warmth, and each breath came with a dry scorch. The transition had been subtle—a corridor of cooling stone giving way to vents hissing steam, copper-colored pipes snaking along the walls like veins.
She paused at the edge of a metal bridge, eyes narrowing at a strange glint above the entrance. Embedded in the stone wall, just barely visible, was a camera.
"…That's kind of creepy," she muttered.
"It's for security," a voice said casually.
Frisk startled, spinning to see Sans leaning against a support beam. His usual grin was in place, but there was a flicker of something else behind his sockets—calculation, maybe.
"Why else would anyone put cameras in a lava-soaked hallway?" he continued. "Well, maybe someone just really wanted to film a cooking show."
Frisk blinked. "How long have you been—"
"Just passing through," he said, shrugging. "This area's full of weird contraptions. Hotland's a real hotspot for bad ideas and worse inventions."
Her eyes lingered on him. "You said security. Who's watching?"
Sans tilted his head. "Could be the Royal Scientist. She's… into that kind of thing. Y'know, surveillance, experiments, anime…"
"Anime?" Frisk asked.
"Don't worry. You'll understand when you're older," Sans said with a wink.
She crossed her arms. "You're being weird."
"Only when I'm awake."
Frisk looked back toward the camera. Something about it unsettled her. She'd noticed little things along the way—switches that didn't seem to do anything, puzzles that were more like distractions than actual obstacles. It felt… artificial.
She continued forward, her movements steady but uncertain. The bridge led to another platform, where steam vents hissed rhythmically from the ground. She stepped carefully around them, timing her movements. The first one caught her by surprise, a blast of hot air throwing off her balance. She stumbled but regained her footing quickly.
Sans watched silently for a moment, expression unreadable.
She moved with a little more caution now—less instinct, more memory. It wasn't perfect. She made mistakes, hesitated once or twice, but adjusted fast. Faster than most.
But not too fast.
Sans's eye lights narrowed slightly. She hadn't reset. He'd seen no signs of that. And she hadn't killed. That much was certain. But she was learning. Every time something went wrong, she picked up just enough to handle it better the next time.
It wasn't natural, but it wasn't unnatural either. Not here. Not now.
Frisk reached the far side of the steam vents and turned to glance back. "So… do all these puzzles get harder?"
"Eh," Sans said, walking to catch up beside her. "Depends. Some of 'em just get louder."
A vent exploded behind them with a dramatic hiss.
"Told ya," he added.
Frisk tried not to laugh, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
He fell into step beside her. Not guiding. Just present.
She didn't ask why.
He didn't offer answers.
Not yet.