Universe: The Incredibles.
The Parr house. Late evening.
As the Parr family quietly ate dinner in the kitchen, the evening seemed normal. The lights of the suburbs glowed outside the window, Helen fed Jack-Jack, Dashiel tried to eat meat, Violet listlessly twirled her fork in her plate, and Bob read a newspaper clipping again. Everything was going as usual. When Helen started telling Bob about the situation at school. Suddenly, a screen appeared in the air right in front of each of them — flat, floating, frameless, silent. It just... appeared.
For a split second, there was silence, and then chaos.
"Jack-Jack!" Helen exclaimed, reaching out her arm like a whip, grabbing the baby, and pulling him close. Then she quickly moved next to her husband, standing between the baby and the strange object.
Bob jumped up abruptly, knocking over the entire table — dishes crashed to the floor. He squared his shoulders and shielded his wife and children with his body, his gaze focused and tense. His hands clenched into fists — his usual battle-ready stance.
"Everyone back!" he barked, instinctively shielding his family.
Dashiel flew toward him at super speed, stopping literally a millimeter from the falling spoon.
"What is this? Is it a trap?! A bomb?! Robots?!" he chattered.
Violet disappeared in fear, becoming invisible — only her clothes gave her away, and the chair rocked as if someone had stood up abruptly. A second later, she reappeared next to her parents, looking around fearfully, and also created a force field around the family.
The screens continued to hover next to each member of the Parr family. They still made no sound, emitted no light, and did not flicker. And yet there was something unusual about this silence — a feeling of calm, as if they were emitting an invisible, warm, almost homely tranquility. This contrasted sharply with the tension in the room.
Even Bob, still standing in a fighting stance, began to relax his shoulders slightly. Jack-Jack, sitting in his mother's arms, continued to stare at the screen, and suddenly burst out laughing — a childish, pure laugh.
But then — the front door creaked.
In the next moment, Lucius Best burst into the kitchen, radiating the power of frost in one hand, ready for battle. Next to him floated a similar screen, calmly and silently following him as if it were perfectly normal.
"What happened here? I heard something crash!" he shouted, not yet having properly surveyed the room. "Bob? Are you okay?"
He froze in the doorway, staring at the scene, which looked like something out of a comic book: the table was overturned, Bob stood in a tense pose, Helen shielded the children, Dash was ready to go, Violet froze while holding the force field, and Jack-Jack laughed cheerfully.
Then his gaze fell on the screens.
"Yeah..." he muttered, lowering his voice. "Looks like I'm not the only one."
He slowly stepped inside, allowing the door to close behind him. His gaze darted from one screen to another.
"Are they... the same?" Lucius asked, squinting. He reached out and carefully directed a stream of icy power at the screen hovering next to him.
However, the frosty wind, which in normal circumstances would freeze everything in its path—from concrete to metal—had no effect on the screen. No frost, no ice, not even a trace of hoarfrost on its surface. The stream simply passed through the screen as if it had collided with emptiness.
"It didn't even flinch..." he whispered, taking a step back.
As the Parr family began to calm down, the screens suddenly came to life, showing a man who called himself the Observer, who explained why the screens had been created. The Parr family and Lucius were skeptical of his words. However, when the demonstration of fragments of worlds began, all doubts quickly disappeared. One after another, fragments of alien worlds flashed before their eyes: a city floating in the sky; giant robots guarding megacities; people who could control the elements as if it were simply part of their nature; gloomy ruins covered in shadows of something ancient and sinister; and, conversely, worlds almost indistinguishable from their own — with families, ordinary lives, and worries.
Some images were impressive, others disturbing. But one thing was undeniable: these worlds really existed. Too realistic to be an illusion. Too alien — and yet frighteningly familiar.
"Wow," Dash said, mesmerized, watching the battle between different creatures. They were vivid and exciting.
"Is this real?" Violet said in amazement when fantastic and fantasy creatures appeared on her screen.
"So parallel worlds exist..." Lucius said thoughtfully, without taking his eyes off the screen. His voice was almost a whisper, but it contained a mixture of anxiety and admiration. "All this time... we had no idea how narrow our view of the universe was."
Then, when the fragments ended, the Observer, before showing the first world, added that the worlds were chosen at random and that the chosen world could very well be terrifying. That was unnecessary.
And then they showed them a poster with... a hero?
For those who had lived for more than fifteen years in a world where heroism was forbidden, where superpowers were hidden, and where the word "hero" had become almost an insult, the very appearance of this poster caused an unpleasant reaction. Even if it was another world.
Meanwhile, in her luxurious, technologically equipped studio, Edna Mode also stood in front of a screen that hung in the air in the middle of the workshop, without harming a single mannequin or piece of fabric — as if consciously choosing not to disturb the perfect order.
The same poster appeared on the screen: a bald man with an emotionless face, wearing a ridiculous yellow suit, red gloves and boots... and, most importantly, a long, flowing cloak.
Edna froze. Then she narrowed her eyes. Then... she clapped her hands and let out an indignant exclamation:
"Mon Dieu! What kind of aesthetic disaster is this?!? Who DRESSED him in this monstrosity? Who gave him a CLOAK?!"
She took a few steps forward, pointing her slender finger at the screen.
"Yellow? With that skin tone?! Red accents without balance! And that cape — long, heavy, completely unaerodynamic! He'll die if he gets sucked into a turbine without even noticing!
She paced the room irritably.
"This isn't even retro, it's... it's a slap in the face to fashion! A mockery of design, of functionality — of everything I've been teaching heroes for decades! Whoever created THIS should have their tailoring license revoked forever!
If the screen weren't immaterial, she would have jumped onto it and torn off this ridiculous misunderstanding, which couldn't even be called a costume. Moving her jaws irritably, she drew in a noisy breath and exhaled. Then she decided to just go back to work. Hoping to calm her soul.
When the show began, complete silence reigned. The broadcast began. The first shots showed the streets of a big city — at first glance, the world was not too different from their own. The same roads, cars, skyscrapers. People hurried about their business, nothing foreshadowed trouble.
But the calm did not last long.
It appeared — a humanoid monster with purple skin. It moved swiftly, leaving a trail of destruction behind it. Panic gripped the streets — screaming passersby, sirens, smoke.
"Oh my God..." Helen gasped, pulling Jack-Jack close to her.
"This... this is just chaos," Lucius muttered, frowning.
Even though what was happening was just a projection from another world, the feeling of reality was almost physical. The images were so vivid, so detailed, that it seemed as if the screen was transmitting not a picture, but the very presence of horror itself.
Even Bob, who was used to destruction, felt uneasy. At that moment, it became clear to everyone in the room that even though it was another world and not their battle, the pain, fear, and death were real.
Then they showed a man who got up from his seat and started to go outside. The words "Let justice begin" appeared. And Saitama came out, managing to look incredibly brutal despite his ridiculous outfit and funny bald head. Shadows fell on him, as if he were a character from a comic book.
Many simply couldn't believe that this was the same hero shown on the poster. The nerds took off their glasses, wiped them, and put them back on.
"Holy crap..." Edna said slowly, lifting her glasses and peering at the screen. "Is that... the same person?! Someone has clearly deceived me. Or... or that observer deceived us all with his poster."
She stood up, clutching her chin:
"This... this ridiculous outfit... it shouldn't work! But why... why does it inspire awe?
Meanwhile, at the Parr residence.
Lucius chuckled quietly, his eyes fixed on the screen:
"Perhaps that's the most dangerous thing — when no one takes you seriously... until it's too late.
"Uh-huh..." Bob muttered, clenching his fists.
Never in their lives had those who supposedly suffered at the hands of heroes been so happy to see a hero. For a few moments, it seemed that faith in heroes had returned. However, the tension returned when the camera returned to the monster. There, amid the rubble and destruction, was a little girl calling for her parents. The monster noticed her and reached out with its huge hand to crush her. Some viewers shouted at her to run away, but the screen was designed to show the world. They could only watch tensely, thinking that the girl was doomed.
"Run! Run!" said Violet, clenching her fists.
"Oh my God..." whispered Helen, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Why isn't she running?" Lucius exclaimed, feeling his fingers freeze.
They hoped that some hero would appear and save her. Their prayers were answered when Saitama saved her in an instant. Many sighed with relief. Then they were puzzled by the bald hero's words: "I'm tired of my exploits."
And then Bob exhaled with difficulty, smiling slightly:
"I'm tired of my heroic deeds, he says... Damn. I wanted that too." He remembered the days when he didn't have to secretly listen to the police radio behind his family's back, sometimes to save someone from mortal danger. It was difficult for him to give up his career as a hero.
Lucius crossed his arms and shook his head:
"Better to have one bald weirdo than a hundred people who 'play' at being heroes," Lucius said, his face clouding over slightly. He knew what he was talking about — he had seen a lot in his years, and more than once he had seen how shiny costumes hid the rotten nature of these "heroes."
"These... heroes," he thought with a slight smile, "loved the flash of cameras more than the people they were supposed to save. We worked side by side, and every time I saw that the louder a hero talked about justice, the harder he later looked for excuses for why he didn't intervene."
Helen gave him a thoughtful look:
"You've become gloomier, Lucius."
"Nothing special," he replied. "And this guy... I already like him. No speeches, no poses."
"I wonder how fast he is?" Dash said, looking at the screen with enthusiasm. "I barely noticed how he saved the girl. There was just a whoosh—and that was it!"
But no one answered because the monster began to transform, becoming bigger and scarier, saying that humans were desecrating the earth and he would destroy humanity. But all this was interrupted by a single blow from the bald hero. It was so powerful that the shock wave dispersed the clouds. Only scraps remained of the monster.
Most of the audience turned green at what they saw, while others stared at the screen in shock. But the scene with the man exclaiming that he had won again with one blow was so absurd that the audience did not immediately understand whether it was a joke or sincere disappointment.
Some viewers sat with pale faces, clearly fighting nausea after seeing the remains of the monster. Others sat with trembling hands, as if trying to comprehend the magnitude of the power hidden beneath this most absurd hero.
Before the audience had time to properly digest the destruction of the monster, the screens abruptly switched to new footage — events that took place three years ago. A monster appeared on the screens — a humanoid crab. It began to say that it had supposedly become this way by eating crabs. Even the description that appeared confirmed his stories. This absurdity caused a wave of distrust and indignation mixed with a feeling of disgust. Even children, prone to humor, held back their smiles. The atmosphere was heating up — the monster's appearance, his intonations, and his contempt for people were too real.
However, it was not the monster that caused the greatest confusion. Along with the monster, they showed a man — unremarkable, and, as it turned out, unemployed, with a dull look in his eyes. He did not show a shred of fear, as if what was happening had nothing to do with him. His apathy shocked the audience. How could anyone be so indifferent in the face of death? Ordinary citizens, accustomed to panic in times of danger, did not understand. Many condemned him, not even trying to hide their irritation.
But most of all, the former heroes remained silent.
Those who once wore masks and costumes, saved people, and inspired the world. Those who became unnecessary after the passage of a law banning superhero activity. Those who had to abandon their essence — not because they wanted to, but because society itself turned away from them. And now, watching this spineless man, they were looking into a mirror of the past. It reminded them of that very moment when, crushed by the government's decision, they stood in front of the mirror in civilian clothes, feeling a sense of loss. Some failed their interviews several times and went home with the same dull eyes. There were also those who could not live in the new reality, so they left this world of their own accord.
"He... just gave up," Helen whispered.
"He lost his purpose... just like I did once," Bob added quietly.
Bob suddenly remembered the years when he worked for an insurance company. The gray office, the white lighting, the creaking chairs, and the dull clatter of typewriters. He had to sit at a desk and stamp the same papers day after day. And yet, despite the routine, he couldn't completely abandon his heroic nature.
He remembered how he helped people — simple wretches who came with pleas in their voices. He quietly, carefully, almost in a whisper, advised them on how to fill out the forms, how to avoid bureaucratic pitfalls, so that they would still receive assistance. It was his way of continuing to be a hero, albeit inconspicuously, albeit within the confines of a dreary office.
But it was precisely for this that his boss, a short, unpleasant, predatory man who always made sure that no one went beyond the instructions, began to pressure him more and more. Every act of "sympathy" on Bob's part was perceived as a violation of corporate discipline. He was called into the office, reprimanded, and threatened with dismissal.
He didn't complain. But that's when this dull feeling grew inside him — a feeling of loss. And now, looking at the screen, at the unemployed man who also stood before an indifferent world and didn't know why he was alive, Bob felt a strange connection.
"I know what it's like," he whispered to himself. "When you want to help... but they won't let you. When the hero inside you is still alive, but the whole world pretends he's dead."
The monster spared the man — unexpectedly. He walked past him and moved on. But before leaving, he turned around and said he intended to kill the child.
Many viewers gasped or held their breath. Indignation swept through the hall — whether they were former heroes or ordinary people, no one could understand why no one would stop the monster. Especially after such a statement.
"He just openly said he's going to kill the child..." Helen whispered, clenching her fists. If the screen could transport her there, she would definitely stop the monster, and she wouldn't care if it was illegal.
"Why isn't anyone doing anything?" Dash muttered angrily, staring at the screen as if he were about to run into it himself.
Some of the viewers exchanged glances, their eyes filled with alarm. The world on the screen seemed different, but the fear and helplessness that emanated from it were painfully familiar.
"Damn monster," Lucius said slowly, glaring at the screen. "This is what happens when monsters have no counterbalance. When heroes disappear and there is no one to stop the villain."
The former heroes were silent. No one said it out loud, but the thought hung in the air: they knew what it felt like to be needed but not allowed to intervene.
The events continued. The same man was walking down the street. At one point, he stopped, his gaze caught on something. The camera shifted... and a child appeared in the frame.
But not just any child.
"Oh, my God..." Helen gasped.
"What is that..." Dash rubbed his eyes.
The boy was playing with a ball on the playground, his expression completely unperturbed. But his chin... it was enormous. It practically hung down, as if it weighed as much as he did. The skin was stretched tight to his neck, his face elongated, as if it had been drawn specifically for a parody.
But that wasn't the main shock. It turned out that the boy had drawn nipples on the monster's chest while he was sleeping.
"He DID WHAT?!" Helen exclaimed, pressing her hand to her forehead and shaking her head. Against this backdrop, Dash's actions with the teacher weren't so terrible.
"That kid has signed his own death warrant," Lucius said, clutching his nose.
Violet stared at the screen with an expression that said, "Did I really just see that?"
On the screen, the man began another internal monologue and came to the conclusion that it wasn't his problem, and he walked on. Before the audience had time to get upset and shower the man with insults, white underpants appeared on the screen, followed by Crabante's predatory smile. Saying he had found what he was looking for, he struck. Many viewers covered their eyes with their hands, only cautiously continuing to watch through the gap between their fingers. They sighed with relief when the child was saved. And then came the tense moment when the man told the child to run away, showing considerable courage and self-sacrifice... which instantly crumbled when the child stupidly asked about the ball.
"Is he serious?!"
"What a set of priorities..."
"He's doomed!"
That's what most people shouted. And that ill-fated ball burst under the monster's foot. A dialogue began. Many nodded in agreement with the man's statement about the child's mischief. When he said that the monster should use its brain. The monster began to say that no one dared to laugh at him, which was confirmed when a dark white frame was shown with dead people and the crab itself. Many were horrified. Children covered their eyes from the screen, and some fainted.
Universe: Undertale.
Azgor sighed when the screen showed a frame with a street littered with bodies. Lifeless silhouettes of people covered in blood — the sight was difficult to bear.
"Even if they are people..." he said quietly, "...that's still no reason to rejoice in death."
He lowered his gaze, clutching the throne as if hoping to hold back something greater. His eyes were slightly clouded with sadness.
When the screens appeared in the dungeon, the monsters did not panic. Unlike the humans, who felt anxiety and fear, for the inhabitants of the Dungeon, it was more of a miracle than a threat. The strange floating rectangles attracted the eye, but did not radiate danger — on the contrary, they exuded calm and something inexplicably familiar.
Meanwhile, Azgor, having learned about the strange objects, immediately gave orders to the guards:
"Increase patrols throughout the Underground. I don't want our children to get into trouble. Whatever it is, we must be prepared."
When Andain set about carrying out the order, her footsteps echoed through the stone corridors of the Underground. She gave orders clearly, concisely, without unnecessary words—patrols were reinforced, sentries stood guard at every intersection, and even in quieter corners like Snowdine, the guards were on high alert. Meanwhile, in the laboratory, Alphis, the royal scientist, was already hard at work. Wires, instruments, screens — everything was in use. But no matter what she did, the results were incomplete. The instruments refused to respond to the screens, as if they did not exist in the usual physical coordinates.
But the most shocking thing was when someone called the observer told them that the screens were designed to view other worlds. This was demonstrated by showing fragments of these very worlds. And at that point, there was no room for doubt. Then, before showing the first world, the monsters were shown a poster with an image of a bald man... from the human race. But it cannot be said that the monsters reacted negatively; rather, they were amused by Saitama's appearance.
The entire dungeon was eagerly awaiting the screening of the first new world, and the two skeleton brothers were no exception.
Papyrus decided that for the solemn — that's how he put it, with the utmost importance — screening of the other world, it was necessary to prepare the best spaghetti.
"A GRAND SPECTACLE REQUIRES A GRAND DISH!" he proclaimed, putting on an apron with the words "Spaghetti saves the universe" written on it.
Papyrus wasn't usually so irresponsible. As always, he approached the situation with the utmost seriousness... in his own special way. When he saw strange screens appearing throughout the Underground, he immediately called Andayn — just in case — to offer his help.
"HEROIC PAPYRUS IS ALWAYS READY!" he assured her. "MAYBE I SHOULD JOIN YOU ON THE FRONT LINES?"
Andain, despite the tense situation, sighed and replied:
"Stay in Snoudine for now. In case something... strange happens. Be on your guard."
To Papyrus, this sounded like a direct instruction: staying at home was a strategically important mission. He took it with the utmost seriousness.
With incredible energy, he rushed around the kitchen, stirring the contents of pots and decorating plates with sprigs of something suspiciously similar to moss... but with unwavering pathos, declaring it "basil from the surface." According to Papyrus' logic, if Andain didn't give any additional instructions, it could only mean one thing: he could devote himself fully to... culinary patrol duty. Meanwhile, Sans, sprawled on the couch with a bowl of instant noodles, lazily remarked:
"Hey, bro... that's the third time your spaghetti has spilled out of the pot. Looks like they want to watch the show too."
Papyrus just snorted, straightening up to his full height and proudly waving a wooden spoon like a sword:
"THIS IS NOT JUST SPAGHETTI, THIS IS SPECIAL SPAGHETTI MADE FROM A SECRET RECIPE IN HONOR OF THE INTERWORLD VIEWING!
He solemnly took his place next to his brother in front of the screen, holding a fork like a scepter, and added:
"I AM READY FOR THE START OF THE PARALLEL SPECTACLE!"
And so, while Andain watched intently, Azgor leaned forward tensely, Alfis frantically wrote down data, and Metatron captured footage for the next broadcast... Papyrus noisily sucked up the first spoonful of his "magnificent" spaghetti and exclaimed loudly:
"LET THE FEAST OF FOOD AND DISCOVERY OF NEW HORIZONS BEGIN!"
As if waiting for this moment, the screen turned on, showing the first frames. At first, everything seemed quite ordinary — a normal city, people rushing about their business, the noise of cars. The monsters looked at each other: some found it boring. But then a huge purple monster suddenly appeared on the screen, destroying buildings, crushing everything in its path, causing panic among the people, and making the audience tense up at the sight. Panic, screams, the crackling of breaking concrete — everything seemed so real that even the inhabitants of the Underground, accustomed to strangeness, felt uneasy. Some monsters felt sorry for the people.
Andain watched what was happening with clenched teeth, her fists clenched until her fingers turned white. Her breathing became ragged.
"Damn..." she whispered. "This... isn't right. People... they're... dying."
She shook her head, as if trying to dispel unwanted thoughts. Her voice grew louder and firmer:
"But these are people. The very ones who imprisoned us underground. Whose determination is stronger than any magic..." She clenched her fist and stared at the screen with burning eyes. She whispered to herself. "And yet... it's wrong." For the first time, thoughts of war with humans now evoked doubt rather than determination.
The throne room.
Azgor sat silently, staring at the screen with a grim face. His fingers clenched the armrests of the throne. He had seen something similar in the past — war, destruction, suffering. Sighing, he said quietly, almost to himself:
"Violence only breeds more pain... Even in other worlds. It doesn't matter if they are humans or monsters. When the innocent suffer, it is a tragedy," he said with deep heaviness in his voice. "If only we could..."
House of Skeletons.
Sans leaned back on the sofa and said quietly:
"I never thought I'd feel sorry for humans one day. How ironic, huh?"
he said, more to himself than to anyone else.
He looked at his brother, who was staring at the screen with a sullen expression, not even touching his spaghetti.
"Bro, are you okay?"
Papyrus didn't answer right away. His usually cheerful face was unnaturally serious. He was still staring at the screen, where the monster continued to wreak havoc.
"It's not right," he finally said hoarsely. "These people... they didn't do anything wrong. They were just... living, and this monster..."
He stood up abruptly, clenching his fists.
"If I were there, I would stop it!"
Sans smiled slightly, though there was still a shadow in his eyes.
"I know, bro. And you know what? I have no doubt you would have succeeded."
Papyrus sat back down, staring thoughtfully at the cold spaghetti.
"I made it so we could enjoy the taste. I thought that with spaghetti I could help... But now it seems so silly."
Sans put his hand on his shoulder.
"Sometimes a good deed is just a plate of spaghetti. And sometimes... it's just the desire to save someone. Even if you can't reach them."
Papyrus looked at him and nodded slightly.
"Then... I won't stop cooking while there's hope. And... hope that they survive."
Sans smiled quietly again, squinting at the screen:
"That's our Paps."
Then they showed a man watching TV who got up and stepped into the light. At first, the monsters didn't understand who he was, but suddenly, when he stepped out of the dark corridor into the light, the words "Let justice begin" appeared. And Saitama enters the scene in a completely new guise. Just a minute ago, they saw a silly poster with a bald hero in a yellow suit and a ridiculous expression on his face. Who would have thought that he would make such an impressive entrance? Then they showed a girl who was crying and calling for her parents.
"Poor thing..."
"I really want to help her."
The monsters sincerely felt sorry for her. Then a purple monster appeared, stood up, and reached out to crush her. The inhabitants of the dungeon held their breath, and when the girl was saved, they felt relieved. A short dialogue began, during which it was revealed that the monster's name was Vaccinamen. His body began to deform, becoming larger, his claws and fangs bigger, and his eyes completely red. But he was... simply destroyed. With one blow. So powerful that it dispersed the clouds and made the sky clear. The inhabitants of the dungeon were shocked and incredulous. And when Saitama began to rage, as if he had suffered another failure, the atmosphere was broken by a strange, jarring emotion. The monsters, holding their breath, did not immediately understand what was happening. Emotions changed one after another — from admiration to anxiety.
Then the events of three years ago. Voices full of horror. People running away. The camera shakes, and a crab appears in the frame. Or rather, a crab-like monster. With red armored skin, huge claws, and a crazed look in its eyes. Screams, and then a crab-like monster. When he (for some unknown reason) told how he turned into a monster, as if giving an interview. The monsters of the dungeon looked at each other.
"What...?" one of the monsters blinked.
"Is this... serious?" asked the other, puzzled.
"He became a monster... because he overeated?" said the third, not understanding what was going on.
At this point, even Sans couldn't take it anymore — he raised an eyebrow and snorted:
"Okay... now it's official. This world is strange."
However, there was one man who did not run away. A dialogue began between them, and the monsters of the dungeon tried to understand the reason for his recklessness. They simply could not understand why. For monsters... For monsters living in eternal confinement underground, the struggle for life is a daily necessity. They dreamed of freedom. Of light. Of tomorrow. And even those who had long lost hope still clung to it, even though deep down they knew they would never escape their confinement. So why would someone who lives on the surface, under the sky, in freedom, refuse to live? The monsters couldn't understand it. The monsters watched and couldn't believe it. Freedom was in his hands. But he held it like an empty box, not knowing what to do with it.
In the ruins, next to the flower field. Flawi paused. He just... watched. There was no trace left of the joy he had felt at the destruction he had seen. His petals drooped slightly. His expression became blank, inscrutable. Somewhere deep down, he probably understood. He understood too well.
Meanwhile, in a warm house deep underground, a goat woman sat on an old sofa. Her hands were folded on her knees, her gaze fixed on the screen. At her feet, right on the carpet, sat a human child. Silently.
"He... lives in a world where he has everything we could ever dream of... and yet he gave up?" whispered Toriel. She glanced at Frisk, who was sitting next to her. He didn't answer, only lowered his head slightly. Toriel thought for a moment. What was this child feeling? The one who had come through the ruins, who now lived here under her care. She wanted to believe that she had given him peace. That he felt safe. But at that moment, looking at the screen... she remembered. Frisk must have parents.
Somewhere out there, on the surface. In that world where people breathe freely and walk under the open sky. And something tightened painfully in her chest.
"Where are they? Do they know their child is missing? Are they looking for him? Or... maybe they're not looking at all?"
If she remembered, Frisk had never called her parents, never even mentioned them, except once when he called her mom. A complete stranger, really. How blind she had been to decide not to attach any significance to it. She looked at Frisk again. Her small hands were clenched on her knees. Her face showed no pain, but there was something too mature in her calmness.
"I'm sorry, child... that the world couldn't give you what it should have." She glanced at the screen.
If it were possible, she would reach out to that man. She would wrap her arms around him. She would hold him to her chest like a child. She would tell him:
"You are needed. You are important. You are alive — and that is enough to keep going."
But the screen was cold. Next to her, Frisk pressed himself a little closer to her leg when a monster named Crabrante declared that he was going to kill the child. And Toriel, without saying a word, lowered her hand and gently stroked his hair, fixing the screen with a fierce, almost hateful gaze. Regretting that she couldn't set it on fire with her magic.
On the screen, the man was walking somewhere, most likely home. Then something caught his attention. The monsters saw a child with a huge chin. While the people on the surface reacted with wide eyes, the monsters were slightly surprised and shrugged. Considering that there are also strange representatives among the monsters themselves, they had time to get used to it. So they simply had no problem with it.
Then they find out that the boy painted Crabrante's nipples...
"Excuse me, what?!" whispered Alfie, her mouth slightly open. Next to her lay a bag of nachos that had slipped from her hands in shock. She hadn't even noticed when she dropped it — all her attention was focused on the screen. So much so that she forgot to write down the data in her notebook, but she wasn't worried. The surveillance cameras recorded everything that was broadcast on the screen. She could always play back the recording at any time.
"Yeah," Sans said, tilting his head slightly, "a classic story of revenge. As old as the world itself."
"Wait... he... doesn't have nipples?" Papyrus asked again, posing the most important question.
However, everything changes dramatically when a man decides not to intervene. In doing so, he becomes a coward in the eyes of the audience.
"Wh-what...?" Toriel whispered, not believing her eyes. The one she had felt sympathy for now only aroused disgust in her. She looked down at her hands, and a familiar feeling of disappointment appeared in her chest, which in principle should not appear in relation to someone she had only seen for a few seconds. Frisk didn't say a word. But his fingers clenched the fabric of Toriel's dress.
"What is he..." She swallowed. "Why? He knew. It's not a mistake... he just didn't..." She couldn't find the words.
For her, immersed in her studies, a hero was always someone who took a step forward, who didn't back down. She literally lived for stories where good triumphs over evil, and the main character always stands between the monster and the victim. And so now her face was haggard, as if the whole constructed image had collapsed.
"This... isn't right," she whispered, almost fearfully.
Somewhere in the depths of the Dungeon, a wall cracked with a dull thud from a blow struck by the captain of the royal guard. Andain's breathing quickened. Her eyes burned. She clenched her fist so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Everything inside her boiled over at what she saw. She saw in this man everything she was fighting against. Everything she hated with all her soul. On the screen, the man, seeing the danger, simply... turned around and walked away.
"Are you SERIOUS?! You just left the child?!" she hissed through clenched teeth, struggling to hold back a scream. Her voice rang not just with anger, but with disgust.
In other regions, the situation was exactly the same.
"He... leaves...?" someone in the audience asked hoarsely.
"Why?..
"He knows they'll kill him..."
They couldn't find the words to express everything they were feeling — disappointment, anger, fear. Before they had time to react, they tensed up when he appeared. With a bloodthirsty smile, he struck. They feared the worst. But then the image suddenly blurred, and in the next second, they saw the same man save the child. The audience froze, unable to believe their eyes. The one who had initially intended not to intervene jumped at the last moment to save the child, putting his own life in danger.
"He... after all..." someone whispered, their voice breaking.
The man began to tell the child to run away, not to think about him. It was a tense moment, but the child asked about... the ball. The man stood there, risking his life, and the child... thought about the ball. The viewers at their screens huddled together in bewilderment. Viewers in Snodine, Waterfall, Hotland, and even the Ruins all frowned, raised their eyebrows, or exchanged glances. Someone snorted quietly. Someone covered their face with their paw, as if they couldn't believe what they had heard. Except for Mattaton, who had been broadcasting the news live all this time, commenting on what was happening.
"Ah! Drama! Tension! Despair! And... a ball?!" he exclaimed with shocked grace. "This is... this is... a complete surprise!"
He leaned back theatrically, clutching his chest panel as if he were about to faint.
"I don't know whether to laugh or cry!" he said with exaggerated drama.
Even Flowy, who had been hiding in the flowers and had been mockingly silent until then, whispered:
"...What the hell is going on?"
On the screen, the ball burst under the monster's foot. A dialogue ensued. Then Krabrante said that no one dared laugh at him. This was demonstrated by a shot of the street, where dead people lay in dark gray tones. Many viewers cringed even more at this. Realizing that the odds were not in the man's favor, they could only hope that everything would be okay with the man and the child.
On screen.
Meanwhile, Krabante continued to speak.
"By the way, that little brat... HE DESECRATED MY BODY WITH A FILTHY MARKER." He howled, losing his composure and screaming furiously. The screen even visualized it, showing yellow lightning bolts striking against a black background.
"AND IT'S PERMANENT!" The background changed. Krabrante, as if emphasizing his claws, continued to babble while the fire raged behind him. "I CAN'T ERASE THEM FROM MY CLAWS." He shouted hatefully, foaming at the corners of his mouth.
He jerked his hand, pointing directly at the man.
"If you stick your nose in, you won't see any more interviews!"
The man lowered his head and began to giggle, then laughed as if he were not being threatened with violence. Krabrante looked at him in confusion. When the man finished laughing, he looked back at him with traces of tears in the corners of his eyes.
"I just remembered. You look exactly like the villain from an old anime."
Krabrante swung his clawed hand and struck the man. He knocked him back for a few seconds, sending him flying to the side and raising a thick cloud of dust. Then the monster approached the child, already raising his hand, and said:
"Die."
The boy began to back away, screaming. A stone flew into Krabante's face. He looked in the direction from which the blow had come. The frame changed, showing the man leaning on one knee.
"Stop..." He then straightened up, removed his hand, and stood up to his full height. Blood was flowing from his head. "Our birth rate is already low," he said, taking a few steps forward.
Krabrante lowered his hand, continuing to look at him.
"And another thing..." He clenched his fist on camera. "I remembered that when I was a kid, I wanted to be a hero." He began to untie his tie. "Not an office worker, but a hero who could knock out bastards like you with a single blow."
The man took off his suit and threw it aside.
"I'm not looking for a job anymore." The screen showed his face full of determination. "What are you waiting for?!"
Krabrante raised his hand.
"Some hero you are."
Then he strikes with his right, then hits with his left from bottom to top.
"You don't stand a chance." The man fell vertically, head first. "Nice try."
The man got up and Krabrante's shadow loomed over him.
"And now... die!" He delivered the decisive blow, intending to finish him off.
The man managed to dodge by jumping high enough, and then, using Krabblante's arm as a support, he pushed off sharply with his hands, jumped past his head, and at the same time managed to quickly wrap the fabric around the thin stem holding Krabblante's eye. In a second, he landed behind the monster, pulled the tie with his whole body, and pulled the stalk back with force. The eye couldn't withstand the pressure and burst out, taking the monster's organs with it. Krabrante screamed in pain, blood spurting in all directions like a fountain. The same child with the chin took a few steps toward him, looking at what was happening with amazement.
Then they show Crabrante's corpse, lying on the ground with his organs spilling out, his tongue sticking out, and his claw twitching. The camera moves up to show the man breathing heavily.
"Three years have passed since then." They showed his face, then his eyes, inside which a fire flared up. However, there is a sharp transition to the familiar eyes of Saitama. "After that incident, I trained so hard that I went bald. And I gained unimaginable strength."
He stood inside the store holding a package of crabs.
"I became the hero I dreamed of." His bald head was shown reflecting something. A girl passing behind him smiled and walked by. "But what's wrong with me?"
Suddenly, the screen turned off. The words "show is over" appeared. Then the Observer himself appeared. He waved lazily to the audience.
"Well, my dear viewers, I hope you enjoyed the first world shown. For this is only the beginning. If you are slightly disappointed, don't be sad, because you are bound to like the next world. As for the world of Saitama, don't be surprised. As I said before, worlds are different, with their own laws and rules. In his world, there is one strange thing about how easily a person can turn into a monster, and sometimes it happens in such an absurd way. Like with the example of Krabrante. So I assure you, in your case, there is no reason to give up crabs. The only thing that threatens you is most likely indigestion.
The observer formed a piece of paper, then studied it for a couple of minutes. Then he sighed, crumpled it up, and threw it behind him.
"It's worth mentioning that these screens won't interfere with your usual lifestyle, and they'll turn on at a time that's convenient for you. When turned off, they'll just float wherever you leave them. Just wave your hand and they'll start to mix. Also, if a new show starts, a timer will start so that viewers have time to get ready to watch. Also, if you left your screen at home, for example, you can summon it in any way you like, and it will teleport to you. So you don't have to worry about missing anything interesting. I respect the inhabitants of the worlds. Good luck, and wait.
He waved his hand again and the screen turned off.
Other worlds.
The inhabitants of different worlds looked at the screen in bewilderment. They couldn't have expected the show to end like that. Many sighed with relief, as what was shown on the screen was quite violent. When the new properties of the screens were explained to them, some inhabitants began to test the Observer's words in practice. The screen really did become more responsive, and as promised, it teleported to its owner as soon as he gave the command.
Developed worlds where social networks existed began to overflow with comments and videos reacting to the screens. Everyone began to discuss what they had seen, sharing their impressions. Some toy manufacturers began to release products themed around Saitama.
In fantasy worlds of swords and magic, bards composed music about an invincible bald warrior who could defeat monsters with a single blow. Children dreaming of adventure began to reenact moments from the screen in their games. Most magicians locked themselves in their towers and huts, trying to use magic to learn about the flows of magic from the screens so that they could control them. Craftsmen tried to replicate the architecture of the world shown on screen. Dwarves and gnomes worked tirelessly, poring over blueprints in an attempt to recreate those iron boxes.
Each of the worlds had something to comprehend, discuss, accept, or reject. But one thing was clear: these screens were not just images. They were windows into another reality, and it had already begun to slowly change their own.
Universe: Vanpachman.
When the screen turned off, Saitama looked at it with slight disappointment, then simply shrugged and looked at Genos. He was diligently writing something in his notebook, not even noticing his teacher's gaze. Saitama ignored what he was writing, focusing on his own thoughts as he glanced around the city.
Hero Association. Central Headquarters.
Meanwhile, the Heroes Association was in a state of turmoil. Employees rushed through the corridors, and dozens of phones rang simultaneously in the dispatch room. The broadcast of events became an unprecedented event. The building shook from the running, slamming doors, and panicked voices on the radio. Employees rushed between terminals, while senior analysts tried to figure out what the whole world had just seen.
"Who was THAT?!" shouted one of the administrators, pointing to a freeze frame: Saitama standing against a backdrop of scattered clouds after Vaccine Man's destruction.
"Check the database! Do we have anything on this guy?!"
Operators typed in search queries, combing through archives of heroes, civilians, even criminals.
"Found it! There's a record! Registered as a Class C Hero, rank 388... Name: Saitama."
A deathly silence hung in the air.
"What?
"He's... in Class C?" someone asked from another terminal. "Is this some kind of mistake?"
"No. It's correct. He passed the entrance exams a few months ago," clarified the analyst, "...and... um... broke all the physical records set in the history of the Association. Maximum scores. In all categories."
The employees exchanged stunned glances.
"How did he end up in Class C?!"
"He failed the written test," replied another. "Practically zero."
"...So..." the analyst began slowly, "all this time we had a person capable of destroying a Dragon-level threat with a single blow, and we... gave him 388th place in Class C?"
Someone slammed their fist on the table in frustration.
"Why didn't he file a single report? Why didn't he ever get in touch? Why doesn't his name appear anywhere in the missions?"
The head of security just silently ran his hand over his face.
The media was already in an uproar. The internet exploded. Memes with the "bald guy" spread around the world. Some called him a god. Some called him a monster in human form. Some even seriously suggested that he was... an alien.
But in a small apartment in the Z... Saitama district, he scratched his chin, yawned, and said:
"I wonder if the discount on eggs is still on?"