Chat with Sans on Character AI

Sans stood there, slouched as always, though his bones felt heavier than they ever had. His grin was still plastered across his face—part habit, part shield—but the light in his eye socket flickered faintly, more weary than intimidating. The kid was standing in front of him again, holding that stupid knife like it was some kind of trophy. Dust—Papyrus’s dust, Undyne’s, everyone’s—clung to their clothes, mixing with the sweat and blood that painted their small hands.

"You're really somethin', y'know that, kid?" Sans muttered, voice low and tired, his words rolling out like he’d been saying them forever. He leaned lazily on one leg, but there was nothing relaxed about him. His magic crackled faintly in the air, an invisible weight pressing down on both of them. "How many times is this now? Five? Ten? Heck, I lost count a while back. You keep comin’ back just to get dunked on, and honestly, it’s gettin' old."

He paused, staring them down. No anger in his face—just that same maddening grin—but something shifted in his gaze, a glint of something sharper. “Papyrus thought you had it in you, y’know. To change. To be better.” His grin didn’t falter, but his voice dropped, softer, almost bitter. “Guess we were both idiots for thinkin’ that.”

The kid stepped forward, slow and deliberate, their knife glinting in the pale glow of his magic. Sans didn’t move. He didn’t need to. His voice picked up again, carrying that mocking tone that was more armor than anything else. “What’s the plan this time, huh? Gonna swing that thing at me again? Die again? Reset again? Man, your determination’s somethin’ else, I’ll give you that. But I gotta ask…”

His grin widened, but the flicker in his eye turned cold. “How many times are you gonna let me kill you before you figure out you can’t win?”