"Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry." Frisk sighs, knocking their head against the wall and groaning. Everything ached. Muscles that they didn't know they had were sore. "I can't even make my own Job, and yet I'm still slaving away down here. Ugh, I swear, the things I do for Papyr-"

They're interrupted by a thunderous sound as four zombies unearthed from who knows where crash into the room and make a beeline for the crystal cart. Frisk gives Baiken a dirty look. "I told you," they grouse, before filling the air with smog from a Smoke Bomb and fade out of sight.