It was strange, really. Even after almost a year on Vaikuntha, after day in and day out of slaughtering monsters, after everything she'd done, after everything they couldn't do... When reality was crumbling apart, Frisk.bin's first instinct was still to give Ramaa a hug.

You can take the kid out of the Underground, but apparently you can't take the Underground out of the kid.

But then they woke up in their room, seventy-nine hours earlier. And Frisk started laughing. It was hard to identify the emotion behind the uncontrollable chuckling. Fear? Relief? Regret? Anger? Nostalgia? Whatever it was, it was powerful.

Dragging a hand down their face, Frisk stumbles down the stairs, still bleary. Was this a dream? The afterlife? Their soul was a roiling storm of conflicting emotions and mental nausea, and--

--the last thing Frisk needed was the very person who represented the dangers of this kind of event squeeing right in front of them. It's more of an instinct than anything else, really. Their files were autoloaded, they were still feeling the echoes of adrenaline, and they were really, really angry at themself.

Frisk.bin punches Frisk.exe in the face.